These Egyptians have had hundreds of
years of practice maximizing the dollar-per-name return from their country's
tourists. They've got this figured out. We hadn't checked into our hotel
before our guide, who'd met us at the airport, was upselling us to additional
tour packages. A cruise on the Nile with a belly-dancing show…sound
and light at the Pyramids…an optional day excursion to Memphis. We
were receptive marks, excited to be on vacation in the country of the pharaohs--Jack,
especially, nodding enthusiastically at every offering.
They offer you squares of paper in
the toilets, to open the door for you, to give you directions, to help
direct your vehicle in and out of parking spots. You begin to feel defensive.
The night we arrived, in the airport
bathroom in Cairo, Jack and I finished washing our hands and turned to
leave. The woman who had been standing, smiling, silently, in the corner
moved quickly to position herself between us and the door and held out
her hand. Taken off guard, I reached into my bag and pulled out the
first coin I found, 50 euro cents, which I placed in her open palm.
She let us pass.
Pushing our way through baggage,
immigration, and out of the terminal, we deflected constant offers for
taxis, rides, guides, tours, shopping… Everybody's got an angle.
On the surface, Cairo is chaos.
Twenty-two million people live in the city full-time, and another 2 million
travel in and out each day for work. On top of this are the tourists.
Busloads and busloads of them, amounting to more than 8 million each year.
The Chinese come in greatest numbers, year-round…mostly, our guide believes,
for the perfumes. On the streets and at the sights, you hear many
languages. This is pre-season, yet the Egyptian Museum was so crowded
we had to hold hands to stay together and bend close in our huddle to hear
our guide's comments over those of all the other guides competing for attention.
Evidently, in peak season, the guides give up. They give overviews
out front, telling their tour-goers what to look for inside, then pull
their groups through the throngs single-file.
In fact, there are rhythms and rules
to this city--the regular calls to prayer, for example, but many others,
too, to do with managing the tourist hoards, which is no small feat.
I can't deny it: We're among them.
We've no way to disguise our agenda in this country. I'm pleased
to report we're not running around in track suits and sneakers, as are
many of our counterparts. Still, our more dignified dress doesn't
hide who we are or why we're here. We want to see the artifacts,
the Pyramids, the Sphinx, the river, the markets… We're going where the
tourists go, and, hard as we try to avoid it, we're regularly being swept
along with their numbers.
At first, I resented it. After
only a half-day in the country, I could feel myself hardening toward these
Egyptians, who seem always to have their hands out--either to give you
something, for which you will pay later (even if you don't realize it at
the time), or to ask you for something on the spot. Since that first
day, though, I've forced myself to adjust my perspective, to keep a more
open mind, and I've developed a respect for what they do. The tourist
trade is as much art as math in this country, and modern-day Egyptians
are masters.
After our tour of the Egyptian Museum
one morning, Rasha suggested a special, unscheduled stop before lunch.
Being polite Americans (which we've realized can be a handicap), we cheerfully
agreed. To the papyrus shop we went, where we were introduced to
a woman who demonstrated how paper has been made from the water plant for
thousands of years. We'd seen ancient painted samples in the museum
earlier that day, and, in the shop, the woman showed us contemporary reproductions
of the Judgment Day scene and the celestial calendar her pharaonic forefathers
had painted centuries before.
The woman tickled Jack with the thistle
of the papyrus stalk and quizzed the kids on details of the Judgment Day
painting after they admitted they'd seen the original that morning at the
museum. Her colleague brought us tea and water, plus a Coke for Jack.
Show over, the woman put an order
card and a pencil into each of our hands. Another colleague took
Jack away, to keep him occupied so mom and dad could shop uninterrupted.
The woman who'd given the demonstration took me by the elbow and led me
through the shop pointing out particular paintings she thought might be
appropriate for my "nice family." If I showed vague interest in one
over another, she prodded me to add its item number to my order card.
Jack returned to tell me he'd found
one he wanted to buy--a painting of a bug. Kaitlin came over to ask
about the names of the various gods and goddesses in the Judgment Day scene.
Lief took me by the elbow to try to pull me from the woman, who kept up
a constant chatter and a steady hold on my other joint.
The only way I could think to escape
the whole scene was to buy something. I chose a Tree of Life painting
with room for two cartouches and asked them to write Kaitlin's name in
hieroglyphics in one space, Jackson's in the other. I thought I was
off the hook. Not so fast, honey, the woman seemed to say, as she
kept her fingers on my elbow and led me away from Lief, telling him we
had woman's business to discuss.
"This Tree of Life is a wonderful
choice, a great keepsake for your family. And if you buy it in a
larger size, you can choose another paper for half-price."
So it continued. By the time
we finally were able to leave, I had six painted papers rolled inside a
canister under my arm.
Still not time for lunch, though.
We made another unscheduled stop to a jewelry shop, where, I'm proud to
report, we managed to get in and out without buying anything. fter
lunch, the Pyramids at Giza, which are big and remarkable but, in some
ways, not as impressive as we'd expected. Perhaps we over-expected.
