Four
Americans, Three Guides, and 400 Camels
By Kathleen
Peddicord - International Living
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| Cairo, Egypt
"He wanted to know why you're still
in Cairo. He told me, 'The four Americans are supposed to be in Alexandria
today.'"
Indeed, according to our original
itinerary, we were. But we'd changed our plans and decided to spend the
day seeing Cairo's Citadel, big mosque, and bazaar. Alexandria was moved
to later in the week.
But who were these men who'd stopped
our driver to question him about our comings-and-goings? The tourist police,
an ever-present force in Egypt. You see them standing on corners, pacing
in shopping districts, even patrolling camelback.
We'd been warned by friends and family,
some of whom thought we were nuts to plan a family vacation in a country
where, as recently as two years ago, tourists were being targeted for violence.
All's been quiet since, though, and this country couldn't be more committed
now to protecting its golden eggs (that is, foreign visitors).
We were visiting pre-season, but
the tourist volume seemed healthy as far as I could tell. Mobs of Chinese,
Japanese, British, and French competed with us everywhere for restaurant
tables and museum admissions.
Noticeably absent, though, were our
compatriots. We saw not a single American our first week in the country.
When we traveled south to Upper Egypt (no, that's not a typo…it's to do
with the direction the Nile waters flow), finally, we picked out American
drawls among the crowds. But we noted that these other Americans traveled
en masse. We four Americans were going it solo.
Our independent traveler approach
earned us special attention from the tourist police, who stopped us not
only that morning we were to have been in Alexandria, but on two other
occasions: once as we pulled away from the Khan Al-Khalili bazaar and another
day as we drove out from the parking lot of our Nile-side lunch spot, both
times checking the papers our driver was careful to have always at the
ready. The attention was sometimes comforting, sometimes creepy.
Our status as the four lone Americans
also made us constant marks (one shopkeeper in the Cairo souk tested the
direct approach as we passed by: "All I want is your green money. All of
it.") and sometimes minor celebrities.
This was mostly thanks to 17-year-old
Kaitlin and her blond hair. "It's funny," she commented one afternoon walking
along the river in Luxor. "In the States, people think blondes are ditzy
or silly. Here, we're almost sacred." |
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The attention wasn't altogether welcomed.
Egyptian men don't whistle. They shout out remarks, sometimes blunt. Several
groups of young Egyptians stopped Lief to ask if they could have their
pictures taken with us. We couldn't figure out why they'd want photos of
themselves with a random foreign family until we noticed them fighting
over which among them would stand beside Kaitlin for the snapshot. Twice,
men asked Lief how much for the hand of his beautiful daughter. One offered
400 camels. We later learned that a good camel can be worth $30,000 or
more.
The Egyptians sometimes harassed
us, often annoyed us, but we never felt unsafe. In hotels and museums,
you pass through security scanners after you enter and then offer your
bags for inspection. We set off the alarms every time, but were invariably
waved through with a smile. We noticed, though, that locals causing the
bells to go off were taken aside and patted down.
Everywhere we went, people asked
where we come from. Jack would reply "Ireland" without hesitation…Kaitlin
"Paris." Lief and I would look at each other, raise our eyebrows, and shrug
our shoulders. Finally, we'd admit that we're Americans, a little nervous
at first about the reaction that statement of fact might spark.
"George Bush number one," came the
response from the young man behind the counter of a gift shop one day.
He smiled and gave a big thumbs-up to reinforce the sentiment. I smiled
and paid for my souvenirs.
We'd arranged private guides for
each leg of the trip--in Cairo, on the cruise ship, and in Luxor. They
kept a close eye and discouraged us from wandering off on our own. I don't
think they feared for our safety as much as they worried we'd be ripped
off.
Indeed, after we'd managed to venture
out guideless a few times, I appreciated their concern.
At a streetside stand in Aswan, Lief
pointed to a bottle of water and a bottle of Coke.
"How much?" he asked.
"Fifty pounds," came the reply.
That's about $10.
Lief looked at the guy in disgust
and began to walk away.
"How much you want to pay?" the boy
yelled after us.
If Jack and I hadn't been so keenly
interested in closing this deal, Lief probably would have kept walking.
Instead, he called back over his shoulder: "10 pounds."
"OK, OK," said the boy as he ran
up to deliver the goods. Our guide told us later we'd over-paid.
We four Americans attracted even
more attention the day the youngest among us decided to wear his galabeya
sightseeing. Jackson, 7, had chosen the outfit at the market the day before.
Wandering the streets of Luxor in his blue gown, white headdress, and black
Converse sneakers, the little American drew applause, pats on the head,
even kisses. Our pint-sized goodwill emissary.
Kathleen Peddicord
Publisher, International Living
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