|
Thoughts from the Road 1995 Shark and I are holed up in our hotel room in Cairo for the day (Cairo being without a doubt the foulest, most putrid modern city that I have ever had the misfortune of visiting) that being said, the rest of our trip has been adventurous, interesting and exciting. I'm sorry, I can't help myself, I have to rave about Cairo for a little while longer. Picture this my frozen friend, you've just spent six weeks touring various countries; Scotland; where everybody is friendly, the food is, if not all that adventurous, at least predictable and tasty (bacon, eggs, sausages, toast and coffee for breakfast every single day for 15 days...by the end of it I was about to trade Sharka for a fruit salad). Even their haggis (rice, grains and some other "stuff", still not sure what it was, cooked in a sheep's intestine) seemed a bit on the bland side. Complaints were not in order however because to the positive side of Scotland's ledger was their beer; a subject I took a tremendous (Sharka might say an inordinate) amount of interest and pleasure in exploring. Scotland's pints rival the best I've ever had the pleasure of consuming. With respect to the countryside; absolutely gorgeous! Rolling green hills, moors covered in heather, more sheep than a hundred Egyptians could violate in a lifetime (but here I get ahead of myself don't I), isolated islands filled with friendly people, and on and on and on. Scotland doesn't posses the rugged, abrasive mountains we're used to in Canada...theirs are more rounded, rolling and smooth, much more sublime. Had a great time there, people were very friendly, sights were beautiful and the pints of infallible quality. Shark and I decided to take a mountain bike ride around Loch Ness one morning (my idea) and not only did we fail to sight the illusive "Nessy", we managed to get a "little" lost....lost to the tune of about 50km. When we finally did arrive back at our B&B that night; exhausted and appreciative of our humble little home and shower, it was agreed that perhaps I was not the best of all possible eligible guides for our round the world journey (a fact that has been proven again and again as our adventure continues). Regardless, I have chosen to remain the planner, guide and sole navigator. Scotland was also an excellent place to begin our journey and acclimatize ourselves to the daily requirements and regimens of backpacker (albeit corporate backpacker) travel. Now.....on to Czechoslovakia.....which as we know is in the process of trying to shift gears from a communist mentality (and work ethic) to a more productive (and I might add more profitable) capitalist way of life. But first a short story. Shark and I flew into Prague around noon and had a few hours to kill before we caught a 7:30pm train to her aunt's "house" in the north. We puttered about the city and had a nice dinner (a whole chicken breast, salad, potatoes, schnitzel, coffee, dessert and a couple of what I found to be the finest pints I have ever had the good fortune of discovering in my increasingly long lifetime) and all of which cost the grand sum of $15. I knew at this point I was in for a treat here in Czechoslovakia. To further illustrate this point....the train we "were supposed" to take to Shark's aunt was a three and a half hour ride and cost the princely sum of $5.00. The train we were unfortunately instructed to board however took us to the same destination but at the cost of an additional two hours on our beloved chariot. So...at approximately 12:30 in the morning our trusty steed pulled into a deserted station in northern Czechoslovakia (we couldn't call ahead because only 10% of the people in the Czech republic have a phone in their homes). This was to be our lucky day however, as the station master happened to personally know the town's only taxi driver and additionally, knew precisely where he was drinking that night! So, with a few carefully chosen words of gentle persuasion he was convinced that it would be to his financial benefit to extricate himself from the frosty mug before him and provide these two haggard travelers with a means to complete their journey. No more than fifteen minutes passed before our pinted driver (his girlfriend in tow) arrived, then wove his drunken way to our final destination. An altogether interesting first exposure to this odd country and one that seemed to replicate itself in various forms throughout our visit. In short, (because many Czechs are) the Czech republic is an inexpensive country to visit, serves great food, superb beer (at about fifty cents a liter no less) and yet surprisingly modern (in places). Prague is no different that any other major European city other than instead of paying two dollars to ride the subway, you pay about thirty cents. Instead of paying five dollars for a pint you pay fifty cents (here you may catch a small glimpse into the true nature of my favorable view of this city). When the Russians rolled into Czechoslovakia in 1968 all improvements (including maintenance) to most buildings ceased completely, so, walking through the streets of Prague, in fact any city I visited, I saw beautifully restored buildings sitting beside beat up, dilapidated, run down dumps. Apparently all of the Czech republic used to look this way, beat up and grimy, until the Russians