We are now in Nairobi, about to start our Africa trip. I’m exhausted and this has simply been an exhausting experience. We’ve had six flights in eight days. Bangkok to Bahrain to Cairo to Cyprus to Athens to Dubai to Nairobi. Obviously I’m not putting up all the time that we’ve missed but thought it was important to put up the pertinent Cairo story while it’s still timely. The rest may have to wait a month or more as we will be out of contact in Africa.
After having spent many hours in front of the TV watching either CNN or the BBC, we know a good deal of misinformation is being perpetuated about what is going on. In order to not become a part of that, I'd just like to make it very clear that the following is simply an account of what we saw and heard, one of millions of truths. There is a lot to speculate and theorize about. But despite the many questions and uncertainties we are left about what we saw and the choices we made, the underlining point should be that we are grateful for our safety and wish great swiftness in resolution of the problem in Egypt so that its citizens and the remaining foreigners may live safely as well. For now, that's all that really matters.
Here is our experience of Cairo:
We made reservations for a hostel before leaving Bangkok despite seeing the news of protests. We decided to head in that direction and only take a different flight if we really thought it was necessary. I was able to check the news and my email from the free internet in the Bahrain airport. The news showed that the people were planning even larger protests than before that day, Friday, after the afternoon prayers. We knew the area would not be great for us to enter on our own but our hostel would be picking us up and taking us back through town safely. We just hadn't heard back from the hostel yet.
We waited for the flight and could see the BBC news coverage of Egypt on the large waiting area screens. But the sound was off. I wished so desperately that we could hear what Obama and the previous Nobel Laureate, who is leading the cry for protest, were each saying.
When we landed in Cairo, we felt a little uneasy but knew we had our plans straight and at the worst wouls have to call our hostel to come get us if they hadn't gotten my email. We got through customs easily and chatted with a couple middle aged Americans who were on the same plane, Tom and Katie from Utah.
When we reached the terminal area, there wasn't much there. We had trouble pulling money out of the ATMs but eventually both succeeded. The area was kind of a long hall. Closed at one end by the customs security guards and on the other by glass doors to the outside and parking lot that were heavily guarded as well. Inside the hall were a few people who worked in ther terminal, a bar/restaurant with numerous tables and a TV to the side, bank and tour boothes, and an information desks. The walls and floors were dark and the place felt very old. There were no restrooms and the guards would not let us back through the customs area. Tom left through the front and hd to give a small bribe to return. I went out after and begged sincerely that the soldiers should let me back in when I returned.
Through the doors, the parking lot was dark and crowded. People crowded the doors. Whether waiting for arrivals or trying to get in, I don't know. But they all looked at me strangely or glared at me as I walked out. I was a young white woman taking my first steps out of the airport into an Arabic world in the midst of protests and I was nervous. I walked down the side of the terminal where I'd been told I would find a bathroom. I only found more people waiting to try to get into departures. Eventually, I saw an employee who'd spoken with us inside who was able to point out to me the toilets underground in the middle of the parking lot. I hesitated looking out around me. Was it safe for me to go out there by myself? I asked. He half smiled. Would I like him to come with me? No, no. I reassured him I would be fine.
I walked slowly and cautiously and was received by a woman in a black burka revealing her face when I reached the bottom of the stairs. She smiled and motioned and tried to give me paper. Without language, I responded in smiles and bowing and hand gestures. I noticed the front of the restroom was filled with Egyptian women sitting, sullen and downcast looking. I didn't yet understand why.
I can't remember the exact order of things but it became clear to us that the internet and cell phones were down and that our hostel would not be there to pick us up because the road from downtown was unsafe and had been closed. Tom and Katie were similarly stuck, having a reservation with a tour company that wasn't there to get them and no way of knowing where their (prepaid) hotel was. We weighed our options after numerous interactions with a help desk woman with coke bottle glasses who shrugged a lot and refrained from giving any advice or much information. We had no reason to think we would be able to communicate adequately with a taxi driver and had no idea where we would like to go. We thought to stay in the terminal overnight, dank though it was, but had the fear that after planes stopped arriving (after 3am according to the one board I found) the security guards would kick us out. At that time of night we'd almost certainly be worse off. There was also a man offering us a hotel room for $75, which was nearly out of the question for Chris and I but an option nonetheless. The last option was to attempt walking to the large hotels we could see on the outskirts of the property and share a room there. Foolhardy, we chose the last option and loaded up our things to go. It was only after we walked out, even later perhaps, that we learned that at curfew was in effect from an hour before we had landed until eight the next morning and that the airport had been closed, or at least that many flights were being cancelled.
We lucked out and saw a van for one of the hotels we wanted to go check. They didn't know what rooms were available but insisted we got in to go see. Rather than go straight to the hotel, they turned off early, which had me a little worried until we saw they were going to the other major terminal. Terminal 3 was well lit and spacious with plenty of people and security. It looked much more like an airport at home. Why couldn't we have come in there? we asked. The roads around the terminals were littered with random cars and the occasional soldier with riot gear. We saw an obelisk prominent in a small roundabout that we'd joke for the rest of the night might be the extent of our Egypt sightseeing.
When we got to the hotel, it was immediately clear that it was out of our price range. Luckily, they were full. So it was not a decision we had to make. We walked to the hotel next door and it began to feel like a storm, blowing sand in our eyes and drizzling, though it never fully developed. When it rains, sometimes it pours. At the next hotel, we found the situation to be the same - lots of people in suits and a concierge. Tom went in to check on a room so the rest of us didn't have to go through the hotel security with all the bags. He came back with no real answers but guessing no rooms were available based on the man in front of him having been arguing at the front desk for an hour. We got on their shuttle bus and went back to Terminal 1.
We found the departures section much more bright and hospitable appearing than where we'd arrived. And there was another information desk we very much hoped would be able to help. Security would not let us enter the terminal. We were flatly turned away.
We walked back to where we'd arrived, just around the corner, and stopped to talk with a group of older American travellers who were supposed to fly out but whose flight had been cancelled. It was they who told us of many of the problems with the airport and transportation that were making our situation more and more desperate seeming. I knew that we would be fine but was very ready to be settled down somewhere and not thinking too much about what was going on in the city outside the airport.
The four of us made the decision to go back to Terminal 3 we'd seen. Tom and Katie thought perhaps their tour leader could be waiting for them there and Chris and I thought it was a bright place that would be safe to spend the night in if they would let us in. We jumped on the interterminal shuttle when it came by and met an Egyptian couple who were also stranded- unable to call family they had in the area to come get them with cell phone service down.
When we arrived, terminal 3 security let us in immediately, to our great relief. However, Chris received a quick pat down in which the guard practically groped his crouch while repeating Money? money? Chris flattly refused.
The terminal was packed with people, chairs full and the walls lined. We found an open area against a wall and settled down. After a couple trying hours, we were at least settled now in somewhere safe for the night. Tom and I went and waited in line for perhaps more than an hour to buy water and ice cream, which we had to trade out a couple times after melting. The situation was not so severe in retrospect but it still required ice cream to help relax.
We set ourselves up and sat talking for a long while. It was late and we were tired but the bright lights and continuous announcements didn't seem amenable to sleep. Upstairs was the ticketing area, as well as a couple restaurants like Burger King. While Chris was wandering, looking for perhaps some carpeting or a more comfortable spot to sleep, I suddenly heard shouts and chanting, and I went rigid. Were the protests so bad? Had they really reached the airpot already? I excused myself to go find Chris and figure out what was going on. I found Chris after a minute or two and he reassured me it was Egyptian people upstairs upset that their flights had been cancelled. We went upstairs to see but they'd stopped already.
We spent a good deal of time just sitting around talking, not really knowing what else to do. It now actually seems too happy and jovial the way we chatted and joked about things such as how to have grandkids when your children aren't married yet (adopt for them and raise them the first two years). But we didn't have any idea how things were going outside. There was no television. No outlet to the outside.
We happened to have sat down next to one of the few power outlets, which many people had need of. The man who came over to ask was an Egyptian guide trying to get his tour group out. He was trying to charge his phone so he could call his wife in Alexandria, who he complained normally called far too much and was an irritation. He was a tall, young man who was at times sarcastic but also obviously agitated by the situation which made it very hard to read him. He ranted about the status of things in Egypt for young educated people and about the poverty. He told us what he knew of what was happening outside and we were a rapt audience. He tried to call Tom and Katie's tour company and assured us he would check in with us in the morning. It was incredible luck to be around someone with a cell phone.
The floor of the terminal was hard and cold. As Chris pointed out from previous experience, it would continuously suck the heat out of you and never get warmer. I got ready in the bathroom where there was no more paper and it paid to be third world ready. Then I changed into multiple layers, thick socks, and my long underwear. We were prepared for cold but weren't expecting it in this situation. We gave Tom and Katie, who were packed very very lightly by comparison, our sleep sacks to give them some protection. They used their umbrellas to give them some darkness, as well as privacy. Chris and I laid down towels to lay on with the sleeping bag over us after Chris strung all our bags together with a small rope. Chris covered his eyes with a scarf and I actually had an eye mask. I lay down and shoved a jacket under my side to level me out. We all got a few hours of fitful sleep.
The neighboring tour guide woke us up around 6. Someone had come with food. Chris and Tom ran over while Katie and I woke up, dazed to find only half as many people as the night before. Perhaps most flew out. The men returned empty handed but the kind guide came with a couple extra boxes for us his group had earned through a great deal of pushing and shoving. It wasn't much but we picked at the french fries a little. That was the last we saw of the guide.
We packed up and waited for the curfew to end. Tom and Katie went upstairs and managed to get themselves booked on a flight to Athens that afternoon since they were supposed to be meeting Tom's parents in Israel in just a few days. They decided, despite poor Katie's extreme hesitation, to go see the pyramids at Giza just outside of town before their flight. They invited us to come and I really wanted to go. But we had our huge bags and no where to leave them. So we wished each other good luck and said goodbye - until Tom came running back with the license plate number to their cab since it seemed a little sketchy and he thought giving someone the information would up their chances of coming back unscathed. We were very fortunate to meet such wonderful people and we probably kept each other more calm through a rough arrival. I hope they made it out all right.
During that morning, we were approached by a young American guy named Adam who'd arrived in the middle of the night. He latched onto us. After it became clear that information couldn't or wouldn't help us get in contact with our hostel to come pick us up and all they would say about downtown was "safe, safe!", the three of us decided to try to make our way out of the airport. More people were coming in than leaving the airport but we thought, hey, why not? So we waited to catch a bus into downtown until an older African taxi driver came up to offer us a ride. I was expecting to be taken advantage of under the circumstances but he made a reasonable offer, so we accepted.
We walked through the parking lot with him to an unmarked car. But every guard we passed knew him and smiled and joked with him, which went a long way to assuaging my fears. Getting in, he had to move a large, clear plastic bag of bread for Adam to sit in the front. He'd use these small loaves to seemingly pay off guards as we passed through different boothes. He was such a sweet old guy and very friendly but he couldn't do much to change what we were about to see.
Maybe a minute or two off the airport property, we came upon the first live, in person tank I've ever seen active or in use. There were multiple along the road, along with armed soldiers standing outside them. We passed the air force base and other than the tanks along the road, everything appeared near normal until we got closer to downtown.
The kind old driver was giving us a short lesson in arabic as we drove passed buildings with broken windows and singed walls - mag-noon is crazy like the drivers we encountered, maya is water, ehlo-ah is beautiful or lovely like the minarets and mosques we were seeing from the road, and show-krun is thank you (all spelld phonetically). It was in the midst of this lesson that we started to notice the smoke coming up in the distance. The closer we came, the more clearly we were able to make out the tall building still on fire, which we later learned was the political party headquarters right next to the Egyptian Museum. Having never truly seen a building on fire in reality, and not just on a television screen, I was surprised by how calm it seemed. Despite the billowing smoke and the plain fact that the building was doomed, it wasn't violent at all. It was simply on fire.
