Our story starts not where one would normally begin, but, rather, a healthy twelve hours before, so that the entire context of the awesomeness of the past two weeks can be appreciated.
So, there we were, going to Khan-al-Khalili (the souq, or market, in the middle of Islamic Cairo) to acquire some Egyptian pancakes. What started as a group of about four of us quickly ballooned into four taxis full of people craving the deliciousness of sugary, sweet, pancakey goodness. Interestingly enough, the taxi that left five minutes after all the other taxis arrived first, defying all laws of physics of which I am aware, but, in any case, after about ten minutes of texting and calling, we were all grouped in a slightly conspicuous manner once again.
We walked down a street, wondering to ourselves how we would recognize this place of tasty wares, when we immediately came across a shop called "Egyptian Pancakes"—huzzah!—, we had found it. We sat down and were given menus populated with outrageously expensive items, a practice that seems to be relatively common here in Egypt (that is, English menus whose price of food has been increased by two or three times). The employees insisted there were no other menus (or prices), so we bought the bullet and paid $4 instead of $1 for our food. There were all manner of ingredients to be found at our table, such as: nuts, honey, ishta (butter cream), cheese, vegetables, chocolate, bananas, some sort of meat maybe?, and most likely others. After our wonderful meal, it was suggested we split up as to not attract the same sort of treatment by the rest of the store owners in the area, and, being a logical and wonderful idea, it was soon put into action.
Andy, Heather, and I wandered in the opposite direction of everybody else and explored a bit, talking to random people and trying to find some pretty earings for Heather. After getting a few necklaces and negotiating a price for Heather's new bag, we decided to head down a more residential street and attempt to make our way back home. We stopped a taxi and he insisted it would be some exorbitant fare to get back to Zamalek, so we opted for finding the metro instead, making our way in the general direction of the pointings of pedestrians whom we asked.
It was soon moderately clear that we might be lost for a good while, when, fantastically, a short, very old, Egyptian man essentially adopted us and took us to a microbus stop. Before I continue, I must describe what exactly our experiences with microbuses had been thus far: there are a few forms of transportation in Cairo, ranging from taxis, a metro (subway) system, city buses, and, of course, microbuses. Basically, a microbus is a giant van with about 16 seats, all of which are filled with two or three people, that drives around some indeterminate route, dropping off those who dare ride it, and by "dropping off" I mean slowing down ever so slightly so as to allow for the passengers to jump off and roll to safety. For the life of me I can't figure out how the whole thing is kept straight, considering these buses often have people hanging out the windows and jumping on the back due to their lack of space, and the speed at which they pass through the streets isn't conducive to safety in any meaning of the word.
In any event, Mohamed, this old man who was helping us out, shoved us onto a microbus (literally), and then sat down with us in the back trying to tell us something in Arabic. Eventually we were dropped of at a metro station with his number, an invitation to eat dinner at his place some night (which we'll be taking up as soon as I can figure out where he lives), and a wonderful story to tell you people.
It was pretty late by that time, so I just meandered about talking to people before I went to bed, ready for our departure the following morning.
Cue the real story: the next morning Andy and I woke up and packed. My bag contained a logic puzzle book, a notebook, a book on the history of Islam, a toothbrush and toothpaste, my passport, some money, a charger for my iPhone, a button up shirt, a pair of shorts, a towel, and a razor. I wore a button up shirt underneath a t-shirt, as well as my pirate jeans. Some of my traveling mates scoffed at my lack of goods, but, as the rest of the week will show, carrying around stuff sucks, and there will alway be my companions' clothes to wear.
After going downstairs we found out that a car bomb had been blown up that morning in Damascus, killing 17, so tensions were a little high and it was suggested that we not go to where bombs were being exploded. I pointed out that, A) we were more likely to die in a traffic accident in Cairo than suicide bombed in Lebanon or Syria, and, B) an incident happening so very recently might make it less likely to happen again, while we were there. All my talk about the dangers of real life didn't really help, but we finished our preparations and made plans to leave for the airport at 1:30 PM anyway, confident that it would all work out somehow.
