There is no place like HOME!

There is no place like home; this is true. Still, I miss Isis and India and Cairo and Qua Tar and Bahrain and everyone else already after being home for only a week. Isis and I have been keeping up regular correspondence. After taking her back to her home in Cairo, I gave her a goodbye kiss and a wad of money. "You can make something of yourself," I told her. "Although you are a wonderful person already." She kissed me again and after minutes I left her with her parents. I caught a flight back home from Cairo. I have just recieved a letter from Qua Tar and plan to write back soon. I will never forget this summer!

New Delhi Here I Am!

My first day in New Delhi was great! When Isis and I arrived in the city, we couldn't believe our eyes. The city is a whirlwind mix of modern and ancient, of colors and smells. After living in the immense city of Cairo, which in itself is simply overwhelming, Isis was not affected drastically by the city, but it is true that she has never been anywhere outside of Egypt before. My short time in Cairo, on the other hand, was not enough to prepare me for this strange city. As we pushed our way through the clogged, overcrowded streets, my nose itching in the wafting smells of Indian cooking and hard labor, Isis lead the way to the house of my Uncle Skip's friend, Musquat'i. Musquat'i and his family would be caring for Isis and I. Before I left on my journeys, Skip had carefully printed the adress of this man's house on a scrap of paper; the scrap of paper that Isis was now peering closely at in the dim light. As I watched the dark turbaned passerby, I was vividly struck with an image of a black and white cookie, when all of the white but a tiny speck has been bitten off. I was the little speck.

"Here it is." Isis said, stopping by a large stone brick structure. The house was big, but the outside was a mess, with small piles of bricks for the careless observer to trip over. "You ready?" She asked, taking my hand. I nodded, and she knocked on the stout wooden door that would have swung gently, ajar, if there had been a breeze. There was a moment's pause when I could hear someone walking on the other side of the door, and then I was knocked clean off my feet by two little dark balls of energy. In the confusion, a large stolid man dressed rather stoicly in a dull black and brown appeared at the door, chuckling. His deep voice rumbled, and he stretched out a hand to help me up. "I see you have met my two children, Anish and Amaravati. They are two bundles of enthusiasm, are they not?" He laughed at my noncommital gesture and introduced himself. "I am Musquat'i. You must be this Colin that Skip had been telling me so much about! Welcome to my wife and I's humble abode. I must say, it is not much, but it is much more than many others'! My wife is at her friend's house right now so I'm afraid that she will not be able to...." He trailed off, having caught sight of Isis. "I'm afraid I was not aware that there would be another guest." "Is it a problem?" I asked quickly. "Of course not, of course not! It is just that I do not know this lovely lady's name!" At her mention, Isis stepped forward and said , "I am Isis, Colin's friend." She gave Musquat'i a little curtsy and he clapped the two of us on our backs. "Come in, come in!"

The inside of the house was tidy and neat, in spite of the outer appearance. "Would you like some wine?" He asked, sinking into a nearby sofa, his turban sliding down to cover his eyes. Isis accepted at once and I did as well after considerable prodding. I decided I'd only have a sip. Seeing my worry, Musquat'i got up from the sofa and handed me a glass, assuring me that the wine was not strong at all and was watered down. "So tell me," Musquat'i inquired, "how did you two young ones end up together?" As Isis and I told him the story of our meeting, Anish and Amaravati began singing in their native language and rocking their arms as if carrying a baby. I couldn't understand their language but I recognized the tune of the song and hand gesture. Isis, for once, turned pink. Musquat'i hushed them. "Musquat'i, how did my Uncle Skip and you meet? I only know that you have been friends for a long time." "That is true," he rumbled. "Your Uncle and I met when he was in college, doing research on my home country. He came and lived here for a year, and we became good friends. I remember, he was always remarking that our flag looked much like the Irish flag. I told him no! Our flag is unique!" Musquat'i smiled, reminiscing. "I always had to remind him that the emblem of India was not a coyote but really a replica of the Lion of Sarnath, around Varanasi in Uttar Pradesh. The Lion Capital was erected to symbolize ancient India's reaffirmation of its lifelong commitment to peace and worldly goodwill. The four lions symbolise pwer, courage, and confidence and rest on a circular abacus which is girded by four smaller animals: The Lion of the North, The Elephant of the East, The Horse of the South and The Bull of the West."