We turned off the long bridge and highway onto the downtown streets and knew immediately we were in over our heads. The streets were not pure chaos but they were certainly worse than we thought. The signs of protest and unrest surrounded us on all sides. The tall burning building was now just around the corner. We passed by scorched and overturned trucks as we passed into the square downtown (not Tahrir but fairly close). The soldiers and armored cars blocked our way and our taxi turned around passed a group of protesters with one man still standing above them shouting in the early morning light tinted by smoke and pollution. The information desk's words rang in my ears, "safe, safe!" But I wasn't sure yet.
The rest of downtown was nearly empty compared to what you would otherwise expecting on a Saturday in the capital. There were piles of garbage everywhere and more charred remains of vehicles. Store doors were broken in and windows were shattered nearer to the center and main streets. Average people, not shopkeepers, were out with their cameras. Sometimes taking pictures of the aftermath, sometimes with it.
We reached our hostel and with none of us having correct change, we paid the bulk of the journey. Adam vowed to come find us and pay us back (and seemingly to make plans for what he wanted us all to do that day), but he never came back. Our hostel was on a tucked away street maybe five blocks from the main action on Tahrir Square. More than a safe distance we thought- and it always was. It was an old building with a small open elevator neither of us trusted. We climbed to the seventh floor with our large bags. The Sara Inn Hostel. Other than choosing it for the obvious reasons, I wanted to stay there because they gave us a small discount because of my name.
When we arrived and checked in, it was still early and the staff was obviously frazzled. There was also a man from Alexandria who was stranded and desperate to get home. Most of them spoke near perfect English. There was an older French couple staying there, a young Scandinavian couple who left by train for Luxor that night, a couple of French journalists who arrived the next day, and a couple of locals. It was a small place with two floors and very few occupants.
After settling in, our first order of business was to try to let our families know we were okay. Although cell phones were working again, the internet was still down and would be the entire time we were there. We decided to try around the city. This idea received mixed reviews including adamant warnings from the stranded Alexandrian who insisted we not go. After a night in the airport, we needed fresh air. We promised to be safe.
We stepped out cautiously onto the street populated by numerous people talking with their neighbors and milling around as well as tremendous amounts of garbage. Stepping gingerly around piles of trash, we moved along the street seeing numerous closed shops (including many airlines and travel agents who weren't available to us) and a few broken windows. Coming out to the main road, we could see the tanks and armored cars blocking off the entrances to Tahrir Square - maybe not so much blocking as just sitting, waiting, and guarding, like they were there to protect the people in the square actually. With our cameras slung around our shoulders, we moved cautiously closer to sate our curiosity.
The moment we step foot outside the strange looks began. Granted there were some local women with their hair down but I was a white woman with dirty blond hair visible walking the streets of a Arabic city in upheaval for the first time. I did make sure to wear long sleeves and pants, but I was very sensitive to the strangeness of my presence and many of the men on the streets were too.
Men came up to us and told us multiple times in broken English while smiling, "Don't worry, don't worry! It is safe. Very safe!" Safe, huh? I could see numerous armed soldiers around the square while protesters (at this point only maybe a couple thousand) did circles on the small street. The chanting was ever present but not terribly loud, and we were curious. There were plenty of average people (though mainly Egyptians) standing along the barricaded perimeter taking pictures. So we joined them. It was an amazing view to be so close, hearing the voices in loud but nonviolent protest while seeing the expressions on their faces with the smoke of the burning building always in the background. The sight was incredible.
People moved in and out of the square with ease. The military didn't stop them or get in the way. On the contrary, the protesters and soldiers would stop to talk, maybe shake hands or even share some water, all the while smiling. Maybe seeing that was what put me the most at ease. There was nothing violent here. It was friendly, even collegial. But I still couldn't get by the sight of so many men with bandages on their heads and faces from injuries the night before. I had to think things changed at curfew but while it was daylight and innocent bystanders were out, both sides were playing nice.
I was amazed to see so many Egyptian women in the crowd as well. They were a minority as well but I even saw one woman leading the chanting. This was very counter to my impressions of Uslim hierarchy. There were also women in full dress standing along the perimeter at times eyeing up the military vehicles but otherwise unimpressed with the whole ordeal.
My most uncomfortable moment was probably when a large group of men from behind the perimeter, not protesters, came charging. They were just getting close to see the spectacle of two women, one very caucasian looking, climbing up on an armored car to get their picture taken. They had lots of pictures taken. Other people were having their picture taken with the military too. The atmosphere wasn't exactly jovial but other than my own discomfort at the new environment, it was rather pleasant.
While we were taking pictures, two more Egyptian men came up to talk with us. One spoke perfect English, the other didn't say a word to us. He made some comment over the noise about us being press. I jokingly brushed it off, thinking he couldn't be serious, but because of Chris' big camera, I think he was. While we stood there, a third man, younger and with a bandage over the side of his head, came up from within the square. He started pointing and in broken English said that Chris and one of the men standing with us (who wasn't even holding a camera) couldn't take pictures, but I could. We all smiled and shrugged our shoulders but he continued on wide eyed about what beautiful eyes I have. Mind you his was after I'd had almost no sleep, was fairly stressed, and hadn't worn make up in more than a month. I wasn't exactly looking my best. The three guys then started to speak in Arabic and the third man was given the brush off. The first man, who made me think of an Egyptian Laurence Fishbourne, his name was Zizo (zee-zoo), made intimations the other had been drunk or on drugs.
We four walked away from the square together, continuing to talk a little until I noted out the corner of my eye that bandage guy was kind of following us. He caught up and again started complimenting me on my eyes and wanted to tell me about his wound and kept saying he had gotte it the night before, looking very proud. This is when, crossing a busy street, Zezo and his friend strong armed the guy and with an arm around his shoulder took him away from me. Chris and I have dealt with your random oddballs before but it was still very nice to have someone who spoke the language intervene on my behalf. I thanked him accordingly while the guy was across the street still yelling about my eyes.
The whole encounter however got me thinking about the types of people who get involved in protesting and massive rallies such as Tahrir Square. Obviously there are a lot of passionate people who are really there for a cause. But there are also the random younger people like my eye obsessed friend who are more interested in showing off scars, doing drugs or drinking, and just being part of the scene. That's culture and it'll happen anywhere but I wonder how many of those peple are reall around and how much they contribute to the needless goading and violence that goes on.
Zizo's friend walked away and he invited us to come with him for a coffee. We were hesitant. Not having had a real meal since plane food, finding an open restaurant was our number one priority. But we thought perhaps a cafe would be heading in the right direction. So we rounded a few corners and headed down an alleyway where men were cleaning up obvious evidence of a break-in, lots of broken glass. They glared as we passed and it was apparent our presence wasn't appreciated but we quickly moved through to a small side street where we sat down at outside to be served by what you might call a cafe without a central location. There were small tables of men all along the walls drinking tea or coffee and smoking shisha out of a water pipe (that's flavored tobacco, not pot). We settled in and had turkish coffees with grounds so thick they created a mud like sludge and then a barley tea with anise.
Zizo is a Egyptian who works, lives, and is married with two kids in Belgium. He was in Cairo for a month's vacation with bad timing to visit his family. We talked a lot about Egyptian politics and culture- including why it was smart that Chris and I were polite to crazy guy instead of just ignoring him. He told us about the things in Cairo he misses in Europe like waking up preoccupied at 3am and walking safely downtown to a still very active cafe to have a coffee and talk or think in the middle of the night. As he told us about his city and we sat in a tight alley away from the sounds of protest, Cairo lit up for us in a whole new way that we wouldn't have been able to see or appreciate without his help. He also explained the sense of privacy as two different news crews were shooed away. He insisted on paying and then walked us all the way back to the hostel where he gave us his phone number and email in case we needed anything at all. We only met the nicest people in Cairo and it was apparent to us that without protests, or even in spite of, it would be an incredibly peaceful and hospitable place.
We walked to a nearby shop to pick up supplies, which many of the locals were as well. It was mostly a lot of junk food, but the doritos were amazing (tandori chicken flavor ingredients: corn, vegetable oil, chicken with tandori seasoning). People were very kind and receptive to our presence. Someone even went out of their way to let us know the curfew had been changed from six to four pm. Important information but at one thirty in the afternoon, we were still hungry for a real meal and knew we'd need more food for that night. So we decided to walk a ways further, in the opposite direction from the square.
There were plenty of people out and about. Trying to go about their normal business. We saw this over and over again. And it was the main thing we would not see when we were stuck in our hotel room watching CNN and BBC that night. The streets still moved with normal people trying to continue along the day. Blocks away people were protesting, marching in circles, and trying to make a point but here were all these people just trying to live. The side of things the news doesn't ever cover.
A few blocks away, we finall found a restaurant that was open. Thank goodness. We were hungry. We were lucky enough to sit next to a pleasant guy who helped signal with us to get us some amazing looking food since everything was written in Arabic. We sat quietly and waited for our Lebanese influenced food. We had amazing roasted chicken with stewed vegetables and homemade pita. While we sat, we suddenly heard loud voices and a large group of people was obviously drawing near. It became clear that this was chanting. They were getting closer. Everything stopped mid-motion and every heart pounded in unison. They came and passed by. Exhale. The owner had already been moving briskly as if he was wanting to close the restaurant immediately, now it was obvious he was even more eager than before. We finished quickly and went to buy juice, cookies, and oranges around the area before returning to our hostel.
When we came back up the stairs to the hostel, we met the owner, Assim, and one of his other sons, Ahmed. They were both much more smiley and friendly. The first part felt a little forced but the second, not at all. Assim loved that my name was Sara, that of his favorite daughter (the other he told me was too loud and caused too many problems).
Then began the constant phone battle. We paid the owners to use their cellphones to call home and give them the hostel land line phone number. Calling Egypt from the US is hard and it would sometimes ring and sometimes be busy without ringing on our end. This would mean hours of trying to call. Eventually both mothers got through and we were able to assure them we were okay. While waiting, Assim read our palms and we all sat in the lobby and talked.
We went into our very spacious room with a bathroom separated only by thin, incompletely high divider walls and opened the window. The window faced a small alley and was a mere stones throw from the neighboring building. The balcony across belonged to an Italian woman teaching in Cairo who we talked to and commisserated with a few times.
We also immediately turned on the TV. More than six hundred channels. Two news in English - BBC and CNN. Two movie channels and the Fox TV in English as well. It was the first news we had seen and our eyes were glued. Every word was like water for a man dying of dehydration. It was painful to watch the anchor who almost seemed to be physically salivating at the chance to make his career off of this human suffering. I'm sure he couldn't help it but the eagerness was awful from our vantage point.
The gun fire had started up around 3:30, half an hour before curfew. We were close enough to hear a lot but not be able to see anything. Ahmed had shown us casings (yes, made in the US as it said on the news) of rubber bullet and shot gun shells which was accidentally or purposefully fired in the direction of him and his boss earlier that day. This was enough ammunition to let our imaginations run wild on their own but the news just added fuel to the fire.
We knew what we had seen earlier near the square was real and true, but the TV was so hard to disbelieve. It was like they were taking that larger scene that had been right in front of us and zooming in. Everything was amplified within Tahrir Square. Yes more people had obviously joined in after curfew but this made it seem like so much more. Everything within was enormous and nothing from without existed. Not the people trying to live their lives. Not the soldiers and protesters who'd been friendly and amiable. Not even Chris or I. It was this and nothing else. We remained stuck to the news all evening as the city went dark.
One of the more interesting parts of CNN was seeing the opposition leader El Baradei show up playing the humble civil servant. From what we saw and heard, most people didn't know who he was or didn't care. He was playing more to the international press than helping his people and obviously setting up for future leadership.
As much as watching the news was torture, it was also a boon. Being able to hear so much and yet not see a thing was torture. There was such an incredible disconnect with the sounds outside. At curfew, it was like a switch was flipped and all hell broke loose. It could have been respect for all the innocent civilians around that everyone waited til nightfall when people had had the chance to reach safety. But part of it could have been more of the same with the media zooming in on only the most dramatic pieces. We couldn't know.
