No Dark Sarcasm in the Classroom

It never ceases to amaze me how easily music travels. Here, in the middle of Sinai, Egypt, Muhammad and I cruise to Dahab in his  ’95 blue jeep Cherokee whom I lovingly call “Z” (note this is because I cannot pronounce her real name but I know it begins with a Z and ends with an A). 

“I love Pink Floyd,” he yells over the wind and the music and sings without hesitation, “All in all you’re just a brick in the wall.” He knows each word by heart.

We had an hour drive through the valleys of Park Nabq ahead of us and I took the opportunity to pick his brain about all of the things that my newly found knowledge of ancient Egypt had left wanting. For instance… what happened AFTER Ramses II? What had my own tour guided classrooms along the Nile left out?

Muhammad started with King Farouk, the one who ruled Egypt as the British had stuck their hands in its bountiful candy jar. WWII had arrived in Africa then, but Farouk was more or less still popular. The British however, were not. According to Muhammad, the Egyptian people, and their endless threats and hatred toward the Brits were ultimately what sent the occupation running.

After Farouk, came Nasser. Under him, Egypt lost the Sinai Peninsula to Israel which was devastating to the people.

“Why did Israel want Sanai in the first place?” I asked.

“Because Moses walked the deserts there for 40 years,” he responded as if that were a natural and obvious reason to wage war. 

We flew over a sand dune, and Muhammad’s face which had gone slack at the thought of Israel once again beamed with excitement of a five-year-old driving a toy car.

Nasser took full responsibility for the loss and announced his resignation. Egypt, however, accepted his apology and urged him to stay to lead them to victory and regain the sacred Sinai. But, he was assassinated via poisoned dinner before he could do so.

After Nasser came Sadat who was somewhat more successful than his unfortunate predecessor. Sadat threw himself and his resources into reclaiming Sinai. But by this time Israel had built up a powerful defense, a massive damn on the Gulf of Suez blocked Egyptian access to Sinai. One day, after many days of racking his brain with how to bring down Israel’s defense, Sadat stood on the West Coast of the Suez looking out at the lost Sinai as he often did. When nature called he did not hesitate to pee in the sand cursing Israel as his stream slowly washed the nearby sand away. And in the purest of light bulb moments he had solved all of Egypt’s problems. He rushed to the university and the government and gathered a team of expert engineers. “We will wash the sand away!” he exclaimed. Sure enough, Egypt was able to strategically pour water over the sandy damn, and break Israel’s main defense.

And so, on June 5, 1967 the infamous Six-Day War began. Egypt sent 7,000 men over the Suez and lost 3,800. But in 24 minutes the troops had successfully cleared the way for 200,000 more Egyptian soldiers who were able to cross the Suez quickly overwhelming baffled Israeli's,  taking back what they had lost. Sinai was Egyptian territory once more.

“If you ask anyone today, the people will tell you, “We love Sadat, we love him the most of any ruler”” Muhammad says with a trace of sadness in his voice.

Sadat was killed by Mubarak, or so, many Egyptians think. It was never actually proved. Today two leaders of the Muslim Brotherhood are blamed for the crime and have sat rotting in jail since Mubarak took power after Sadat’s death. So,  for 35 years, Mubarak ruled with his oppressive regime, squandering money left and right from his country and his people.

Until, of course, on January 28^th, 2011, the people rebelled in Tiran Square. 840 people died for the cause but soon after, Mubarak resigned. Today nearly five months later, Egypt still faces huge obstacles and they don’t end in the capital where unrest is publicized most.

Here in Sharm-el-Sheikh, the heart of the Sinai Peninsula, Mubarak resides, lying in a hospital bed, killing the livelihoods of local Egyptians just by his presence.

“I don’t understand Muhammad, if he’s hauled up in a hospital, what harm can he do?” I ask.

“Habibi, while he’s here, the people will not come.”

Tourism is the blood of Egypt’s economy, more than 30 percent. And it is true, that it has taken the hardest hit from the revolution, but in Sharm, a place which relies far more than 30 percent on tourism, foreigners refuse to set foot while Mubarak is anywhere near.

Muhammad is the leader of the revolution here in Sharm. He seems to be friends with everyone and thus capable of rallying each clan of Bedouin Sheiks’ and all major heads of resort tourism. Under his guidance, a silent protest, 2,000 strong,  will ensue tomorrow outside of the hospital where Mubarak resides.

