Getting Ready to Move and Travel Plans

So, we're project people. No sooner have we finished up school and finally don't have any deadlines overhead, and we're already on to a new project... this time, the move. Plus, we're doing a farewell European road trip through France and Italy.

The Move. We saved all our boxes. I know my Scottish Grandmother would be proud: the plaid blood, as my mother calls it, makes it difficult to throw things away. And, boxes are useful! So thanks to our good fortune of having a storage unit in the basement, we kept them. We'll be donating a lot of clothes and such to the second-hand shop Myrorna, I think, and then deciding what we really need to take with us. Everything else must go.

The Trip. I feel pretty good about this one. Besides our great luck in getting to Paris, we've a friend's wedding in Bordeaux, a road trip through Carcassonne to Antibes, a little of Provence and a last night in Nice. Then we're taking a train to Florence for a few days, another wedding at a villa in Tuscany, then meeting friends from the US for a few days in Rome! Since this is our last big trip before leaving Sweden behind, plus the last vacation sans children I think it's fitting that it's a bit over the top. What do you think? It sounds fabulously bougie. I'm worried that my pants aren't tight enough.

Figuring out the details today was pretty exciting. I know the next few weeks will rush by us. Then it will be late July and we'll be gone. We're sad to leave Stockholm, but excited to return home. We have something like just 20 days of meals and dishwasher runs left in our apartment. Have to think of all the food we'll have to eat, and what dishes to box up. Finally, what the heck do we do with all this peanut butter!? Anne has amassed quite the stash. We'll have to parcel it out to worthy expats...

Off to the store

We're having people over for dinner and to watch Melodifestivalen tonight. What can we say, we've adapted? But accordingly, we're making food for more than our customary two, and had to conglomerate the ingredients with stops to Lidl, ICA, Coop. You know, good value-for-money, and to get us out of the house.

We were in a looooong line in a naaaaaaaaaarrow shop (befitting city living), and so checked out the other people in line. We couldn't help but notice the poor little girl screaming cutely at the top of her lungs. Yes, somehow it's cuter when it's in Swedish instead of our native tongue.

What I found remarkable was her father's response. He calmly walked her back to where she'd found the Pink Unobtainium and made her put it back. I really admired and respected what that took, and thought I'd award him my mental: Parent of the Day. He was like a Zen monk. And she quieted a little as he picked her up.

We had just been talking about parenting at a fika this week, and how sad it is that kids are drowned in presents every Christmas. And I get it, parents get sucked in to it. So this resistant father gets my Tip Of the Hat. My description doesn't give you the sense of the master bargaining skills this little girl was employing, "det är dåligt, snälla snälla snälla...ja vill ha..." but it was impressive. I am a sentimental sort, and I couldn't help but think that although she didn't know it, that little girl had everything she needs.

I guess it's un-Swedish to notice someone else's business in public, but having seen kids get smacked around in stores before, it's nice to see an example of the other side of the spectrum.

Jan 5, 2011

Day 18

Last day. 10 hours of sleep, yet feeling a cold coming on, I was glad for the chance to take it slow and easy. We really were quite fortunate with the way things worked out the whole trip. Our last breakfast with Turkish Coffee which is exquisite as it is miniscule meant that tomorrow would be greeted with our customary Swedish carafe at home, and lots of it. After two weeks of Nescafe we won’t know how to behave!

The TV had what could’ve been anything but probably was more talk of the New Years attack on a Coptic Church in Alexandria, which killed more than 20 people. I’m sad about the news, which is disturbing, and shocked by how ignorant we can be of it all in our vacation bubble. Life goes on and the world keeps turning. Our experience in Egypt was completely divorced of any that kind of unpleasantness, but as I sold many insurance policies saying, “It only has to happen Once to you, personally for it to suck.” Eloquent, I know. The sad irony is that for us, every mention of the Coptic Church was married to how peaceful the coexistence was between Christians and Muslims: mosques and churches across the street from each other as a metaphor.