While I waited for Mom to call that evening, women came in to cook and I was offered food but declined. You are not hungry? Assim asked. No. I am not. You are sad? Assim asks me. Yes. I am sad. I tell him. It seems so simple but there is something very powerful in getting to saw those words. Ahmed looks at me from the desk and asks, very concerned and sincerely, why I am sad. After a moment of disbelief, I motion with my arm to the whole city - because of all of this. It is very sad, I tell him. And it is. The difference in perception is amazing and really representative of our interaction with these people. We are constantly concernd and apologizing for what is happening but their reactions are very different. For instance, one morning I came out to get the news the internet was till down and must have seemed down because one of the sons asked me what he could do to make me smile. These people were so incredibly kind but sometimes seemed so concerned about business as to be out of touch with what was going on. But they had to be. This was their livelihood.
After my first hot shower in days, we collapsed into a deep sleep of physical and mental exhaustion.
The morning prayers served as a sobering wake up call. We'd heard the Muslim call to pray before in Malaysia and also the day before in Cairo but that Sunday morning, they seemed special, symbolic. The singing chanting, not of protest but of prayer, told us that the world was still going. Life continued. We fell back asleep for some hours more after dawn. It was the best sleep either of us had had or would have for a long time.
The staff were immediately apologetic for not having breakfast for us. They weren't able to get food the night before. We tried to assure them it was all right but they continued to apologize as if we wouldn't understand what was going on.
We were again given conflicting reports on whether we should go outside. Reassured that of course it was safe for us but told no, no, you really shouldn't go out. We'd decided to eschew the trip out to Giza to see the pyramids our first day in Cairo because it was too close to curfew and we needed to gain our bearings. The second day, we realized quickly that not only would Giza be a bad idea but it would likely be closed. A city in upheaval wasn't going to have the resources to maintain its tourist-oriented atmosphere. We couldn't blame them of course. But we were left feeling a little uncertain what to do with ourselves in the face of all the goings on. We couldn't do anything to help and hopefully we couldn't do anything to hurt either.
Despite all that was going on around us, we still had to think of the rest of our trip. We had no reason to think we wouldn't be leaving no matter how things went (in regards to us, this meant we hung out in the hostel til Friday if things didn't calm down or we went and saw the sights when it was appropriate - for everyone else, the options were much more complicated). So with that in mind, we had to figure out how to get more passport pages for Chris for our Africa travels. We'd already scheduled an appointment for Chris at the embassy the day before our flight. It now appeared it would be better to deal with this sooner as well as to check in with the embassy for their thoughts and suggestions since we hadn't been able to get through to them (an emergency services number that only worked Monday through Friday and a hotline that directed us to a website when the internet was down). So using directions from the English copy of the Lonely Planet kept behind the counter, we decided it was a good idea to try to walk to the US embassy.
The walk started out in areas we'd already walked through. But this morning everything looked different. There was much more rubbish and street much more greatly resembled the aftermath of an urban war zone. One had the impression of ash on the ground and the burnt, hollowed out cars with their seats scorched or fully burnt away looked as though they'd been carried along by a great flow of lava until they'd sunken half way into the ground. There were more of them as well. More debris but also more people out to see the debris. There were still plenty of normal people taking pictures but the tone was much more somber. People walked the street looking around, hardly aware of the people around them, looking at the carcasses of cars and burnt garbage lining the streets. They visibly shook their heads and muttered to themselves. At first this seemed angry and I thought perhaps this was directed at us, but Sunday, most people were hardly aware of us (except a man who stopped to take a picture of us as we examined a cluster of bullet shells in a pool of water).
Further south of our hostel, nearly parallel with Tahrir, we encountered a great deal more military presence. This was nearer all the embassies and many of the government buildings. There was an armored car on nearly every corner with many of the roads blocked. We had to pass through roadblocks but everyone was let through. So I jut took it for what it was, the first and (hopefully) only time in my life I will exchange the Arabic greeting with Egyptian soldiers carrying guns, somtimes AK-47s even. They were not overly frienly but neither were they entirely brisk. Still a marked change from the prior day.
Moving along the street directly south of Tahrir, we were able to turn back and look back up to the square. Seeing only the military presence and a mass of bodies. We were several blocks away and had no intention of moving closer through several military barricades including both tanks and armored cars. But the evidence of our nearness to the square was everywhere. Much more broken glass and garbage along with plenty of rubber bullet casings and probable shot gun sheels. Although there were no tear gas canisters, probably collected for evidence or just souvenirs, Chris' eyes began to burn and water at the same time as something set my nose on fire and we knew we were passing through an area of residual tear gas. Across the street, a looted gas station was home to a car which had been flipped on its roof and set afire. A group of men stood across the corner in debate near its charred remains. On our side of the street, a few beleagered government employees attempted to utilize large brooms to sweep away the evidence and fragments of every broken storefront window we passed.
As we moved further south, the garbage became less and the people more - again just moving about normally, though many appearing in decently large crowds outside mini-marts to stock up on food. We came upon a corner crowded by two white, tourist-looking fellows who were brandishing long sticks menacingly. They looked more like they were just enjoying the display of power than actually needing to be ther but it was still the first sign we saw that perhaps there was some truth to the news reports of violence and looting in the city surround. Our neighbor, so close to the center of things, had ironically been relatively quiet. And when we closed our window, everything went relatively mute.
We wandered into the neighborhood where we thought to find the embassy. It remained somehow untouched by everything going on around it. Once or twice we saw normal people monitoring traffic through the neighborhood. It was actually a lovely older neighborhood, obviously more upper class but with a lot of charm. The sort of area would wouldn't mind accidentally stumbling into while traveling. We accounted no problems there but did stumble upon a dead cat in the middle of the sidewalk, which given where we were and everything else, was somehow very unnerving. We wandered through until we came to the Nile. We stopped to peer out, receiving a scant view, a long city skyline, and the smell of raw sewage. Still, we were there and we needed to go see the Nile. We felt a little nervous knowing that the protests had been here along the river but no one bothered with us - a couple guys even greeted us, perhaps sensing we were anxious. There weren't man people around in this area in general. Also in this area were the large, fancy hotels such as the Four Seasons. Suddenly we understood where reporters were holing up and how some tourists had video from up high. The videos were coming from people who could afford to be coddled and pampers while in the midst of a revolution. What a stark contrast, to be able to sit well cared for up high and feel completely safe and separate from everything below. Somehow it didn't seem entirely appropriate but maybe I was just a little jealous.
We wandered through the area a few times more but never found the embassy. We knew they were unlikely to be open and that if they were, we were unlikely to get help. Still, Chris was stuck on trying to get his passport pages and very worried that he wouldn't be able to continue our trip when the time came. Sometimes you just have to focus on the few things that seem to remain in your control. This was supposed to be one of the few Chris still had. We reached an area far enough away to be busy and populace the why it seemed maybe the city would normally be. We turned around and went back toward the hostel.
We got lucky and the same restaurant was open. We guessed that this would be again the only real meal we'd get for the day. We ate well and took some falafel balls with pita to go. It was a nice treat later that night but tasted like little balls of floury salt. We also stopped in the neighboring stores to pick up some food and water. On the way out, the plastic bag I had holding two big bottles of water and a box of cereal broke. People came to help and bring me another bag immediately. I insisted it wasn't necessary but it was too late. The old woman on the corner had gotten a hold of my things and was rebagging them in a very stern, mother knows best type of way. We also stopped at a spice store and picked up some dried apricots.
When we got back to the hostel, we flipped on CNN and got the important news about the state department arranging (I believe offering was the word actually, but that makes it sound free) evacuation flights for those who were interested. Now we really wished we'd found the embassy even more. We tried calling the embassy for hours. The couple times we got through we were given phone numbers in the US or an automated website giving us the state dept website. No computer. No cell phone. We waited til that night when Assim came back and paid to use his phone again. We called my mother and then had to wait for her to call back on the landline, and get through. When we finally got in contact, we put her on the job of calling the state dept and handing off all our information. When she called back later, mission complete, they'd directed her to the website after keeping her on hold forever. Go figure.
The other news that came in that day was of the prison break outs. Enough to make all your hair stand on end. Talking to the Alexandrian, who we previously let watch the news in our room until the hostel finally gave him access to a room with a TV, we heard the news from al Jazeera that in an interview one of the escapees had said men in black masks had come in and pointed a gun at his head and told him to leave. This seemed doubtful to us that they would need such strong encouragement to leave but there it was. The Alexandrian pleaded true ignorance as to who would want to free the prisoners and why. Chris and I had a few theories.
The stories continued to develop. The pictures were impressive and frightening. I'd tried both days to read or write (even starting this in the hopes that internet would come back and I'd be able to post something) but none of it worked. It was too hard to concentrate and just didn't seem appropriate. But at that point on Sunday afternoon, after two days of nonstop news and exposure, we were (as we saw it) inexplicably stressed and tired. We had been in survival mode too long and just needed a break. So with a great deal of guilt, we changed the channel. Stupid comedies in English and Simpsons for a little while was a welcome break.
The peace of our hostel room was shattered by the loud high pitched thundering shriek. We both jumped out of bed, at first not knowing what it was. On the next pass, we recognized the sound of an incredibly low flying jet. Throwing the news on, we confirmed there were military jets flying over the city. We ran out to the balcony out front with a few other people. We could see them flying and they were incredibly close. When they passed over us most closely, the Alexandrian jumped inside so quickly and in such fright that my heart sank. For a split second, I thought he knew more than we did and that we were being bombed. It was just a frightening and unfamiliar sound to him. The purpose of these tactics must have been to frighten people and by the looks on the faces of all the people on their balconies, it worked.
I spent part of the evening in the small reception area where every employee had been nervously smoking under the no smoking sign. First I was in the company of the older French tourists and French press, talking about things completely unrelated to current events. It was nice to take our minds off things talking to the couple who'd been traveling three months a year for ten years. Later, while I waited by the desk for Mom to call back, one of the other brothers invited me to sit with him on the couch and talk. His English is very good and he is studying archeology. He tells me about separating from his wife and how he hopes to find a beautiful woman like me. Eventually he starts talking about "making hug" and asks if we can make hug. It's all fairly innocent and sweet but I finally realize that he's been hitting on me this whole time. I discretely excuse myself and go get Chris to come wait with me.
That night they had dinner cooked late and we decided to partake. Well seasoned lentils and rice were very pleasant and it was nice to eat some warm food.
That night I went on the balcony again to get fresh air. It was chilly but calm for being after curfew. There were signs of normalcy, only slighty hindered by the little chaos around. There were men kicking a soccer ball on the street and a guy with his dog on a leash barking at the players the whole time. There was a food cart open on the corner, well lit and surrounded by people, serving liver on bread I was told. But then there were also the men walking around and carrying big sticks and the famil unpacking a whole car full of food. Assim came out on the balcony to talk with me a while, about business, life, and his country. He said that he felt Mubarak had generally been a good ruler but 30 years was much too long. So he was torn. He also kept pushing to take us to an oasis out of the city for a few days til everything blew over. But there still wouldn't be internet there so we knew our families wouldn't have peace of mind. Originally we talked about going to Luxor but we were seeing more and more people on the news who were stuck there - including the cute ladies of Grandmothers on Safari, that was sad. Despite still feeling like we weren't in real danger and that we'd love to wait it out to not miss out on the wonders of Egypt, we decided it was time to leave on the evacuation flights if we could the next day. Mainly for the sake of our parents' sanity as well as to make sure we didn't miss out Friday flight and the Africa trip we'd already put a substantial deposit down on.
