Cairo, Egypt

Sunday, May 29 to Tuesday, June 1, 2005:

Sunday was my birthday and I was determined to spend it in style or, if that failed, spend it spending some money. Coming up on the train early that morning from Luxor, I looked and probably smelled my very least sylish and appeared like the least likely tourist in Egypt to be dropping in on the Nile Hilton Hotel seeking a room. My credit card worked, however, and that was good enough for the Hilton, so they sent me up to the 11th floor to inspect a large, luxurious single with a balcony overlooking frenetic miles of downtown Cairo. I liked the room and took it. At 85$ per night, I was paying somewhere in the neighborhood of four times more than the highest amount I had previously paid for lodging in the eight months since the trip had started and more than eight times what I was normally paying per night on average. Its a good thing I'm worth it, I decided, though not by much if you start to factor in my own depreciation.

It took me some time to adjust to the modern functionality of my lodgings. I didn't jump up and down on the bed or anything like that, but I did spend a considerable amount of time surfing the numerous channels of the television, figuring out the best setting for the air-conditioning and marveling at the size and cleanliness of the bathroom, which included a shower that miraculously provided hot water for more than 40 seconds (wonder of wonders). As I became reacquainted with moneyed civilization all over again, I realized what I had to do: Call room service. Within a minute a young man knocked on my door and took away my pile of wretched, steaming laundry for express cleaning and pressing. He looked decidedly miserable as he stared at the festering plastic bag on his way out the door. Poor bastard.

I checked out the Hilton's immense pool, numerous cafes and restaurants and sizeable shopping area. I didn't have anything overwhelmingly exciting planned but didn't really feel the need to do much more than relax, eat some good food, read a good book and, above all, not be distracted by my own funky smell. In the crisp air-conditioned lobby space (and out of the 100 degree Luxor heat), I succeeded in this humble endeavor. I eventually stepped outside and walked down the Nile and towards the highway where the Hotel Semiramis was situated (the Semiramis is even nicer than the Hilton but more than I was willing to spend on myself) . A corpulent, middle-aged Egyptian soldier with a big bushy mustache and a large automatic rifle slung over his shoulder saw me approaching the six-lane road and waddled over authoritatively to bark something at me in Arabic. When I responded in English he nodded and asked me where I was going.

"Semiramis."

"Over zhere, over zhere," he said gesturing.

"Yes, thank you, I know," I said, pointing across the street at the building.

"Zhere, zhere, over zhere," he said again, jabbing at the immense tower that had "SEMIRAMIS" spelled out in ten-foot letters on its crown, clear as day.

"Thank you."

"Dis way," he began, following after me as I tried to ignore him and walk on toward a destination I had already visited several times before. Then, sure enough, he motioned for me to halt, stepped into the road, blocked the oncoming traffic and escorted me across. I didn't want this, didn't need this and didn't have any way out of this. And I saw, clear as day, what was coming. On the opposite end of the highway he leaned in close to me and, breathing heavily down my neck, uttered a throaty "backsheesh" to my shoulder-blade. I whipped out a 1-pound note, slapped it into his hand and turned away quickly in disgust. I think he expected more than he got and, since he did have a gun and the ability to arrest me, I marched off before he had second thoughts. What fun to be shaken down for cash by corrupt military personnel.

If you need to find truly good food in Cairo, the Semiramis is your bet. I ate at "The Birdcage" where a four-course Thai meal with a beer set me back about $14. Then I spent some time downstairs reading in one of the several cafes. Finally I went down to the offices of Thomas Cook to take some more cash out on my semi-functional Citibank ATM card. While I was doing this, a thought hit me: Why not look into the price of roundtrip airfare to New York, just out of curiosity? Ok. Why not?

A very patient, very cooperative woman behind the desk spent about 10 minutes juggling through computerized files before telling me that I would only be paying about $650 for a roundtrip ticket. My eyes lit up. "When can I leave?" I asked.

"Uhhh... tonight --- tomorrow actually --- at 1:25 AM," she said.

I thought about it.

"Ok, book it before I change my mind please."

She began typing, then paused and looked up. "I am very sorry but that seat was just sold..." She searched some more. "I can book you a ticket in two more nights on the same flight, if you want."

"Ok."

And so, on the spur of the moment, I decided to pack on back to the U.S. for the first time in over eight months, a decision I immediately felt very good about. Although I hadn't had any regrets about the travelling and time spent on the road, I'd been getting a little worn out in recent days. Moreover, I had an ATM card that barely worked (and contacting Citibank had proven nearly impossible since reaching Africa) and, even more importantly, a passport that had started to fall apart. The plastic over the picture was peeling away and getting me detained and questioned at multiple border crossings. Not a good thing. Finally, I wanted to plan the rest of the trip and, of course, see family and friends. So... why not just do it?

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The next few days were easy enough. I stayed at the Hilton for another night, then checked out on June 1 and put my bags in storage until 11 PM that night when I took a taxi to the International Airport. My flight was delayed and did not leave until nearly 4 AM, but since I was facing more than an 8 hour layover in Madrid anyway, it didn't matter to me one way or the other. I talked with a group of American and British travellers and we all sat and squashed the hordes of large black ants that were swarming all over the floor of the departure lounge. Finally, an announcement in Spanish signaled that we were about to begin boarding. I couldn't believe it: In 24 hours, more or less, I would be back in New York.