the mystery of my bowab's wives: solved?

i'm wondering where this relationship is going to go. friendly greetings again this morning when i arrived, an hour late (long night last night + boss out of town = ignored alarm clock). When I go out to lunch the older, chubby wife is sweeping the stairwell. She points at me and then her mouth, miming eating. I'm saved by the elevator.

When I get back she's sitting at the lobby desk and she beckons me over. She shows me a callous on a knuckle and I make an empathetic sad face. Then, with some effort, she lifts up her leg and rests it on a box. Her foot and ankle are hugely swollen and covered in dark splotches. She tells me she wants money to go to the hospital. I feel bad for this barefoot, middle aged woman, probably far from her family in a rural village, but I'm leary of how far this will go if I start giving her money. I handed her ten pounds (about two dollars) and she kind of makes a face, like she knows I know it's not very much, but she's not going to turn cash away. Finally the elevator arrives.

my love affair with the bowab's wives

Most buildings in cairo have a bowab, a doorman, who generally comes from upper egypt and lives with his family in a small room off the lobby. chez nous is a fancy building, so we have several bowabs, car parkers and security guards, none of whom live in the building. however, my office building is more traditional and the bowab is usually hanging around, greeting people emphatically and figuring out which floor the elevator has stalled on. there are usually a few women around too, but I'm bad with faces so I can't keep track of them except for by their outfits, which, understandably, change. I know there are a least two because I saw them separately today. I had a short conversation with one of them outside the building and she professed her love for me and told me to tell her if there was anything I wanted. After thanking her and going inside, I passed the second wife, who, as usual, blew me a kiss. Egypt is great for making you feel like a ladies' woman!

new friends!

for once i was looking forward to teaching yoga (i'm subbing for tori's twice-weekly classes at the grand hyatt, a luxurious hotel with a yoga studio overlooking the nile) and had worked out a few good sequences, so for once i was disappointed when nobody showed up. in an excellent display of willpower i did the routine by myself, and was in a great mood afterwards. i left the hotel around 7 and decided to walk up the corniche and catch a taxi at the bridge to zamalek. suddenly, a guy bumped into me and i jumped. he apologized in english with a hint of an accent, and after a short pause he struck up conversation. Turns out that he and his friend were not egyptian, but indian, and had met here for a vacation. Jim was currently living in Rome and Ashish in Singapore. They asked me where they could buy sunglasses and I ended up leading them downtown. After some haggling we rewarded ourselves with a beer, then I found myself going to dinner with them at Sequoia, a very stylish restaurant on the northern tip of Zamalek. Both guys were good conversationalists and the three of us peppered one another with questions. I've been really interested in India since reading The White Tiger, by Aravind Adiga (which I highly recommend) and a blog by an australian woman living in Mumbai with her indian husband, whiteindianhousewife.com. Over dinner I got to hear about how the caste system affects modern day life in India, and their outlooks on arranged marriages versus love marriages. I'm hoping to meet up with them again before they leave Egypt.

santa came to cairo

Another workweek! When the clock finally strikes five I headed out to buy a couple things to supplement Alex's christmas presents. We hadn't brought the gifts to Israel with us, and decided instead to go for a private sail on a felucca (boat on the nile) bring dinner and exchange. I took a taxi to the northern side of Zamalek, looking for a tiny, easy-to-miss shop with organic, made-in-egypt soaps and essential oils. I drifted down the street, occasionally asking for directions, and ignoring the guy who told me he knew the shop and it was probably closed, as I had called and asked the hours that morning. Finally, I accepted defeat and started trudging back home. When I stopped to buy water at a little shop the man asked me if I managed to find the shop - it was the same man I'd seen farther down the street. I mentioned that I was annoyed because I had spoken to the owner and he told me that she lived across the street, and her driver happened to be outside right now. He came over, they chatted, and then the driver led me back across the street where the owner, a middle-aged woman, was standing outside! She wouldn't open the shop for me, but told me that they had a kiosk at a mall in Giza that was still open. A long taxi ride later, success.

I beat Alex home and chatted with friends from home, who were anticipating a major blizzard. Alex arrived bearing bread and began systematically toasting while listening to Buddy Holly, both in cheerful, excited moods. Finally two loaves had been toasted, wine was chilling in an insulated lunchbox, and presents were packed in a big backpack. Real Christmas was set to start.