We are in Dahab now. The story of Egypt’s rocky recent history has outlasted Z, and we now sit on a dock watching the sunset over the Red Sea. Taking another sip of Bedouin tea, Muhammad’s eyes begin to water. “It’s not fair.  We worked so hard to free our country, and now our home is under the same oppression. He has to leave.”

This sea-side classroom is as real as the blue water that envelopes my dangling feet, and there’s not a speck of sarcasm in his voice as he continues to speak of the ongoing revolution.  Sharm-el-Sheikh, the place I had thought was, “The City of Peace”, is under just as much torment as the rest of Egypt. Only here, the people are not pinned against each other in a baseless religious battle. Here, they are still rooted against one man, who’s sickly presence grows like a cancer on the city. 

Death in the Desert: A Story that Demanded Telling

Today the sharp-toothed smile rarely leaves his face. A 38-year-old ball of energy, he begins the day as the sun rises over his self-built desert abode, tending his garden, his camels, and his goats.

“I love every grain of sand” he says as he lets a hand-full flow through his fingers. “Egypt is my country and Sinai is my heart, how could I ever leave it? You know sometimes I’m afraid to sleep because I think I will miss something!”

He stands about 5’8”, muscular and tan. His speckled gray stubble and a few laughing wrinkles betray his otherwise youthful physic. Today he looks more like Gandhi than Ahmed; a delicate thin skirt of Bedouin patterns and colors reaches his ankles topped by a long sleeved white cotton tunic and his trademark bare feet. “I would fall over in shoes!” he once told me. He is the image of a free spirit. Only upon digging just below the surface did I learn the trials of his past. 

I imagine him much the same twenty years ago, though I know the head that he keeps bald now was rampant with a reckless black mien, but those laughing lines surely must have come with him out of the womb. He was a guide then too, a safari diver with a speed boat parked on the Island of Tiran just between Egypt and Saudi. Tiran was a staple then, the Mecca of the diving world and there he worked, plunging into the crystal waters eight months out of the year. As the God’s of ancient Egypt held the key to eternal life dangling for the pharos passing into the next realm, he held the key to the water, to the bright corals beneath the surface of the red sea. Each morning he would drive his boat without caution or pace right up on to the shores of Sinai to pick up his incoming tourists.

 “I loved the speed, I would drive onto the sand, nobody was watching, the coast was mine in those days.”

It was in this way that he met Yana.

“Her skin was so pale and beautiful it blended right into the sand. Even her voice as she screamed at me, “You idiot you almost killed me!” was beautiful,” he says laughing. “I loved her instantly.

Two weeks later they were married.

They were eighteen-years-old, she a young Russian beauty on vacation and he a Muslim Egyptian addicted to his earth.

“My friends looked at me every day and they would say, “Ahmed, today you look even happier than yesterday, but tomorrow we know for sure you will somehow look happier than today. It is Yana, we know.””

They lived together on that small island between Egypt and Saudi for two years. In the cradle of the Red Sea, they grew together entwined and safe in the world they had created for one another. Away from the politics and rivalries of Cairo, they ignored the world that would have torn them apart because of their differences.

“One day out of nowhere, I started getting calls on my mobile,” he says. “Ten, twenty, thirty calls at once. It was Yana’s mother. She worked for the Russian government in the province of Karelia, something like what you call…The Central Intelligence. She wanted Yana home. She screamed, “Ahmed, you’ve done something to her, you’ve kidnapped her, she was supposed to come home after two weeks. What have you done to her?””

“I didn’t understand” he tells me, “I told her, what are you talking about, we are married, we live together, we’re in love, I turned to Yana, “Yana what have you told your family about me?””

“Only normal things darling,” Yana says. “Please believe me. But my mother, she is crazy with missing me. She makes things up in her head to explain my being here so long. She hates you because I have stayed with you. I have tried to reason with her for two years. I tell her to come here and see our life together and meet you, my husband! But she won’t see it no matter what I say.”

Soon after, Yana’s mother arrived on the Sinai Peninsula with every conceivable government documentation she could get hold of.

“I didn’t understand the documents,” Ahmed tells me, “but in the end they didn’t matter because Yana was in Egypt and legally married. No Russian document could change that and her mother knew it.”

In the end she pleaded with the couple, offering them their own palatial house in Russia with servants and endless amounts of money.

“She says to me, Ahmed, you won’t need anything, you want water, you push a button and servants will bring it to you, you two will have every luxury, just come to Russia.”

