We woke early and went down around 7:30 to find the manager to rectify our situation. All we found, however, was the desk clerk sleeping behind the desk and the bellboy sleeping on a cot in the lobby. Having been promised breakfast later, we tiptoed out and went to explore the neighborhood.
Our surroundings looked much less ominous in the beautiful day: we were on a quiet street that we decided, like Jordanians, to nickname "Embassy Street" because of all the embassies located there. We strolled behind our hotel and found our "Nile View." A low wall guarded it and a small door led to some crumbling steps tumbling into the river itself. Being the intrepid adventurer I am, I decided the best thing I could do would be climb down said steps. I then decided the other best thing I could do would be actually stick my finger in the water. It was wet. And dirty.
Coming back, we wandered about our "mintaqa" (neighborhood/region/area) for what seemed like a short time. We passed the "Great Cairo Library" - closed for repairs - and more embassies than I cared to count. There were the Algerian, Jordanian, Indian, and European Union - yes, the EU has its own embassy and flag - embassies as well as an embassy for a country I had never heard of before and at least 10 others. We found several restaurants in the area we might like to try sometime as well as a tiny supermarket that was actually open at that hour in the morning. I bought some camera batteries, and was pleasantly surprised - after my careful mental calculations to determine how much I should pay in USD and JD converted to LE - to find that the supermarket had a computer with all the prices. Now, the computer was probably older than a brontosaurus - at least early nineties - and was about as fast as a dehydrated snail, but it listed fair prices and I was happy.
Back at the hotel, we accessed the wi-fi and read the email again carefully before confronting the manager. Ohh, we said painfully. The email said that all payment was upon arrival. So, shamefacedly, we approached the manager to pay. The price, however, was a good 75LE more than we were expecting. The manager explained it was because of the 12% service charge and 10% tax. We accepted it grudgingly and went to eat breakfast. The breakfast consisted of a cup of tea each; one fig jam, butter, and cheese package each; and a basket of bread.
After downing our carbohydrates, we went to catch a cab.
"We don't know the Arabic word for 'pyramids'," Becky pointed out.
"Pffft. We're tourists. We're in Egypt. Even if the cab driver knows no English, he has to know 'pyramids'!" I scoffed.
We hailed a metered cab. "We want to go to the pyramids," we tried.
"No Engleezi." He replied.
"Ureedna an nathahab ila al 'Pyramids'," we tried in FusHa.
He shook his head in confusion. We looked each other in dismay. I tried making a triangle with my hands. "Pyramids?"
He understood.
When we arrived within sight of the pyramids and the entrance, he pointed out the carriages driving by and spoke in rapid Arabic.
"No, no, we don't want one," we tried in both the Egyptian and Jordanian dialects and FusHa. We thought he had understood - but, no. No, he didn't. We soon found ourselves traveling through dirty winding streets lined by crumbling houses, decrepit stables, and starving horses. We pulled into an alley guarded by a man with his camel and two horses.
We asked in Arabic how much the far was: 30LE. We gave him a 50LE and asked for change. No change, no change, he said. We tried to conveigh that we did not want a camel; we did not want a horse. We each had two feet in very good working condition and, by golly, we could walk around those pyramids on our own. He didn't understand.
The man with the camel came over and spoke to the driver. He then spoke to us in very good English, promising us a nice ride around the pyramids on the camel for 75LE each. Becky and I looked at each other. All we wanted was change for our cab fare and to get out and go see the pyramids.
He worked on us, assuring us that the best way to see the sites was on camel or horse back and that he was a very good, respectful person - no hassling- and that it was safe and we would enjoy it and it was only 75LE for everything, and wasn't that a good deal? Worn down, with no way to get to where we wanted to go, we forked over the dough and hopped on camel back and he led us toward the entrance. We never did get our cab fare change.
At the entrance, he asked if we were students; yes, we said. He asked for our student cards and another 30LE to pay for the entrance tickets. We handed them over. He then handed them to another man who had come up and the man disappeared to get our tickets. Some time later he appeared, requesting change, since the bill we had given was too large. We switched around some monies, and the first man went off this time.
In the meantime, we waiting beneath the burning sun. We were the only Westerners there; we had seen no other tourists. Starving and maltreated horses, camels, and donkeys surrounded us; you could see their ribs and hips poking through their worn hides. Now and then, a group of boys would ride by bareback on horses, posting, or trotting, cantering, or downright galloping down the street.
Finally the man returned with our IDs and handed them to the guide, who put them in the ample pockets of his dishdash. We were taken through the entrance, and then on our tour of the land around the pyramids.
They were the pyramids. Not much to tell, really. Large pointy structures sticking out of the sand. There was the Sphinx. Rather crumbly structure, with microcephaly. Also, of course, with leosoma, but that goes without mentioning.
The camel tour finished, we disembarked. I was all for getting our IDs first, but nooo, the guide brought up payment, as I knew would happen. I was all for arguing loudly with him and calling over the tourist police; my other plan was to sweetly hold out some money, get my ID back and then run. My friend, however, quite wisely probably, paid him and we were on our way to walk on foot around the ancient structures.
There were demanding touts everywhere, but very few tourists, which made us quite the target. Still, the worst thing that happened was a man came over and started re-doing my friend's scarf. She told him, no, no, I don't have any money. He said, oh, no money. He said, come take a picture with me. No money. I reluctantly took a picture. He then demanded 5LE from her, for which she didn't have change. I came over and did my best to tell her just to leave and then I told him in Arabic to stop being a liar and a cheat, but that didn't really help things. He just ignored me completely. She finally threw 10LE at him just to get him to leave her alone. I had offered her 1LE (a coin) to actually throw at him instead of the 10LE bill, but she didn't take it.