finally left a few years ago and they were able (read foreign investment here) to begin restoration. I felt I was visiting a country, and a people, in the midst of a tremendous transition; both physically and emotionally, that I could perceive yet was unable to truly understand. I had never known oppression (at least not to this degree) and was therefore incapable of comprehending their emotions. Quite an experience. And on to Israel....to be quite honest I didn't really know all that much about Israel prior to landing in Tel Aviv and to be even more truthful I don't feel overly enthusiastic about reiterating the history of the Jews, their relationship with the Arabs...and so on and so on...so I won't. Suffice it to say that Israel has a fine brew called "Goldstar"...and its brethren Carlsberg is both readily available and pleasing to the pallette (if not the liver). Add to this combination an inexhaustible supply of Falafel, Shwarma, bagels and orange juice and in a nutshell you have my three week trip to Israel. That's not entirely true I suppose, Tel Aviv has some fantastic beaches and Israel has some of the world's most beautiful woman (next to the Czechs of course). Jerusalem was a trip back in time! And finally, Eilat, in the south, is an experience unto itself. Israel is a small pocket of American funded civilization in an otherwise chaotic (and I might...shit I will....go so far as to say barbaric corner of the world ). Very modern with all the amenities of home so I won't blabber on about poverty, discoveries and the like...there's very little of that here. What I will blabber on about is my meeting with an old friend of mine in Tel Aviv. But first it's time for an anecdotal story to enlighten and amuse and then I'll return you to the regular content (whatever that is) of this most entertaining and enlightening correspondence. Alright, now I'll continue with my letter........ Shark and I were out walking the boardwalk along the beach at night (in Tel Aviv remember) when we bumped into a friend I had worked with at CA in Toronto. Rob had been working at a military base in the Sinai desert in Egypt (Egypt...hock ptui...) as the MIS Manager for about a year. He's not a military guy, saw the job in the paper. Anyway, we made plans to visit the base for a few days, he set up the passes, picked us up a week later and away we went. Very interesting place to say the least. 2000 men, 60 women (most of them butt ugly as well) and us. The base was made up of a variety of different countries and each counry has it's own bar, each of which we visited one night on a pub crawl (trying to do my best to maintain Canada's good relationships with the rest of the world you know) and unfortunately also felt the ill effects of my excessive consumption the following morning. Staying on base was like a vacation within a vacation, not much scenery out there in the desert but the we were given a nice air conditioned room, gargantuan meals (armed forces size) three times a day and use of the facilities, which include a full size swimming pool, squash courts and gym (played squash and pulled all the muscles in my butt, which wasn't helped by my hangover I might add), as well as a post office, laundry facilities (which are becoming more important as time goes on) and the base barber. All of which were put to fruitful use. Unfortunately...or fortunately...the beer on base was only 60 cents a pint. Shark and I left the camp the next weekend with Rob and his buddy Simon for some whooping in Eilot. And whoop we did. Our first night out ended with Simon and my be-drunken self catching a cab home to our hotel at 8:30am in the morning Due to our severly debilitated state we were unable to negotiate the final 300 meter distance on foot. Ugliness prevailed. Shark and Rob were incapable of maintaining the frenetic pace of our alcohol consumption and begged off to sleep at 6:30am. Meager pinters I say! Promptly at 11:30am that same morning (after acquiring a mere three hours of drunken, fitful sleep I was abruptly awakened by Simon and Rob, both eager to begin the days festivities. The sound of them pounding on our door was only marginally drowned out by the seemingly endless explosions of a jackhammer attempting to extricate itself from the confines of my skull. However, being no stranger of these predictable mornings I took advantage of all of the present (and necessary) options available to me at the time; a cold shower, a big dump, no breakfast, and finally two gallons of water, then emotionally prepared myself for the day, knowing fully well that not only would I survive the, at times, unbearable demons dancing salsa with my internal organs, I would manage to prevail and pint again. Life, at times, is a waiting game! Needless to say, within the hour we were lying on a beautiful beach, swimming in crystal clear water trying to piece together the events of the prior evening and likewise making further plans for the day. The latter concern provided it's own answer soon enough as we made haste into the beachside seafood restaurant ajoined to this mini paradise and ordered up a lovely lunch, to be accompanied, of course, by a frosty mug of the local nectar. To say we bit the tail of the dog that bit us would be an understatement of the grandest magnitude. Devouring the mutt and spitting