Alex and I needn't have worried about the other not liking the presents: the things we got each other were IDENTICAL. Each of us received a bathrobe (mine pink, his white) and moisturizing cream (mine from israel, his from egypt). We were delighted and toasted each other with multiple glasses of a 2005 white wine. After a two hour cruise, it was time to go home and continue the celebration.

do they know it's christmastime at all?

Alex and I took last Thursday off and Weds night after work we met up by his office and headed out of Cairo by car, alongside what felt like ten million other people. We had stocked up on Haribo and my iPod battery was full, so the five hour drive through the Sinai passed quickly. The plan was to find somewhere to leave the car, walk across the border and then take a taxi to our hotel in downtown Eilat. Unfortunately, parking on the street was a towable offense and hotel lots were incredibly expensive. We drove around looking for a better deal, turned down a tour guide's offer to watch the car, the keys and the drivers license for three days, and eventually gave up and parked at a hotel, which required much more paperwork than reserving a room. Then, we joined three busloads of Russian tourists in crossing the border. Alex breezed through the three checkpoints but for some reason I was marked as a higher security risk and got searched and questioned. We read Roald Dahl aloud to each other while waiting on the lines and finally got to Eilat just after 4 am.

The next morning we hit up the breakfast buffet and were slightly dismayed at what we found. Tuna salad, egg salad, unidentifiable vegetable salad, one kind of bread and margarine. I hadn't even met an Israeli yet and already I was suspicious of them. After picking at our bread and coffee, we met up with Alex's sister Laurence and went over to their hotel. Laurence, her boyfriend Mikael and his two kids were staying in a huge hotel on the water, in a suite that a friend of theirs owned and had lent to them for the week. It had a balcony that was bigger than most hotel rooms, a hot tub and a view of the mountains in Jordan and Egypt. We took in the view while the kids put on their bathing suits and then headed to the beach. which, aside from a ten foot stretch of sand, was covered in sharp pebbles. Beach, lunch, pool, hot tub, shopping, and finally dinner. Apparently Eilat is a vacation destination for french jews, and for this reason Mikael was constantly greeting by clients and friends (he's a lawyer). This demographic also means that there are plenty of classy stores and restaurants. Laurence and Mikael rushed around the mall buying last-minute presents for us, and Alex and I wandered around, salivating at McDonald's (to our credit, it was already 9 pm.)

Finally we went back to the beach and had dinner at an incredible Italian restaurant. Both boys fell asleep midway through the meal, one still clutching the phone he had been playing with. We eventually said goodnight and agreed to meet at 7:30 the next morning for our trip to the Dead Sea. Our first stop was Masaada, the remains of an ancient fortress on a hill and the site of a mass suicide in 66 AD, where one leader gave a speech that evidently convinced 1,000 people that they'd rather die than be enslaved by the Romans. We watched a short film that told the story, which was in English, and I was hesitant about fully translating it to the kids, who were 9 and 7. They didn't seem fazed by what they heard; after the gondola ride to the top of the mountain they climbed everything they could and fought in a way that would have made the Romans proud.

At Masaada there were a lot of Israeli tourists, who, I'm sorry to say, are loud and pushy. On line for our ride back down from the mountain, the woman in front of us, whose halter top exposed a pimply, hairy back, incessantly initiated group songs and shouting. When our younger boy, Eli, put his hand through the bars to touch the gondola, Laurence got scared and scolded him. The Israeli woman couldn't stop herself from getting in out the action, patting his hand and jabbering at them in Hebrew. Back at the entrance, there were more than 50 people doing traditional dances to folk music blasting from a speaker, which was actually pretty cool, and Alex tried in vain to convince us to join in. Hungry and grumpy, we left to put salt in our wounds at the Dead Sea.

It was definitely a bizarre experience. The sea water stung a little, especially wherever you had a cut. And sure enough, once we lifted our legs, we floated easily on the surface. I thought the water was cold and used my birthday as an excuse to cling to Alex's neck in an attempt to keep out of the water. The sea put up a good fight against my heft, but Alex got a mouth full of salty water. Meanwhile, the kids splashed each other until Eli got it in the eye and started sobbing. Minutes later, Etan joined him, also in tears. Laurence dropped her camera by the water's edge, and we decided it was time to go.