“But that’s not me” Ahmed cried. “My work is my happiness; my heart is this country, the sand and the sea. Take me away from Egypt and I am a fish out of water, this land is my air, I will die without it.”

And so Yana’s mother left, defeated and another year passed before they received another phone call. It was a Wednesday morning and the still happily married pair were sound asleep.

Yana’s mother was extremly ill, the doctors gave her one month and Yana had to go say goodbye. “Come with me darling,” she pleaded, “I need you there.”

“Of course, I just have to finish certifying this last group of divers and I will be there, you know this.”

So she went.

Two weeks passed with no word from Yana. Terrified, Ahmed flew to Russia, leaving everything to find his wife. He was arrested and detained in the Karelia airport, and by a mysterious governmental decree he was deported.

“I called and called, every number I could think of, Yana’s phone was disconnected and I couldn’t get within a thousand miles of Russian boarders without being arrested.”

The distraught young Egyptian received another phone call three weeks later. On the opposite end was a soft-spoken Russian woman…her English came in short bursts as she spoke quickly in a nearly inaudible whisper. 

It was Yana’s childhood nanny.

“I knew it had to be the nanny” Ahmed says, “Yana talked about her more than she talked about her mother, it was she who raised her, she was more like a mother to Yana than anyone else.”

“Yana is here,” the nanny said. “Her mother has her locked up in a room, with no communication.”

“Her mother is alive?” he asked.

“She was never ill Ahmed.”

And all at once, a door opened, and Ahmed could hear angry voices on the other end, the phone clicked off leaving him with nothing but a dial tone.

The desert stars grow brighter as the fire ambers begin to burn out. We are on a cliff in park Nabq, the moon has not yet risen so each constellation is clearly visible interrupted only by the occasional dying ball of flame silently streaking across the black night. Lights are visible in the distance that I hadn’t noticed when Ahmed began his tale. He points to the distant glow that has caught my gaze.

“That is Tiran Island, and just beyond it the west bank of Saudi Arabia. That’s where I met my Yana.”

Beyond his finger the silhouette of a camel meanders its way though the nearby dunes, and all is silent save for its laborious footsteps through the sand.

“I was broken…completely helpless” Ahmed continued. “I couldn’t get into Russia, I couldn’t call her, I didn’t have any high ranking government friends that could help me. I had nothing. Another two months passed before the nanny called me again. Her voice was muffled as if she was speaking from a closet.”

“Yana has stopped speaking and she refuses food. They’ve moved her to the hospital…to inject the nutrients,” said the nanny.

“I pleaded with her to find a way to let me talk to Yana; if she could just hear my voice…I thought I could fix it. I was able to talk to her just three times through the secret phone calls from the nanny. I pleaded with her to eat, I told her I’d find a way for us to be together. But she was broken, just like me, and she knew these were only words. Her mother was blind, and refused to see what she was doing to her daughter.”

He fell silent.

“My Yana layed in the hospital like that for two years, broken, refusing words and food…and then, she died.”

Ahmed pokes at the charred wood as his eyes glaze over. Like a faithful Muslim; he looks out toward the pitch black sea and says, “It was God’s will I suppose.”

Charming Sharm: The City of Peace

Sharm-el-Sheikh, meaning "Bay of the King" is a desert oasis on the Sinai Peninsula of Eastern Egypt. It has often been referred to as "The paradise of Egypt" or my personal favorite, "The City of Peace" for the numerous peace conferences that have been held here over the years. From the shore I can see the lights of Saudi Arabia, and that is one of the few reminders of my geographical place in the middle-eastern world. 

Amidst this Utopia, where the endless sand stretches straight to the crystal coast of the red sea, it is easy to become lost beneath the sun swayed into tranquility by an ever flowing light ocean breeze. I however was blessed with the meeting of Muhammad my first day here, a scuba instructor turned friend who patiently opened up the real Sharm to me, via local Bedouin friends, Egyptian barbeques, and desert treks to places unknown even to locals. But first, he showed me the world beneath the surface of the Red Sea and that has made all the difference.

SCUBA- Self Contained Underwater Breathing Apparatus…..ok, so you learn some acronyms, strap on an air tank and jump in the ocean, ya?

