aric with an a

look, I’ve been hard on the pyramids and vocal about the pain that is the tourism sector here.

but have also had a few adventures here-and-there.

this one might top the list.

Egypt winning the African Cup was insane.

as you can see.

and I gave into the vibe and jumped on a horse-drawn carriage to celebrate.

you can also see that might not have been the best of ideas.

that’s a big number, 10,666.

we can all agree on that.

that’s how many people dropped by yesterday.

am I bragging?

no, I have nothing to brag about.

I’m writing,

because it’s the cheapest thing I can do.

ten-thousand people and change.

why?

I’m guessing because despondency sells.

you’re either from the credit card company,

another stalker,

my Mother,

or perhaps, you’re wondering how this will work out.

you can stop reading now, if you want.

I’m rambling.

trying to think something or hear something,

that gives me a bit of direction.

I don’t want your money,

you bought my photos and for that, I thank you.

you might offer up kind words,

some work - some don’t.

I hate cliches, they’re a dime-a-dozen.

but you want to see how this turns out,

this boy, in Cairo, wanting to get to the real Africa,

but having Libya on one side, and Sudan on the other.

no overlands for me, I’m afraid.

the lady at the embassy told me the same.

what will happen?

I turned to my favorite Dr. Seuss book today,

childlishly stumbling for answers between the illustrations.

and it gave me a chuckle,

but nothing much else.

oh! the places I’m trying to go.

I’m trying, Dr., I am.

sitting here, hitting ‘refresh’,

as if it’s up to me when my emails come.

waiting and waiting, like Martin Sheen,

without the bathroom,

it’s cheaper that way, you see.

dear Mom, dear Dad - funny story…

it’ll have to begin,

perhaps misspelling a few words to remind them my college education cost nothing.

I’d sell you this computer,

but the ‘I’ key is faded.

the airline I would take to over there,

had a plane crash a few days ago - could I ask for a discount?

it’s a great idea! I tell myself,

and would tell them.

and, whoever will listen.

listen to my great idea.

now, feed me.

in one week, this post will make me laugh.

so laugh now, if you like.

I want you to.

I want to too.

and I’d like to be doing something,

besides coming back here.

I can’t even be in a good mood about the pyramids.

poop.

it’s a funny thing when you’re this close from a scary place,

I say as I type on my $2000 computer, importing photos from my $1800 camera.

recipes for irony, all sitting right here - I’ll admit to that.

a single line from an old friend to end a quick email and I’m emotional,

the same way a Journey track used to sum up a high school love.

thank you Steve Perry, you see right through me.

I sat outside the museum today, waiting on Emily.

I’d already gone before, but had promised her I’d go with her again.

but that wasn’t happening,

sorry Egypt, I can think of quite a few things that $13 can buy.

even my favorite alley found me unsettled,

humorous looks in the direction of the man who can’t handle his apple.

a walk back out and the lady selling tissues asks me for money.

funny, darlin, I was about to ask the same thing.

the fear isn’t what’s going to happen,

the fear is what pride will be traded.

so a few days,

and a deep breath,

but not deep breaths.

because there is a difference.

between the two.

look, they’re fun to shoot.

and from a distance, you remember that magic they brought when you were young.

so you ‘pah’.

think about going.

probably will go.

and that’s fine.

just please don’t take these shots as reality.

cause they’re tweaked in lightroom.

and shot at an upward angle.

past the crowds.

and the litter.

which is sad,

mostly because we’ll keep going.

as crass as this is to say,

picture my setting right now.

what does that look like, to you?

here’s why I said that:

not a week goes by that someone emails me and says

‘be honest, what do you really do?’

as if I secretly have a trust fund,

and simply like creating the occasional mini-drama.

can I be honest?

I’m sitting in a hotel room.

just ate a fantastic chicken sandwich that I hope was cheap,

so I can order it again tomorrow.