The news kept talking about Americans being targeted and although we weren't feeling that at all, ever, we had to acknowledge that with our government's habit of getting involved where it shouldn't, it might become a real possibility that we would end up in harm's way. At first, Chris and I were both adamant that the US stays the hell out - nothing good ever comes from our interference - and in a way we still are. But it was strange to hear the protesters on the news calling on the US government to action. I never honestly knew what the desired action was, whether words or force. But I just wanted our government to do the right thing for once and let a country decide its own fate. I saw quickly that it was a lot more complicated than that with the understandable call to put our money where our mouth is. I found the most apt description of Obama's options to come from CNN's GPS. The host was the most succinct and informed person I saw on the news the whole time. He talked about the stalemate between backing our words and ideals and causing serious concern among allies in the middle east if we suddenly pulled out backing from an ally of thirty years. I think the way things were handled after we left was the best that can be expected. We figured that we had to evacuate because the government knew they were calling on Mubarak to step down. And when you are about to piss off the man with all the military power, it's best to get your citizens out first. Our major beef with that is that if that was the case, it should have been a mandatory evacuation. Nevertheless, when we saw that the embassy personnel were being pulled out, we knew it was time to go.
One of my biggest moral dilemmas was, as usual, with medicine. We saw on news what wasn't exactly a call to help but a statement of medical need. They had set up a shelter in an old mosque for those who were injured and they were obviously short staffed. I wanted to go. But that was stupid. But not going felt immoral. And the back and forth continued in my head like this. I had to keep myself from doubting my skills and ability to help but the truth was it was dangerous. We didn't know where it was, know the language, or even have credentials for them. A young white woman who doesn't speak Arabic entering the scene of injured protesters had bad news written all over it. And yet there it was, the need for people and triage, which made me start thinking about these people. These were not, that I was aware, innocent bystanders. They were people who'd chosen to enter the fray, who maybe must have attacked something in order to incur violence (at that point it was mostly defensive violence from the government and not fully assauliveor attacking from what we knew). This didn't decrease my sympathy. It just changed it a little. When they showed people being brought in mortally wounded, I had to try to ease myself by saying that they chose to be there. That sounds terrible but when faced with so much, you have to rationalize - at least these aren't innocent women and children dying. All these thoughts then made me ask the questions, why were they really out there in the first place? More than what we were seeing on the signs, what did they really want? And could it possibly be worth it? I don't know.
My mother had called to give us the information the state dept emailed her. Evacuations would begin at terminal 4 at 11am on Monday. We found out from the news that there were 52,000 Americans in Cairo registered with the state department. It was going to be an absolute shit show. We packed up our things and prepared for the next morning.
We asked the staff to call their driver for us while we went on one last walk to see the area and pick up some more food in case we'd be stuck in the airport for a couple of days waiting for a flight as we knew so many people already had over the weekend. As we stepped out of the building, we were immediately struck by the haze. Everything seemed so murky. And then we realized that it was smoke. A thick blanket of smoke covered the whole city and we couldn't see more than half a kilometer or so ahead of us in any detail. It was incredible and horrifying. The city was subdued. The atmosphere palpably different.
We walked up to the square one last time but were immediately greeted by an armed soldier coming quickly up to us. He told us we could not be there today, that today it was not safe for us to be there. It was the way he said and emphasized today that made us both anxious to leave. He continually apologized, saying it was for our safety. We said we certainly understood. I went to snap one last picture as we walked away but another armed soldier started frantically waving no. It was the first time someone told me not to take a picture so I didn't. We walked away and blocks further I went to take a picture of the smoke and a normal person started yelling at me to stop. Stopped from taking pictures twice. I hid my camera under my jacket but still felt very uncomfortable. Today was different. We suddenly felt like a very intrusive presence. It was time to leave. We bought our food and went back to the hostel.
We had to fight multiple times to explain our instructions since no one had ever heard of terminal 4. They also wanted to go out to the airport and then come back. It was hard getting the point across that despite how well they cared for us, we couldn't come back.
The driver we'd met our first day. He was a calm, quiet and reassuring man with a tired smile and a way of touching my arm to let me know it was okay. He stopped a few blocks away to buy cigarettes for the road. We passed roadblocks set up by the police who'd returned the night before and he applauded them.
I was on edge leaving the city. We passed more tanks and things seemed calm. Then we hit the traffic jam. The road to get to the airport was completely jammed. He swung the car around different roads and started talking about how it would only take ten minutes to walk there. Chris and I had been speaking in Spanish a great deal over the weekend to gain some privacy in a volatile situation but this panicked me enough to start yelling to Chris in the back seat (the driver insisted I sit in front) - We're not doing that. It was daylight and there were soldiers everywhere but I ws not about to take the risk. Chris agreed and we promised to pay extra if need be. He reassured us it was fine. He was only worried we would miss our flight. We reassured him that was not a concern or possibility.
We waited in several lanes of pushy, unrelenting, bumper to bumper traffic. And I was amazed that the cars were mostly full of Egyptians and not tourists. After passing two tanks, the traffic suddenly let up and we cruised crazily, swerving between lanes on the airport roads. For a moment, it was actually comforting to be worried only about death by crazy foreign driving. At least it was familiar.
We figured out without too much trouble that terminal 4 was actually a private hangar. He dropped us off in front of the large building packed with Americans outside. We tipped him well and wished him farewell. We joined the back of the line, which was impressive but far less dense than the thousands of people long it could have been. We met a couple who'd been stuck in the terminal for days (at the end of their trip mind you) and had walked over after learning of the flights on their iPhones. It sounded like there were still plenty of people stuck in the terminal trying to get on flights that weren't leaving without the knowledge of the American evacuation. The couple was T and Matt. We spent a lot of time talking about movies and Matt's trip to the Rally for Sanity, among other things. And me, I was practically giddy. We were outside in the sunlight and away from the tyranny of the news stations. I never thought I'd be so happy to see so many Americans, in one place, waiting in line. I think I just really needed a break.
The six hours waiting in line wasn't so bad. I ate nearly a whole box of generic fruit loops from nervous energy. After waiting in line more than thirty minutes, I got to the front of the line for the women's room with only a single stall. I'd been chatting with an older woman from Portland and we were then joined by two other women who didn't seem to understand our predicament. How did we not know when we were leaving? Turned out we were talking to part of the private charter flight for BP. The other American lady and I seemed to simultaneously realize we were talking to the enemy. Our huge line was continuously interrupted by van fulls of private groups going through securiy. We were tired, many unbathed and unchanged for days and here were these fancy people with designer hand bags and stilettos with perfectly done hair and clothing walking right through. It was a sobering sense of the power money holds even in a crisis.
The woman in front of us was a teacher who'd been in Egypt three years and had had to pack her three children and the few important things they could bring with them in the middle of the night when her Canadian school called to say they were evacuating. She was handling things very well considering the circumstances. I played with her youngest, Laila, a lot. We did a lot of cheek popping.
We met one of the embassy workers trying to keep things orderly. He was in such good spirits for how much crap he was probably having to deal with. Turns out he was just happy his wife and young kids were getting out - there were two lines and half of every flight came from the other, diplomatic line. He was an ex-military guys who was staying to help as well as to take care of their dog. We had a long talk about how Cairo was about to become a dog city from all the dogs being left behind.
We actually got a lot more news, information, and perspective from standing in line. Melanie, the mother ahead of us, had heard gunfire in her neighborhood and had even broken down a bed to give fire wood to the neighborhood watch type group out at night. She'd set knives all over the house for in case people broke in since there really had been looting in her suburb. I'm sure she was very happy to be heading to CA to reunite with her husband and parents.
Most people were generally happy to be there. Few bad apples of course though, including a large group of old people in front of us who were afraid they'd be separated. Among them were the peple we'd met Friday night who'd informed us of the curfew. They'd come to the airport every day and till hadn't left.
We were told the available safe havens we could be headed to were Istanbul, Turkey, Athens, Greece, and Cyprus. We would be randomized. No requests. It made sense but we had our fingers crossed not to be going to Cyprus. It would be hardest to get to Africa from there. Buses of people continued to pour in and the line grew. We'd arrived with great timing and despite the loan promissory note we were forced to fill out (in our year off!) to pay for the flight, we knew we'd have to be grateful to get anywhere.
We were on the fifth flight out. The last in the group sent to Cyprus. We managed just barely to get all our bags on with us - many people were having to leave bags behind (to clothe an entire village as our embassy friend pointed out). We went through grumpy customs and were then herded onto buses to go to our Lithuanian Small Planet flight. We would sit there for nearly two hours before takeoff. Poor Chris was exhausted and starting to panic with the flight. I held his head against mine and told him - Don't hyperventilate. Just breathe. You're okay. Everything's going to be all right. Everything's going to be all right...
We landed in Cyprus around midnight and were greeted and sped through customs by the US embassy. When we emerged into arrivals, we were immediately greeted by cameras. We were apparently the first evacuation flight to land. We'd been lucky just to get off the ground. The asked to interview us, microphones and cameras in hand. We said okay. They got poor Chris in front of the camera and didn't really address me. So I just took the opportunity to stay quiet and off the camera - who wants to be recorded for international news by the AP after everything we'd been through? But that's the thing of it, you can't help but use the phrase "what we went through" but it's just not right. It feels wrong. Like a betrayal to the people who are actually going through it. But we were privy to a moment of history and with that comes stress and emotion. For us it was in the end merely an inconvenience, whereas for the Egyptian people it was a catastrophic upheaval to their way of life. And yet, you can't help but use the phrase, even though you think of the people who really went through it every time you say it.
Anyway, none of the quotes were used but there is a picture of Chris circulating if you google Chris Upton Egypt. It makes mention of "Upton and his fiance" so let me just dispell that right now. There's been enough craziness and misinformation in our lives as of late and we don't need any more of it.
Meeting us in the terminal with water and hot food was the Cyprus Red Cross. When people from the embassy became broken records, including the consul herself, in saying we were on our own, the Red Cross made it very clear that that was not the case. They were amazing and took wonderful care of the people who really needed it even when our government had abandoned them. But at this point, that's a story for next time.
We were very lucky to have so many people around to give us a unique and appropriate perspective on what was going on. But I was continually struck by how many people said to us that we must understand that Egypt is an old country. They saw everything through this perspective. It was important to them. Egypt is an old country...
From our point of view, the irony in the situation was our presumption that Egypt would be one of the safest places we would be traveling. It's never quite what you expect unfortunately.
I only feel safe talking about visiting the square now that we are safely gone. I wouldn't have said it before or our poor parents might have had a heart attack. The problem is that you are overcom with this incredible curiosity and the urge to see what's going on. We were always safe and never went out past curfew - though there were many people who did. I guess really it just shows how powerful the media is and the fear it can create. Because it's really true that we were always safe. I never felt like anyone would hut us. Many people even went out of their way to help and protect us. It speaks volumes of the Egyptian people and I have such enormous respect for them for it.
Today we sat in the Dubai airport and read international newspapers on how much the situation appears to have escalated. This, like the TV playing CNN in the Cyprus embassy waiting room, was one of our few brief glimpses at the news since we left. It feels so strange to be disconnected now from something that for a brief time was everything we were living and breathing. How much of the escalation is more media sensationalism and how much is real I of course couldn't know. But it does appear that things have gotten worse, which reinforces that leaving really was the best decision. At the time, I felt very conflicted and guilty, but it's clear now that we had no business staying. So now we are outsiders, watching and waiting like the rest of the world. Our personal experience took us from a civilization fighting to try to find its way into democracy to the birthplace of democracy at the top of the Acropolis. Life is full of poetry even at its most desperate moments. Now all we can do is hope for good outcomes, quick endings, and the safety of all those involved - and especially the innocet bystanders. We cannot wait to go back to Cairo when the dust has settled, but both of us feel that may not be for a very long time.
Looking forward to getting some normalcy back in our travels, very tired but optimistic and thinking constantly of the people still in strife, with dreams of world peace and much love,
Sara and Chris
After having spent many hours in front of the TV watching either CNN or the BBC, we know a good deal of misinformation is being perpetuated about what is going on. In order to not become a part of that, I'd just like to make it very clear that the following is simply an account of what we saw and heard, one of millions of truths. There is a lot to speculate and theorize about. But despite the many questions and uncertainties we are left about what we saw and the choices we made, the underlining point should be that we are grateful for our safety and wish great swiftness in resolution of the problem in Egypt so that its citizens and the remaining foreigners may live safely as well. For now, that's all that really matters.
