Cairo

Who knew? Who knew that Tunisia would spark unrest in peaceful Egypt? Who knew that riots would escalate so quickly in the major Egyptian cities? Who knew that for the first time in my life I would lie in my comfy, well-appointed hotel room and listen to gunfire and shouting while tanks blocked the street in front of the hotel? Who knew we would leave this uncomfortable experience determined to come back as soon as possible?

We arrived in Cairo at 3:30PM on January 28 and were met by our guide, Mohamed Ali from Fly Well Travel, the Cairo operator for Egypt Magic, our tour company in the US. Unfortunately, we arrived just as the Egyptian government’s crisis escalated. None of the foreigners were allowed to leave the airport. All the roads in and out were closed. Plus, the cellular network and Internet were taken down to prevent the organizers from organizing. Okay, we thought, we’ll wait a bit and then we’ll be off to our hotel. I mean, really, how long could this persist? It was just a minor inconvenience. Hours later a curfew was declared until 7AM the next morning. We’d spend our first evening in Egypt at the airport.

And so, we sat, and walked, and napped as best we could. Planes continued to land, dumping more people into the airport. Thankfully, the local Egyptians were allowed to leave which kept the airport from being completely filled. It became a study in contrasts. English (American, Australian, and British) voices predominated, but there were many others as well. A Chinese tour group huddled in a corner propped against each other trying to sleep. Sheiks in flowing robes wandered the airport. Women with their heads covered under a hijab held sleepy toddlers. Children ran happily around until they crashed in parents’ laps. All the chairs were filled by those like us who arrived early in the afternoon. Late-comers lay on the floor, leaned against the wall or sprawled wherever there was space.

Once everyone realized that we would be stuck here for hours, there was a run on the food. The convenience store had a long line of people buying armloads of bottled water. The Burger King was a madhouse. People crammed the counter as employees threw burgers into bags that were passed to grabbing hands. At one point, hot airplane food was distributed, but it went fast and was not enough for everyone. About 4AM, boxed food was given out. While beggars can’t be choosers – cold beef and gravy with cold rice was a bit difficult to choke down in the wee hours of the morning. The amazing thing was that everyone remained patient and in good humor. The airport was filled with Egyptian guides who met their clients and now were stuck with everyone else due to the curfew. Mohamed, like the others, was most worried that we would leave with a bad impression. We assured him that we were fine and understood people’s desire to create a better life. Sometimes that’s messy business. He was intensely interested in showing off his beautiful country to us, and he wasn’t the only one. A lone airport employee, also named Mohamed, worked a coffee stand behind us. He was there all night by himself. He introduced himself as I purchased some juice, and said that he hoped we enjoyed our stay in his country. Everyone we met was like that. As it turned out, we would not get to see his country except for glimpses of the pyramids and beautiful mosques as we crossed the Nile four times going back and forth to the airport.

After napping, me across a couple of chairs and Mike on top of our luggage, we awoke cramped and exhausted. Thankfully, our tour guides transferred us to our hotel early in the morning after the curfew lifted. But – others were staying at a hotel in downtown Cairo and needed to be dropped off. With curtains pulled across the van windows, we were driven through the streets of Cairo (the erratic traffic is another story). Mohamed, who himself was exhausted from caring for us all night, was clearly agitated and nervous. We soon understood why. We drove past burned, overturned cars and past lines of tanks. Debris from the previous night’s riots was strewn across the streets. At that moment, an eight-story burning building came into view – windows red with flames. It was the headquarters of the Democratic party – the party of Mubarak’s son. Approaching the others’ hotel, Mohamed, in strict, urgent tones admonished them to get into the hotel and stay there until they were picked up the next morning. After a short, anxious stop at the hotel, we were taken along the Nile, past more burned trucks, to our hotel in Giza – about 45 minutes from downtown. We briefly glimpsed some of the reasons for the unrest. The city was littered with garbage; people walked the streets, old cars and the occasional donkey-drawn cart rumbled by half-completed buildings (taxes go up when complete) creating an atmosphere of interest lost. Even our first view of the great pyramids couldn’t compete with this backdrop.