Anish and Amaravati started talking rapidly at this point, and Musquat'i translated for us. "Anish wants to play with you, Colin, and Amaravati likes your dress Isis." After playing until dark with Anish and Amaravati, Isis and i decided to turn in for the night. Musquat'i was not expecting an extra guest, so I slept on the sofa in the first room while Isis slept in the bedroom.

In the morning, I met Mushami, Musquat'i's wife, a woman as equally large and loud and kind as Musquat'i. As Mushami and Isis talked, Musquat'i and I talked and watched Anish and Amaravati. After breakfast, Musquat'i gave us a tour of the coolest sites in India. We visited the Red Fort, built by Shah Jahan in 1648, Humayun's Tomb, the old fort of Humanyun, and India Gate, a monument to the soldiers who died in World War 1. We had dinner back at the house and Mushami ate with us. Isis and I said good night to the two and went to bed with Anish and Amaravati. My time in India has been too short!!

The Day of Yellow Taxis, Gifts, and Family: A Fond Heartfelt Farewell to Cairo

Isis and I met in the lobby of the hotel, covering our ears against the noise. She looked at me with a gleam of desire in her eyes. Then I realized she was looking at the plate of chicken wings behind me. In spite of the noise I drew Isis to the corner of the room and told her in a shout, "I have a surprise for you! Wait here!" I made my way over to the front door and peeked outside. "Excellent," I thought. Everything was in place. Rushing back to where I left her, I grabbed Isis's hand and pulled her outside. It was a relief to escape the raucous din of the lobby, and Isis visibly relaxed. Then she saw the gleaming yellow taxi that was parked at the bottom of the steps, and I saw the same excitement that I had seen race through her the day before take hold of her once more.

"Whomever is riding in that taxi is one lucky person, if you ask me." Dreamily, Isis nodded. "Yep, I'd think that they may just be the coolest person ever, whomever was riding in the front seat of that car." Isis didn't respond. "So, where are we going to have our lunch?" I asked, snapping Isis out of her reverie. "Oh, I was thinking that maybe we could visit my parents. They'd be so glad to meet you, and my mom makes the best food." Nodding, I took her hand and pulled her briskly over to where the taxi was parked. Holding the front passenger door open for her I motioned with my hand: "After you." Isis looked at me quizzically and then, as understanding dawned on her, with eyes wide. "You didn't!" "I did," I said, grinning. From within the cab came a voice and the driver yelled out, "You coming?" Isis was bewildered. "But this is....this is...expensive...and you...and you...." She fell silent, shaking her head. Undaunted, I pulled her arm, and she came with me. "Come on," I said, "you're riding in the front." "Me?" "Yes, you." As Isis climbed shakily into the passenger seat, the driver called me over to his window.

"Sir, I see from your clothes that you are a tourist, but it is tradition for the lady to sit in the back seat." "Excuse me?" I asked. He tried again. "Sir, I know that you are-" "She rides in the front." I said solidly. Hearing this, Isis leaned over and said, "It's OK, I'll sit in the back." She gave me a look that said don't argue and got in the back. I gave the driver a withering look and piled into the back next to Isis, whispering to her: "Who does he think he is, trying to tell us where to sit in a taxi that we are paying for?" Isis hushed me, telling me to enjoy the ride and that it was tradition. "Besides, she said, snuggling closer to me in her seat, "I'd much rather sit back here with you." Oblivious to my smile she answered the driver's query of where we were going. "Would you like the air-conditioning on, miss? He asked, and Isis glanced up at me, bursting with excitement. "Do you want it on? She asked out of politeness, as if the unbearable heat was suddenly only unbearable if I said it was. "I believe he asked you, miss." I said with an understanding smile. She turned to the driver. "Oh, yes sir!" "And the radio?" He asked. Isis looked back to me, literally squealing now in her pleasure. Clasping my hands in hers she said in a thrilled whisper,"He...he asked me if I want the radio on. He...he actually asked me!" "Miss?" came the voice from the front seat. "Well, you better answer him then!" I said, teasing her. Flashing me another brilliant smile, she turned back to face the front. "No thank you sir, but thank you for asking!" For about the millionth time she turned back to me, stuttering: "Y-y-you did th-th-this for me?" I nodded and Isis threw her arms around my neck. Surprised but pleased, I hugged her petit frame to me and withdrew somewhat reluctantly after what seemed like minutes in her tight embrace. "Well, I know this is hardly acceptable...but after ...after this....what you've done for me, I feel I must give you something.." Isis pulled down the shade between front and back seat, and placing her arms around me once more, she kissed me, her lips melting into mine. After what was probably five seconds and what seemed like an hour, she released me from her hold with a smile and a wink. "Think of that as a.....good bye gift."