Here is our experience of Cairo:
We made reservations for a hostel before leaving Bangkok despite seeing the news of protests. We decided to head in that direction and only take a different flight if we really thought it was necessary. I was able to check the news and my email from the free internet in the Bahrain airport. The news showed that the people were planning even larger protests than before that day, Friday, after the afternoon prayers. We knew the area would not be great for us to enter on our own but our hostel would be picking us up and taking us back through town safely. We just hadn't heard back from the hostel yet.
We waited for the flight and could see the BBC news coverage of Egypt on the large waiting area screens. But the sound was off. I wished so desperately that we could hear what Obama and the previous Nobel Laureate, who is leading the cry for protest, were each saying.
When we landed in Cairo, we felt a little uneasy but knew we had our plans straight and at the worst wouls have to call our hostel to come get us if they hadn't gotten my email. We got through customs easily and chatted with a couple middle aged Americans who were on the same plane, Tom and Katie from Utah.
When we reached the terminal area, there wasn't much there. We had trouble pulling money out of the ATMs but eventually both succeeded. The area was kind of a long hall. Closed at one end by the customs security guards and on the other by glass doors to the outside and parking lot that were heavily guarded as well. Inside the hall were a few people who worked in ther terminal, a bar/restaurant with numerous tables and a TV to the side, bank and tour boothes, and an information desks. The walls and floors were dark and the place felt very old. There were no restrooms and the guards would not let us back through the customs area. Tom left through the front and hd to give a small bribe to return. I went out after and begged sincerely that the soldiers should let me back in when I returned.
Through the doors, the parking lot was dark and crowded. People crowded the doors. Whether waiting for arrivals or trying to get in, I don't know. But they all looked at me strangely or glared at me as I walked out. I was a young white woman taking my first steps out of the airport into an Arabic world in the midst of protests and I was nervous. I walked down the side of the terminal where I'd been told I would find a bathroom. I only found more people waiting to try to get into departures. Eventually, I saw an employee who'd spoken with us inside who was able to point out to me the toilets underground in the middle of the parking lot. I hesitated looking out around me. Was it safe for me to go out there by myself? I asked. He half smiled. Would I like him to come with me? No, no. I reassured him I would be fine.
I walked slowly and cautiously and was received by a woman in a black burka revealing her face when I reached the bottom of the stairs. She smiled and motioned and tried to give me paper. Without language, I responded in smiles and bowing and hand gestures. I noticed the front of the restroom was filled with Egyptian women sitting, sullen and downcast looking. I didn't yet understand why.
I can't remember the exact order of things but it became clear to us that the internet and cell phones were down and that our hostel would not be there to pick us up because the road from downtown was unsafe and had been closed. Tom and Katie were similarly stuck, having a reservation with a tour company that wasn't there to get them and no way of knowing where their (prepaid) hotel was. We weighed our options after numerous interactions with a help desk woman with coke bottle glasses who shrugged a lot and refrained from giving any advice or much information. We had no reason to think we would be able to communicate adequately with a taxi driver and had no idea where we would like to go. We thought to stay in the terminal overnight, dank though it was, but had the fear that after planes stopped arriving (after 3am according to the one board I found) the security guards would kick us out. At that time of night we'd almost certainly be worse off. There was also a man offering us a hotel room for $75, which was nearly out of the question for Chris and I but an option nonetheless. The last option was to attempt walking to the large hotels we could see on the outskirts of the property and share a room there. Foolhardy, we chose the last option and loaded up our things to go. It was only after we walked out, even later perhaps, that we learned that at curfew was in effect from an hour before we had landed until eight the next morning and that the airport had been closed, or at least that many flights were being cancelled.
We lucked out and saw a van for one of the hotels we wanted to go check. They didn't know what rooms were available but insisted we got in to go see. Rather than go straight to the hotel, they turned off early, which had me a little worried until we saw they were going to the other major terminal. Terminal 3 was well lit and spacious with plenty of people and security. It looked much more like an airport at home. Why couldn't we have come in there? we asked. The roads around the terminals were littered with random cars and the occasional soldier with riot gear. We saw an obelisk prominent in a small roundabout that we'd joke for the rest of the night might be the extent of our Egypt sightseeing.
When we got to the hotel, it was immediately clear that it was out of our price range. Luckily, they were full. So it was not a decision we had to make. We walked to the hotel next door and it began to feel like a storm, blowing sand in our eyes and drizzling, though it never fully developed. When it rains, sometimes it pours. At the next hotel, we found the situation to be the same - lots of people in suits and a concierge. Tom went in to check on a room so the rest of us didn't have to go through the hotel security with all the bags. He came back with no real answers but guessing no rooms were available based on the man in front of him having been arguing at the front desk for an hour. We got on their shuttle bus and went back to Terminal 1.
We found the departures section much more bright and hospitable appearing than where we'd arrived. And there was another information desk we very much hoped would be able to help. Security would not let us enter the terminal. We were flatly turned away.
We walked back to where we'd arrived, just around the corner, and stopped to talk with a group of older American travellers who were supposed to fly out but whose flight had been cancelled. It was they who told us of many of the problems with the airport and transportation that were making our situation more and more desperate seeming. I knew that we would be fine but was very ready to be settled down somewhere and not thinking too much about what was going on in the city outside the airport.
The four of us made the decision to go back to Terminal 3 we'd seen. Tom and Katie thought perhaps their tour leader could be waiting for them there and Chris and I thought it was a bright place that would be safe to spend the night in if they would let us in. We jumped on the interterminal shuttle when it came by and met an Egyptian couple who were also stranded- unable to call family they had in the area to come get them with cell phone service down.
When we arrived, terminal 3 security let us in immediately, to our great relief. However, Chris received a quick pat down in which the guard practically groped his crouch while repeating Money? money? Chris flattly refused.
The terminal was packed with people, chairs full and the walls lined. We found an open area against a wall and settled down. After a couple trying hours, we were at least settled now in somewhere safe for the night. Tom and I went and waited in line for perhaps more than an hour to buy water and ice cream, which we had to trade out a couple times after melting. The situation was not so severe in retrospect but it still required ice cream to help relax.
We set ourselves up and sat talking for a long while. It was late and we were tired but the bright lights and continuous announcements didn't seem amenable to sleep. Upstairs was the ticketing area, as well as a couple restaurants like Burger King. While Chris was wandering, looking for perhaps some carpeting or a more comfortable spot to sleep, I suddenly heard shouts and chanting, and I went rigid. Were the protests so bad? Had they really reached the airpot already? I excused myself to go find Chris and figure out what was going on. I found Chris after a minute or two and he reassured me it was Egyptian people upstairs upset that their flights had been cancelled. We went upstairs to see but they'd stopped already.
We spent a good deal of time just sitting around talking, not really knowing what else to do. It now actually seems too happy and jovial the way we chatted and joked about things such as how to have grandkids when your children aren't married yet (adopt for them and raise them the first two years). But we didn't have any idea how things were going outside. There was no television. No outlet to the outside.
We happened to have sat down next to one of the few power outlets, which many people had need of. The man who came over to ask was an Egyptian guide trying to get his tour group out. He was trying to charge his phone so he could call his wife in Alexandria, who he complained normally called far too much and was an irritation. He was a tall, young man who was at times sarcastic but also obviously agitated by the situation which made it very hard to read him. He ranted about the status of things in Egypt for young educated people and about the poverty. He told us what he knew of what was happening outside and we were a rapt audience. He tried to call Tom and Katie's tour company and assured us he would check in with us in the morning. It was incredible luck to be around someone with a cell phone.
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| Sleeping in the Cairo terminal |
The floor of the terminal was hard and cold. As Chris pointed out from previous experience, it would continuously suck the heat out of you and never get warmer. I got ready in the bathroom where there was no more paper and it paid to be third world ready. Then I changed into multiple layers, thick socks, and my long underwear. We were prepared for cold but weren't expecting it in this situation. We gave Tom and Katie, who were packed very very lightly by comparison, our sleep sacks to give them some protection. They used their umbrellas to give them some darkness, as well as privacy. Chris and I laid down towels to lay on with the sleeping bag over us after Chris strung all our bags together with a small rope. Chris covered his eyes with a scarf and I actually had an eye mask. I lay down and shoved a jacket under my side to level me out. We all got a few hours of fitful sleep.
The neighboring tour guide woke us up around 6. Someone had come with food. Chris and Tom ran over while Katie and I woke up, dazed to find only half as many people as the night before. Perhaps most flew out. The men returned empty handed but the kind guide came with a couple extra boxes for us his group had earned through a great deal of pushing and shoving. It wasn't much but we picked at the french fries a little. That was the last we saw of the guide.
We packed up and waited for the curfew to end. Tom and Katie went upstairs and managed to get themselves booked on a flight to Athens that afternoon since they were supposed to be meeting Tom's parents in Israel in just a few days. They decided, despite poor Katie's extreme hesitation, to go see the pyramids at Giza just outside of town before their flight. They invited us to come and I really wanted to go. But we had our huge bags and no where to leave them. So we wished each other good luck and said goodbye - until Tom came running back with the license plate number to their cab since it seemed a little sketchy and he thought giving someone the information would up their chances of coming back unscathed. We were very fortunate to meet such wonderful people and we probably kept each other more calm through a rough arrival. I hope they made it out all right.
During that morning, we were approached by a young American guy named Adam who'd arrived in the middle of the night. He latched onto us. After it became clear that information couldn't or wouldn't help us get in contact with our hostel to come pick us up and all they would say about downtown was "safe, safe!", the three of us decided to try to make our way out of the airport. More people were coming in than leaving the airport but we thought, hey, why not? So we waited to catch a bus into downtown until an older African taxi driver came up to offer us a ride. I was expecting to be taken advantage of under the circumstances but he made a reasonable offer, so we accepted.
We walked through the parking lot with him to an unmarked car. But every guard we passed knew him and smiled and joked with him, which went a long way to assuaging my fears. Getting in, he had to move a large, clear plastic bag of bread for Adam to sit in the front. He'd use these small loaves to seemingly pay off guards as we passed through different boothes. He was such a sweet old guy and very friendly but he couldn't do much to change what we were about to see.
Maybe a minute or two off the airport property, we came upon the first live, in person tank I've ever seen active or in use. There were multiple along the road, along with armed soldiers standing outside them. We passed the air force base and other than the tanks along the road, everything appeared near normal until we got closer to downtown.
The kind old driver was giving us a short lesson in arabic as we drove passed buildings with broken windows and singed walls - mag-noon is crazy like the drivers we encountered, maya is water, ehlo-ah is beautiful or lovely like the minarets and mosques we were seeing from the road, and show-krun is thank you (all spelld phonetically). It was in the midst of this lesson that we started to notice the smoke coming up in the distance. The closer we came, the more clearly we were able to make out the tall building still on fire, which we later learned was the political party headquarters right next to the Egyptian Museum. Having never truly seen a building on fire in reality, and not just on a television screen, I was surprised by how calm it seemed. Despite the billowing smoke and the plain fact that the building was doomed, it wasn't violent at all. It was simply on fire.
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| Political party building on fire from the road |
We turned off the long bridge and highway onto the downtown streets and knew immediately we were in over our heads. The streets were not pure chaos but they were certainly worse than we thought. The signs of protest and unrest surrounded us on all sides. The tall burning building was now just around the corner. We passed by scorched and overturned trucks as we passed into the square downtown (not Tahrir but fairly close). The soldiers and armored cars blocked our way and our taxi turned around passed a group of protesters with one man still standing above them shouting in the early morning light tinted by smoke and pollution. The information desk's words rang in my ears, "safe, safe!" But I wasn't sure yet.
The rest of downtown was nearly empty compared to what you would otherwise expecting on a Saturday in the capital. There were piles of garbage everywhere and more charred remains of vehicles. Store doors were broken in and windows were shattered nearer to the center and main streets. Average people, not shopkeepers, were out with their cameras. Sometimes taking pictures of the aftermath, sometimes with it.
