The day after our little trip downtown with our cruise down the Nile had been neatly planned. I hire a driver and a guide, who would then take me to the pyramids. The guide shows up late (Really? No way! Not in Cairo!) and proceeds to drive me to Giza on the other side of the Nile river. Thousands more high rises fly by my window while I enjoy the AC in the car. Outside, the sun is raging at a muggy 100 degrees.
As I scrutinize some of the new buildings a little closer, I realize that not one of them is straight! I'm sure the construction firm built a strong foundation, and that these highrises would prove to be sturdy enough, but I can't help but wonder what exactly is happening here. Were the engineers all sleeping while this happened? Did they hire third graders to do the math here? An earthquake would not be needed to topple this house of cards, merely a few overweight men dropping to the floor from heat strokes. I have to admit I couldn't even recall shady work like that in Jordan.
Finally, the peaks of the pyramids in the distance. We pick up my tour guide, a pretty lady who studied history at the University of Cairo and has already logged hundreds of hours as a tourguide for American and British tourists. Her English, of course, is impeccable, and she patiently gives me a brief summary about the dynasties in the region's history before the construction of the pyramids. There are about a dozen pyramids still left in Cairo, the most famous obviously being the pyramids at Giza. We finally stop at the parking lot, I purchase a ticket, and make my way around the three pyramids. Not unlike the night before in downtown Cairo, this place is buzzing with mosquitoes, merchants who were never adequately explained what the word 'no' means. One of them mounted on a camel brags that he is a Bedouin, claims relatives in Jordan, and flashes a toothless grin to prove the similarity. I decline his offer to ride a camel or to have my picture taken, knowing fully well that a bill will follow the paltry services rendered.
It is not hard to see why these are wonders of the world. The modus operandi of their construction still unanswered, one still can't help but marvel at every one of them. I am also convinced, probably somewhat naively, that one can easily climb them, as they seem to be the equivalent of a gigantic staircase rather than the huge slides they resemble in the distance. Following my inspection of the pyramids, my guide leads me down to the Sphinx, even today in remarkable condition, despite the removal of its nose ages ago. The paths are lined with merchants selling everything from postcards to robes to replicas of the pyramids that look only a little better than a clumsy Lego construction.
The tourist in Cairo must also know that, whereas his or her needs will be fulfilled, the tour guide will have an agenda of her/his own, which is clearly the case on that day. I am taken to a store selling jewelry, one selling perfume, and finally one of the notorious 'carpet schools'. Needless to say, my guide is on a first name basis with each of these managers. Though I buy very little, it is a welcome refuge from the soldering heat outside. These are certainly legitimate businesses, one look at the merchandise confirms the quality of the content of them. And yet I can't help but wonder about the last store, the so-called 'carpet school'.
According to my guide, there are something like two hundred carpet schools in Cairo, each one of them training school kids in the ancient art of carpet weaving, which is the first sight you will be treated to as you enter one of these schools. Of course, that doesn't prevent the managers from raking up enormous profits for the end results. I still doubt their legitimacy. The school I visited had child labor written all over it.
We cruise past a long canal, water solely used for irrigation, my guide assures me. No kidding, I'm thinking. One look at the murky, black contents of the canal, its banks lined with piles of trash on either side, is enough to think about serious epidemics in the making. I quietly watch farmers drag their water buffalo on the side of the road while I gaze at some of the squalid buildings on each side of the road. This is certainly not Maadi.
Finally off to the Memphis (wow, Memphis here, and Philadelphia - Amman - to the east. Who would have thought?)Museum and the brilliant statues of King Ramses II. Memphis, of course, used to be the capital of ancient Egypt. Located south of Cairo, tourists here are treated to some unique statues of limestone and granite of Ramses, the proud father of 201 and husband of 40 women. Eat your hearts out, Mormons.
I am dropped off in Maadi in the early evening and tip both the driver and the guide, wondering how the last ten hours could have gone by so fast. I have one day left in Cairo, one that will turn out to be one of the longest days of my life.
As I scrutinize some of the new buildings a little closer, I realize that not one of them is straight! I'm sure the construction firm built a strong foundation, and that these highrises would prove to be sturdy enough, but I can't help but wonder what exactly is happening here. Were the engineers all sleeping while this happened? Did they hire third graders to do the math here? An earthquake would not be needed to topple this house of cards, merely a few overweight men dropping to the floor from heat strokes. I have to admit I couldn't even recall shady work like that in Jordan.
Finally, the peaks of the pyramids in the distance. We pick up my tour guide, a pretty lady who studied history at the University of Cairo and has already logged hundreds of hours as a tourguide for American and British tourists. Her English, of course, is impeccable, and she patiently gives me a brief summary about the dynasties in the region's history before the construction of the pyramids. There are about a dozen pyramids still left in Cairo, the most famous obviously being the pyramids at Giza. We finally stop at the parking lot, I purchase a ticket, and make my way around the three pyramids. Not unlike the night before in downtown Cairo, this place is buzzing with mosquitoes, merchants who were never adequately explained what the word 'no' means. One of them mounted on a camel brags that he is a Bedouin, claims relatives in Jordan, and flashes a toothless grin to prove the similarity. I decline his offer to ride a camel or to have my picture taken, knowing fully well that a bill will follow the paltry services rendered.
It is not hard to see why these are wonders of the world. The modus operandi of their construction still unanswered, one still can't help but marvel at every one of them. I am also convinced, probably somewhat naively, that one can easily climb them, as they seem to be the equivalent of a gigantic staircase rather than the huge slides they resemble in the distance. Following my inspection of the pyramids, my guide leads me down to the Sphinx, even today in remarkable condition, despite the removal of its nose ages ago. The paths are lined with merchants selling everything from postcards to robes to replicas of the pyramids that look only a little better than a clumsy Lego construction.
The tourist in Cairo must also know that, whereas his or her needs will be fulfilled, the tour guide will have an agenda of her/his own, which is clearly the case on that day. I am taken to a store selling jewelry, one selling perfume, and finally one of the notorious 'carpet schools'. Needless to say, my guide is on a first name basis with each of these managers. Though I buy very little, it is a welcome refuge from the soldering heat outside. These are certainly legitimate businesses, one look at the merchandise confirms the quality of the content of them. And yet I can't help but wonder about the last store, the so-called 'carpet school'.
According to my guide, there are something like two hundred carpet schools in Cairo, each one of them training school kids in the ancient art of carpet weaving, which is the first sight you will be treated to as you enter one of these schools. Of course, that doesn't prevent the managers from raking up enormous profits for the end results. I still doubt their legitimacy. The school I visited had child labor written all over it.
We cruise past a long canal, water solely used for irrigation, my guide assures me. No kidding, I'm thinking. One look at the murky, black contents of the canal, its banks lined with piles of trash on either side, is enough to think about serious epidemics in the making. I quietly watch farmers drag their water buffalo on the side of the road while I gaze at some of the squalid buildings on each side of the road. This is certainly not Maadi.
Finally off to the Memphis (wow, Memphis here, and Philadelphia - Amman - to the east. Who would have thought?)Museum and the brilliant statues of King Ramses II. Memphis, of course, used to be the capital of ancient Egypt. Located south of Cairo, tourists here are treated to some unique statues of limestone and granite of Ramses, the proud father of 201 and husband of 40 women. Eat your hearts out, Mormons.
I am dropped off in Maadi in the early evening and tip both the driver and the guide, wondering how the last ten hours could have gone by so fast. I have one day left in Cairo, one that will turn out to be one of the longest days of my life.
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