Parallels

*Fill in truth/fiction cliche*

Reading the times a few days ago, I saw a story that surpassed anything I'd dare write about. A few months ago, I wrote a brief, 1,500-word story about smugglers running the Mexican border. Obviously, this is something that happens all the time, but I thought I was pushing credulity by including a running gun battle in the middle of the desert.

Here's the story:

http://vouescrever.blogspot.com/2008/08/la-frontera.html

Little did I know...

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/02/02/us/02pot.html?scp=1&sq=mexico%20border&st=cse

Drug smugglers parked a car transport trailer against the Mexican side of the border one day in December, dropped a ramp over the security fence, and drove two pickup trucks filled with marijuana onto Arizona soil.

Drug smugglers from Mexico burned their truck and the marijuana it carried before fleeing from border agents in Arizona.

As Border Patrol agents gave chase, a third truck appeared on the Mexican side and gunmen sprayed machine-gun fire over the fence at the agents. Smugglers in the first vehicles torched one truck and abandoned the other, with $1 million worth of marijuana still in the truck bed. Then they vaulted back over the barrier into Mexico’s Sonora state.

Despite huge enforcement actions on both sides of the Southwest border, the Mexican marijuana trade is more robust — and brazen — than ever, law enforcement officials say. Mexican drug cartels routinely transported industrial-size loads of marijuana in 2008, excavating new tunnels and adopting tactics like ramp-assisted smuggling to get their cargoes across undetected.

I'm really just speechless. Firing at the Border Patrol with automatic weapons is one thing, but creating a mobile ramp to drive over the fence is some seriously crazy maneuvering.

I also apologize for the missed installment last week - I'll blame it on the Border Patrol, and promise to have a brand-new post this week.

Homeward Bound

Well, my last day in Cairo is slowly coming to a close. I rose early this morning to go to Giza to do a bit of riding - and to see the Pyramids, which I have so far failed to do! I walked out the dorms to get a bit of extra cash, but the ATM at the supermarket was closed. Then I walked to the next corner, where there's normally another machine - and it was gone. Simply vanished. Bizarre. So I walked to the post office, but that one wasn't accepting my card. On to the Faisal Islamic Bank's machine, but it was out of order. 25 minutes and 4 machines later, I finally managed to withdraw from the Egypt National Bank on 26 July.

I headed back to MG Stables where Thalia and I rode last time - if any of you are in Cairo, I heartily recommend it, it's a good, respectable place and everybody knows it. Ask for Mohammed Ghoneim, the owner, and Nasser, the guide. Nasser took me out and gave me a bit of tutorial riding in the desert, trying to smooth out my trot and keep the horse under control in a gallop, then we infiltrated the pyramids. We rode out to a section of wall with a little Bedouin hut next to it, and bribed the Bedouin to open up the fence and let us in. Then we rode through the dunes surrounding the Pyramids, around 8 in the morning, and got to see them up close, in all their glory, without a single tourist around. It was really amazing, to be there with nothing but a few stray Bedouin hanging around, instead of massive tour groups. The light wasn't great, but hey...what can you do?

There was a desert boy there with a camel, and I rode that just for kicks. Camels officially suck, they're the dumbest animals I've ever seen. Mine walked about 10 metres, came back, and then made a sound like a diesel engine trying to start with severe flatulence and refused to sit down so I could get off. It took Nasser and the boy to drag the stupid thing down. I hate camels. Horses are much better.

We returned, I said my farewells, then walked back to the main street where, not wanting to pay a further 30LE to get to Zamalek, I took a baffling series of buses and minbuses until I got to the train station, then the Metro back to Zamalek. Of course, the train drops you at the far end of the island from the University dorms, so I got to walk most of the length of it, shooting pictures as I went. It was a nice morning, so it was all good, and I got back at 10:30 or 11 - just as Joe was getting up!

It was really cool to get out there in the desert, with no one around, no one at the Pyramids, just me and the sky and the desert. I love riding, and riding in the desert - total freedom, total emptiness, and a real touching loneliness. I feel compelled to come back to Egypt, a country full of contradictions and bizarre sights. The cabdrivers try to rob you blind, but when I was trying to figure out the bus system, on three occasions different men flagged down the buses for me and explained to the drivers where I was going because I didn't understand the geography or which bus to take. It was a really kind gesture of them.

I'm going to miss a lot of things about this - the dirt and the irregular facilities not among them. But speaking Arabic everyday, the people, the crazy crowded rhythms, the surprises around every corner, cheap coffee, fancy restaurants. Even the slowly pulsing Nile, which I was so disappointed with at first, has grown on me and become a kind of constant navigational companion.

Tomorrow I have to get up a bit past dawn to get my flight. Tonight is my last night in Cairo. Half-sad, half-happy - I'm looking forward to going home. We'll see how I like it there.