We were silent the rest of the way, except for Isis's intermittent squeals of joy, and the driver's idle chit chat. Isis raised her head in pride and waved with the driver at the passerby. I have to admit, it felt great to be treated with respect-reverence, almost-by so many people. The crowd parted for us like warm butter before a knife. We pulled up before a ramshacle lean-to assortment of a animal skins and a roof. I paid the driver, who then was off on his own way as Isis was running into the outstretched arms of a man maybe three times her age. "Papa!" she shouted. Then a middle aged woman with the same slanted eyebrows and kind face as Isis, if somewhat older, emerged from within the shack and Isis fell upon her as well crying out, "Mama!"

As father, mother, and daughter got reacquainted, I stood off maybe five yards, my head bowed in respect for their reuinion. Then Isis motioned to me, and steered me by the elbow over to her parents. "Mama, Papa? This is Colin Whitney, he is an american boy whom I met in that restaurant where I work. You remember, the Windows on the World? I was his server and it went from me giving him belly dancing lessons to my services as a guide. He payed for the yellow taxi that we came in. We've become really good friends..." Isis's mother wagged her finger playfully at me and I laughed. "You are spoiling my daughter, Colin! Soon she will believe that she actually is the goddess she was named after." "Mama!" Isis smiled at me and and introduced her mother and father to me. I stuck out my hand to shake but her parents pulled me into a rib cracking hug, all at once. "Mama, I was thinking that we could have him over for lunch...?" "Of course, of course!" she boomed and ushered us inside. Isis saw me rubbing my stomach and cracked a grin. "You're dad...has very strong arms..." I said. She merely laughed and pulled me into the house.

After a deliecious lunch prepared by the loud Mrs. Mumramoon, I pulled Isis's parents aside and told them about my plan. Grinning broadly, Mr. Mumramoon called the confused Isis over. "Isis," he said, this fine young man was just telling us about his school project. He has offered to take you with him to the last country which he will visit: India. I think it will be a wondeful opportunity for you to see some of the world outside of Egypt. Colin has generously offered to pay for your airshare to and back from India. It seems like you two have become the best of friends. You have your parents' consent." Isis turned to me, astonished. "Is this true?" She asked. "If you'll have me." I said. "Of course I'll have you...a fine young man such as yourself? Come'ere!" She said and flung her arms around me.

We stayed at her parents house until late. Isis and I had to get back to our hotel rooms to pack. We had an early plain flight to catch. Holding hands, we walked back to our hotel in a amiable silence, and parted ways each to our own hotel room with a fleeting kiss. Goodbye Cairo.

The Pickle...and pictures from Bahrain!

I woke early today, and am still groggy from staying up so late with Isis. I don't care though; it was worth having hours by the poolside to myself in order to work out the problem that was gnawing so persistently at my thoughts. It would kill me to leave Cairo when I was just getting to know Isis. I had to give her some kind of going away present...and I believe to have found the perfect one. Oh, Isis will be so surprised! I already have called the cab company...and am gathering the money to pay right now.

Finally, I have gotten my pictures from Bahrain! Here they are: The first two are of the Royal Tombs. The third one is of Qal'at al-Bahrain, Bahrain's most famous archaeological dig site. The last picture is of the whale shark that Qua Tar and I spotted. I sure miss Qua Tar...