No. First there is the fact that that the air tank is attached to a complicated vest of gages, breathing apparatuses, pressure valves, and emergency pulls, plus about nine different buckles just for shits and giggles. But before you get anywhere near THE VEST, you must take knowledge review quizzes, followed by a 40 question exam, followed by a 50 question final. There are gizmo’s and charts that you must learn in order to calculate just how much nitrogen you’re holding in your body after each dive (because the air tanks are comprised of 79 percent nitrogen, your body absorbs a shit ton of it beneath the waves). Based on those calculations you can determine just how long you must stay out of the water between dives, how deep you can go on dives two and three, and how long you can stay down there before your body hits what's called "decompression limit". Tricky… and kind of important if you don’t feel like dying from nitrogen bubbles in your blood…

BUT, then you get in the water. Strapped up, tanked up, and jazzed up, you take that first sip of air, and realize that you are breathing under water. By the end of day one I was 40 feet down and frolicking among the neon corals of the red sea, by day two I was 60 feet down mastering the art of underwater boyancy, and by day three I was swimming with sting rays and napoleon fish 70 feet deep.

 A week later I’m hooked on the Egypt that I have discovered outside of Cairo and Alexandria. This is a place where locals want you to know their land and their people because they would die for each grain of sand. This is a place where the biggest concern is what flavor Shisha to smoke tonight and how much sugar to put in your Bedouin tea. And it is a place where churches and mosques are built within 50 feet of each other, because the people of the desert seem to understand that there’s just one life, why waste it hating each other when you could be scuba diving?

Confusion in Cairo: A letter to my better half in Latin America

My Dearest Sister,

You asked if I am nervous now that I am finally traveling solo. I have just put my brother on a plane to Saudi, and the answer is yes, I finally feel the weight of being alone in Egypt, and it is strange…incredibly strange.

The past two weeks have hit me like a ton of bricks. The whirl wind that was “seeing my family” has come to a close and now I am left with nothing but my own musings.  I attempt the task of digesting the past 7 months and putting them into coherent thoughts but am trapped in the whirlwind of this new culture and it’s confusingly vicious mechanisms.

As soon as my parents left, my brother and I set off for Alexandria, a place we thought would be removed from the political tumoil of Cairo, but in reality a place which exposed us to even more protesting and controversy.

On every corner the Coptics (an old sect of Christianity) raised their crosses to the air chanting slurs of rapid Arabic, and on the opposing corner stood growing crowds of Muslims, their head scarves blowing in the wind as they clung to the Koran. They are literally burning each other alive inside their churches and mosques, they hate each other for no reason other than their opposing views of the same God.

Back in Cairo, the Copts and Muslims continue to clash, but the Muslims unify under yet another banner of hatred…Israel. The celebrate their support of Palestine by hanging rag dolls with the Hebrew Crosses spray painted in blue, necks broken, eyes inked in black x’s. We went to the protest two hours before it was set to begin in the infamous Tahrir Square (a place where not so long ago, all of Egypt, Copt and Muslim alike, had united against one common enemy, the oppressive President Mubarak) and the throngs were already in the thousands, predicted to be millions strong by mid-day.

I can only parallel the emotions have felt this past week with the way that you were overwhelmed in Molena.  I feel a tremendous sadness for the Egyptian people and for this part of the world in general. It was one thing in Peru, to see poverty at the hands of a faceless, ignorant, government, but it was a new kind of evil to see suffering at the hands of fellow man. Children screaming at other children, men burning Israeli dolls in effigy before burning Christian churches to the ground.  I am overwhelmed by the type of hatred that exists on every street corner here, topped by an all-encompassing poverty that claws at the shadily made buildings throughout Cairo and Alexandria.

I have so many questions. My brother has been hugely instrumental in answering many of them, coming from over two years of experience in the middle east, but I am dying to know what your thoughts would be here, especially as we come from 6 months in Latin America, where perhaps in the days of the Spanish conquistadors, religion was the main smokescreen for plundering and brutality, but now poverty is created by imperialism.

More than ever, I now realize that poverty has many faces…and however awful this is to say.. I prefer the poverty created by imperialism to this black culture of ignorant religious brutality.

Sigh, wish you were here Bech, all my love and confusion from Cairo,

Mand

An excerpt of a fabulous response by Ms. Emig

"It's amazing to think that all of those problems, conflicts, violence, and social unrest comes from a mis-understanding and pride (or is it simply blind stubbornness) over which religion is “correct”. I have done a lot of thinking while here at this Hare Krishna site about religion and about what it means to have a faith and to believe in something. And although I haven't really come up with anything concise or to convince me of what my spiritual beliefs are, I have once again simply come to the conclusion that all religions are pretty much the same, they all stem from mankind's desire simply to cling to something to explain the universe. So how do people then take this created ideal that they use to explain death, violence, and the unknown, to create more death, violence, and political unknowns? I don't get it. It's scary in a way really, what humans are capable of."