Glimpses

News remains slow here, but what can you do. I apologize that I can't get mugged by Turkish pimps every week - although that might get old. Anyways, here are five or six of my favorite photos from the trip. Hope you like them! Click to see them in all their full-res glory.

Stairway in Cairo. I like it because it sums up the physicality of the city.

Bizarre volcanic cones in the Black Desert. Looks like an alien landscape.

The beginning of the white desert and its bizarre cones and whorls.

Footprints in the White Desert.

Old man in prayer at the Suleimaniye Mosque, Istanbul.


Ceiling in the Roman Temple at Baalbeck.

Through the Sun-Drenched Dust: Part 2

The White Desert was an alien-looking landscape studded with weird limestone formations that eroded at the slightest touch. After clambering around the spires and mushrooms we found ourselves covered in a fine white dust that got into every corner and coated every surface. The sun was beginning to set, casting everything in a liquid golden sheen. After taking a lot of pictures we began driving through the desert again.

It became obvious that we were doing a quick tour of every notable rock formation. We were getting pretty tired at this point, covered in limestone and sand. Jacob quipped after the third or fourth stop that if it was another rock he wasn't even going to bother getting out of the car. The Chicken was a pretty funny resemblance, though, and that was worth seeing.

Finally, we pulled up in front of a large, flattish rock and the drivers maneuvered the cars together to form a makeshift windbreak. While we watched the sun blaze down towards the horizon and the moon rise out of the purple sky, the guides began to set up our camp. The funny thing was that standing atop this rock we could see at least 6 or 7 other groups of cars doing the exact same thing, and yet we felt utterly alone out among the rocks and sand. The sky is amazing out there – it just seems infinitely bigger than any sky even on the top of a mountain – the desert sky is an element unto itself.

The guides set up carpets hung against the cars and on the ground and built a firepit in the ground. It was actually a roofless tent – what's the point of a roof when there's no rain? We sat around and ate yosteffendi(mandarins, I think), and discussed various points of racism and religion. It was an engaging although somewhat depressing conversation. Finally, dinner was ready.

It was easily one of the top five meals of my life – perhaps it was the onions and spices rub in the chicken, perhaps the setting, or perhaps the maxim that “Hunger is the best spice.” Whatever the reason, chicken, rice, and potato stew have never tasted so good. Everything was hot and savory, and only Jay was unable to eat – his stomach was upset and he retired early. I think I must have eaten a half-pound of rice and a whole chicken.

Afterwards came the inevitable – the guides inviting us to sit by the fire, sipping tea and smoking shisha. Saeed, the head guide, had actually disassembled his waterpipe and brought it out into the desert with him - I guess they can't live without it. Naguib brought out his tabla(basically a hand-drum), and they began to sing Arab desert songs and play away. It was really an incredible moment, just listening to the rhythms and the cigarette cured voices under the brilliant light of the full moon.

Saeed started a sort of question game where we would ask him questions about his life in Arabic, and he would respond in kind. It got going once we overcame our initial shyness, and had a bit of fun at his expense about his girlfriend back in Cairo. Then he passed the torch to me, and I had to endure an Arabic grilling from the guides and my fellows. It was tough, but I was proud of the moment where Naguib asked me “What do you love in life,” and I responded – in Arabic - “Strong coffee in the morning, good work during the day and my best friends in the evening.” It's satisfying to express real thoughts coherently in Arabic.

Naguib kept hollering these names out into the desert as he sang, and at first I thought he was just kidding around, saying “If only Ahmed so-and-so were here.” As it turned out, he was really yelling to some friends of his out in a (relatively) nearby campsite. So these 5 or 6 Arab men materialized out of the moonlight; from a long way off they appeared like shadowy raiders attacking our camp.

They sat around the fire and brought a big bass drum, and then they really launched into their celebration. A fat man began to bellydance in the middle of the circle of men, using his kaffiyeh as a prop. He brought us into the circle and we danced around the fire and tried to sing along.

At one point, they asked us to sing American songs. We found that between us, we could barely manage Yellow Submarine and I Will Survive, as well as a somewhat pathetic rendition of Wonderwall. In contrast, all the Arabs knew several folk songs and could at least sing the chorus of everything that they tried. Most of the songs were pretty simple, though, along the lines of “Habibi, habibi, habibi...hiya tuhib shai shaheeda.” Which is basically “ My love, my love, my love...she likes strong tea.”

Finally, after more dancing, singing, tea, shisha, games and conversation, we fell to sleep under the stars and the moon. It was almost like early morning in how bright the light was – the full moon seemed like a glowing hole in the blue-black dome of the sky. The whole thing was an incredible experience, seeing how the desert culture works. Without women around, the men dance and joke with each other in an incredibly free way, although they are drawn like magnets to the women with us. They all seem to have a real sense of cultural solidarity – knowing the same songs, the same jokes.