The next stop was some nearby buckets of mud, which we used to paint one another's bodies. The boys cheered up enough to cover Alex in war paint. To remove the mud, there were steaming hot sulfur water showers. To remove the sulfur there was freezing cold fresh water. Part of me suspects the fresh-water showers were maintained at that temperature to enourage people not to linger.

We drove the two hours back to Eilat, took long, hot, luxurious showers, and regrouped for dinner at a highly recommended seafood restaurant, complete with chocolate cake and a rendition of Happy Birthday in french. The next day was our last, and Alex and I started it off with massages at the fancy hotel's spa. Then we met the others at the beach, and I taught the boys a card game and watched them try to out-cheat each other and appeal to me to referee. Even after a few hours of cards I still thought they were cute. We ate a late lunch at a Thai restaurant, then headed back to the suite to exchange presents. The boys seemed mildly interested in the toys from Egypt, and I got some nice lotion, perfume, a travel clock and a loose tea strainer. We said our goodbyes and then Alex and I did a couple of hours of supermarket-sweep style shopping. I treated myself to a pair of Ugg boots that cost more than the rent on my last two apartments, as well as jeans, shirts and sweaters - I'm afraid my entire first paycheck will be handed over to Alex.

We passed through the borders quickly this time, and I interrupted a young female officer who was flirting with Alex - telling him he was pretty and asking how to say it in french! Once back in the car I amused myself by teasing the border patrol, claiming I didn't have enough money to pay the entrance fee and could he please hurry up? The poor guy ran to the station and back, and I forced some oreos on him for his trouble.

Again, the car ride passed quickly and pleasantly, with Alex and I wearing one Ugg each. I think I know what I'll be getting him for his next birthday, if he can wait that long. We made it home by 1am, where we were faced with the biggest mess of a bedroom I think I've ever seen. You would have thought we had been packing for a trip around the world. We threw everything that was on the bed in the closet, and so Christmas ended for the year.

sunday dec 19 to tues 22

first week at work! it's been ages since i've had a 9-5... actually, never - my office jobs were always 10-6, and the last one ended in january 2009. at my last magazine i made my own hours and then taught private and group lessons that i scheduled myself. it feels good to be on a full-time schedule, but it feels even better when i get in a taxi headed home on Sharl de Gool Street (french -> arabic -> transliterated english) and get to relax and look at all the funny things i can see out the window, like a cat happily skipping down the street with a plastic bag of food in its mouth.

my office is in dokki, just across the river from our apartment in zamalek. dokki is a typical cairo neighborhood: narrow, crowded streets, trash strewn everywhere, small shops and kiosks and lots of students marauding around, the occasional sweet potato vender. the office is on the eighth floor and is relatively modern (no toilet paper in the tiny, wet bathroom though), with views of the nile. my boss explains his vision of the magazine we're to create together, leaving me wondering how we're ever going to get enough content. a week later, he's MIA and i still haven't met either of the 1.5 writers who are allegedly working for us. it makes me wonder how long the whole venture will last and if i should stay in touch with the other contacts i made during my job search. my coworkers are friendly, most of the girls are veiled but all are stylish.

i know i should be calling all the ad agencies and creative boutiques in cairo to introduce the magazine and ask them to send us information on their latest campaigns, but i've been putting it off... i hate making phone calls. i'm surprised to have found myself in a position that requires actual reporting. so far i've done one interview and was pleasantly surprised by how low-stress it was. now i've got to transcribe it, but my recorder insists on playing back a high-speed version of the interview! i need to get an engineer on the case.

as it was the week before christmas, we had several nights out drinking with friends in seedy downtown bars before they left to visit their families. on tuesday evening alex and spontaneously decided to get a tree and found some for sale a couple of blocks away. real christmas trees were astronomically expensive (LE 2000, or ~400 dollars) but we got a pretty decent lookalike for about $16. The only letdown is when I burrow my face in it - it's not a fir, so no smell of piney needles and hazy colored lights from up-close bulbs. Alex slings it over his shoulder and haul it back home. There, he magically summons ornaments and we decorate while listening to christmas music. We are just about finished when our roommate Nico get home, and the three of us settle down in the living room, next to the tree, for a feast of foie gras and white wine and a french cult classic film, la cite de la peur.