Little Sister Syndrome: A Theory Proved True by the Titillating City of Alexandria

Every psychologist has his opinion on the hierarchies of birth order.

Alfred Adler was the first to propose the idea that a child’s position in the family would directly impact several distinct personality characteristics.  Later people like Freud, Carl Jung and a host of others expanded the theory. Younger siblings are pampered, older siblings have higher IQ’s, younger siblings are more open minded, older siblings more contentious, the list goes on.  But where in all of this jargon did people just study the good old fashion dynamics that intrinsically link a younger sibling to an older sibling? Amidst all of the IQ tests and personality exams, did anyone stop to look at the simplicity of what it means to just be a baby sister?

My theory is called Little Sister Syndrome and it’s certainly nothing ground breaking. If my brother had a favorite stuffed animal… I had to have a replica. My brother went out to play in the snow, I had to go out and play in the snow. My brother lost a tooth, and I started wiggling one. Simple stuff. Later on, he studied abroad during in college…and so I too felt it absolutely necessary to follow suit. And when he moved abroad to work in far off places and learn the world, I knew I would do the same. And so by default, we are two globetrotting siblings, separated by the small fact that our adventures drew us to different hemispheres, he in Asia and the middle east and I in Latin America.

And so when we found a way to have a 6 extra days to travel together after the family vaca in Egypt, I could not have been more thrilled. I’d been idolizing him since before I can remember, and now after six years of separation, I would have six days (more time than we’d EVER spent together in our adult lives), to pick his brain about his adventures, life, love, and the pursuit of happiness. It didn’t matter where we went and so when it was decided that we would pass the week in Alexandria, the famous port city of Northern Egypt, I strapped on my backpack and jumped on the bus like a five-year-old getting ready for Disney World.

Alexandria…was NOT Disney World. The first night there we were greeted by a cockroach dragging a cigarette down the cobblestone street. Perhaps we should have heeded the ill omen. 

Alexandria was built by Alexander the Great in 332 BC and finished by his successor Ptolemy. It was once home to the greatest library in the world, and the oldest lighthouse known to man. People from every Mediterranean country flocked there and settled into the unique blend of Egyptian and Greek culture adding color and diversity to the already sheik port city. The Corniche was a famous beach from the get-go. It stretched from East to West dotted with white sand and posh cafes, strewn day and night with the entwined fingers of happy couples and families. So what happened?

Was it the black plague which wiped out forty percent of Egypt’s population? Was it the earthquake of 956 which brought down Alexander’s lighthouse and the heart of the city? Or perhaps the relentless Italian air raids of WWII which leveled multiple barrios of the defenseless people and their shadily built clay homes?

To be honest I don’t know, but I do know that Steven and I were very much DONE with Alexandria within about 6 hours of arriving because that is about how long it took us to see everything worth seeing. We visited the catacombs, Pompey’s Pillar, the poor district, the posh district, Mubarak’s palace, the Muntaza gardens, and several times over, we walked the infamous Corniche. We even went to the library which was built in an attempt to replicate the masterpiece of Alexander.  So what were we supposed to do with the next 4.5 days? There were no tombs to tool, no shrines to study, no museums, no theaters, and the added bonus of Islam… there were rarely even boo’s to keep us stimulated.

Well, in the end, little sister syndrome saves all. Ultimately it didn’t actually matter that there was absolutely no viable form of entertainment because as long as we were finally on the same continent we were peacefully content. We walked the Corniche until we were tired, parked in a café, walked the Corniche some more, parked in a café, and then…. We walked the Corniche some more.

But all the while talking about the things I had longed to talk about for years. He versed me on his newly found knowledge of the Middle East answering each of my questions with his classic cynical clarity. I regaled him of my adventures with Shamans and ayawaska in the Ecuadorian Amazon. We talked about culture shock, about the future, about the past, about our family. We ranked on Alexandria, religion, trolls, and Egypt in general. Whhen there was nothing left to talk about we collapsed into comfortable exhausted silence with nothing more than our pens and journals, quietly recording our unspoken thoughts about the past weeks. 

