Day 23 - Dahab.




Feeling way too lazy and content to write anything of value. Here's a condensed version of a Dahab day...

Wake late, snorkel with a group of Aussies, then start cracking beers and passing the sheeshah, backgammon tournaments, playing with the kittens, napping...




You would never guess that, just a month ago, this small village was the victim of three terrorist attacks.

I like my new group of friends. They all have weird names like Spice, Sting, Cal, Raffi.



And then there are the cats. The one pictured to the left is Lucy (or Ginger, depending on who you ask). She is my favorite of these mischevious boogerheads.

Day 21 - Luxor/Dahab.





I've a few notions about child rearing-- about raising girls in particular. They are highlights (the crown jewels, in fact) taken from my own parent's skills. If I ever get around to producing a brood of my own, these will be strictly implemented.

Little girls should always wear their hair cut short and badly. They should be made to mow the lawn and pull weeds. Their secret hiding places should always be respected. They should be taken on long, sweaty road trips to unremarkable places. They should ride home from elementary school on a pink Huffy bike. And every Saturday they should be taken mountain climbing and made to hang off steep precipices (with Daddy underneath to catch a fall, of course).

Yesterday, I explored the Theban Necropolis, a complex of tombs and temples located on the West Bank of the Nile.

I started out at the Valley of the Kings, wandering around the tombs. My two favorites were Howard Carter's Tutankhamen and Ramses III.

However, in all truth, my eyes kept wandering to the horizon, to the desert mountain over which lay my next destation, Hatshepsut's Temple.

I can climb that. And then, my mind sentimentally narrowed in. Boy, I wish Dad were here, and we would climb it together.

I asked a policeman to direct me towards the nearest donkey path, and then set off towards the sweltering sun. The guard couldn't conceive as to why I insisted upon taking this arduous hike, and stood at the foot of the mount, staring up at me in awe (yes, awe).

The following are pictures I took atop the mountain.

I fondly reflected upon an instance from childhood, from what is known in McMinn history as "the glorious Austin years".

Dad had taken us on a weekend romp to Lake Travis. The point where this memory picks up is when I'm hanging on for dear little life while climbing up a steep cliff underneath a bridge. I'm helplessly squawking, "Mamma! Mamma!" while, below me, Dad cheers on with his calm "You can do it, Sarah. You're almost there." I look down (always a mistake), grow even more panicked, and, upgrade my howl to, "Jesus! Jesus!"

All this to say: Mom, you can blame Dad for what I did yesterday.

Flew to Sharm el Sheik yesterday, and bused over to Dahab, where I spent today relaxing and snorkeling.

Day 18 - Cairo/Luxor.

All things dread Time, but Time dreads the Pyramids.

A bit hesitant about attempting this entry. Some of what I experienced yesterday was so staggering, that even my own thoughts proved pitifully incapacitated. It felt appropriate that I had forgotten my camera.

The pyramids of Dakshur are about a 30 minute taxi ride from Cairo. Whereas the complex at renowned Giza is curbed by Cairo and over run with tourists and detractive salesman, Dakshur is surrounded by the Western Desert sands and was completely empty when I arrived.
I left the cab driver a distance away, and walked among Dakshur's two main pyramids, stunned and (I knowingly run the risk of sounding dramatic here) terror stricken.



I then climbed inside the entrance to Dakshur's Red Pyramid (picture to the right), and proceeded, crouched over, down the main shaft into the belly of the place -- the King's Chamber.


It was completely silent. I was alone in the center of one of the greatest human attempts towards immortality.

Onward to Giza-- as mentioned: tourists, demanding "tour guides", more of the same Cairo annoyances... but well worth it because of the site.


Crawled through the gallery of the Great Pyraid of Cheops, into it's King's Chamber.

It's important I note that these sites are in extremely cruddy upkeep. My Rough Guide to Egypt even suggests that torches/flashlights be brought in case the poorly installed torch lighting fails.

Can you guess what happened? Yep.

Man oh man, I was excited. It was eerie in that funerary chamber, and people were starting to freak out.

One British lady loudly remarked, "This ain't funny!", and soon her whole family was echoing the sentiment. Why couldn't they just keep quiet and try to contribute to the experience? They did provide me with a small comfort though, in that, most likely, a roused Cheops would go after their irreverent asses first.