Chelsea, Christine, Andy and I got a cab and left, only about half-hour late. There was some confusion about cost of the ride, so I explained the difference between seventy and seventeen pounds to our driver, and then we bargained him down to sixty (still far too much). After arriving at the airport we met up with Christianna, and then got our tickets... sort of.
It turned out that Andy had left his passport in his desk in the dorm room, so there was some frantic calling of roommates and friends to try and work something out, meeting halfway or whatever. Andy left, by himself, to get it all fixed, and the three girls and I made our way through a security checkpoint to the ticket counter. There we found that having a one-way ticket to Beirut (we had planned on buying tickets for the Damascus to Cairo portion once we arrived and were sure we could actually get into Syria) wasn't really okay with the airline. We explained our proposed itinerary to the nice Egyptair agent, and he asked his manager and finagled other things to make it all work. After he explained about thirty times that if there were a problem in Lebanon and we had to make a quick escape, we would be entirely culpable for any costs incurred by such a speedy departure, he gave us our tickets and recommended we say nothing about planned busing to Syria to the Lebanese authorities. Thanks, guy!
We went through customs and waited for the plane to start boarding in our terminal. Andy's whole situation was sort of a mystery to us, but they started loading people on the transport to the plane and he still hadn't arrived, so we stood their stupidly for a bit trying to explain to the ticket-taker that our friend would be coming shortly, but he just rushed us on the bus and didn't really seem to care. Once on the plane, I got a call from Andy saying he was past all the security, on his way, and he had had to argue his way through a few different points to make it all happen. Yay for him!
A short plane ride later, we arrived in Beirut. We made it through customs with no problems, without even having to buy visas. As we stepped out into the cool, fresh night air, we all decided that Beirut was pretty okay. While we waited for our couch surfing host to show up to take us home, Andy and I performed acrobatic feats for the enjoyment of ourselves and various Lebanese onlookers. Once our amazingly wonderful host, Walid, arrived, we loaded our stuff into his trunk and took off into the night.
On the way to his place he did most of the talking, telling us a little about himself (he has an advertising degree and sold alcohol for some large company in Beirut) and where we were going, which turned out to be not actually in Beirut, but in the mountains just outside, where people usually spend their summers, but where Walid spent his not-summers, because it was less crowded in the city proper, or something. Upon our arrival, we marveled at his spectacular view, had a dance party, and drank a little bit of his alcohol. Once we were settled in he corralled us back into his car and we set off for Night Life City, population: us.
We visited a crap-load of bars, mostly just walking in, looking around, and then heading off for some undetermined perfect locale. Some of them were pretty spiffy, such as the one that was built inside a giant pipe in the ceiling, which also opened up so its patrons could enjoy the night sky (but it wasn't open that night, on account of the rain; did I mention there was actual precipitation (!) in Beirut?!). Eventually we found a Latin-themed place with a dance floor, so we spent a better part of the night grinding against each other and watching Walid grind against the ladies. After we got a little tired of that joint, we headed out to greener pastures. Our departure was also slightly hastened by the fact that Andy had broken a glass on the dance floor and we didn't want to have our feet cut to ribbons. Not yet anyway.
Our next destination was this club called the Basement, which, surprise surprise, was in a basement. Chelsea and I almost weren't allowed in due to our non-club-friendly footwear (sandals/flip-flops), but Walid pulled some strings and the bouncer waved us downstairs. There was a lot more dancing, and sometime around five in the morning we decided to head out again, decidedly unsure where the night would take us. By the time we got to B18, this underground, open-topped, super-exclusive club, we were all kinds of tired. Walid didn't want to bug the owner (whom he also knew) to get us in for free, and we didn't want to pay the cover, so we all stood on the edge of the roof and peered down on the packed dance floor, and then made our way towards sustenance.