Five days later we were on a decrepit train back to decrepit Cairo and I was putting my brother on a plane back to Saudi Arabia.

Later from my own plane’s waiting area, the airport announced the departure of flight 411 to Jeddah. It would be more than a year until we’d be on the same continent again.

But I will not soon forget how easy it seemed to pass a week in one of the most uninteresting places in the world, because, as every little sister knows, if your big brother is there, the world somehow seems lighter.

11 Essentials to a Successful Trip down the Nile

1.) Assemble a Team of International Awesomeness

Steven Wheat: Leader of all things global. Hales from Saudi Arabia...inspired by Indiana Jones

on a daily basis. 

 Lorraine Wheat: Matriarch and Native New Yorker

                     Clearly does not take shit from nobody

Rachel Chai: China. Her wrath can only 

be quelled by Kushari...or Egyptian dance parties...

  

Amanda Wheat: Argentina. Hippie. More often than not contemplating her place in the world...

.And Mr Wheat. USA. The Patriarch.  He's just plain happy to be here. 

2. Don't Just Ride a Camel.... RACE IT. 

3. Don't just pose  a pyramid... POOP one

 4. Play with light whenever possible

5. Don't forget to NAP

6. If napping doesn't work, GET your fix somewhere else

7. Act like you have a mental disability whenever humanly possible...especially in public places and ESPECIALLY in very important ancient tombs

8. Find a cute, unnaturally well behaved child... and corrupt him. 

9. Then sacrifice him to the Gods

10. Remember that big old things need love too

11. And NEVER ever end a day in Egypt without a roadside dance party. 

What Came Before Ramsessssssss???

“And herrrre we havvvvve, the sacred sign of Rammseeees II. Which was made by the cousin of Ramsesssss III who loved the daughter of nefatraiiii who wanted to die in the Vallleeyyy of the Kingggs..and you spell it not like Ramsesss the first did, who went to the Hittites to trade spicesssss and had three sonsss, and one of his sonnnssss had a bad legggg so he was exiled to Assssswan which is now part of Nubia…not Ethiopia..no Nubia… and he spelled his name like thissssss….”

Thissss, was our first impression of ancient Egypt.. unfortunately. We had a tour guide of SUCK to put it bluntly. I would have been fine with his need to elongate every single sssssss, had he been somewhat competent in the telling of Egyptian history. Not even the telling, the man could not point to a statue and coherently explain who it was and why it was there. His stories were convoluted and made zero sense, and even when you paid INCREDIBLY close attention, and asked simple questions to try and make sense of what he was saying, he glossed over and began talking about some king’s daughter’s cousin’s son who died in 2023 BC. FAIL.

I knew within a few hours of arrival that I most likely would not return to Egypt and thus was adamant in getting as much as I could while I was here. So I treated the gift shop like a library, found the best guidebook I could, batted my eyelashes until the owner let me sit outside and read it, and did this for three days until I was confident in my understanding of at least a small fraction of Egyptian history.

Thissss, in a nutshell, is what I learned (or re-learned as I'm sure we all got a lot of this somewhere from a monotone middle-school history teacher).  

Beware the historical holes as I finish my second beer toward the end.

Roughly, Egypt as we know it began with Dynasty 0 (3150-2950 BC). This is when the earliest hieroglyphics and evidence of kinship are recorded. Plus, the aggressive conquest of the Delta Region by Southern Egypt.

Then we have the Archaic Period: Here the first and second dynasties ruled from 2950-2635 BC under King Menes. Under Menes Egyptians established the first semblance of a monarchy and began developing their religion.

Old Kingdom: Home to the third-sixth dynasties (2635 to 2215 BC). This one was important because  Kings (Pharos) became intrinsically linked with Gods during this period. Aka, “I am your King and God speaks through me so everyone bow down and FEAR me.” It worked. This was also the time of the pyramids. They were built specifically to serve as the tombs of the pharos so that they could properly pass into the next life and join their fellow gods.

The First Intermediate Period: 7^th-10^th dynasties 2215-2050 BC: Because Pepi II ruled for too long, the kingdom began to collapse (this would not be the first time a cocky king refused to relinquish his power, *cough* RAMSESSSS II *cough*) and provincial officials known as Nomarchs took control. This was a great period of instability for Egypt, local trade was cut off, and life was tough, only when Mentuhotep stepped up to plate would the kingdom be reunified and the 11^th dynasty begun.