out his spine would be closer to the truth! Suffice it to say that our first pint of the evening (afternoon) was delivered to us at about 1:00pm. We finally managed to extricate our sotten selves from the lure of this private sandy beach at approximately 11:30 that evening, leaving in our wake a plethora of empty pint glasses and a well tipped bar (beach?) wench! The course of the evening saw us wax poetically on all manner of topics, the bulk of which we knew nothing about...and even managed to convince our delightful waitress to join us in the sand and enlighten us with her profound understandings of the workings of love and relationships. Ugly is an understatement here and not her either, us! Anyway, on with the story; at 11:30 we decided it was time for us to return to our hotel, shower, change, etc, then find a suitable nightclub for the evening; one capable of managing/containing an unstable group of our debauch ilk. In short, this final exclamation point on the day. This cap to an otherwise extremely joyous experience was not destined to reach fruition. After completing the aforementioned duties at our hotel I was unable to roust my maligned compatriots from their room and thus was left to pester Sharka briefly, prior to falling into my own alcohol assisted slumber.....aaahhhhh....but what a day. Rob and Simon departed in the morning on their four and a half hour journey back to camp and Shark and I were left to re-hydrate and detoxify our bodies of the poisons enthusiastically accumulated (earned?) over the past week. After three or four "dry" days I was feeling myself again and decided it was time we explored the countryside. Nestled in beside Israel is Jordon, an Arabic country containing the ancient city of Petra. We had heard a few things about it and were strongly recommended to visit. So, off we went. But first there was the detail of a visa (every country requires a visa). Much to our dismay, we discovered that of all the countries in the world, Canada has to pay the highest visa fees to enter Jordan (something we were destined to discover again while entering Egypt) {aaaahhhh....Egypt....hockkk......ptuiii} and all this time I though the world loved us Canadians, anyway, we paid the 30 dinar visa fee ($60.00 each) and went on our merry way. (My own personal belief is that some Canadian diplomat obviously went pinting with a group of OPEC delegates and drank them into the ground, causing them extreme embarrassment and thus they've chosen to punish that unique group of individuals that wholeheartedly represent Canada's pinting prowess....the backpackers!) Petra was without a doubt the most spectacular place I've seen in my life. It took two and a half hours in a minibus to reach the village just outside the ancient city and, once nestled in our hotel, we decided to spend the afternoon wandering through Petra. We took a cab (with a couple Brits we met on the bus) to Petra's entrance then walked the two and a half miles into the city itself. The only passageway through which you can enter is so narrow that cars are unable to squeeze through...only mules, donkeys, horses, camels and people. What lay before us as we finally exited the souk (path) was breathtaking. The entire city of Petra was carved out of the red sandstone cliffs surrounding it. Every temple, monastery, cave, house, amphitheater, tomb, absolutely everything had been carved directly out of the mountain; and the attention to detail was both astounding and magnificent. You'll have to see the pictures to truly understand what it was like...and even they won't be able to communicate the feeling of being surrounded by these endless, ancient dwellings. Thousands of people had lived here right up until about ten years ago when the Jordanian government realized the goldmine they had sitting in their backyard and began preparing it for us eager touristas. That afternoon we walked for miles up to a monastery perched on a mountain top and reached it just as the sun was setting behind it. Absolutely breathtaking! Watching the darkness descend around us as we walked the five miles back to the entrance was both humbling and eerie. The paths we were following had been trod over by thousands of feet from a handful of different civilizations, over thousands of years. To see a sight of such magnificence so devoid of tourist exploitation is unheard of and unfortunately won't last for long. We were lucky to have seen it in this near pristine state. The next morning we awoke at 5:30 (us and the brits) and caught a cab to the entrance....walked the two and a half mile souk then followed a path of stairs carved from the mountain up to what was once a sacrificial alter (an alter I might add that still had drains carved into it to allow for the draining of the blood and offensive fluids) and watched the sun rise over the entire city; turning the sandstone mountains into a variety of different shades of red and gold. Magical and humbled best describe our feelings that morning as we watched the light of the sun creep its way into the valley as ir had done for thousands of years. To be present at even one such sunrise validated every reason I had for travelling. And that was Petra! Later that day (it is impossible to tour Petra, or almost anywhere in this part of the world for that matter during the day