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| Sights through the back window of the cab coming into downtown |
We reached our hostel and with none of us having correct change, we paid the bulk of the journey. Adam vowed to come find us and pay us back (and seemingly to make plans for what he wanted us all to do that day), but he never came back. Our hostel was on a tucked away street maybe five blocks from the main action on Tahrir Square. More than a safe distance we thought- and it always was. It was an old building with a small open elevator neither of us trusted. We climbed to the seventh floor with our large bags. The Sara Inn Hostel. Other than choosing it for the obvious reasons, I wanted to stay there because they gave us a small discount because of my name.
When we arrived and checked in, it was still early and the staff was obviously frazzled. There was also a man from Alexandria who was stranded and desperate to get home. Most of them spoke near perfect English. There was an older French couple staying there, a young Scandinavian couple who left by train for Luxor that night, a couple of French journalists who arrived the next day, and a couple of locals. It was a small place with two floors and very few occupants.
After settling in, our first order of business was to try to let our families know we were okay. Although cell phones were working again, the internet was still down and would be the entire time we were there. We decided to try around the city. This idea received mixed reviews including adamant warnings from the stranded Alexandrian who insisted we not go. After a night in the airport, we needed fresh air. We promised to be safe.
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| The view of Tahrir Square from down the street |
We stepped out cautiously onto the street populated by numerous people talking with their neighbors and milling around as well as tremendous amounts of garbage. Stepping gingerly around piles of trash, we moved along the street seeing numerous closed shops (including many airlines and travel agents who weren't available to us) and a few broken windows. Coming out to the main road, we could see the tanks and armored cars blocking off the entrances to Tahrir Square - maybe not so much blocking as just sitting, waiting, and guarding, like they were there to protect the people in the square actually. With our cameras slung around our shoulders, we moved cautiously closer to sate our curiosity.
The moment we step foot outside the strange looks began. Granted there were some local women with their hair down but I was a white woman with dirty blond hair visible walking the streets of a Arabic city in upheaval for the first time. I did make sure to wear long sleeves and pants, but I was very sensitive to the strangeness of my presence and many of the men on the streets were too.
Men came up to us and told us multiple times in broken English while smiling, "Don't worry, don't worry! It is safe. Very safe!" Safe, huh? I could see numerous armed soldiers around the square while protesters (at this point only maybe a couple thousand) did circles on the small street. The chanting was ever present but not terribly loud, and we were curious. There were plenty of average people (though mainly Egyptians) standing along the barricaded perimeter taking pictures. So we joined them. It was an amazing view to be so close, hearing the voices in loud but nonviolent protest while seeing the expressions on their faces with the smoke of the burning building always in the background. The sight was incredible.
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| Military presence at Tahrir Square |
People moved in and out of the square with ease. The military didn't stop them or get in the way. On the contrary, the protesters and soldiers would stop to talk, maybe shake hands or even share some water, all the while smiling. Maybe seeing that was what put me the most at ease. There was nothing violent here. It was friendly, even collegial. But I still couldn't get by the sight of so many men with bandages on their heads and faces from injuries the night before. I had to think things changed at curfew but while it was daylight and innocent bystanders were out, both sides were playing nice.
I was amazed to see so many Egyptian women in the crowd as well. They were a minority as well but I even saw one woman leading the chanting. This was very counter to my impressions of Uslim hierarchy. There were also women in full dress standing along the perimeter at times eyeing up the military vehicles but otherwise unimpressed with the whole ordeal.
My most uncomfortable moment was probably when a large group of men from behind the perimeter, not protesters, came charging. They were just getting close to see the spectacle of two women, one very caucasian looking, climbing up on an armored car to get their picture taken. They had lots of pictures taken. Other people were having their picture taken with the military too. The atmosphere wasn't exactly jovial but other than my own discomfort at the new environment, it was rather pleasant.
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| Watching the protests as a building burns in the background |
While we were taking pictures, two more Egyptian men came up to talk with us. One spoke perfect English, the other didn't say a word to us. He made some comment over the noise about us being press. I jokingly brushed it off, thinking he couldn't be serious, but because of Chris' big camera, I think he was. While we stood there, a third man, younger and with a bandage over the side of his head, came up from within the square. He started pointing and in broken English said that Chris and one of the men standing with us (who wasn't even holding a camera) couldn't take pictures, but I could. We all smiled and shrugged our shoulders but he continued on wide eyed about what beautiful eyes I have. Mind you his was after I'd had almost no sleep, was fairly stressed, and hadn't worn make up in more than a month. I wasn't exactly looking my best. The three guys then started to speak in Arabic and the third man was given the brush off. The first man, who made me think of an Egyptian Laurence Fishbourne, his name was Zizo (zee-zoo), made intimations the other had been drunk or on drugs.
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| Chris taking pictures of the square |
We four walked away from the square together, continuing to talk a little until I noted out the corner of my eye that bandage guy was kind of following us. He caught up and again started complimenting me on my eyes and wanted to tell me about his wound and kept saying he had gotte it the night before, looking very proud. This is when, crossing a busy street, Zezo and his friend strong armed the guy and with an arm around his shoulder took him away from me. Chris and I have dealt with your random oddballs before but it was still very nice to have someone who spoke the language intervene on my behalf. I thanked him accordingly while the guy was across the street still yelling about my eyes.
The whole encounter however got me thinking about the types of people who get involved in protesting and massive rallies such as Tahrir Square. Obviously there are a lot of passionate people who are really there for a cause. But there are also the random younger people like my eye obsessed friend who are more interested in showing off scars, doing drugs or drinking, and just being part of the scene. That's culture and it'll happen anywhere but I wonder how many of those peple are reall around and how much they contribute to the needless goading and violence that goes on.
Zizo's friend walked away and he invited us to come with him for a coffee. We were hesitant. Not having had a real meal since plane food, finding an open restaurant was our number one priority. But we thought perhaps a cafe would be heading in the right direction. So we rounded a few corners and headed down an alleyway where men were cleaning up obvious evidence of a break-in, lots of broken glass. They glared as we passed and it was apparent our presence wasn't appreciated but we quickly moved through to a small side street where we sat down at outside to be served by what you might call a cafe without a central location. There were small tables of men all along the walls drinking tea or coffee and smoking shisha out of a water pipe (that's flavored tobacco, not pot). We settled in and had turkish coffees with grounds so thick they created a mud like sludge and then a barley tea with anise.
Zizo is a Egyptian who works, lives, and is married with two kids in Belgium. He was in Cairo for a month's vacation with bad timing to visit his family. We talked a lot about Egyptian politics and culture- including why it was smart that Chris and I were polite to crazy guy instead of just ignoring him. He told us about the things in Cairo he misses in Europe like waking up preoccupied at 3am and walking safely downtown to a still very active cafe to have a coffee and talk or think in the middle of the night. As he told us about his city and we sat in a tight alley away from the sounds of protest, Cairo lit up for us in a whole new way that we wouldn't have been able to see or appreciate without his help. He also explained the sense of privacy as two different news crews were shooed away. He insisted on paying and then walked us all the way back to the hostel where he gave us his phone number and email in case we needed anything at all. We only met the nicest people in Cairo and it was apparent to us that without protests, or even in spite of, it would be an incredibly peaceful and hospitable place.
We walked to a nearby shop to pick up supplies, which many of the locals were as well. It was mostly a lot of junk food, but the doritos were amazing (tandori chicken flavor ingredients: corn, vegetable oil, chicken with tandori seasoning). People were very kind and receptive to our presence. Someone even went out of their way to let us know the curfew had been changed from six to four pm. Important information but at one thirty in the afternoon, we were still hungry for a real meal and knew we'd need more food for that night. So we decided to walk a ways further, in the opposite direction from the square.
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| What we saw of typical streets in Cairo |
There were plenty of people out and about. Trying to go about their normal business. We saw this over and over again. And it was the main thing we would not see when we were stuck in our hotel room watching CNN and BBC that night. The streets still moved with normal people trying to continue along the day. Blocks away people were protesting, marching in circles, and trying to make a point but here were all these people just trying to live. The side of things the news doesn't ever cover.
A few blocks away, we finall found a restaurant that was open. Thank goodness. We were hungry. We were lucky enough to sit next to a pleasant guy who helped signal with us to get us some amazing looking food since everything was written in Arabic. We sat quietly and waited for our Lebanese influenced food. We had amazing roasted chicken with stewed vegetables and homemade pita. While we sat, we suddenly heard loud voices and a large group of people was obviously drawing near. It became clear that this was chanting. They were getting closer. Everything stopped mid-motion and every heart pounded in unison. They came and passed by. Exhale. The owner had already been moving briskly as if he was wanting to close the restaurant immediately, now it was obvious he was even more eager than before. We finished quickly and went to buy juice, cookies, and oranges around the area before returning to our hostel.
When we came back up the stairs to the hostel, we met the owner, Assim, and one of his other sons, Ahmed. They were both much more smiley and friendly. The first part felt a little forced but the second, not at all. Assim loved that my name was Sara, that of his favorite daughter (the other he told me was too loud and caused too many problems).
Then began the constant phone battle. We paid the owners to use their cellphones to call home and give them the hostel land line phone number. Calling Egypt from the US is hard and it would sometimes ring and sometimes be busy without ringing on our end. This would mean hours of trying to call. Eventually both mothers got through and we were able to assure them we were okay. While waiting, Assim read our palms and we all sat in the lobby and talked.
We went into our very spacious room with a bathroom separated only by thin, incompletely high divider walls and opened the window. The window faced a small alley and was a mere stones throw from the neighboring building. The balcony across belonged to an Italian woman teaching in Cairo who we talked to and commisserated with a few times.
We also immediately turned on the TV. More than six hundred channels. Two news in English - BBC and CNN. Two movie channels and the Fox TV in English as well. It was the first news we had seen and our eyes were glued. Every word was like water for a man dying of dehydration. It was painful to watch the anchor who almost seemed to be physically salivating at the chance to make his career off of this human suffering. I'm sure he couldn't help it but the eagerness was awful from our vantage point.
The gun fire had started up around 3:30, half an hour before curfew. We were close enough to hear a lot but not be able to see anything. Ahmed had shown us casings (yes, made in the US as it said on the news) of rubber bullet and shot gun shells which was accidentally or purposefully fired in the direction of him and his boss earlier that day. This was enough ammunition to let our imaginations run wild on their own but the news just added fuel to the fire.
We knew what we had seen earlier near the square was real and true, but the TV was so hard to disbelieve. It was like they were taking that larger scene that had been right in front of us and zooming in. Everything was amplified within Tahrir Square. Yes more people had obviously joined in after curfew but this made it seem like so much more. Everything within was enormous and nothing from without existed. Not the people trying to live their lives. Not the soldiers and protesters who'd been friendly and amiable. Not even Chris or I. It was this and nothing else. We remained stuck to the news all evening as the city went dark.
One of the more interesting parts of CNN was seeing the opposition leader El Baradei show up playing the humble civil servant. From what we saw and heard, most people didn't know who he was or didn't care. He was playing more to the international press than helping his people and obviously setting up for future leadership.
As much as watching the news was torture, it was also a boon. Being able to hear so much and yet not see a thing was torture. There was such an incredible disconnect with the sounds outside. At curfew, it was like a switch was flipped and all hell broke loose. It could have been respect for all the innocent civilians around that everyone waited til nightfall when people had had the chance to reach safety. But part of it could have been more of the same with the media zooming in on only the most dramatic pieces. We couldn't know.