We then went to take more pictures - without any pushy "Bedouins" in them. I laughed at the teenage boy on the camel trying to intrude himself in my pictures. "Take a picture of me! I'm a bedouin!" I rolled my eyes and walked on.
Finally tired of picture taking, we walked into the town to find a bus I had heard would run back to the center of town so we could visit the Egyptian Museum. After not finding a bus, we stopped in a tiny store to buy some drinks and get directions to the bus. They didn't have change, so the little girl ran across the street to get some from a neighboring restaurant. We only overpaid for the drink by 2 or 3 LE or so.
The restauranteur came over as a "microbus" approached. A mix of our English with some Arabic, and we were on the microbus, going to "the metro" for only 2LE/person.
This, my friends, was an experience.
It wasn't like the larger microbuses in Jordan, with a two-bench seat on one side and a single chair by the window on the other; it was an old actual bench-seated bus. We got into the back and took our ride to "the metro," the wonder of all who surveyed us. I guess American tourists don't often ride in this form of public transport.
We arrived at "the metro," in a much shorter time than we thought it should take to reach downtown Cairo from Giza. We exited the bus and sat on a retaining wall, puzzling over my map and the surroundings. Just when we thought we had it figured out, we realized that this mysterious "metro" of which everyone had been speaking was actually a "metro" like in New York - an actual tram/train to take us from place to place!
This, my friends, was a discovery.
We followed the crowds of people up to the station entrance and found a map. My amazing friend read it correctly and got up pointed in the right direction - the directions are based off the stop at the very ends. We purchased our 1LE tickets and entered the station. Without incident, we exited at Sadat Station. Above us, we could hear the roaring noise of the city. Thinking little of it, we maneuvered our way through the tunnels and finally came to an exit.
In case you didn't know, Sadat Station is located just off Midan Tahrir. "Midan" means "square." As in "Tahrir Square."
So, guess where we found ourselves Friday after prayers? Guess where, of all the places in Egypt I did *not* want to visit we got to cover in our first full day in Cairo? If you guessed Tahrir Square, you wouldn't be that far from the truth.
The full truth is, we did everything in our power to avoid Tahrir Square proper - kept our heads down, walked quickly, and did not pause to buy any of the cheap knicknacks commemorating the spirit of the place or to give our statements to any of the television cameras and reporters around. The crowd wasn't thick where we were, and we quickly got out of range of the noise and crowds and were soon enjoying a leisurely stroll along the still and tree-lined streets of Cairo. We walked tow Midan Talaat Harb, where we found a restaurant at which we wanted to eat - but it was just the noon rush, and we were waved away because they were full.
More wandering about and we eventually established that I am a terrible map reader and we eventually found our final destination: the Egyptian Museum. We had a small adventure crossing the street - but fortunately, there wasn't much vehicular traffic due to the protest.
A nice man approached us as we entered the gate. "Are you looking for the entrance to the museum? It's closed today, due to the protests. But the government bazaar and papyrus shop just across the street there is open! It's a government shop, so it's really good quality and good prices, too, you know. Here, let me show you."
My friend followed him out to the street, and I went silently protesting. I pulled her over when we reached the sidewalk and explained that it was a common scam to get people to go to the (overpriced) nearby store for which the scam artist would get a commission. We decided to go back and at least walk past the entrance. We were paused at the main gate by a group of soldiers who told us it was closed. We accepted their word for it and told them we wanted to enter just to go walk along the Corniche (street along the Nile).
We walked along the Nile, fending off the felucca owners, and crossed the 6th of October bridge onto Zamalek. Finally breaking down to my friend's please, we got a cab to take us back to the hotel for the rest of the afternoon, where we could rest for a bit before dinner.
Dinner this evening was at the amazing Abou El-Sid, which is, according to my guide book: "a sumptuous orientalist fantasy of a restaurant-bar, the uber-hip Abou El-Sid serves traditional Egyptian food to wannabe pashas amid moody and low-hanging lamps, oversized cushions and brass tables. Reservations are a must, darling. Look for the massively tall wooden doors." It was all correct, except for the necessary reservations part. It was busy, but not packed to the rafters. After wandering about for awhile (further establishing my map-reading abilities), we found the massive wooden doors - firmly closed. We waited, and then followed a group of older British looking tourists as they stepped up to the door and actually opened them.
Inside, the atmosphere was amazing. The lighting was low, and the chairs were sumptuous. I had roast pigeon - eating it presented a challenge, but I asseverate that it was the best meat I've tasted in my life. My friend had some sort of meatballs, and we shared bread and rice in a sort of green spinachy-sauce. It was delicious beyond belief and relaxing in the gorgeous restaurant was incredible.
Finding someone that would let us pay, however, was a little more difficult. After finishing, we did manage to catch the waiter's eye and he removed our dishes. However, we could not, it seemed, catch anyone's eye to allow us to pay and leave. We enjoyed waiting there, though, as we watched no fewer than four tables finish and leave without learning their secret for bidding the waiting to get the check. Finally, just before we made a final desperate dash to the door in the assumption that it was 'on the house,' I saw a waiter and I gesticulated wildly in the air, making the international "air-check writing" symbol. He understood. We were soon finally on our way back to the hotel to rest.
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