because of the extreme heat. Sharka and I go through about four 1.5 liter bottles of water a day, at times without even sweating it's so hot.) anyway, later that afternoon we (again we and the Brits) commandeered a taxi to drive us down to Aquaba, on the coast, our eventual port of departure for Egypt (snort...hock....ptuiiii..) Taxi drivers in the middle east have a particularly annoying (and alarming) fascination with defying all laws of physics and probability when they drive which provides for a most unsettling and often life threatening experience when hiring their services for protracted periods of time. What had been a two and a half hour mini bus ride "to" Petra became a one hour and forty five minute hell ride through the Jordanian desert, punctuated all too frequently by a series of near misses at heart stopping speeds (cabs in this part of the world are not renowned for their safety, most are held together with a good measure of bailing wire, toilet paper and faith, and not necessarily in that order). Our own driver, for instance, had an unsettling penchant for passing on blind corners (by the way, the only other vehicles on these desert roads are large semi trailers and other half crazed taxi drivers), a habit that all passengers on board found most upsetting and in one specific instance almost proved to be our ultimate demise. Near the end of our trip to Aquaba our brave driver (I would like to add at this point that all Arabs punctuate their statements and speech with the ever-present "God Willing"....what this means exactly is that they are of the belief that ultimately they are powerless...God decides all....so....if they are born into a poor family...God wills it....who are they to question the will of God. If they find a good job....God wills it....if they lose that good job....God wills it.....and, you guessed it,.....if they crash into a fully loaded semi as they pass another one on a blind corner and smash their little taxi into a gazillion little pieces (bailing wire and all) along with it's cargo (in this instance two white knuckled Canadians and their equally terrified British equivalents) then....well....God wills it.) This approach to life has enabled me to view some of the problems in the middle east in an entirely new light. Fortunately for all of us, God willed it that we survive our sojourn across the desert and thus continue our round the world jaunt. We spent that afternoon at the beach (Jordon being an Arab country, its females both sunbathe and swim fully clothed) with Sharka forever on the lookout for women wearing bikinis, one piece swimsuits, anything that would allow her to feel less revealing. Entertainment at its finest. That night we pinted it up with the Brits, then woke up in the morning and made our way to the ferry terminal, eagerly anticipating our eventual arrival in Egypt..(snoorrrrt......kack......hock......ptuiiii..). Upon arrival at the terminal it took me more than a few minutes to figure out where we were supposed to go, what we were supposed to do etc... (my Arabic has a long way to go) and much to my dismay I discovered long lineups of men at every station we were to visit. Arabic countries maintain a healthy affinity for paperwork, stamps, lines, beaurocracy and protocol; all of which add up very tedious and lengthly border crossings. This one, however, would prove to be different! Upon determining what needed to be done, I promptly assigned Sharka the task of collecting the required stamps, tickets, more stamps, etc....and sent her on her way. Women, as you know, are encouraged to proceed to the front of every line in most Arabic countries and Jordan carried out this courtesy to the letter of the law. What would have been at the minimum a one hour process for me became a ten minute task for Sharka...one of the many benefits of traveling with a woman. I should mention at this point in the letter that between these words and those above it were four additional days of hell in Egypt......a topic I am refraining from discussing as of yet. Right.....at long last......our entrance to Egypt! The ferry ride from Aquaba to Neueva (check yer map) was quite pleasant; the ferry company promptly separated the small group of tourists from the locals then escorted us to the first class lounge no less ...beautiful! And then we landed in Neueva, Egypt and the nightmare began. There were no buses traveling through to Na'ama Bay (where we wanted to learn to dive) that night and the Egyptian taxi driver (scum sucking bandits that they are) tried to take full advantage of our plight by demanding an astronomical sum of money to transport us to our desired location. Being a tourist in an impoverished country, I don't mind paying fees marginally in excess of what would be required of a local, but, for this louse ridden extortionist to be so blatant about the swindle made my blood boil. Therefore I opted to tell them, in short, to go fuck themselves, then plodded off in search of local accommodations. (One of the benefits of an extended vacation is the relatively inconsequential element of time; a bargaining tool these Egyptian swines were unaware I possessed). Unfortunately, Neueva is an unassuming armpit in itself, suitable solely for the docking of ferries and exploitation of tourists, and thus has little to no reasonable