While I waited for Mom to call that evening, women came in to cook and I was offered food but declined. You are not hungry? Assim asked. No. I am not. You are sad? Assim asks me. Yes. I am sad. I tell him. It seems so simple but there is something very powerful in getting to saw those words. Ahmed looks at me from the desk and asks, very concerned and sincerely, why I am sad. After a moment of disbelief, I motion with my arm to the whole city - because of all of this. It is very sad, I tell him. And it is. The difference in perception is amazing and really representative of our interaction with these people. We are constantly concernd and apologizing for what is happening but their reactions are very different. For instance, one morning I came out to get the news the internet was till down and must have seemed down because one of the sons asked me what he could do to make me smile. These people were so incredibly kind but sometimes seemed so concerned about business as to be out of touch with what was going on. But they had to be. This was their livelihood.
After my first hot shower in days, we collapsed into a deep sleep of physical and mental exhaustion.
The morning prayers served as a sobering wake up call. We'd heard the Muslim call to pray before in Malaysia and also the day before in Cairo but that Sunday morning, they seemed special, symbolic. The singing chanting, not of protest but of prayer, told us that the world was still going. Life continued. We fell back asleep for some hours more after dawn. It was the best sleep either of us had had or would have for a long time.
The staff were immediately apologetic for not having breakfast for us. They weren't able to get food the night before. We tried to assure them it was all right but they continued to apologize as if we wouldn't understand what was going on.
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| Aftermath on the street |
We were again given conflicting reports on whether we should go outside. Reassured that of course it was safe for us but told no, no, you really shouldn't go out. We'd decided to eschew the trip out to Giza to see the pyramids our first day in Cairo because it was too close to curfew and we needed to gain our bearings. The second day, we realized quickly that not only would Giza be a bad idea but it would likely be closed. A city in upheaval wasn't going to have the resources to maintain its tourist-oriented atmosphere. We couldn't blame them of course. But we were left feeling a little uncertain what to do with ourselves in the face of all the goings on. We couldn't do anything to help and hopefully we couldn't do anything to hurt either.
Despite all that was going on around us, we still had to think of the rest of our trip. We had no reason to think we wouldn't be leaving no matter how things went (in regards to us, this meant we hung out in the hostel til Friday if things didn't calm down or we went and saw the sights when it was appropriate - for everyone else, the options were much more complicated). So with that in mind, we had to figure out how to get more passport pages for Chris for our Africa travels. We'd already scheduled an appointment for Chris at the embassy the day before our flight. It now appeared it would be better to deal with this sooner as well as to check in with the embassy for their thoughts and suggestions since we hadn't been able to get through to them (an emergency services number that only worked Monday through Friday and a hotline that directed us to a website when the internet was down). So using directions from the English copy of the Lonely Planet kept behind the counter, we decided it was a good idea to try to walk to the US embassy.
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| Roadblocks all around Cairo |
The walk started out in areas we'd already walked through. But this morning everything looked different. There was much more rubbish and street much more greatly resembled the aftermath of an urban war zone. One had the impression of ash on the ground and the burnt, hollowed out cars with their seats scorched or fully burnt away looked as though they'd been carried along by a great flow of lava until they'd sunken half way into the ground. There were more of them as well. More debris but also more people out to see the debris. There were still plenty of normal people taking pictures but the tone was much more somber. People walked the street looking around, hardly aware of the people around them, looking at the carcasses of cars and burnt garbage lining the streets. They visibly shook their heads and muttered to themselves. At first this seemed angry and I thought perhaps this was directed at us, but Sunday, most people were hardly aware of us (except a man who stopped to take a picture of us as we examined a cluster of bullet shells in a pool of water).
Further south of our hostel, nearly parallel with Tahrir, we encountered a great deal more military presence. This was nearer all the embassies and many of the government buildings. There was an armored car on nearly every corner with many of the roads blocked. We had to pass through roadblocks but everyone was let through. So I jut took it for what it was, the first and (hopefully) only time in my life I will exchange the Arabic greeting with Egyptian soldiers carrying guns, somtimes AK-47s even. They were not overly frienly but neither were they entirely brisk. Still a marked change from the prior day.
Moving along the street directly south of Tahrir, we were able to turn back and look back up to the square. Seeing only the military presence and a mass of bodies. We were several blocks away and had no intention of moving closer through several military barricades including both tanks and armored cars. But the evidence of our nearness to the square was everywhere. Much more broken glass and garbage along with plenty of rubber bullet casings and probable shot gun sheels. Although there were no tear gas canisters, probably collected for evidence or just souvenirs, Chris' eyes began to burn and water at the same time as something set my nose on fire and we knew we were passing through an area of residual tear gas. Across the street, a looted gas station was home to a car which had been flipped on its roof and set afire. A group of men stood across the corner in debate near its charred remains. On our side of the street, a few beleagered government employees attempted to utilize large brooms to sweep away the evidence and fragments of every broken storefront window we passed.
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| Flipper over car at a wrecked gas station |
As we moved further south, the garbage became less and the people more - again just moving about normally, though many appearing in decently large crowds outside mini-marts to stock up on food. We came upon a corner crowded by two white, tourist-looking fellows who were brandishing long sticks menacingly. They looked more like they were just enjoying the display of power than actually needing to be ther but it was still the first sign we saw that perhaps there was some truth to the news reports of violence and looting in the city surround. Our neighbor, so close to the center of things, had ironically been relatively quiet. And when we closed our window, everything went relatively mute.
We wandered into the neighborhood where we thought to find the embassy. It remained somehow untouched by everything going on around it. Once or twice we saw normal people monitoring traffic through the neighborhood. It was actually a lovely older neighborhood, obviously more upper class but with a lot of charm. The sort of area would wouldn't mind accidentally stumbling into while traveling. We accounted no problems there but did stumble upon a dead cat in the middle of the sidewalk, which given where we were and everything else, was somehow very unnerving. We wandered through until we came to the Nile. We stopped to peer out, receiving a scant view, a long city skyline, and the smell of raw sewage. Still, we were there and we needed to go see the Nile. We felt a little nervous knowing that the protests had been here along the river but no one bothered with us - a couple guys even greeted us, perhaps sensing we were anxious. There weren't man people around in this area in general. Also in this area were the large, fancy hotels such as the Four Seasons. Suddenly we understood where reporters were holing up and how some tourists had video from up high. The videos were coming from people who could afford to be coddled and pampers while in the midst of a revolution. What a stark contrast, to be able to sit well cared for up high and feel completely safe and separate from everything below. Somehow it didn't seem entirely appropriate but maybe I was just a little jealous.
We wandered through the area a few times more but never found the embassy. We knew they were unlikely to be open and that if they were, we were unlikely to get help. Still, Chris was stuck on trying to get his passport pages and very worried that he wouldn't be able to continue our trip when the time came. Sometimes you just have to focus on the few things that seem to remain in your control. This was supposed to be one of the few Chris still had. We reached an area far enough away to be busy and populace the why it seemed maybe the city would normally be. We turned around and went back toward the hostel.
We got lucky and the same restaurant was open. We guessed that this would be again the only real meal we'd get for the day. We ate well and took some falafel balls with pita to go. It was a nice treat later that night but tasted like little balls of floury salt. We also stopped in the neighboring stores to pick up some food and water. On the way out, the plastic bag I had holding two big bottles of water and a box of cereal broke. People came to help and bring me another bag immediately. I insisted it wasn't necessary but it was too late. The old woman on the corner had gotten a hold of my things and was rebagging them in a very stern, mother knows best type of way. We also stopped at a spice store and picked up some dried apricots.
When we got back to the hostel, we flipped on CNN and got the important news about the state department arranging (I believe offering was the word actually, but that makes it sound free) evacuation flights for those who were interested. Now we really wished we'd found the embassy even more. We tried calling the embassy for hours. The couple times we got through we were given phone numbers in the US or an automated website giving us the state dept website. No computer. No cell phone. We waited til that night when Assim came back and paid to use his phone again. We called my mother and then had to wait for her to call back on the landline, and get through. When we finally got in contact, we put her on the job of calling the state dept and handing off all our information. When she called back later, mission complete, they'd directed her to the website after keeping her on hold forever. Go figure.
The other news that came in that day was of the prison break outs. Enough to make all your hair stand on end. Talking to the Alexandrian, who we previously let watch the news in our room until the hostel finally gave him access to a room with a TV, we heard the news from al Jazeera that in an interview one of the escapees had said men in black masks had come in and pointed a gun at his head and told him to leave. This seemed doubtful to us that they would need such strong encouragement to leave but there it was. The Alexandrian pleaded true ignorance as to who would want to free the prisoners and why. Chris and I had a few theories.
The stories continued to develop. The pictures were impressive and frightening. I'd tried both days to read or write (even starting this in the hopes that internet would come back and I'd be able to post something) but none of it worked. It was too hard to concentrate and just didn't seem appropriate. But at that point on Sunday afternoon, after two days of nonstop news and exposure, we were (as we saw it) inexplicably stressed and tired. We had been in survival mode too long and just needed a break. So with a great deal of guilt, we changed the channel. Stupid comedies in English and Simpsons for a little while was a welcome break.
The peace of our hostel room was shattered by the loud high pitched thundering shriek. We both jumped out of bed, at first not knowing what it was. On the next pass, we recognized the sound of an incredibly low flying jet. Throwing the news on, we confirmed there were military jets flying over the city. We ran out to the balcony out front with a few other people. We could see them flying and they were incredibly close. When they passed over us most closely, the Alexandrian jumped inside so quickly and in such fright that my heart sank. For a split second, I thought he knew more than we did and that we were being bombed. It was just a frightening and unfamiliar sound to him. The purpose of these tactics must have been to frighten people and by the looks on the faces of all the people on their balconies, it worked.
I spent part of the evening in the small reception area where every employee had been nervously smoking under the no smoking sign. First I was in the company of the older French tourists and French press, talking about things completely unrelated to current events. It was nice to take our minds off things talking to the couple who'd been traveling three months a year for ten years. Later, while I waited by the desk for Mom to call back, one of the other brothers invited me to sit with him on the couch and talk. His English is very good and he is studying archeology. He tells me about separating from his wife and how he hopes to find a beautiful woman like me. Eventually he starts talking about "making hug" and asks if we can make hug. It's all fairly innocent and sweet but I finally realize that he's been hitting on me this whole time. I discretely excuse myself and go get Chris to come wait with me.
That night they had dinner cooked late and we decided to partake. Well seasoned lentils and rice were very pleasant and it was nice to eat some warm food.
That night I went on the balcony again to get fresh air. It was chilly but calm for being after curfew. There were signs of normalcy, only slighty hindered by the little chaos around. There were men kicking a soccer ball on the street and a guy with his dog on a leash barking at the players the whole time. There was a food cart open on the corner, well lit and surrounded by people, serving liver on bread I was told. But then there were also the men walking around and carrying big sticks and the famil unpacking a whole car full of food. Assim came out on the balcony to talk with me a while, about business, life, and his country. He said that he felt Mubarak had generally been a good ruler but 30 years was much too long. So he was torn. He also kept pushing to take us to an oasis out of the city for a few days til everything blew over. But there still wouldn't be internet there so we knew our families wouldn't have peace of mind. Originally we talked about going to Luxor but we were seeing more and more people on the news who were stuck there - including the cute ladies of Grandmothers on Safari, that was sad. Despite still feeling like we weren't in real danger and that we'd love to wait it out to not miss out on the wonders of Egypt, we decided it was time to leave on the evacuation flights if we could the next day. Mainly for the sake of our parents' sanity as well as to make sure we didn't miss out Friday flight and the Africa trip we'd already put a substantial deposit down on.
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| Corner food stand at night seen from our hostel balcony |
The news kept talking about Americans being targeted and although we weren't feeling that at all, ever, we had to acknowledge that with our government's habit of getting involved where it shouldn't, it might become a real possibility that we would end up in harm's way. At first, Chris and I were both adamant that the US stays the hell out - nothing good ever comes from our interference - and in a way we still are. But it was strange to hear the protesters on the news calling on the US government to action. I never honestly knew what the desired action was, whether words or force. But I just wanted our government to do the right thing for once and let a country decide its own fate. I saw quickly that it was a lot more complicated than that with the understandable call to put our money where our mouth is. I found the most apt description of Obama's options to come from CNN's GPS. The host was the most succinct and informed person I saw on the news the whole time. He talked about the stalemate between backing our words and ideals and causing serious concern among allies in the middle east if we suddenly pulled out backing from an ally of thirty years. I think the way things were handled after we left was the best that can be expected. We figured that we had to evacuate because the government knew they were calling on Mubarak to step down. And when you are about to piss off the man with all the military power, it's best to get your citizens out first. Our major beef with that is that if that was the case, it should have been a mandatory evacuation. Nevertheless, when we saw that the embassy personnel were being pulled out, we knew it was time to go.
