Written Sunday morning, 8:30AM, July 5.
- Washing clothes by hand is a pain. Not that it’d be less of a pain to have dragged along enough clothes for six weeks without washing (um, I don’t think my closet would've sufficed), but I can’t believe how long it takes to wash, rinse, wring, wring-inside-towel and then hang to dry. For pete’s sake, I’ve only got ten or so pieces of clothing with me total; how could this take more than 15 minutes? And, it’s boring as snot.
- This trip isn’t half-way over, but thankfully I’m almost at the second stage: no more hopping from nation to city to nation to city – I’ll be in Morocco from July 8 till I return home July 28, and much of that time will be in one location with close friends. Woohoo!
- Still, one of my favorite parts of traveling is the passport stamps, and I’ve gotten a few good ones in the last couple weeks.
- I think I’ve finally beat what I’m officially calling the Cairo Stomach Monster (CSM) – double woohoo! Mind you, I’m still treading lightly, but I branched out beyond crackers yesterday afternoon, first trying some pasta with pesto and then a couple hours later a simple cheese and herbs pizza. Fourteen hours later, and all seems well. But I’ll continue to go easy today; I don’t want to jinx this recovery. I’ve lost enough weight that the only two pairs of pants that I brought fall right off unless cinched up tight by the belt, and I think we could fit two of me in my shirts from home. Yeah, it’s not the sexiest look, admittedly. But that’s never been my strong suit, so I’m not worried. It’s my charm that wins people over. (-: And I’ll never manage to get rid of these chubby cheeks, no matter how much weight I lose. <sighs>
- One of the biggest downsides of this trip has been that I couldn’t take a group of kids to DC this summer. I got a little melancholy yesterday when I realized it was July 4 – the last three years I spent the holiday on the National Mall with dozens of really superb, stellar young citizens (well, putting aside Brodie). I feel like that’s where I belong on July 4.
- I’m a bit of a loner, but wasn’t sure how I’d take this much alone time -- I’m now at 2.5 weeks without hanging with any of my friends or family. It’s actually been okay, for the most part. There were some good conversations at Bustan Qaraaca, and here and there I’ve managed to push beyond my modus operandi to engage with those around me, albeit briefly. Interestingly, I’ve been able to do that the least in Istanbul and Spain. Istanbul makes sense – I spent the vast majority of those 36 hours in bed, laid low by CSM. But why not here in Spain, where I speak far more Spanish than my oh-so-limited Hebrew and Arabic? Maybe it’s the rental car that’s causing my isolation; in retrospect I kinda wish I’d have used the buses instead. But also it feels that the Spaniards are far less welcoming than the Palestinians, Israelis & Egyptians. Here, even when I go out on a limb and use my limited and no-doubt ridiculously badly-pronounced Spanish, I get almost zero English words in response, even though I’m willing to bet my left pinkie that the average Spaniard knows more English than the average Palestinian or Egyptian. And whereas in those places I was frequently asked, “Where are you from?” there’s been not one proffer of verbal curiosity and even engagement here thus far. A couple of warm smiles, but mostly just cool cordiality.
- Speaking of being asked where I’m from, I was advised by people at home and a couple native Arabs to either avoid answering, or simply to say somewhere other than the USA. Alan, my host for two days in Egypt, told me that under no circumstances should I ever tell an Egyptian that I’m from the United States. I’m not naive – after all I’d discussed openly with my students that I might buy a shirt implying that I’m from Canada. But I just couldn’t live that lie. Sure, some things are worth lying about, and maybe in some circumstance this would be one of them. But every single time someone asked where I was from, even when I couldn’t tell offhand whether they’d be friendly or not, I told the truth. How will people around the world ever get past stereotypes of Americans if those of us who try to travel authentically and with respect lie and say we`re from Canada? (Wait a second – I bet that’s what’s been going on for years – no wonder everybody loves those bloomin’ Canadians!). Only once did my honest answer turn up the tension, and that was with an elderly Israeli woman.
- I met her in Eilat – she runs a small photography shop and I needed a photo from the Egyptian bureaucrats to get a visa. When she heard I was an American, she did the same thing that many others had done, she brought up President Obama. Only whereas virtually everybody else who raised his name did so with excitement, she was careful to say his name slowly and emphasize his middle name. Barack Hussein Obama. “What do you think of him?” she asked. I gave my stock answer – whether at home or abroad, because it’s both safe and sincere -- “Time will tell.” She repeated my words slowly a couple times while looking me in the eye, then proceeded to tell me that he’s from a Muslim family and “they are all devils.” I didn’t bother to argue; I just wanted my photo. But I sure as heck didn’t nod in agreement. I simply looked back at her and repeated that we’d see what the future holds.
And so we shall. Sometime soon, I hope to post about my visit to Abraham’s Tomb, tying that experience to the Israeli-Palestinian issue, and I’m also hoping to post both verbal reflections and pics from Jerusalem and Cairo. Hopefully I can find some strong wi-fi spot and get flickr to work. Otherwise I’ll keep adding pics to Facebook.
Time to empty this lovely simple Cordovan nook of my stuff and head to Sevilla.