I also hope it’s warmer tomorrow,

so I can go back to my little alley.

there’s a few people who are interested in my new travel-charity project,

big people.

in big businesses,

big businesses which can’t just say ‘go for it!’ and turn me loose.

and so I wait.

I wait here in Cairo,

having faith that what will be will be.

cautiously tallying the $290 I have left.

no credit cards,

no rich parents,

no savings.

$290.

I sold my photos, and you bought them

it got me to Egypt and that was the plan.

and I’m here.

crisis averted, as it always is.

but still.

it’s just enough to fly to Ethiopia,

but not enough to eat once I’m there.

‘do you have any missionary friends in Addis Ababa?’ in an email to my Dad.

33 and asking for help from his parents.

‘teach English in Cairo’ I entered in the box,

realizing I have no dress clothes anyway.

so, sure - the photos come up and some people click the ‘like’ button,

and I can tell a decent story thanks to having a bloodline of storytellers and carnies.

but please don’t find this glamorous.

nor think me brave.

or imagine me exploring the hidden walkways of this old town,

’cause it was cold outside today.

I picked out the crap parts of the tour and obsessed about them,

as that’s $20 I could have used elsewhere.

so here I sit, and here I write,

’cause I wouldn’t burden anyone with this in a normal conversation.

but know that once you take away the pictures,

and these little entries,

what you have is a grown boy.

who’s sitting in this little cheap hotel room,

scared.

and how glamorous is that?

walking around obsessing and worrying,

holding onto whatever cliche enters my head.

‘it always works out!’

‘you’ll end up exactly where you’re supposed to be’

‘look at the big picture.’

and so on.

so sure, on the cab ride home, I told myself that if things fall through,

I’m going to do it anyway.

you read that line and maybe you thought ‘atta boy!’

but please don’t.

it was said in my head a lot softer than this type resonates.

scared, scared boy.

and this is what it’s all about, I suppose.

in a week’s time I’ll have forgotten this and wonder if I should delete this childish admittance.

but for now, right now…

you get the picture.

does anyone else my age think about their mortality? I’m not going to say I think about it all the time, but it comes up. Pierre left us not so long ago and I have not one, but two friends, my age, having dealt with cancer. twice. each. before the age of 34. I was with a dear friend’s parents when they had to identify her body and had my childhood pal wave a gun at the police and be taken down - at 16.

and more stories like those.

so yeah, sure - I think about it.

this wasn’t supposed to be dark, is it dark? I’m sorry - look at the photo again. see? light-hearted. fun. erm, sort of.

anyway, after spending yet another day at my little favorite place mentioned below [not Giza, shockingly - the one below that], I thought about how I’d like it to be when I move on.

and wouldn’t this just be a kick in the shin if this is my last post? kidding - again. laugh, please. I’ll post tomorrow so you can see.

anyway, here’s what I’d like - ’cause I don’t want a crappy goodbye.

someone make a list somewhere, and have people sign a little note for me on my next adventure.

then, after a month or so, take a look at the note.

and here’s all I ask:

whomever’s name is above yours on the list, you go and visit within one year.

isn’t that clever!

okay, so there’s that, and a few last requests:

that little street I wrote about in Cairo - I’d like Ryan to go there, order a sweet mint tea and have a few hookahs.

the pub closest to the ocean in Doolin should have Tim & Robin filled with Jameson.

and my favorite German beerhouse in Williamsburg, NY is where Scott should be bought many a dunkelweiss.

that’s it - right that down or make a note. because if I end up having some soppy farewell, I’ll be pissed. and you don’t want to dick a pissed couch-surfing ghost that steals more of your change after his due date than he did while he was around.

-

update

not dead, see - didn’t mean for that to be dark. keeping with this theme, though, I decided today to start mailing out one postcard per week. no matter where I am. ’cause getting one from beyond is about the coolest thing you could ever get, no?

okay, I’m done. promise.