It was black for about seven minutes. Occasionally, a person would flicker their lighter, but no one had a flashlight.

I've never experienced a darkness like that. As the cliche goes-- it could be felt. So black that I began to see a semblance of white color out of my eye's corner, and was continually turning my head, thinking there was light behind.

The lights came back on, and we all, one by one, crawled our way back down the four foot high corrider.

This was the only time during my day that I longed desperately for my camera, as the obnoxious English broad was climbing down right behind me, and I had a capital view of her big old pantalooned bum.

Then took an hour long camel ride into the desert, which was disappointing because I spent the whole ride worrying about the animal - he was terribly underfed and looked about to collapse.

Last night I caught the sleeper train to Luxor. I love overnight trains. They're so romantic.

Day 16- Cairo.

Friendly reminder that we're all going to die.

Day 16 - Cairo.

Warning!!!: The following entry is long-drawn-out and mercilessly detailed. Feel free to skim.

Anybody whose invested in even a sliver of pre-Cairo travel research will have been forewarned aplenty of the nature of tourism here-- scams and touts abound, double standard of pricing for the respective Cairenese and tourists, sly 'tour guides' whose aggression is exhausting.

"Aw, stop your whining, Toto. We're not in Kansas anymore." was my proud pre-arrival attitude, which quickly evolved into a worn out "Play it again, Sam." Cairo feels like a course in sales resistance and baksheesh evasion.

First destination - the Citadel. This centuries old bastion ennobles Cairo's skyline with it's great Mosque of Mohammed Ali, but disappointed a bit at close quarters. Inside, I found three mosques, a palace, and a few quirky museums (like the "Carriage Museum" and the "Police National Museum").


Much overlooked, but my personal favorite here, was the Mosque of Sultan al-Nasir. It's been completely neglected, and is, therefore, just like it was from conception.










I was the only person inside, and the friendly guard walked me around, taking my picture in all the holy spots.


After the Citadel, I then entered the main gate to Islamic Cairo. As Coleridge has said, it is "a sight to dream of, not to tell." Islamic Cairo sustained my fantasy and counfounded my certainty.

The streets are narrow and congested, slimy underfoot with donkey dung and water from broken pipes. What did I see? Mosques, overflowing bazaars, young children balancing heavy loads by head, a multitude of rabid cats, starving donkeys carrying massive teetering loads, rough beggar ladies with young children (who's giving it to these broads???), metal workshops...

I happily got lost.

By this time, sunset was approaching, and I was exhausted from my day of thwarting salesman and donkey carts. I grabbed a taxi.

Now, I began my day determined to respond to all "come on's", sales and other, with a friendly response and firm smile, and, if cheated out of a few dollars, to forgive and forget. But, by the time I escaped into this last taxi, I was a bit put out.

I insisted (as all guides suggest) on agreeing to a taxi fare before setting off, expecting the driver to attempt a gross overcharge.
The driver, a surprisingly quiet man, said, "No worry."
"No," I retorted, "How much?"
"Please, no, don't worry."
"Tell me a price!" I demanded, stepping out of the cab, to which he softly replied,
"I'm a Christian-- no Muslim. I'm a Christian! No worry."
My heart sank. How grievious to me that this man felt he could gain my trust only by identifying himself as non-Muslim. It appears that Christianity has given love a bad name here. Thanks, President Bush.

Cursing myself, I stepped back into the cab, remembering my mantra: Regard each person as individual and of good motive. Be as meek as a sheep. Assume each contact is good-hearted until they prove otherwise.

Please don't criticize me for what I did next. I've already engaged in plenty of self-flagellation for the following act, and can't take any more.

I ate dinner at McDonalds.

Yes, I became, for the evening, that tourist, that American you disgustedly laugh at for eating a BigMac in one of the most exotic cities of the world.

Before you judge, though, take a good look at some of my other culinary options.









On the left is a goat's skull, roasting on a sidewalk grill, and on the right- pitas being cooled atop a begrimed car.

This has been a long entry, and I am ready to attack the city again.

One more note-- Egypt is extremely cheap. My hotel costs about $10 dollars/night, cabs across town are $3-4, water is something like 30 cents.

Off to the Pyramids.

Day 14 - Rome/Cairo.

Kissed my parents good bye this morning, and will now commence my journey solo.