BOOM, Middle Kingdom: 11^th-13^th dynasties: The 11^th dynasty finalized the reunification of the fabulous Egypt in all of its former glory and pyramid building resumed. Most importantly a distinct system of the power transfer from king to his successor was established so that smooth transitions would be in place “forever more”.

2^nd Intermediate Period: Here we see that immigration booms are not just a problem of modern society, but in fact they proved to be an issue in the BC. Egypt began attracting scores of foreigners, Libyans, Asiatics, and the Sudanese flooded the Egyptian cities. The Nubian Kingdoms that were created in Northern Egypt got feisty and begin threatening Southern Egypt.

New Kingdom: 18^th Dynasty 1570-1293 BC. BIG THINGS. Nubia is conquered and a series of strong Egyptian rulers take Egypt into a new era.  Lots of extended trade, lots of diplomatic marriages and strategic pairings, and a new form of tombs (the pyramids were being raided by thieves by this point), so Kings were now buried in mountainside tombs which became today’s infamous, Valley of the Kings. This was also the era of the boy King Tutankhamen. He took the throne around age ten and ruled until his untimely death at age 19 (spaz fell off a chariot). (The only reason he’s famous is because archeologists found his tomb in perfect condition and modern museums can now easily display all of his shiny shit). 

New Kingdom Ramses Period: And here we are graced with the presence of the almighty Rammsesssssssss. After a series of childless Kings Ramses I takes power and begins the 19^th dynasty, followed by none other THAN Ramses II. I’m still not sure how I feel about him, he is by far the most famous Egyptian pharaoh but what did he actually do? Well, he had 67 wives, bore 130 children, and built more tombs, shrines, and obelisks (dedicated to himself) than ANY other ruler. But this is because he refused to relinquish power and therefore had 68 full years to marry women, have sex, make babies and build shit. He won ONE battle (a narrow victory against the Hittites) and signed the first peace treaty known to man (OK kind of cool, but it was mostly to save face after he nearly lost his ONE battle).Aka the most famous kings of Egypt, (Ramses II and King Tut…realllly didn’t do much). And thanks to egomaniac Ramses II and his refusal to relinquish power.. Egypt once again began to unravel.

Now I begin abbreviating because what else really matters after Ramses anyways…We’ve got some Nubian Kings coming into power and the decline of the pharos because priests become more closely associated with Gods. Then around 1070 BC, Assyrians defeat Egyptians and take over.

Late Period (664 to 333 BC) Kind of important, it marks the last pharonic rule. Why? First the Nubians ruled, than Greeks started filtering in, and then PERSIA. Naturally, Egyptians were THRILLED when Alexander the Great arrived in 333 BC to free them from their Persian oppressors. Thus we enter the Hellenistic period, where Greek was the latest fad. Alexander and his successor Ptolemy created Alexandria, the famous Mediterranean port City of Northern Egypt. The Ptolemy’s ruled until 30 BC when Cleopatra VI (the last of ht Ptolemy dynasty) was defeated by Octavian. Egypt then became a province of Rome.

Then we’ve got the Roman Empire, the rise of Christianity, Byzantine rule and LOTS of Christian persecution. This lasted until around 639 AD when Muslim Arabs came and spread Islam across all of Egypt.  Then there was a period of Ottoman rule, the French occupied for a hot second, followed by Muhammad. Then of course  a couple of world wars, English occupations, and Italian air raids, and finally in 1953 the Egyptian Republic was declared followed by a modern history full of more religious strife,persecution and more drama than all of Ramses Temples combined.  

Weeeeeeeeeeee!

From South America…to Africa: The Conundrum of Crossing Continents

It’s amazing what you can accomplish in 37 hours. Thanks to modern day travel mechanisms and the Wright Brothers, I was able to skip across oceans and continents in a matter of hours, jetting from Argentina, to London, and finally to Cairo. But the actual process of completing such a journey, whose implications run much deeper than a simple transcontinental flight or two, is much more complicated. My flight to Egypt meant my departure from Latin America, and as I moved closer and closer to my family, I moved farther and farther from the girl who had in just 6 months become my sister.  Even the best airplane blockbusters could not distract me from this mind-blowing reality.