The feel of the desert has something to do with it as well. The emptiness, the sky, the wild sands and stones all contribute to the feeling of being very alone in a vast world. I can only imagine what it must have been like to live your entire life among these dunes and oases, and how that would affect your culture and religion. It's a harsh land, and we experienced only a tiny fraction of its power. Nevertheless, it has made a people who are hospitable in the extreme – never have I felt so welcomed into a group as that night out in the White Desert.

(Next time: The Journey Home; Thanks to Claire Marie-Hefner for the last picture!)

Through the Sun-Drenched Dust: Part 1

This weekend was another intense adventure. I haven't written in several days because I've been away - in the deserts surrounding the oasis hamlet of Bahriya. There are two, actually: the Black Desert and the White Desert.

But first things first. Joe and Kimberly organized the trip through a tour guide, who after a bit of haggling and a bit of pressure were pushed from 450 LE down to 300 LE, a nice break. Thursday night, half an hour after class ended, we were standing at the door of the dorm with our luggage. A microbus - van, really - pulled up and we piled in with our suitcases, bags and cameras. They spoke no English - us, only the Arabic we'd learned in class and the streets. Off we went.

The drive lasted around 4 hours, barreling at upwards of 140 km/h down the center of a two-lane desert highway. The drivers would flash their lights and occasionally pull just far enough to the right to allow semis to blast by going the other way. Believe me, out in the middle of the blackness a one-headlight car is a scary thing. At the end of this long and harrowing voyage, we arrived in a tiny hamlet, spotted with mud walls and palms, and pulled up through the still-bustling streets at the Western Sahara hotel.

We ate typical but delicious Egyptian food: bread, rice, potato and tomato stew, couscous soup, tomatoes, chunks of grilled beef. After that we retired to the roof to admire the view, sip Bedouin tea, and shoot the breeze with our guide, Saeed. As it turned out, he was a university student in Cairo at the prestigious al-Azhar University, where he studied French language and literature. The conversation flowed in a mix of English, Arabic and French, and somehow we managed to get all of our ideas across as Saeed smoked his shisha and we drank cup after cup of strong, sweet(and occasionally salty?) tea.

The next day found us leaving bright and early, in varying degrees of rest. Our first destination was the volcanic peaks and valleys of the Black Desert. The LandCruisers - our faithful steeds throughout the two days, that required neither refueling nor repair despite the abuse we put them through - quickly turned out into the desert.

After a brief stint on a small dune, we headed out for some serious off-roading. While Naguib, the driver of the red Cruiser, seemed to be pretty calm, our fellow, Abdel, was a madman. He loved to slalom through the sands, throwing us around like dice in a cup, and take the crests of dunes at full speed. A short drive with him made the hardest rock seem like a tossing ocean.

We arrived at the foot of a curving valley and went for a walk while the Cruisers took the long way round. It was a bizarre and unique environment - it reminded me alternately of the landscape in Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon and Mordor from Lord of the Rings. We scrambled up and down the sand and black rocks, and Thalia and I braved a sheer - and probably foolhardy - ascent to the top of this cliff/mountainside/valley wall. It was worth it, though, for the sheer breathtaking vista. The descent was even more terrifying, as footholds crumbled beneath our very feet.

Reuniting with the 4X4s, we headed to another, more manageable mountain, snapped a couple of group photos, and then rolled out for lunch at a roadside cafeteria. This was excellent despite - or perhaps because - of its simplicity. We did feel a bit bad about being served by a woman at least 8 3/4 months pregnant - with twins! But to refuse her hospitality would have been a terrible offense.

We climbed reluctantly back into the LandCruisers - the combination of our full bellies and Abdel's driving would combine to create an effect like a food-processor gone haywire. Slip-sliding our way across the dunes, braced against the walls, ceiling, and even doors for support, we turned our supplications to Allah. Finally, we reached a huge dune that dropped away between massive white limestone formations, giving us a stunning view of wildly eroded pinnacles and gnarled peaks.

After time spent climbing, watching, taking pictures, and helping some fellow-travelers fix a flat(ish) tire, we blitzed down the dune and into that bizarre landscape. For those of you have never driven through serious dunes - it is intense. The steady reverse to a high vantage on tractive terrain, the moment of anticipation, the teeth-rattling eyeball-jolting charge down the side, and then the long, whining climb to the peak, holding your breath for the moment of truth - will you make it or fall short. If you make it, cheers and sighs of relief. If not - climb out, dig, turn around, and try again. And these weren't even the great dunes of the Dune Sea farther west, which we'll visit later on, Inshallah.

To Be Continued...

(Next time, on The Sun-Drenched Dust: pyroclasm, tents with no roof, fat men bellydancing, Yellow Submarine, chickens both stone and savory, and much much more)