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| A helicopter flying unnecessarily low on the square |
One of my biggest moral dilemmas was, as usual, with medicine. We saw on news what wasn't exactly a call to help but a statement of medical need. They had set up a shelter in an old mosque for those who were injured and they were obviously short staffed. I wanted to go. But that was stupid. But not going felt immoral. And the back and forth continued in my head like this. I had to keep myself from doubting my skills and ability to help but the truth was it was dangerous. We didn't know where it was, know the language, or even have credentials for them. A young white woman who doesn't speak Arabic entering the scene of injured protesters had bad news written all over it. And yet there it was, the need for people and triage, which made me start thinking about these people. These were not, that I was aware, innocent bystanders. They were people who'd chosen to enter the fray, who maybe must have attacked something in order to incur violence (at that point it was mostly defensive violence from the government and not fully assauliveor attacking from what we knew). This didn't decrease my sympathy. It just changed it a little. When they showed people being brought in mortally wounded, I had to try to ease myself by saying that they chose to be there. That sounds terrible but when faced with so much, you have to rationalize - at least these aren't innocent women and children dying. All these thoughts then made me ask the questions, why were they really out there in the first place? More than what we were seeing on the signs, what did they really want? And could it possibly be worth it? I don't know.
My mother had called to give us the information the state dept emailed her. Evacuations would begin at terminal 4 at 11am on Monday. We found out from the news that there were 52,000 Americans in Cairo registered with the state department. It was going to be an absolute shit show. We packed up our things and prepared for the next morning.
We asked the staff to call their driver for us while we went on one last walk to see the area and pick up some more food in case we'd be stuck in the airport for a couple of days waiting for a flight as we knew so many people already had over the weekend. As we stepped out of the building, we were immediately struck by the haze. Everything seemed so murky. And then we realized that it was smoke. A thick blanket of smoke covered the whole city and we couldn't see more than half a kilometer or so ahead of us in any detail. It was incredible and horrifying. The city was subdued. The atmosphere palpably different.
We walked up to the square one last time but were immediately greeted by an armed soldier coming quickly up to us. He told us we could not be there today, that today it was not safe for us to be there. It was the way he said and emphasized today that made us both anxious to leave. He continually apologized, saying it was for our safety. We said we certainly understood. I went to snap one last picture as we walked away but another armed soldier started frantically waving no. It was the first time someone told me not to take a picture so I didn't. We walked away and blocks further I went to take a picture of the smoke and a normal person started yelling at me to stop. Stopped from taking pictures twice. I hid my camera under my jacket but still felt very uncomfortable. Today was different. We suddenly felt like a very intrusive presence. It was time to leave. We bought our food and went back to the hostel.
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| Smoke lying over the city our last day |
We had to fight multiple times to explain our instructions since no one had ever heard of terminal 4. They also wanted to go out to the airport and then come back. It was hard getting the point across that despite how well they cared for us, we couldn't come back.
The driver we'd met our first day. He was a calm, quiet and reassuring man with a tired smile and a way of touching my arm to let me know it was okay. He stopped a few blocks away to buy cigarettes for the road. We passed roadblocks set up by the police who'd returned the night before and he applauded them.
I was on edge leaving the city. We passed more tanks and things seemed calm. Then we hit the traffic jam. The road to get to the airport was completely jammed. He swung the car around different roads and started talking about how it would only take ten minutes to walk there. Chris and I had been speaking in Spanish a great deal over the weekend to gain some privacy in a volatile situation but this panicked me enough to start yelling to Chris in the back seat (the driver insisted I sit in front) - We're not doing that. It was daylight and there were soldiers everywhere but I ws not about to take the risk. Chris agreed and we promised to pay extra if need be. He reassured us it was fine. He was only worried we would miss our flight. We reassured him that was not a concern or possibility.
We waited in several lanes of pushy, unrelenting, bumper to bumper traffic. And I was amazed that the cars were mostly full of Egyptians and not tourists. After passing two tanks, the traffic suddenly let up and we cruised crazily, swerving between lanes on the airport roads. For a moment, it was actually comforting to be worried only about death by crazy foreign driving. At least it was familiar.
We figured out without too much trouble that terminal 4 was actually a private hangar. He dropped us off in front of the large building packed with Americans outside. We tipped him well and wished him farewell. We joined the back of the line, which was impressive but far less dense than the thousands of people long it could have been. We met a couple who'd been stuck in the terminal for days (at the end of their trip mind you) and had walked over after learning of the flights on their iPhones. It sounded like there were still plenty of people stuck in the terminal trying to get on flights that weren't leaving without the knowledge of the American evacuation. The couple was T and Matt. We spent a lot of time talking about movies and Matt's trip to the Rally for Sanity, among other things. And me, I was practically giddy. We were outside in the sunlight and away from the tyranny of the news stations. I never thought I'd be so happy to see so many Americans, in one place, waiting in line. I think I just really needed a break.
The six hours waiting in line wasn't so bad. I ate nearly a whole box of generic fruit loops from nervous energy. After waiting in line more than thirty minutes, I got to the front of the line for the women's room with only a single stall. I'd been chatting with an older woman from Portland and we were then joined by two other women who didn't seem to understand our predicament. How did we not know when we were leaving? Turned out we were talking to part of the private charter flight for BP. The other American lady and I seemed to simultaneously realize we were talking to the enemy. Our huge line was continuously interrupted by van fulls of private groups going through securiy. We were tired, many unbathed and unchanged for days and here were these fancy people with designer hand bags and stilettos with perfectly done hair and clothing walking right through. It was a sobering sense of the power money holds even in a crisis.
The woman in front of us was a teacher who'd been in Egypt three years and had had to pack her three children and the few important things they could bring with them in the middle of the night when her Canadian school called to say they were evacuating. She was handling things very well considering the circumstances. I played with her youngest, Laila, a lot. We did a lot of cheek popping.
We met one of the embassy workers trying to keep things orderly. He was in such good spirits for how much crap he was probably having to deal with. Turns out he was just happy his wife and young kids were getting out - there were two lines and half of every flight came from the other, diplomatic line. He was an ex-military guys who was staying to help as well as to take care of their dog. We had a long talk about how Cairo was about to become a dog city from all the dogs being left behind.
We actually got a lot more news, information, and perspective from standing in line. Melanie, the mother ahead of us, had heard gunfire in her neighborhood and had even broken down a bed to give fire wood to the neighborhood watch type group out at night. She'd set knives all over the house for in case people broke in since there really had been looting in her suburb. I'm sure she was very happy to be heading to CA to reunite with her husband and parents.
Most people were generally happy to be there. Few bad apples of course though, including a large group of old people in front of us who were afraid they'd be separated. Among them were the peple we'd met Friday night who'd informed us of the curfew. They'd come to the airport every day and till hadn't left.
We were told the available safe havens we could be headed to were Istanbul, Turkey, Athens, Greece, and Cyprus. We would be randomized. No requests. It made sense but we had our fingers crossed not to be going to Cyprus. It would be hardest to get to Africa from there. Buses of people continued to pour in and the line grew. We'd arrived with great timing and despite the loan promissory note we were forced to fill out (in our year off!) to pay for the flight, we knew we'd have to be grateful to get anywhere.
We were on the fifth flight out. The last in the group sent to Cyprus. We managed just barely to get all our bags on with us - many people were having to leave bags behind (to clothe an entire village as our embassy friend pointed out). We went through grumpy customs and were then herded onto buses to go to our Lithuanian Small Planet flight. We would sit there for nearly two hours before takeoff. Poor Chris was exhausted and starting to panic with the flight. I held his head against mine and told him - Don't hyperventilate. Just breathe. You're okay. Everything's going to be all right. Everything's going to be all right...
We landed in Cyprus around midnight and were greeted and sped through customs by the US embassy. When we emerged into arrivals, we were immediately greeted by cameras. We were apparently the first evacuation flight to land. We'd been lucky just to get off the ground. The asked to interview us, microphones and cameras in hand. We said okay. They got poor Chris in front of the camera and didn't really address me. So I just took the opportunity to stay quiet and off the camera - who wants to be recorded for international news by the AP after everything we'd been through? But that's the thing of it, you can't help but use the phrase "what we went through" but it's just not right. It feels wrong. Like a betrayal to the people who are actually going through it. But we were privy to a moment of history and with that comes stress and emotion. For us it was in the end merely an inconvenience, whereas for the Egyptian people it was a catastrophic upheaval to their way of life. And yet, you can't help but use the phrase, even though you think of the people who really went through it every time you say it.
Anyway, none of the quotes were used but there is a picture of Chris circulating if you google Chris Upton Egypt. It makes mention of "Upton and his fiance" so let me just dispell that right now. There's been enough craziness and misinformation in our lives as of late and we don't need any more of it.
Meeting us in the terminal with water and hot food was the Cyprus Red Cross. When people from the embassy became broken records, including the consul herself, in saying we were on our own, the Red Cross made it very clear that that was not the case. They were amazing and took wonderful care of the people who really needed it even when our government had abandoned them. But at this point, that's a story for next time.
We were very lucky to have so many people around to give us a unique and appropriate perspective on what was going on. But I was continually struck by how many people said to us that we must understand that Egypt is an old country. They saw everything through this perspective. It was important to them. Egypt is an old country...
From our point of view, the irony in the situation was our presumption that Egypt would be one of the safest places we would be traveling. It's never quite what you expect unfortunately.
I only feel safe talking about visiting the square now that we are safely gone. I wouldn't have said it before or our poor parents might have had a heart attack. The problem is that you are overcom with this incredible curiosity and the urge to see what's going on. We were always safe and never went out past curfew - though there were many people who did. I guess really it just shows how powerful the media is and the fear it can create. Because it's really true that we were always safe. I never felt like anyone would hut us. Many people even went out of their way to help and protect us. It speaks volumes of the Egyptian people and I have such enormous respect for them for it.
Today we sat in the Dubai airport and read international newspapers on how much the situation appears to have escalated. This, like the TV playing CNN in the Cyprus embassy waiting room, was one of our few brief glimpses at the news since we left. It feels so strange to be disconnected now from something that for a brief time was everything we were living and breathing. How much of the escalation is more media sensationalism and how much is real I of course couldn't know. But it does appear that things have gotten worse, which reinforces that leaving really was the best decision. At the time, I felt very conflicted and guilty, but it's clear now that we had no business staying. So now we are outsiders, watching and waiting like the rest of the world. Our personal experience took us from a civilization fighting to try to find its way into democracy to the birthplace of democracy at the top of the Acropolis. Life is full of poetry even at its most desperate moments. Now all we can do is hope for good outcomes, quick endings, and the safety of all those involved - and especially the innocet bystanders. We cannot wait to go back to Cairo when the dust has settled, but both of us feel that may not be for a very long time.
Looking forward to getting some normalcy back in our travels, very tired but optimistic and thinking constantly of the people still in strife, with dreams of world peace and much love,
Sara and Chris
Wow. What an amazing post!! I am so glad you both enjoyed the journey and realized when it was time to leave. Pretty handy being able to speak Spanish. Peace and happiness to you both.
ReplyDeleteHey Sara!
ReplyDeleteGreat post. I'm glad you two are safe, and I'm simultaneously glad you got the chance to be there. It's always difficult to discern what's going on in those types of situations given the powerful filters information passes through as it makes its way from Tahrir square to my computer screen. I hope you're both having a great time in Africa, and hope to see you both soon!
Dustin