I am beside myself with an airy enthusiasm, and my mind is completely emptied of worries. I think I'll have a beer.

Yesterday was a beast of a day. We traversed throughout Rome, taking in the following sites:

• Forum - the political, commercial, and religious center of the ancient world
• Colosseum - think gladiators, chariots, exotic animals, and "Hail, Caesar!"
• St. Peter-in-Chains Church - contains Peter's supposed chains
• Spanish Steps - nothing of interest here besides the line of luxury boutiques that parallel it
• Trevi Fountain
• Pantheon
  

It was an exhausting day, which we gladly escaped by indulging in fine filet and red wine.

Day 12- Rome.

Two thousand years ago, the word "Rome" meant civilization itself. Everything was either civilized (part of the Roman empire) or barbarian.

Today, Rome remains important as Italy's political capital, the nucleus of the ancient world, and as Catholicism's center.

We're staying at the Vittorio Emanuele Monastery, a vibrant convent which lets out clean, albeit scant, rooms. The sisters-- who, in their youth, answered God's call (to run a hotel???) are gracious.


I chatted up Sister Catherine yesterday afternoon (interrupting her tv hour). Our conversation was light, routinely skimming the familiar social surfaces, but, man oh man, my brain was teaming with meaningful questions I really wanted to ask her, like: Who broke your heart? As a young girl, did you ever think you were pretty? What's the insider's scoop on your new Pope?Have you bought your tickets for The Da Vinci Code yet?

Unfortunately, my blog faithfuls, I proved a chicken, and politely wormed my way out of the conversation, letting the Sister get back to her soaps.


Spent today at the Vatican Museum, the Sistine Chapel, and St. Peter's Basilica. I wasn't even going to mention that we saw all that stuff, because, really, they are all so vast and overwhelming, and I don't feel up to the task of telling about them. Suffice it to say, I am green with "Catholic envy".

Day 10 - Santorini

Spent a tranquil day driving around.

In the a.m., we strolled along the black-sanded beach of Camari (I escaped here yesterday, via motorbike, for an afternoon of beach reading).

Then made a steep hike up Santorini's treacherous mount to view Ancient Thira. The site, unfortunately, was closed, but we comforted ourselves by concluding that, in all truth, if you've seen one ruin, you've seen them all. I feel confident in reporting that Thira is well summed up by the adjective "ancient".


Onward we ventured, towards much, much better things-- wine tasting! Santorini is renowned for it's viticulture, particularly it's white wine, and I think we proved enthusiastic drinkers.

In all truth, there are few "things to see and do" on the Greek isles, and as American tourists, it requires a subtle change of mindset to shift from sightseeing, "checking stuff off the list", to just relaxing. But when you do, it's wonderful.

I've been reading alot. Just finished A.S. Byatt's Possession, which is long, but provides a great payoff. Don't you love it when you're nearing the end of a long book, and, boy, it's getting good-- you dread it ending? and you start reading slower, re-reading pages, you pour yourself another glass of something or another so as to really indulge in the experience? Read Possession.

And avoid what I embarked on reading next: A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genious. This book was a Pulitzer (pronunciation is "PULL it sir") Prize Finalist, and I've just got to check out how that whole competition works, cause, geez, it's abominable.

Happily found a copy of Wuthering Heights in an international bookstore (14 euro for a paperback!) and am really enjoying it.

Off to Rome tomorrow.

Hope that all my loved ones, friends, and anyone else who comes in contact with this blog are healthy and happy.

Day 7- Mykonos

Spent the day scooting around Mykonos on a motorbike. Visited two beaches: Psirou and Paradise.

It's warm enough here to lay out and develop a nice tan (or, as in my case, turn a bright beat red), but is too cold for swimming.

I'm happy to report that Mykonos is still a viable destination for the economical traveller: our two bedroom apartment was had for a mere 40 euro and the motorbikes for 9 euro each.

Tomorrow - Santorini.

Day 5- Athens

I've visited Athens before, as a lone backpacker, and remember the experience as being course and difficult. I had arrived via a miserable Ionian Sea ferry, found myself staying in a shanty hostel, and walked everywhere despite the hot heat.

My experience this time around is quite the opposite. There are advantages to traveling with your parents.

