American Girl Living in Cairo, Egypt
I was living in Egypt, and I didn’t speak Arabic. So, I did what I always do. I relied on gestures to communicate. Sometimes, google translate. A hand wave here, a head nod there. Generally enough to get the message across. Life in Egypt was a lot like my life in South Italy. Beautiful, organized chaos.
My fiancé (at the time) was working at the US Embassy in Cairo, and so I travelled from the US to visit for weeks at a time. Cairo doesn't have a whole lot in common with California, except for maybe palm trees and Uber. We had a palatial apartment in Maadi, not too far from the Nile. Locals refer to Maadi as the ‘tree-lined, leafy suburb of Cairo.’ The apartment was too big for my taste, so big that we kept a skateboard in the bedroom as transport to the living room. We had a doorman. Hired drivers. A maid. We used delivery service for everything. As a minimalist, it was a lot for me. But, the exchange rate was 19 LE to 1 USD, so we justified overspending as a nod to the local economy.
Most mornings, I walked to the local gym. The short walk there was always…colorful. Piles of trash fused with beautiful spring blooms. Littered train tracks and sheet metal forts stacked beside a Peet’s coffee shop with American decor. One time, a four car accident happened right in front of me. Another time, a stranger slowed his truck and trailed me for five blocks. I learned to navigate the roundabouts, where pedestrians definitely don’t have the right-away. Everyday, I fought the urge to scoop up one of the many feral kittens wandering the street and bring it home. Rolling blackouts were common then, and there were days I arrived to a locked gym with a handwritten note on the door. خارج السلطة. Power out. I marveled at the culture and confusion of it all.
We made the most of our time there. We explored the pyramids. Rode camels through the desert. Sailed on the Nile, walked the Corniche. Roamed the streets of Khan al Khalil, the hanging church and garbage city. Road tripped to El Gouna, swam with dolphins in the Red Sea. Chased light along the columns of Karnak, watched sunset from the rooftop terrace at Bangali. Sailed on a pirate ship from Ras Muhammad to an island, rode horses along shores of the Sinai. Rumbled down dirt roads in Wadi Degla. Climbed steps to the temple of Hatshepsut, floated in hot air balloons over Valley of the Kings. Sunrise in Sharm-el-Sheikh. Cocktails at the Ritz, shisha at the Sofitel. Dinner at the Mövenpick, black tie at the Four Seasons. Poolside by day, party at night. I even had my own Egyptian mobile number, and I learned a little Arabic along the way. Not enough to get by.
Me + Chelsea
Me + Chelsea
People were friendly, and infinitely curious. One time at the Egyptian Museum, a school girl asked for a photo. One photo turned into twenty, and soon we were surrounded by an entire class. They followed us down the hall and we had to duck around the corner into a side room just to lose them. At a mosque in the old city, some friends and I snapped a quick photo together and suddenly found ourselves in a sea of strangers wielding cameras and smart phones, asking for selfies. As an introvert, it could be overwhelming. I took pictures with so many people in Egypt, I lost count.
Somewhere in there, I survived immigration in Tahrir Square. Escorted by an embassy hire, I passed through security and entered into the depths of downtown. So many people. Pushing. Shoving. Shouting. I was the only blonde as far as I could tell. Most of the women wore hijabs. Some of them, burkas. I remember wishing I had at least worn black.
My escort Muhammad spoke a few words to various people and we managed to bypass the enormous entry queues. I should have covered my hair. Men stared, one even reached out and touched it as I passed. Had I been alone, I would have turned back and left. The immigration building was at least 100 years old, and it showed. One hundred years of shuffled steps. Filed and forgotten papers. Stories untold. We climbed the stairs and turned down a hallway of plastic windows, each of them crowded by what seemed like thirty to forty people. Crying babies. The elderly. The young. Muhammad tried one queue, and then another. All the way to number 48. The agent offered some information and then sent us away. Downstairs, to get a photocopy of my passport. A quick passing of money and back up the stairs, again through the crowds. I felt like I was at a concert, only sober. Back at window 48, the teller passed a thick application through the cracked plastic barrier. I used a nearby stone wall to prop up the stack, and did my best to make sense of the empty blanks. Just below my name, they wanted to know my religion. I didn’t say.
After that paperwork, more paperwork. Another line. Then, some news. I needed 570 LE for a 30 day visa. I fumbled around looking for cash, but came up short. The price was higher than expected. Another trip to the bank, where we tried to stay close despite separate lines for men and women. I thought it comical, considering how many people were there. Everyone smashed in shoulder to shoulder, regardless of gender. I turned to Muhammad and asked, ‘but what is the point?’ No real response, just a nervous laugh. It was a question that demanded deeper response, and I had asked too casually. Together, we climbed the stairs once more to the hall of plastic windows. More news. A signature was needed, and I should return the next day. To try again. I remember wanting to scream, but I didn't. I archived it as some kind of adventure instead. In a strange way, chaos was becoming my friend.
Another time, I had a wild allergic reaction. From what, I still don’t know. It was so bad, the hotel had to phone the emergency physician at midnight. I needed injections immediately. I pulled down my pants, and closed my eyes. I hate needles. Five injections in my left cheek. It was so painful, I almost passed out. The next morning, another round. That time I passed out. In Egypt, I felt lost many times. Many, many times. I laughed. I danced. I cried.
In a lot of ways, I searched high and low for things that would remind me of home. In searching, I learned a lot about myself, and what it means to truly step outside my comfort zone. I found that once I looked past the immediate chaos, Egypt was indescribably charming. The people were amazing. The novelty was intoxicating. There is a natural beauty and magic about this place that continues to stand the test of time. That is the Egypt I choose to see, and the one I carry with me.