hotels. On the outskirts of town, however, was a "Bedouin" camp which offered "rustic", "affordable", "laid back" living, or so the guide book described it anyway. We decided therefore that rather than fall prey to the larceny of these in-bred taxi vultures we made haste to this"camp" which, much to our dismay, offered little more than moldy bamboo shacks in a sand courtyard, a communal shower and shitter (a mere hole in the floor) for the princely sum of $5.00 a night. And even at this meager requirement I feel completely justified in shouting at the full force of my charred lungs (Egypt you know) that we were overcharged! Apparently these little camps are where the locals and the down and out, wash yer shirt once a week, scrounge off everybody you meet, never had a job in their life backpackers go to holiday or optionally drop off the face of the earth for a while. The beautiful white sandy beach was littered with garbage from one end of the camps to the other; rabid hounds wandered aimlessly from garbage pile to garbage pile foraging for scraps and lying about in various degrees of coherency and sobriety were the dregs of the traveling community; greasy, unkempt and lecherous "packers". To proclaim that Shark and I felt out of place would be akin to calling Egypt "a little messy". Nevertheless, eager (well....resigned anyway) to making the best of this unsavory situation we established domesticity in a run down, lockless hut, searched out what we feared would be a giardia riddled chicken dinner, then settled in for the night. We had no sooner closed the door to our hut when the wind outside began to pick up and brought with it sheets of fine, silty sand through our feebly built shack. This sand soon found its way into all bodily orifices (a topic I shall leave be at this point) as well as infiltrating the folds, crevices and corners of our backpacks (and thus working its way into our clothes). The sounds of the wind whistling through our rented hovel were soon joined by a background symphony of rabid canines mutilating or maiming one of their own outside our front entrance. In between hocking up saliva saturated dust from our parched, cracked throats and cursing everyone we could think of cursing we made an oath to catch the first bus out at 7:00am in the morning. Appreciating how much Sharka detests the early hours of the day I quickly realised I was not alone in my condemnation of this godforsaken hellhole. Had I known that our first night in Egypt would come to represent the bulk of our time in Cairo I would never have left Na'ama Bay. Enough griping I say! Na'ama bay was a fantastic place. Our original plan was to spend five days there while acquiring our PADI tickets and instead remained for nine; diving for seven and lounging for two. The underwater world in Egypt, (at least on the Red Sea) is among the world's best and we had a fantastic time, saw heaps and heaps of fish, BIG fish; stingrays, napoleon fish, parrot fish, (even got attacked by a trigger fish) and on and on...but the pinnacle of the diving, by far, was the last dive we did...a night dive. Being underwater is a strange enough experience on its own, especially in the Red Sea where there's gobs and gobs of fish and some of the world's most beautiful coral, but descending underwater at night was amazing, it was like a swimming meditation, peaceful, deadly silent, similar to floating in the womb I imagine. Uniquely different from Petra yet equally as memorable. After our seven days of diving twice a day a break was called for so it was off to the beach for a couple days of lounging. You see...because Shark and I are such respectable travelers (we no longer associate ourselves with that poverty stricken ragtag group of wandering vagabonds associated with the term "backpackers") and as such we fit in remarkably well at any four or five star beach resort that serendipitously crosses our grateful path. One look at our designer "Bennetton" towels, fashionable beach attire and suave, sophisticated manners and the beach attendants usher us directly onto the padded lounge chairs of whichever hotel we have decided to grace with our presence. Works like a charm every time! In fact the other day we were mistaken for guests at a large five star Movenpick resort and were treated to a glorious breakfast buffet of fresh fruit, crepes, juice, eggs etc...in addition to an endless supply of delectable "Marche" coffee....for free! Backpackers we are not! Needless to say our stay in Na'ama was most pleasant; much pinting, much diving and much feasting. Coincidentally, Na'ama Bay is largely comprised of Europeans and westerners, with the local Egyptians employed primarily as unskilled labour (positions, I might add, for which they are infinitely qualified). Imagine living in Canada, where 95% of the people in the country (include those attempting to run the country) are all red wine slurping, social benefit abusing, haven't contributed a damb thing to society throughout the entire wasted space of their decrepit existence, native indians (shhpare some change brudder..). Imagine Canada's productivity. What makes the situation worse in Egypt is the influence of the Islamic religion these characters follow, in short, they are incredibly sexually repressed. So when they see a western woman, be it on the