I am keen on luxury hotels, and the Grande Bretagne, where we are staying, is superb. Yes, diet coke costs 7 euro; yes, my mom makes me comb my hair and iron my clothes before I walk through the lobby; and, yes, it is well worth it.

The bathroom is especially astounding. It's just as I would have a bathroom be: marble from ceiling to floor, bath (mammoth) separated from the shower (glassed), and two large towels per person. I skipped the National Archeological Museum today so that I could study it in silence.

Grande Bretagne Hotel

Also of interest in Athens-- the Acropolis. We spent yesterday's afternoon wandering around it. Besides being home to the Parthenon and Athena Nike's temple, it also houses 'Dionysis' Theater', the birth place of theater. Needless to say, I was overwhelmed, and felt moved to perform a monologue upon the stage, but couldn't remember any.

I apologize for the lack of photos thus far-- I keep forgetting to bring out my camera, but am looking to change my ways.

Tomorrow- off to Mykonos.

Day 2- Istanbul.

If you're anything like me, extended second hand accounts of museums/ historical sites can easily become tiresome. I mean, aren't we all really more interested in the condition of public bathrooms and the details of how our American friends embarrassed themselves while overseas?

Nevertheless, here's a brief lowdown of my day in Constantinople--

Visited Haghia Sophia, the "Church of Holy Wisdom". Although now a mosque, this soaring building was originally constructed as a church.


To me, the highlight of Haghia Sophia was the mosaic 'Virgin holding Christ, flanked by Emperor John II and Empress Irene'. Can't you just imagine George W. commissioning one of these for himself and Laura?

My parents and I then headed north towards the Blue Mosque. Quite an impressive building, considering that it was built in a mere six years at the beginning of the 17th century. A little bit about Islamic life in Istanbul...

• Over 99% of the population is Muslim, though the Turkish state is officially secular.
• Five times a day throughout Istanbul, a chant is broadcast over loud speakers set high in the city to call the faithful to prayer. And to think that us Americans complain about religion's dominant influence in our society.

When we arrived at the Blue Mosque, mid day prayer was just beginning. Being a member of the preferred sex, my dad was able to sneak in, so mom and I contented ourselves by spying him (via side window) participating in the rigorous prayer ritual.

After prayer hour, us ladies customarily removed our shoes and joined him inside where wafts of holy incense greeted us. Oddly enough, it smelled strongly of gross-out stinky feet.

Next, the Hippodrome. Basically an ancient sports center with a giant Egyptian obelisk in the center(??????????).

The remainder of the afternoon was spent in an amazing Turkish bath, trying to ward off any lurking jetlag. So relaxing! A circular steaming marble room with a bunch of fat old ladies lying around.

My mom and I got both the 30 minute aromathery massage and the wash where, quite literally, another human being lathers and scrubs you. That's right, friends, no need to wait until you're wearing Pampers again to enjoy that kind of treatment.

I'm tired now. Until next time...

Last thoughts on the eve of my departure...

Adventure. What an overused word.

The automobile industry wastfully exploits it to the purpose of selling SUVs. Travel agencies distastefully apply it to brochures advertising packaged tours. Education is slyly posed to children as adventure. Bloggers presumptuously use the word to epitomize their banal life.

Webster's dictionary defines adventure as:
1. An undertaking or enterprise of a hazardous nature.
2. An undertaking of a questionable nature.
3. An unusual or exciting experience.

Two extremes--

I watched the movie 'Grizzly Man' last night. My inner dialogue throughout the movie went something like this- "So you think you can befriend grizzly bears, huh? Well, you can't. I'm about to watch you get eaten. You idiot." Copy that response on Roy Horn and his white tiger, Shakleton and his Antarctica, and anyone who swims with sharks.

I have a friend who adamantly refuses to participate in any activity that threatens to raise his heart rate above 70. He won't swim in the ocean, refuses to get on a ferris wheel much less a rollercoaster, and could never be tempted to sky dive. The closest to 'adventure' he gets is playing a risky hand of poker.

I ask you, readers, which is worse?

I suppose, in all truth, my upcoming journeys do indeed warrant the title 'adventures'. And I'm thrilled. For the first time in a long time, I will be alert, stimulated, and aware.

As a tidy wrap up, I leave you with a favorite quote of my father's--

"Don't ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive." Howard Thurman

Until next time...