<turns off Nick Cave>

someone says ‘Egypt’ and we all think ‘pyramids’.

it’s what we grew up envisioning, dreaming.

mummies and gold secrets,

heads that didn’t belong on bodies,

and other assorted mysteries.

and so you get there,

you round that corner of the concrete it sits next to,

and wonder why no one ever mentioned

the concrete it sits next to.

but that first glimpse, over the tour buses

and past the rent-a-camel rides.

it’s special.

not magic,

but special.

in a completist kind of way.

you’ve made it, you touch it

you’ve done it.

it’s smaller than you thought,

and the area that surrounds it is a shithole.

touts and kids and more touts offer everything,

even if it’s clear you need nothing, including everything.

the sphinx, I’m sorry, is tiny,

compared to the one in my 8 year-old mind.

and so you walk around and take the photos,

some even attempt at being funny with scope.

how original.

but you’re not supposed to say that, are you?

no one ever does.

they elude,

hint,

dance around the issue,

but never, never come clean.

it’s dirty,

but they still come.

it’s annoying,

because fuck you, you’re leaving tomorrow.

it’s, well, a let-down.

but it’s the last wonder of 7.

and so you’ll still go,

as well you should.

I highly suggest it.

and here are some photos that might make you think I’m lying.

I inhaled more than I should have, as to let the sweetened-fog come out of my mouth in it’s own time, creating a temporary smoke-screen between me and this most enchanting of random, located in a tiny alley that years ago most likely adhered to the one-way sanction, but not anymore. violet plastic chairs pushed up against a pimpled honey wall in a pocket of Cairo forgotten, dogs and cats pay each other so little mind as if time had stripped them of all differences save for the title. a man with a skinny beard and ragged hat kisses his own palm before shaking theirs, greeting more with his tired eyes than his toothless smile. I want to ask him his name, how long he’d been here but couldn’t interrupt his dance from patron-to-patron, holding the glass pipe with one hand and burning coals in the tiny clay top with the other. he’ll give it a shake and drain out some excess water before sitting it down in front of those who know him, those who ordered once, years ago, but no longer need to - you don’t have to tip him a few coins, but that would make you the first. if money afforded it, he’d wear a nice suit and snap the napkins with grandeur when you sat - the name tag would read ‘Theodore’ and he’d insist you call him that in full. I sat, moving so quietly, so minimally, sitting between those two trees that afforded me both silent sanctuary and a perfectly composited view, mimicking the man in front of me - inhaling and exhaling - keeping the plastic tipped cord in my mouth the whole time, repeating 5-6 times and then breaking for the mint tea - balancing precariously on a thin iron table that dared you to bump it. at one point I think he saw his protege behind him and smiled - thanks for trying not to let on. the mechanic with his camouflaged hands finishes his cigarette next to us and brings his beast back to life with a pop! - momentarily passing out a flavor not advertised on the non-existent menu. boys ride by on different bicycles all balancing a variation of the same bake on their heads, but I’m the only one who takes note. there’s talk between those who commune, but not much - the occasional ring tone from hidden tracking-devices being the only sounds that remind each of us that there’s a big, big world just a few blocks away. it’s not that time stands still here, it just moves at the pace of your pipe. a streak of wind leaves white ash on my black shorts, but it takes me minutes to remember to clean it off. I sat there for hours, but left before my drink went cold, before my burning apple became stale, before the quiet cars awakened and the city nudged us all back to the day. the beauty queen probably can’t spell and I wasn’t going to stick around for the hard questions. as I walked away, waving to Theodore and wondering what he thought of me, the call to prayer above the lane began and I promised myself never, ever to come back…

although I probably would tomorrow.

‘Egyptians are horrendous.’ - this was told to me, in varying adjectives, by more than a few people.

a guy in Laos who rode his bike from London being the first,

the girls in the hotel when I first checked into Cairo being the latest.

and a good 5-6 in between.

I didn’t want to believe it,

who does?

but then, after a few days here, think I have it figured out.