street, in a restaraunt or on a bus, they emit foul, hissing, snakelike sounds and or glare openly and lasciviously in a menacing and violating manner. They assume, based on the American television they watch, that all Western woman are ho's and would like nothing more than to hop in the sack with the first grimy, Egyptian scum they can find. This has been a cause (and justifyingly so) of much alarm and distress for Shark, as well as for most of the other female travellers we've met. After nine days of bliss we decided it was time to attack Cairo, a city of incredible history; the Pyramids, the Nile, oh what a feast our senses anticipated. Cairo, in fact, is the noisiest, most offensive, most disgusting city I have ever had the misfortune of visiting. Pollution is so bad that when I'd blow my nose at the end of the day, out would come a noxious black concoction of indeterminable objects and mucus, the sum total of the various olfactory offending odors (urine, exhaust, sewage, fetid breath, mildewing perspiration and rotting garbage to name but a few) I had encountered throughout my disheartening day. In addition to this somewhat less than pleasant reminder of my travels, the inhabitants of Cairo are committed to one common goal; to alleviate the few remaining tourists, through whatever diabolical and unscrupulous scheme imaginable, of their last remaining dollars. Everyone approaching us in the street rounded out his greeting with an invitation to visit the perfume shop/papyrus factory/restaurant/ whatever, that he/his cousin/his friend/his family owned. Add to this irritating frontal assault the leering, lecherous catcalls and hisses of Cairo's repressed, repulsive male population that followed in Sharka's wake and you have, in a nutshell, the ambiance of the city. Delightful. We would have fled this arsehole of the universe sooner but much to our dismay/surprise/elation, India had been struck by the Pneumonic plague (a handful of kilometers from Bombay, our primary destination in India), in fact, had we kept to our original schedule, we'd have found ourselves in Bombay three days before the outbreak of the plague was reported. Therefore, with this new tidbit of information, we elected to rearrange our journey with the sole intent of minimizing our exposure to death, disease and pestilence. With this new objective firmly lodged in the forefront of our cerebellums we attempted to fly around India to Nepal, go trekking, then continue our journey through southeast Asia, a plan that was soon doomed to failure as Air Pakistani discontinued all flights to India and Nepal. It was at this point that we began to look closely at the plethora of omens littering our path. India you see, from what I've ascertained to date, looked to be Egypt magnified tenfold, and all messages and indicators were pointing towards avoiding that corner of the world altogether (talk about accountability...I attracted the friggin' Pneumonic plague) and thus we came to a compromise. Rather than subjecting our pampered North American corporate souls to the rigors, tribulations, assaults and affronts of the Indian subcontinent we booked two tickets to Greece! Greece or India?.....Souvlaki in Santorini or Dysentary in Delhi?.....Retsina in Rhodos or Botulism in Bombay? Greece...or....India?....hmmmm....wasn't a very difficult decision. After a month or two of lounging on Grecian beaches we'll fly directly to Bangkok and continue our journey, leaving the abundance of "local culture" and Pneumonic treasures of India to the more hardy (foolish) of the packer crowd. As soon as we made the decision, then bought the tickets (the whole process taking a grand total of about thirty minutes, promoters you know) we felt a great weight had been lifted from our shoulders and were again on the right path. So, to round off our excursion in Egypt (we still had some time to kill before our flight, about ten days) we booked ourselves on a Nile cruise! Not the typical backpacker Nile Cruise where eight of the vermin cram themselves into a marginally seaworthy scow then proceed to float downstream for four mosquito plagued, sun scorched, befouled days piloted by a lecherous, tyrannical felucca captain. No....we booked ourselves into a five star floating cruise ship complete with on-board swimming pool and nightclub....aahhhhh...the perils of traveling. (Besides, should you choose to swim in the Nile, as packers are romantically and idealistically inclined to do, tiny worms squirm their way through your skin and proceed to lay copious amounts of eggs in your fertile flesh, parasitic eggs that incubate in your body then infiltrate all manner of your organs until one day (back in Canada of course, where doctors look for Nile eggs in your body when you complain of odd and increasing ailments as a matter of habit) it is finally discovered that for god knows how long you've been a walking larvae hotel...five star of course! To paraphrase this long winded letter into a few sentences let me say that we're having a great time...seeing some amazing things and getting along fabulously. Aside from our mild (MILD...yeh right...) disappointment with Egypt (which fortunately made it illuminatingly clear to both of us that India was not an adventure we would relish) everything is great. What I've discovered though, and not a