Modern-day Giza sprawls to their doorstep. All around their bases
lay great boulders that have toppled down from the triangular walls over
time. Many stones are missing, not only because they've fallen to
the ground, but also because, throughout their ancient history, locals
looted them for building materials. The elements, too, of course,
take their toll, and the Egyptian authorities are trying to figure out
how to keep the world wonders from crumbling further and whether or not
to try to restore what remains. They made an effort on one of the
Sphinx's paws. The results aren't quite plaster of Paris over ancient
stonework, but obviously not original either.
It took crews of 100,000 men 20 years
to build a pyramid. The teams worked three-month shifts. Longer
than that, and the risk became great that they'd start falling over dead.
Building pyramids is hard work.
Visiting them can be, too.
The buying opportunities continue, sometimes aggressively. Here,
mostly, you're offered camel rides. Rasha negotiated for us, and
we paid $10 for Kaitlin and Jack to ride together on one of the beasts
down the hill to the smallest of the three pyramids. We drove down to meet
them, taking a dozen photos along the way and recognizing fully that it
doesn't get anymore touristy than that. But the kids loved it.
Next stop, the perfume shop.
Papyrus paper and perfume are the two things, Rasha counseled us, you want
to buy outside the markets. Jewelry and souvenirs, she told us, can
be bought anywhere. Shop for the best price, for the quality is the
same all over. But paper and perfume…these things are notably better
certain places. Possible translation: My commission split is greater for
perfume and paper, so, please, buy these from the shops where I take you.
Our perfume shopping experience was
the climax of the day. We sat down around a small wooden table. Lief,
Kaitlin, and I drank glasses of hibiscus juice; Jack had an Egyptian ice
cream. The young man brought out essential oils, perfumes, and blends,
putting small dabs of each on our fingers and wrists. Again came
the order cards, these showing 47 varieties of fragrances. The guy
asked which perfumes we normally wear and promised he could match the fragrances,
exactly, for a fraction the name-brand cost. He played Guess That
Scent with Kaitlin, who correctly identified Scent #29 as Angel and was
rewarded with a free glass perfume jar.
As soon as the gift was given, I
knew we were done for. No way to escape a purchase. Only thing
to do was to sit back and enjoy the experience.
Which we did. Kaitlin enjoyed
guessing more scents. Jack requested random samples from his order
card--lavender, sandal wood, orange blossom… The guy cheerfully obliged
the 7-year-old's whims.
It was like a live, interactive infomercial.
The young man entertained us with the history of scents and perfumes in
Egypt…details of how the perfumes are made…how they're stored. In
the glass jars, he told us, the essential oils will last 25 years or longer.
A colleague appeared to take Jack
into the next room, where he was promised a "free" gift. Jack out
of earshot, the guy began to describe the aphrodisiac effects of some of
the fragrances. Number 27, he assured Lief, would make it possible
for any man to go "up and down, up and down, up and down" for two hours
or longer.
"I promise you, sir," he explained,
"I know a man with five wives. He keeps them all happy with this."
Lief blushed. I blushed.
Kaitlin laughed.
Jack returned with his free glass
bottle. Now the close. Buy five bottles of fragrances, get
the sixth free. Plus, for a limited time, three free ornamental colored
glass bottles for storage (in addition to the two he'd already "given"
the kids).
"No pressure, sir. I don't push.
I only tell you what is better for you. Six bottles is better, because
then you get one free."
We bought six bottles. Waited
while they and the five glass storage jars were wrapped. Walked out
with our packages under our arms wondering why in the world we'd invested
in decades-worth of essential oils and perfumes.
We paid for the memory, I told Lief
later.
P.S. The Egyptians saw the sun set
every evening then rise the next morning. They thought death would
be like this--you'd go away for a while, then return. They didn't
want to come back unprepared, so they planned well, filling their elaborate
tombs with beds and tables, personal effects, food, wine, games, even mummified
pets. In fact, the ancient Egyptians have been reborn and live on
as one of the world's greatest tourist attractions. Tomorrow, we,
like all the others of our ilk, head south, to Luxor, to the Valleys of
the Kings, Queens, and Nobles, to tour their final resting places and hear
their stories retold.
Meantime, as we're not counting on
a second life, we're trying to make sure this current one isn't cut short.
Before our trip, we were warned about terrorist activity and tourist bombings.
As far as we can tell, though, the real danger in this country is the traffic.
Crossing the street in Cairo is like subjecting yourself to a live game
of Frogger. The traffic comes in a steady stream, unimpeded by stop
lights, street signs, or good sense. No point waiting for a lull;
there are none. Watching others cross, we realized a strategy: Use
the locals as a shield. Position yourself next to them on the far
side of oncoming traffic and run when they run. They don't seem to
mind.
This article previously appeared
in International Living. (http://www.internationalliving.com/egypt/free/03-11-07-cairo.html ) Subscribe to International Living’s free daily e-letter here.
( http://www.internationalliving.com/opt/escape )
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