We didn’t wander for today, but played it conservative. No ambitious plans as the hour-long cab rides would’ve jeopardized our timely arrival to Cairo Int’l. Instead, Anne shopped the United Colours of Benetton and loaded up on random grocery items while I nursed my sniffles with a massive OJ. But nothing tastes as vibrant as the oranges we had on the felucca--new sense memories, and a new benchmark.

I felt completely relaxed on the cab ride out of town, in contrast with the one in. The city has become more familiar now, and everyday life goes on for the 20 million inhabitants. Early on, our group had tried to decipher what the honk patterns meant (2 short honks might mean, "Hello, on your left!" whereas 4 or 5 long ones meant "Get the f%$&* out of the way"). On the cab ride to the airport, I tried to figure the number of car honks per kilometer, and figured something like 25 million a day. Must have custom horn repair shops, as a busted one would render a driver mute. Surely a violation of free speech.

We’ll never forget this trip, and after coming to Egypt I sincerely hope that it continues to improve. Cairo reminds me of Seoul from about 20 years ago, and there are Hyundai’s everywhere. I hope that along with the lifting economy, the people can be led by what Lincoln called the better angels of our nature. Ma’a el salama.

Jan 4, 2011

Day 17

On the sleeper train to Cairo. We opted to upgrade from the way we traveled south in order to return north with the added luxury of lying flat. Which was quite nice, and the bathrooms were a big improvement. Although these things sound “high-maintenance”, call us picky. Getting back to our last full day in Cairo refreshed and restored was another added benefit.

You have to just give over to Cairo traffic during cab rides... it has to be experienced to be understood. Words can’t describe the chaos, the clamor, the random donkey carts and pedestrians in death-defying acts, and I cringe to think of how an ambulance would arrive or depart in time should someone meet an ill fate.

We ventured out with Mike & Jess who had also upgraded to sleeper. A quick consult of our trusty Footprints guide and we hopped a cab (flagged by the hotel, no hassle) to Al-Qala-at Salah al-Din, or the Citadel, founded in 1172 by none other than Salah al-Din. But even on the trip across town our impressions began to shift.

“We are so over Cairo,” we had said to each other wearily.

After the bucolic and pharaonic wonders we’d seen in the desert sands and along the banks of the Nile, the prospect of such a honking, heaving, smoke-belching metropolis seemed a particularly unpleasant way to end our visit. But we were wrong. Crossing the river, we prepared ourselves for more of the same as we went through Downtown... which shocked me by how silent it was; calm, and gorgeous architecturally a blend of old and new builds as we continued westward. Coming up the ridge to Al-Burg we marveled at the view of Cairo and debarked the cab feeling already more enamored with our exploration.

The Citadel was magnificent. It was a clear(ish) calm day and we sat at a cafe with a terrace commanding Coptic Cairo, Giza, and the Mosque of Sultan Hassan. In the distance, the hazy view of the stepped pyramid was an awe-inspiring addition to the context and layers of history.

We then made our way north. Just when you feel that you’ve gotten enough of haggling, behold the Khan el-Kahlili. The granddaddy of markets since 1322. (We had to skip the Military Museum due to time: each cab ride took an hour, regardless of destination, it seemed.)

Getting down to the Blue Mosque dumped us into a thousand-year old warren of streets time forgot. We weren’t ready for it. After getting turned off by the prospect of haggling for a charity donation “for the children” (I’ll donate to UNICEF instead), we caravan/convoy marched out way out... a “grueling” 600 meters to be sure, but through uncertain neighborhoods, it was anxiety-inducing. We were confronted by sights, smells, sounds... and our own fears and prejudices. We were fine. It was just a true old neighborhood with life’s shoe repairmen, butchers, spice shops, scooters, puddles of dubious provenance, the acrobatics of balancing boards of bread on one’s head, wood-fired ovens roasting sweet potatoes, ladies selling corn by the ear, kittens, and the Khan.

The architecture is breathtaking. The twists and turns reminded me both of Venice (from our cosmopolitan travels), and the video game rendition of Damascus in Assassins Creed (from my more banal adventures, couchside). Arches, screens, mosques in striped bricks, cornices, towers, tunnels and stalls: I must’ve really fallen in love then.