minute too soon considering how close we came to leaping over the precipice that would have landed us in India....is that we're not the true, quintessential, romantic backpacker types! Reading umpteen copies of various Lonely Planet, Let's Go and Asia/Europe Through the Back Door I had pictured myself as a Canadian emissary venturing forth into the world intent on "meeting the local peoples" and "traveling the way they do", essentially trying to view their world through their eyes. The truth of the matter is, after bumbling around for a few months now, having met a few of the local people and (unfortunately) having traveled the way they do, I find the experience, at best, unfulfilling and at worst disgusting. I mistakenly (naiively) had the idea that when visiting foreign lands the locals would be friendly, open, hospitable, etc...etc.....etc....reality is they're just people, no different from those everywhere else (Egypt excluded of course, filthy vermin to the last man they are!) but in most cases caught in an economic predicament that contributes to their less than optimistic view of life. The days of the true explorers are over with and what's left is a world that largely views foreigners (and incredibly enough backpackers as well) as potential income opportunities...and that I can find at home....So, rather than being disappointed with our results we re-evaluated our expectations. I was basing the bulk of my expectations of this trip on the understanding that I was a certain breed of traveler; a rustic, backroads, explorer type. The fact of the matter is I like nothing more than gorging in fine restaurants and sleeping in hotels where I don't have to wander down the hall to take a shower. I love lying on beautiful sandy beaches. I like resorts. I like ocean views. I like frivolous spending. You get the picture! Restrictions were never my forte to begin with. As a result our journey has taken a new angle; Greece instead of India, Cruise down the Nile in a luxury boat rather than a crusty, rusty scow, a chalet on the beach in Thailand (complete with a sublet masseuse to ease my weary travelleur bones) rather than a hastily built bamboo hut perched in the middle of a malarial infested swamp, and most importantly, we've done away with our pestering budget (we blow it almost every day anyway so the illusion of trying to maintain some semblance of control over our spending only managed to provide us with unecessary and unwanted grief). Our trip will end sooner than we expected, but we feel it's a small price to pay for living out this journey exactly the way we want to, in the grand style to which we've become accustomed and most assuredly deserve. While this all may sound a little on the snobby side, I would venture to guess that if I were to go outside right now and ask fifty "packers" if they would prefer to spend the next five days cruising down the Nile on a luxury boat or the insect filled felucca I know they've already arranged, I'd lay every last dollar I've got squirreled away in my money belt on the fact that our boat would need fifty more beds. Packers travel cheap because they "have" to. We don't. Five more splendid, luxurious, relaxing (well...sort of anyway) days have now passed between my last contribution to this parchment of pleasure and I would be derelect in my responsibilities to you as an good friend if I were to mail this off without bringing you up to date on the latest. If, by some great stretch of the imagination, I had managed to retain a miniscule portion of my previous delusion regarding my preferred method of travel prior to embarking on our romantic float down the infamous Nile let me assure you those ludicrous thoughts have been rendered impotent. Aaaahhhh....what a life we've led these last few days, our most difficult decision of each morning concerned whether we preferred crepes or scrambled eggs to accompany our freshly brewed coffee and fresh squeezed juice. Shark and I had both caught a bit of a cold, mine was quite mild, the usual snotty nose, stuffed up head and accompanying grouchy attitude whereas Shark's ailments took on much grander proportions. She became a phlegm spitting, body aching, olympic contending snot producer (not to mention a true joy to behold in the midst of her irrepressible sneezing attacks). And let me add that in this favorable description I am being more than kind in the unlikely, but very possible, event this naration finds its way into her vindictive hands. In any event, we were both in need of some R & R from the exhaustive work involved with our travels. And along came the boat cruise....aahhh, the boat cruise. Large buffet breakfast, lunch and dinner every day, beautiful cabin room, white shirted, black tied, subservient waiters comitted to fulfilling my each and every requests for a chilly pint, outside pool on the top deck, barbeque. I believe you're beginning to get the picture my frozen friend (Reading the paper today noticed the temperature in Toronto to be hovering around six degrees......sure will miss those Toronto winters). Picture this; you're lounging on an overstuffed chaise-lounge, a frosty pint in your satisfied grubby mitt ( I must confess at this point that while I did indeed partake of numerous mugs of this Egyptian grog it was by no means akin to the standards of nectar to