As we discovered, our hotel was safe – comparatively. Tanks were parked outside and security gates limited traffic to guests. The hotel was lovely with a pool overlooked by the pyramids which were a short walk away - a walk we would not be taking. Soft music was playing – a stark contrast from tanks and guns (and, on the second afternoon fighter jets roared low overhead). Our rooms had plush beds and a marble shower, a welcome sight. From there, we slept and waited, not allowed to leave the hotel and the pyramids closed. All we could do was sit by the pool, look at the pyramids and try to be calm as we thought about what to do.

In the end, the decision was clear – leave Cairo as quickly as possible. Easier said than done as curfews were enacted each afternoon prohibiting all movement, the airport descended into chaos, and Internet service remained curtailed. Thankfully, cell service was reestablished allowing us to text and call. Plus, we had the cavalry on our side in the form of our tour company, Egypt Magic/Fly Well Travel. The staff with their supervisor, Amr Haggag, never left our side, not once, ever. They stayed overnight at the airport and at the hotel – dressed in their suits and ties. Keep in mind, these are local people with families in the affected areas. They left their wives, kids and parents to ensure the safety and comfort of strangers. One young man wiped a tear from his eye as he told of his frightened mother crying to him on the phone. She lived in one of the buildings threatened by looting. Despite these personal hardships, they checked on us several times a day to see if we were okay. Their manager called personally to ensure our satisfaction. We were more than satisfied. We can’t say enough good things about these people and company. It went beyond good business practice, particularly as we talked to others stuck at the hotel that had not seen their tour company’s representative. Ironically, in talking with Amr, we learned that even though he is in the tourist industry specializing in US and Australian visitors, he has never been to the US because of the difficulty in obtaining a tourist visa. It takes years to get approval. How sad is that? Here is a young man, getting married this summer, who wants to take his new wife to the US for a visit that would help him provide better service to his American customers but he can’t visit the US. And, in spite of that, he gives his all to ensure our safety and comfort. This is the sort of person who deserves that precious visa.

The next day, we started trying to get out. The Fly Well staff, Ahmed, Mohamed and our driver, Hussein, escorted us to the airport for our flight to Bangkok on Egypt Air. On the drive over we had a glimpse of life in Cairo. We passed vendors selling oranges and bananas from their donkey-drawn carts and men on camels. Women in their robes lined up outside tiny markets. I was captivated by the people and their dress particularly the men in long tunics with scarves draped around their neck. They look like central casting’s version of Bedouins.


It was smooth sailing on the roadways passing rows of tanks as the curfew kept most cars off the road. Fortunately, tourists were allowed to pass through the streets accompanied by their guides. It was not, however, smooth sailing at the airport. Egypt Air was a mess – and that’s being gracious. At the last minute they decided to cancel all flights departing during the curfew period….or almost all flights. But they didn’t say which ones were going and which ones were not. All showed “canceled” on the screen even when flights were called for boarding. As we were walking out the door, thinking all flights were canceled, they announced “immediate boarding” for the flight of a couple with us. Their “canceled” flight ended up leaving three hours EARLY! Mohamed literally ran with them through security to the gate and – with his help – they made their flight. We were not so lucky. We waited for hours for any information about the flight and were finally told it was canceled – really. It might go out the next morning. So, at 9:30PM we piled into the van for the drive back to the hotel – in the dark, during the curfew.