The place we went offered all kinds of delicious Lebanese dishes, and also seemed to be populated by much the same type of people with whom we'd just been dancing, because, as Walid informed us, going out to eat after a long night of clubbing was a pretty hip thing to do in Lebanon. We ordered a plethora of saj dishes, a sort of pizza/pancake/crepe thing which was scrumdiddlyumptious no matter what it was served with (cheese, thyme, other cheeses, vegetables, chocolate, bananas... etc.) and scarfed them down immediately. As the sun was about to rise, we raced back to Walid's flat in an effort to enjoy his view, but our plans were marred by the unfortunate running-of-Walid's-car-into-the-embankment at the bottom of his complex's driveway.
The road was rather slick from the rain/dew/something, and his driveway was rather angled, and he was driving rather fast in an effort to make it home in time, and while everyone else was sleeping in the back, I watched as we slid, kind of slow-motion-like, into a cement wall. The shock woke everyone up, but they were still kind of groggy while our surprisingly calm friend surveyed the damage and picked up the shattered pieces of his headlight. Once he was satisfied that he had done everything he could in collecting the pieces, we made our way up to his place and crashed (haha! slept) for a few hours.
After our nap, we decided to spend the day at the beach in recuperation, so we readied ourselves and set out in our slightly damaged vehicle. We stopped and bought some delicious bananas along the highway, and then drove north for a half hour to a swimming beach with a restaurant next to it. Andy, Chelsea, and I made our way quite far out into the Mediterranean, trying to get past the obnoxiously intense waves that were nearer the rocky beach. After becoming pruney, we started swimming back; however, because we had forgotten how crazy the waves were closer to the shore, there was some near drownings (Chelsea) and a smattering of sharp rocks in peoples' feet.
In celebration of our awesome accomplishment of staying alive, we all decided to get breakfast (lunch) by the sea, which was wonderful. We ate more Lebanese food and talked with Walid about history, politics, and whatever, and then hopped into the car and headed for downtown Beirut where we parked next to this gorgeous rock formation called "Pigeon Rock" (don't ask me why), and then climbed over the fence to explore the cliffs around it.
Essentially, the next hour of our trip was the happiest point in my entire life. I randomly found a rainbow kite, which didn't have string, so I made it my goal to sift through the various piles of trash that dotted the hillside and find some string so I could fly it. I was utterly successful in my endeavor, and soon had a length of ribbon, a bit of crappy string, and a bit thicker rope all tied to my kite, which I flew, and it was amazing. My comrades were all sitting around singing Disney songs, or taking pictures of the scenery, or meditating on the rock formations, and the sun was going down, and I was flying a fricking rainbow kite.
sigh
Oh, Lebanon.
Also the grass on the hill by the fence randomly started on fire, which was kind of weird.
Anyway, after the sun dipped below the horizon, we remembered were supposed to meet up with Wolf and Mitch at the Virgin Megastore, so we went there. They didn't show up at the appointed time, so after about hour we called them and found out they missed their flight, oops! It was a mixed blessing, because although they are totally cool guys (I have since met them and judged them thusly), having seven people traveling in our group would have greatly complicated all of our sleeping, transportation, and group dynamics. Some other time perhaps.
After that, we went to this art gallery in some random person's totally rocking apartment where the main attraction was a guitarist doing something with his guitar that involved not playing it, but it still made noise? I didn't really understand, but it was pretty interesting sounding and certainly added to the atmosphere. Watching the other attendees was the most fascinating thing for me, because I have never been around so many hipsters in my life, and I certainly didn't expect to do so while in Lebanon. When we were ready to leave, I stood behind the door and made creepy noises (ch-ch-ch-ch, ha-ha-ha-ha; from Friday the 13th) to scare Christine, which I thought was artsy and I decided to do more art like that someday soon.
We stopped at Walid's city-apartment for an hour or so, chatting and playing with his cats while he got stuff he had forgotten to bring to his mountain home, and then got sandwiches at a street shop, and then drove to the mountains. NOTE: When I say "drove to the mountains", I mean I drove to the mountains, because, for some odd/amazing/horrifying reason, Walid allowed me to take the wheel of his very-recently-crashed car, and drive us home while he slept. We lived!
to be continued...
