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There was no escaping the sweltering heat, and while it wasn’t that rivulets of sweat were running down it, it’s just that my forehead was constantly damp, no matter how many times I wiped it.

 

Couple that with the extreme pollution and fog of dust clouding the city, it basically felt like I was a dirt catcher as I followed Mohammed (Who? Well read about him here, dummy!)) to a cement office building. He unlatched a squeaky gate and led me inside the building, through a hallway that smelled of mothballs. The florescent light flickered above us as we sauntered up the narrow and oddly carpeted stairs, climbing eleven flights in a hoisting, heaving silence.

 

My suitcase wasn’t just stuffed with six weeks’ worth of clothes. It also contained all my textbooks. The one con to online school as a vagabond was the textbook situation when it came to packing.

 

We did reach our destination though and Mohammed proudly led me to a door with a red, plastic sign affixed to it, welcoming passerby’s and neighbors to the Wake UP! Hostel in Cairo, Egypt.

 

 

After entering, it turned out that the hostel was indeed a private apartment-turned-hostel in this complex. The place was … cozy to say the least. And all you folks in the rental market know what that means.

 

The “kitchen” consisted of a tiny stove – like literally polly pocket sized- packed into a minuscule closet. The bedrooms also felt claustrophobic: each bed was less than an arm’s length from the next – the owner’s attempt at making a single teen’s bedroom sleep six grown men for a $240 a night profit.

 

Usually Hostels had travelers hanging out, milling around the hostel common quarters when you arrive. Not at the Wake UP!. Nope, instead there were just burly Egyptian men sitting in a ring of cigarette fumes, chain-smoking and watching soccer.

 

I stood awkwardly, waiting for Mohammed to begin checking me in.

 

But Mohammed didn’t do that. Nope, instead he left; like, I mean he exited the building, without so much as a bye.

 

There wasn’t an official check-in anywhere stand so I limply deflated in the corner of the common area while the copse of Egyptian soccer fans ignored me.

 

At the first commercial, I cleared my throat loudly and called, “Checking in.?”

 

Mohammed only drove for the hostel, he did not work there. The man on duty was named Abu, the same name as the monkey in Aladdin. He separated from his pack and offered a scalding cup of tea.

Jake in Egypt 1

Abu and I

“Yes, check-in is easy. We check-in when you check-out. Cool?”

 

I shrugged and answered, “Cool.”

 

The tea was scalding my insides and bouncing back off the equally scorching air. There was no escape and as I sweat my body weight, Abu asked,

“How do you get an elephant into a refrigerator?”

 

I stared blankly and he answered with a dead-seriousness, “You push him in.”

 

But it wasn’t long before his eyes, the wrinkles on his face, and his lips began to beam widely as he cracked up.

 

Gasping for air, he followed up, “And how do you get a monkey into a refrigerator?”

 

I stared blankly again and as I contemplated, he answered, “You take the elephant out and push the monkey in.” He guffawed even louder.

 

“Oh, but I kid. I only kid. Yes, Jake I expected you. Let me take you to  your room. Once you finish your tea of course!”

 

 

I was taken to a dingy room of twin beds, all with tousled sheets just waiting for their sleepers to make them. Black-out curtains were closed, only allowing a slit of yellow light into the room. The light glinted off a mound of wild brown hair that immediately shot up when I entered.

 

“Whoa, whoa! How long have I been out?”

 

The crazy-haired man suddenly woke up from a daze but didn’t seem to have a sense of time or place. There was a strange twang to his voice, which I’d only recognized from movies featuring Southern Californian surfers.

After waking up, he began to tell me his story:

The bohemian was named Ari, and he was an eclectic UC San Diego student who was only there in that exact moment due to dazed and confused happenstance. You see, Ari found his San Diego apartment on Craigslist and upon moving in, he learned his roommates happened to be hardcore drug dealers. Luckily, Ari was a dedicated stoner. So, he woke up, rolled a joint from his roomies’ stash, and smoked it all himself. In a stoned haze, he surfed the Internet for “cool shit” and ended up booking a plane ticket to Cairo.

Jake in Egypt 2 title

Ari and I in our Jellabiyas – yes, we were photoshopped onto a heard of camel. The other background sucked.🙂 You’re welcome.

 

Then, after wandering to the markets of Cairo and finding his hashish dealer, he took a big old hit and booked a private pyramid tour through the hostel, which would be cheaper if someone else joined. There in that cave of a room, he invited me to join his adventure.

 

I of course accepted.