[we consider ourselves so wise, don't we, us traveled? how annoying.]

70% of Egyptians are nice.

30% are not.

of those 30%, 28% work in the tourism sector.

and 90% of them are horrendous.

you will most likely only meet 15% outside of this genre.

meaning that, yes - the majority of Egyptians are horrendous.

I mean - bad.

on more than one occasion I’ve had to stop walking so that the man chasing me did,

grab his arm in a nice, but forceful way,

look him in the eye and say

‘I said no - go away’.

on more than one occasion.

I only had to do that once in a few months traveling around India.

and if you’re a girl, forgetabout traveling here solo.

as I’ve heard 5 stories already that would scare you as they did me.

so, somehow, find a way to get off that regular Cairo-Aswan-Luxor-Cairo trek.

find someone in the 70% to show you an Egypt[ian] most won’t see.

’cause they’re incredibly warm people, nice people, kind people…

just not the ones who benefit from your ‘baksheesh’.

you might say to me ‘nice shot, Queen!‘ and I’d say ‘thanks!‘,

but you might also say ’seems a bit too good’ and I’d have to agree.

Egypt, so far, has been fine, but just that - fine.

nothing that blew me away.

and a lot of travel, a lot of waiting to get there.

asians and the elders,

groups led by generals with umbrellas and flags,

monuments that are always shot from wayyyy below,

and apparently, before opening times.

it’s touristy, too touristy,

I’ll get into that in a bit.

but one thing that makes it all worth it is Karnak Temple.

you just have no idea the size, the scope, the artistry, the effort.

so I finally smiled a smile of a pleased tourist.

there were still crowds though, yes,

but I made my way to an uncrowded area.

more columns, more hieroglyphics,

wondering what it was exactly,

that captivated us with the Egyptians more than anything else.

and then there he was.

standing.

looking.

and unbeknownst to me - waiting.

I snapped a few shots and then tapped him on the shoulder,

showing him the photo and handing him 5 pounds.

this I usually do when I take shots of folks,

when I take shots of folks,

as I usually don’t like taking shots of folks.

he seemed pleased and so was I - it was a great shot.

then he looked around, turned back to me,

pointed at the ‘work area!’ barricade next to us,

and with a slight tilt of his head and eyebrow asked me if I wanted to go in.

he knows an Indiana Jones fan when he sees one.

[read: any boy between 20-48]

yes I did want to go into where an archeological dig was happening.

we walked in, he put his finger up to his lips.

shhhhhhh, I assumed.

there were about 12 columns in this area,

along with a few rooms full of tools and dust,

both fighting the other.

I peeked in the first one and tried to find something ancient to remember.

but was ‘pssssst‘d’ at by my turban-wearing model.

he pointed out to the main temple, finger again to his lips,

and then with the same finger,

pointed me into the other opening.

‘sit down in there’ he whispered loudly, ‘and wait’.

I walked into the area filled with carvings that could have kept me busy for hours,

and there was a chair.

it wasn’t an odd chair,

just a chair.

but something didn’t sit right.

at all.

something had died in this room or something was happening outside,

neither of which I wanted any part of.

I poked my head out to see two more white people coming in, led by another guide,

and when they were led in the first room, I snuck out the second,

positioning myself up against the columns like a bad video game character.

they came out and into the next room,

and I bolted.

my ‘guide’ was waiting by the barricade, as he was before,

and looked shocked that I came out.

I made a point not to run,

but also not to walk.

as I turned the corner to leave, heading back to the main temple,

a police officer rounded the corner, almost bumping into me.

‘aswan‘ I apologized, and turned as if I was admiring the headless sphinx that would have seen us both.

as I lit up a cigarette with shaking hands, I forced myself to wander back through the arched opening.

‘not allowed!’ I heard being said loudly, in a bad accent.

and then white apologies.

white apologies to the tune of $100.

impressive.