All I can say is thank goodness for Hussein – a retired military colonel who now enjoys showing tourists around his country. Because of the curfew, major roads were blocked by tanks and military personnel so that we had to navigate our way back along city streets and through neighborhoods. These neighborhoods were guarded by citizen groups trying to protect their homes from looters. We stopped at more than 40 of these makeshift check points. It typically went like this: We drove a few yards down a local street until we came across a barricade. The barricade might be a row of soccer-ball sized rocks, an obstacle course of old logs and light poles, or just a group of men wielding bats, clubs, or axes. I will confess that it was unnerving – each of the 40+ times. It was like neighborhood watch with clubs. Mike and I sat quietly in the back trying to look harmless and blond. Hussein rolled down his window, coasted to a stop, and gave a local greeting to the head person. He handed them his military card showing his rank as colonel and his service time of 27 years with the military. Their reaction was immediate. They would salute, step back and wave us through – like magic. But here’s the other thing that quickly became clear– all of these people were polite, gracious and apologetic. They were not violent or vigilantes. They were regular people trying to protect themselves and their families. Many looked at me and Mike and said they were sorry but they had to check our van to ensure their safety. They hoped we understood – which we did – and they welcomed us to their country. I felt like I was in a one-van parade as everyone smiled and waved to us and we waved back. The atmosphere was such a contradiction. On one hand, the anxiety level was palpable and yet there were boys playing, old men sitting around fires drinking coffee while the younger adults watched the road. It was like a block party for the men. It was an odd internal conflict as I simultaneously felt worried and welcomed by the people. It is this contradiction that will be one of the enduring memories I keep of this drive. And it was a long drive. It took 2 ½ hours to make the normally 45 minute trip. We arrived at the hotel at midnight.

And we got to do it all again early the next morning – pulling out of the hotel the minute the curfew was lifted. Once again – chaos reigned at the airport. This time it was packed to overflowing with people and bags. We waited for our flight to be called – but to no avail. The rumor came that our flight was canceled – again – so we went to plan B. The night before, my sister, Alison, found flights for us on Qatar Airlines to Bangkok connecting through Doha. Qatar Airlines operated out of a different terminal with massive auto traffic in between. Fly Well staff were already in the other terminal and they found seats for us on the flight. Hussein drove us as close as he could and Mohamed walked us through the streets to the terminal, weaving between traffic. We got the tickets – first class – very expensive – but it was a way out and, as it turned out, having first class seats was the only way we made our connection in Doha. Mohamed led us to the ticketing area and literally shoved our bags over the mobs of people onto the scanning belt, and checked us in. Keep in mind, this sea of people was almost entirely Middle Eastern – flowing robes, women’s heads covered by hajibs, and traditional dress for men of long robes and scarves. We were an anomaly. We started our journey through the packed terminal to passport control – another sea of people packed together, shoving their way toward a customs official. Gone were the organized, serpentine lines where signs politely advise you to wait behind the red line. Here we faced a mass of people all shoving their way to the booth. Some held hands full of passports that they handed over the top of the booth to the official. Hussein told us to push our way forward and keep pushing. With that, he left us. I was almost emotional watching our knight in shining armor leave. We would not be out of the country without Mohamed, Hussein, Amhed and Amr. They literally kept us safe and got us out. Never have I experienced such effort and dedication.

I should mention that as we sat for hours at the airport, we saw representatives from Great Britain, France, Australia, China, New Zealand, and more. All were working to move their citizens out of Egypt. Notably absent was the US. We never – ever – saw anyone in the terminal from the US State Department. Deplorable.

It merits repeating that every single Egyptian we met was kind, polite, gracious and helpful. They were insistent that we feel welcomed to their country, and we did in spite of the circumstances. We were the recipients of numerous simple kindnesses – like the gentlemen who wheeled a chair to me in the airport, or the waiter who quietly asked me to please come back to his country, or the ten-year old boy who smiled through the windows of our bus and shouted, “hello!” in his best English. How sad it is that these people are the ones most impacted by this situation. Service staff at the hotel told us that they make barely enough to live on WITH the tourist industry. As the tourists leave in droves, these kind and polite people are the ones bearing the brunt of the economic impact. While I won’t pretend to grasp the political and social issues facing this country, I will leave with a great respect for the working people and their desire for a better life. We will watch the developments in Egypt with a deeper interest because they deserve a government that is worthy of them. We look forward to returning to see the sights, experience the rich culture, and meet our friends, Amr, Mohamed, Ahmed and Hussein again. In the meantime, we hold them in our thoughts.

As the wheels of our Qatar plane left Egyptian soil en route to Doha we exhaled for the first time in three days. Two thoughts crossed my mind:
- Unspeakable gratitude for Amr, Mohamed, Hussein and Ahmed, and
- Where the heck is Doha?