And we must have hit the streets on a quiet day, if anything we had less hassle than in Aswan or Luxor, but maybe that’s just because we’re more seasoned. The bazaar was just hitting nightfall and seemed sparkling and mysterious and unending.

The cab back was supposed to be a pit-stop before heading out to an evening of belly dancing (seemed the thing to do, right?), but after another hour of congested traffic and CONSTANT HONKING and the impression of too much carbon monoxide intake, we were ready to cash our chips in early. A chance run in with Scott & James meant we could enjoy our last evening together of fuul, kebab and mango juice so pulpy you’d have to floss. Saying goodbye was hard, but if we tour like this again... maybe India.

There always be more opportunities, but I was also jealous that we weren’t joining the 5am departure to Sinai and Jordan for the next leg. When they proposed a late night of clubbing at Buddha Bar... we were happy to be in bed by 9:30. Old married folks.

View of Cairo from the Citadel

 

Jan 3, 2011

Day 16

An early start, 5am, ends our first night of sleep indoors. But after a quick breakfast and tea on a water taxi across to the West Bank of the Nile, we prepared for take-off: hot air balloons over the Valley of the Kings. I was thrilled. It was incredible! Before we started we could see a candy-jar armada floating away, and on the ground were workers and trucks scrambling about. We got to watch as six balloons were prepped at once and I couldn’t help it: Flight of the Valkyries was playing on my mental shuffle.

I have always wanted to ride in an air balloon, since they fly over our apartment in Stockholm... Nej, earlier. Since my Trapper Keeper days with a giant multi-colored balloon photo on the cover. I remember that my aunt had described to me that take-off and riding in a balloon felt like floating, and once the billowing flame had sent ripples up the fabric of the craft fewer and fewer of the ground crew held the frame of the basket. Sure enough, rising into the air seemed the most natural thing in the world. I couldn’t help the backwards impression that the ground was falling away. Anne said it seemed no different than flying in a plane.

Valley of the Kings (or Queens, or Nobles?)

After we gained a bit of altitude, however, I felt decidedly uneasy whereas Anne blithely leaned over the edge and remarked how high we were. Two different experiences? You betcha.

We could not take a decent photo. It was slightly hazy and anyway, nothing is comparable to the actual experience of seeing it all. Karnak laid out bellow with its massive 50 acres (0.2 sq km), the crumbling Colossi of Ramses with their ant-like visitors, and the unusual architectural departure from pylons of the tiered temple of Hat-Cheap-Suit. The Valley of the Kings was laid out like a Lego set that we could reach out and reassemble.

As we drifted, I came around and dared look over at the donkeys and workers in the fields below which thawed into wonder as we skimmed the palm trees thanks to a little bit of showing off from our pilot. A farmer curmudgeonly complained at our arrival so instead of putting down on his crop two of the ground crew walked our basket over to a clear spot--lighter than air!

Our group (minus 3)

To give him the t-shirt, or not to give him the t-shirt. So strange. 

There were children begging and complimentary t-shirts, a bizarre juxtaposition. And as we walked to our transport we saw workers uncovering yet another temple. Extraordinary!

The triangular peak of the Valley really does put one in mind of a great pyramid, and so was a fitting place for the Kings of Thebes to choose as a burial: first up high, then digging deep below. Alas, none proved defensible to thieves. They were all robbed. (I wonder if later Phaorohs were responsible, a Dept of the Treasury for the next funeral mask?) Except, one obscure and undiscovered until 1922. All we have is the mere 4,000+ artifacts of that nobody, Tutankhamen. (Seti I would have been a real find.)

The tombs of Ramses I, III and Merenptah were magnificent, and worth descending 140m to explore. Finally, we get to see hieroglyphics in full, vibrant color as they were meant to be seen. Sorry, they don't allow picture-taking in the Valley (camera flashes can deteriorate the paint.) But the in-tact painted walls put into perspective all the the sandstone-colored temples we’d gawked at, most of the paint worn off. With our stately elder egyptologist’s deft descriptions the pharaohs' funeral monuments came alive once more. It’s a feat of the imagination to mentally fill in all the patches and decipher the cryptic characters on the walls. Strangely, I was put in mind of nothing so much as comic books: stories told in panels of mythic super beings...

