The first time we went to Khan el-Khalili it was during Ramadan, and it was honestly one of the strangest experiences in my life. The place is an enormous tourist pit, full of hapless Americans and Europeans and Asians who dress in horribly inappropriate ways, get very obviously ripped off by the Egyptian salesmen, or both. But amongst all the kitchsy crap (i.e. the pyramid/camel/miscellaneous statues, "Rolex" watches, etc.) there are some real gems of items. I managed to barter my way down forty guinea for a white tunic, which was still vastly overpriced but a lot better than the original price. Khan el-Khalili was much more vibrant and lively this time around -- while the hawkers more or less left us alone (I have developed a very good "piss the fuck off or I will punch you in the kidneys" look), they were very enthusiastic when it came to the other tourists, and it was highly entertaining to watch some interactions. The place is a veritable maze -- I do not know how Karim knew where we were going.
We also ate pigeon at a little... I wouldn't call it a restaurant, but there were tables and food was served and I ate it, so I guess it might qualify as a restaurant, but that's just being way too generous. Anyway. Pigeon. It was delicious. There is not a lot of meat on a pigeon, but they stuffed it full of brown rice, which was amazingly tasty, and I managed to discover the hidden treasure trove of pigeon meat on the hips of the bird. The spine, amusingly enough, is very, very elastic and stretchy. Also, the ribs are very small and tend to show up in random and surprising bites. But yes, I would eat it again. My fosha professor stared at me in confusion and a little bit of disgust when I told him I liked pigeon -- he claims Cairo food is the worst, and has vowed to take us all to a restaurant here in Alexandria that serves "the best pigeon in the world." Hanshouf -- we'll see.
We returned to the apartment after Khan el-Khalili and Karim and Yamila slept -- I did homework. Kar Kar came back from... wherever he was, and we left that night to go to a club we were not able to get into the night before: Rithmo, by the Semiramis Intercontinental Hotel.
We ate there because we were starving. There is no dance floor at Rithmo -- rather, people just stand up by their tables and dance. Kar Kar and his friend, a man studying to become a neurosurgeon (a terrifying prospect, seriously. I would rather do my own brain surgery than let him do it), drank more or less an entire bottle of tequila, with Yamila's help, of course. Karim and I sat and critiqued people's apparel. We danced a bit, then left.
This is where my night got fucking ridiculous. I would appreciate if my sisters are reading this, that they not tell dad or my mom. Standing outside the club, waiting for someone to bring Karim's car, Kar Kar and his friend, Gamal, were being stupid-drunk and standing in the middle of the street. Now, while I mentioned before that streets here are vicious and dangerous, the fact remains that people will stop if they see someone in the road, not moving. Usually, at least. And for the first two or three times, the cars did stop for Kar Kar's drunken antics. The third time, however, they did not. As I watched, there was a squeal of tires, the sound of roughly 160 pounds of human flesh hitting a car hood, and the sight of Kar Kar spinning off the car and sprawling gracelessly into the street.
The guy took off, and the valet bringing Karim's car tried to chase him down, but to no avail. Everyone was freaking out -- we drove Kar Kar to the hospital (mistake: we should have waited for the ambulance, but like I said, Gamal was a sketchy doctor to compliment sketchy Egyptian healthcare), then to another hospital where Gamal works, to get him checked out. He was fine -- a broken wrist and a bruised knee, but nothing serious. I knew he would be fine -- the car was only going at most 30 mph and Kar Kar was drunk and relaxed, so no serious injuries were likely. I also have no pity for him -- that was his fucking fault. So we stayed out again until seven thirty in the morning, and I watched my second Egyptian sunrise in two days -- that's two more than I wanted to watch.
I slept for two hours or so that morning. Karim and Yamila slept together in the same bed until probably two in the afternoon, when Chelsea and Molly finally got them out of bed to drive us back to Alexandria. By this point, my grump the morning before was nothing -- I was fucking livid, and I am still honestly pissed off at Karim and Yamila. I did not go to Cairo to party, sleep, watch them hook up, and waste my weekend. I went to see Cairo, to see the antiquities, the museums, the city itself. I went to be a tourist, and instead I ended up a stupid American in two nightclubs. The point that really gets me is that Yamila asked me to stay with her -- she didn't want to be alone with Karim. Apparently she did.
A waste of a weekend. On the up side, now I can say I've seen someone get run over by a car. That's... a conversation starter?
another truck stop on the way another game that I can play another word I learn to say
another blasted customs post another bloody foreign coast another set of scars to boast
WE ARE THE ROAD CREW
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