which I had become accustomed of late. More truthfully, "Stella" as the local poison is known (what image does "Stella" conjure up in your mind? does it bring forth images of an effervescent, life giving, thirst quenching gift from the gods? images of hops brewed to perfection? images of joyous, deep dark mahogany tanned redheaded tourists frolicking in the African sun? perhaps images of scantily clad, seductive Egyptian woman lasciviously licking a frosty glass of amber cerveza? ...for myself..."Stella" brings forth the image of an overweight, sour smelling, ogre of a bon bon eating wench capable of rendering a hard man flaccid with a mere gust of her putrid, befouled wind, be it exhaled through her half rotted teeth and infected gums, or worse, expunged from between the unwashed cleavage of her pockmarked behind!)...ooohhhh...where was I? Sorry, got a little carried away with myself there, too much Stella still polluting my system! Heineken it is not, but, given the circumstances I made the best of an imperfect situation and slurped back what was available. (Any country incapable of producing a palatable pint is a country in dire straits I say!) So, there I was lounging about on the deck, pint in hand, voluptuous, juicy Shark at my side, watching the Nile slip away beneath our floating paradise. And beautiful it was indeed. Each night the huge African sun would slowly descend behind our boat and disappear into the Nile, producing some of the most breathtaking sunsets these worldly eyes have ever seen. In fact, the only negative experience to transpire over the course of the week originated with Sharka's stubborn, bull headed desire to cut my hair; a desire that had no financial or aesthetic merit to it whatsoever. Nonetheless, she decided it would be fun (for who I ask?) to make a mockery of my follicles, then proceeded to harrass, cojole, plead and finally threaten until I came to the terrifying conclusion that sometime soon, in the ensuing hours of our romantic float down the African Nile I would be expected to sacrifice my onion shaped pouf of strawberry blonde hay to the inexperienced whims and scissors of a menacing Czech butcher. My prospects of surviving the impending coif with a minimum of embarrassment and public humiliation did not bode well. Therefore it was with a heavy heart and a wincing eye that I finally succumed to her ceaseless hounding and positioned myself as best I could in the dim light of our cabin for what I anticipated would be a night of sorrow and regret. Oh...... if only the forboding feelings surrounding the impending demise of my beloved crown were to prove false, if only they were to prove unfounded, if only they were to prove overcautious. Alas, they were not. Sharka set about mangling my dome to the height of her inexperienced ability. Uneven clumps of my rusty halo soon littered the floor around me and with each uncertain snip the fear in my heart grew stronger, each inaccurate hack left that much less hair to work with, and thus that much less of a margin to correct her inevitable mistakes. To be truthful about the whole matter, Sharka did a horrendous job of molding my coif, and the damage she inflicted on the follicles of my cranium will take a few months of growth and cultivation (not to mention a good measure of creative arranging) to truly be reversed. To my credit however, I was fortunate enough at the beginning of this debacle to posses a hairdo almost impossible to destroy (what can you do with an evenly proportioned head of one inch hair? You can do a lot actually, as I soon found out!) and thus was able to survive the attack with a minimal amount of readily discernable damage (from a distance), however, upon close scrutiny one would think I had either gone fifteen rounds with Freddy Kruger and had come out on the wrong side of the decision or I had elected to offer my amber halo to Helen Keller's school of hairdressing. In any event the deed is done. Sharka has satisfied her curiosity and within a month or two I will have regained a reasonable facsimile of my former coif. Aahhh....what a man will do for love. I should sign off the letter now as Marcous Baldous and his sidekick Snipper(Butcher) but there is one last tidbit I feel compelled to share! You see, this final contribution to what will no doubt provide you with an unending supply of mirth and merriment is being typed up in Greece. Wheezer and I have fled the open, pustulating, weeping, scabourous (?), infectous anus of the earth through which we have been journeying for the last four weeks and now find ourselves in the opulence and peace of Athens. Athens, I hasten to add, is a teeming, modern, overpopulated city of three million people, yet when compared to Cairo it resembles an oasis and a treasure. Our yearning for travel and it's accompanying excitement have returned tenfold (which is why I'm up at 1:00am in the morning typing this, too excited to sleep) and we can't wait to begin exploring the islands, may even stay here for a few months, who knows! All in all.....all is well and we're having a fantastic time. Every few days I pick up and newspaper and grimace when I read the temperature in Toronto and Vancouver....seems we hadn't left a mminute too soon. Yer buds, Marcous Travelous in Stylous and his sidekick Spender!
|
Expand all
Collapse all