From high flights of fancy to lowly reality--we took donkey rides down out of the Valley of the Kings, a full 7 kilometers through the desert and villages. Cairo scooter jockeys got nuthin’ on us: try straddling and steering a beast with no throttle and no stirrups as giant honking tour buses whiz by. Once we’d descended the hills things improved after one final harrowing intersection, a donkey sans rider (she fell face-first over the donkey onto the pavement), a painfully sore bottom and steed behind mine amorously attempting to mount mid-gallop. Our pace slowed and we weaved through fields and villages which lead one to wonder, upon seeing the irrigation canals, just how long these stretches had supported life. 8,000 years? More?

This was before the Donkey Ride of Death started. 

“Stop Donkey. Go Donkey. Good Donkey”

Steering is a matter of willpower, but speed (including zero) is impossible. Despite all this, and including one lady from another tour doing a face plant after an untimely pothole for which we couldn’t stop (“Whoa, Donkey”), we made it to a refreshing, delicious, traditional Egyptian meal. And there was beer. It’s amazing how soothing a cushion and a drink can be, especially after looking Death in the eye.

Another water taxi and were free to experience the Open Air Museum of Luxor one last time. I was tired of the unsolicited hassle for taxi’s and advice I didn’t want. (mish ayyiz) So I had to remember to take things easy, chill out and embrace the cultural experience... a mango smoothie aided immeasurably. We ran into our friends in the souk, or bazaar. I was the recipient of some more accidental haggling that resulted in a scarf I did like (bargaining thanks to Mike). We were treated to an unwelcome tour of the bazaar to a part we didn’t want to see...the real souk (not the sanitized tourist version) Beware of anything free, which in Egypt is especially true.

The Nile at Luxor

After finding Luxor Museum (new, beautifully curated) and dodging the touts by taking the waterfront, we met for one last meal with the whole tour group. They were an incredible bunch that we’d gladly travel with again. We went for a night cap at the regal Winter Palace, and then the “my kind of scum” dive bar around the corner. Talk about a “union of opposites”! Egypt certainly contains contrasts.

Jan 2, 2011

Day 15

We woke up to our last breakfast on the boat and bid our crew goodbye. Think we were all sad to see our boat life go and shocked at riding in a vehicle with wheels again.

After 4 days camping on the Nile (again, without showers or toilets!)

Pop, like that, the bubble bursts and the spell was broken.

A luxury tuk-tuk?

The area of Kom Ombo is known for its sugar cane production, which meant the city was filled with black factory smoke.

 

Hungry?

Taking the back way through farming villages we could see how many people still live poor but simple, honest lives. With a bewildering array of mud brick ingenuity. We made our way to Edfu temple. Dedicated to Horus, Edfu is the most intact ancient temple. Period. I’ve spent a lot of time looking at stumpy Greek & Roman columns trying to imagine what it looked like. No need here. Thanks to being buried in sand for centuries, Edfu’s 90% intact, and amazing.

Horus and Anne

 

Nearly every temple we went to was defaced...by Christians. They took issue with polytheism & Egyptians gods.

Some random guy who wanted us to take a picture of him, then asked for baksheesh. Gotta love the Egyptians.

Even if we were starting to feel “templed out” this was a good order to see them in.

Then on to Luxor, formerly known as Thebes, and the capital of the New Kingdom (circa 1500 BC). We rode horse carts to Karnak, which was an incredible, huge temple complex. The columns! Oh, they were so cool. In rows 6 by 16, and so fat it takes ten people to link arms around them. Words and photos don’t do them justice.

Luxor Temple

Avenue of the Ram-headed Sphinx in Karnak

It would take a lot of Anne's to encircle that column!

 

One of Hatshepsut's fallen columns, with one of the only images showing her as a *woman* king.