 

 

 

 

 

 

“You have private car with air conditioning waiting downstairs. When you are ready of course.” Abu informed as we inhaled the free hostel breakfast of hardboiled eggs and pita.

It wasn’t just a car they’d booked for us. They ordered a huge German-made conversion we van with the most magical and spectacular air conditioning I’d ever seen.

It turned out our driver was a new Mohammed who didn’t speak English, which made me wonder how informational the private tour was going to be. But it allowed time for Ari and I to get to know each other.

“Dude, I’m super excited to see Gaza, right?” Ari said/asked.

I answered, “No, and I’m not going… but I think Giza is going to be cool.”

“What?” He paused, looking  confused and cocking his head for a moment, then smiled, and said, “riiight.”

 

 

 

 

Our van dropped us off at a ranch which was oddly right in the city. Here, Egyptian versions of cowboys kicked dirt as horses roamed about, neighing and eating hay.

A teenager pocked with purple acne came up to us and explained we were going to ride horses around the Pyramids of Giza.

Like everything else in Egypt, we received a cheap price after some stubborn bartering: twenty dollars for a ninety-minute ride – of course no helmets, training, or waivers neither. Ari and I both boarded our horses. Mohammed hung back at the ranch drinking an orange Fanta and smoking with the ranch’s owners – the teenage boy we bartered with instead jumped on a horse and led us to the tourist trap.

As we crossed the road, a child that looked to be about eight years old jumped in front of us and asked, “You have cigarettes?”

“No” Ari and I sang together again. The 8-year-old then grabbed his own pack out of his shirt pocket and began to puff.

What a little gangster! He looked all hard with his little cigarette and puppy pal that ran along side him. He wasn’t none too thrilled with the greedy tourists who refused to share cigarettes, though…

 

 

 

Our guide’s accent was so incredibly thick that I could not even make out his name when he introduced himself. Once again, I was wondering how informative the private tour would really be.

We slowly sauntered up a yellow hill as a huge monkey-fly was buzzing at my face and each time I batted it away, I nearly lost my balance. Desert winds whipped us from every direction, also testing our handle on balance.

All the while, our guide spoke into the wind with his gibberish. These grievances meant nothing, however, when we arrived at the crest of the hill, as a set of three gargantuan pyramids seemingly shot suddenly out of the dusty desert below.

Egypt Horses

As we made our way down to the pyramids, we edged along a limestone wall, away from the main mass of tourists and eventually stumbled upon two police officers.

One of the guards approached Ari with an intimidating power stance and blurted off Arabic, as if he expected these two incredibly white boys to understand him.

We looked to our guide to translate, but oddly, he ignored the officer, and continued on his way. Indignant and forceful, the officer stomped towards our guide and pulled him off the horse, as if he were light as a sheet. The guard turned to us and again blathered some Arabic and while we didn’t understand, the emotion in his face was universally understood. This man was not happy. The guard turned to us and held his hand up, rubbing his thumb with his middle and pointer fingers.

Ari whispered, “Dude, I think he’s asking for money!”

I whispered back, “I think so too but I’m not giving his ass anything!”

Damn, I was a defiant little guy! Still am… ;P

 

I shook my head and the man then pushed back his jacket to reveal a pistol. Things then became serious.

This was it. I was going to make it in the Darwin Awards. A dumb tourist who did no research and blindly trusted everyone and every adventure that tempted him – only to die during a scuffle about stolen horses. And how ironic, I was born in the year of the horse. Fucking life, man.

Ari said, “Woah, he’s like, showing us his gun, brah!”

Umm, no duh. That weed slowin’ ya down, boy?

Our guide was now standing up and had come in between the two horses. His face muscles twitched, revealing a worried expression. His tone was different now too. He was way less confident and instead seemed to be wheedling his way out of something with the guard.

Now again, I have no idea what was said or what arguments were exchanged BUT I do know our guide seemed defeated after he handed the two horses to the police officer.  Some bills were exchanged and our guide turned back to us, continuing to lead us to the pyramids and speaking his gibberish in the wind, as though nothing had happened.

Baksheesh Egypt Sponge

And no, after returning to the van, we were not held responsible for the lost horses and the mystery of exactly why or where they went was never solved.

So, while Cairo wasn’t exactly on my list because I felt it too safe and westernized, it turns out, if you get a little cocky, life will be ready to give you a quick little bitch-slap, as it did to me.

Lost Horse Photo

Us at the pyramids and me like – umm where’s my horse, man?


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