The perfect end to an era commenced as Aer and I cracked into, yes, our 25^th bottle of Malbec over the long feared, last supper. We let our absolute favorite hotel concierge Dana guide us to a nearby Argentinean restaurant that guaranteed us our favorite South American dish, salmon. Not just any salmon, a specially prepared foil dish where the salmon is slow roasted with Argentinean spices, fresh vegetables soaked in red wine, and lemon juice so citrusy it penetrates to the core of the juicy masterpiece.  We had the quaint restaurant to ourselves and a window seat to the small cobblestone street of estados unidos. Having learned, that epic expectations make for disaster and disappointment, we silently surrendered the evening’s events to the universe. We had our dinner plans followed by a nearby bar date with two of our favorite Argentineans and had high hopes of seeing some other friends as well, but beyond that, the night was up in the air and could go any which way. 

The universe, however, wanted to give us a proper Buenos Aires send off, complete with multiple bars and bottles, every friend we wanted to see and then some, and dawn, who’s grace greeted us as we stumbled out of one of BA’s most infamous night clubs at sunrise. It was perfection, and the endless dancing successfully distracted us from the fact that it was indeed our last night together, a thought that in any type of sobriety would have driven us to tears immediately.

But, try as we did, there are only so many hours between sunset and sunrise, and a few hours after we stumbled in, Bech was putting me in a taxi to the airport. Like a typical teen movie, we cried. Aer’s eyes were red and wet as we hugged goodbye, and as soon as I pulled away, my emotions exploded with such force that the cab driver pulled over to make sure I wasn’t dyeing on his cabbie watch. 

As mi hermana so eloquently wrote in her own blog, "All good things must come to an end. But when that good thing has been an entire way of life, a state of mind, and a friendship that has evolved to an intense kinship, how do you cope with the finish line?"

I don’t know the answer to this, but when you’re faced with a 37 hour journey to your next adventure, the only thing left to do is open a new chapter. I flew, a sleepless flight over the Atlantic. I attempted the most mindless forms of entertainment in an attempt to A. distract me from my sadness, or B. put me to sleep. The guaranteed page turner trash by Steig Larson only reminded me of the fact that Aer had read it before me, and finished nearly the whole thing on our night bus to Mendoza.  I switched to the happiest movie I could find (god damn harry potter), but managed to instantly draw up memories from our jungle trek through Ecuador, when Nixon, our tour guide, had fashioned us Harry Potter-esq glasses from some Quechua root. Fail Fail double fail. So I gave in, and started writing, lulling myself into a state of descriptive nostalgia until I touched down in London Town.

London…hung over, zero sleep, and a 7 hour layover. The idea of being left alone with my thoughts in an airport for seven more hours was almost worse than leaving Latin American in the first place. So I hopped the Heathrow express, despite everyone’s warnings that I wouldn’t have enough time to make it there and back for my connection flight to Cairo.  If they knew what was going on in my head they would know that I didn’t care and I was going to get out of that airport regardless.  One hour later, I was successfully tooling around parliament, posing under Big Ben, laughing at the fools that were lined up for hours in front of West Minster Abbey, and feeling refreshed at the sight of a new city. My biggest struggle here was speaking English. I could not for the life of me stop “donde esta”-ing, or “puedes sacar un foto” ing.  Culture shock part I…they speak my language, would only later be outdone by culture shock II… NOBODY speaks my language and Spanish is only a useful battle tool to ward off annoying Egyptian men.

Before I knew it, I was taking off from London and landing in Cairo with a new Egyptian friend named Muhammad (of course). He was the first to start teaching my Arabic, and I can proudly say that the three words I learned from him have since grown to a whopping 15-20 Arabic must-knows. Soon I was being lifted off the ground by my brother’s loving hug, and being tucked into my new 5 star lifestyle in a posh hotel in Geeza, Egypt.  I thought I’d be asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow (entering day three without sleep) but I was wrong. 

The grand room filled with it’s all encompassing silence was too much for me to handle. For the first time in over 6 months I was attempting to sleep and Aer was not within a 5 foot radius. There was no talk of what we would do the following day, no alarm setting for a morning run together, no life chats, or existential rants. The bed was large with crisp white sheets and a down comforter. There was a stocked mini-fridge and a shining platinum flat screen TV. There was electricity and hot water. Dear God there was a balcony. I should have been in heaven, but all I wanted was a sketchy hostel bed, a 10 peso bottle of wine, and my friend. I again thought of her words, "...how do you cope with the finish line?"  

I still didn’t know, so I went to the balcony and stared West until my eyes grew heavy and red.

Argentina in One Word

MALBEC