The Bustling City of Cairo

The streets of Cairo are overcrowded, dirty avenues of ceaseless activity with countless tentative tourists toeing their way through the unrelenting tide of confident and boisterous locals.(locals being a relative term, seeing as people from all over the world lived in Egypt.) As the lonely planet destination guide puts it: noisy,polluted, chaotic, completely unfathomable, and "home to more than sixteen million Egyptians, Arabs, Africans, and sundry others, the "Mother of the World" is an all-out assault on the senses." As Iris, pulled me out into the public marketplace, but a fifteen minute walk from the Ramses Hilton, my vision swimming with more people than I had ever seen gathered together in one place during my lifetime, a black and white taxi trailing a cloud of black exhaust in it's wake honked it's horn and plowed through the center of the street, the crowd wildly running to the the sides of the road to avoid being hit. Iris grabbed my shirt and pulled me out of harm's way, leaving me panting against a shop window. "What was their problem?" I asked, irritated. Iris gave me a wry smile. "Problem? You can say that again. That is what all of the cab drivers in Cairo are like. They are completely disrespectful and vile creatures. Not once in my life have I met a cab driver without the customary cloud of cigarette smoke clouding his face like a veil, or without the select yet colorful vocabulary regular to such vulgar creatures. Once they have the passenger in the taxi, they spend the entire trip assessing their new victim. Many the tourist has been taken advantage of because they had no idea of what a fair price really is, and so the taxi drivers thrive off the tourist business. They push through the crowds honking crazily, with no minds for the lives they may extinguish along the way. If you don't get out of the way, that is your promblem. Terrible philosophy, really...." "It is," I said. "That sounds absolutely awful! .....and those horrible black fumes....how old are those cabs anyway?" Isis shook her head sadly. "It is true," she said, pointing to the brown haze that I had already noticed hanging over the city, "this ever present brown shroud over the city can be mostly attributed to those disgusting cabs. They go around the city, spreading chaos and pollution in our midst. Many people fall ill with chronic respiratory conditions and my own father has developed asthma. He would like to meet such a fine young man as yourself, my father would." She said, teasingly. "But really, there are just too many people in this city....but I must I admit that I am in love with Cairo." She sighed and looked down. I put my hand on her shoulder and said, "I can see why. Cairo is a beautiful city. You should be proud to live here." Isis raised her head and looked me fiercely in the eye. "I am. We all are."



I stared wonderingly into Iris's eyes until, something in the corner of my vision distracted me. A gleaming yellow taxi was driving slowly through the street, and the crowd of people was parting before it like the Red Sea. As the cab passed, the driver waved to the onlookers, from what I gathered from her hand gestures, the women seemed to be bragging. I pulled out my camera and snapped a picture. "What is that?" I asked Isis. Isis seemed excited. "That is the yellow cairo Cab. They're a new development. The government bought them to solve the problem of the city's pollution. Of course, they are so expensive that hardly anyone can afford them. Now that is truly the luxury ride. I hear that the cabs have air-conditioning, and that the driver is told to ask you whether you want the radio on and they are all real gentleman-like." Isis's cheeks were flushed. "The fair is ridiculous though. The rates are at least 25 percent higher than the normal cabs, and the twenty percent of Egyptians who earn less than a dollar a day find it hard to ever scrounge up enough money to ever take one." One look at Isis's face told me that she had never had enough money to take one. "Still, it is the best service in Egypt, let alone Cairo."

I tried flagging one down-after all, I had enough money. Isis told me it was very sweet of me but that you must call in advance. She laughed that wonderful laugh of hers and took me on a journey I would never forget. First, we went to the Egyptian museum, a mere ten minute walk from the bustling marketplace. The most famous exhibit in the Cairo Egyptian Museum is the King Tut Exhibit. King Tutankhamun was the Egyptian pharaoh of the eighteenth dynasty. Although King Tutankhamun's own lifetime was only moderately historically significant, the fact that his tomb was discovered almost entirely intact in 1922 by Howard Carter gave him a considerable amount of fame. King Tut's funerary mask was inlaid with precious and semi-precious stone, and Isis spoke almost lovingly of the thing. It was clear that she was extremely proud of her heritage as she showed me Tut's solid gold throne, which shows Tutankamun and his wife Ankhesenamun under the rays of Aten, and told me in hushed whispers about the mummy's curse. King "Tut" as he was dubbed by popular culture, would not be half as interesting if it weren't for the supposed mummy's curse upon his tomb. King Tut was found dead in his chambers, a large rupture on the back of his head. It is suspected that he was murdered by his vizier, and a curse would be placed upon whomever dared to disturb his tomb. Howard Carter died not long after discovering Tut's tomb and becoming famous. She then went on to show me King Tut's sarcophagus and the three inner coffins, around which were four gilded shrines on which were inscriptions from the Book of the Dead. I think that the most interesting artifacts are the alabaster canopic jars, which contained the organs of King Tut, that were removed for mummification. The stoppers of the canopic jars were fashioned in the heads of Neith, Selkis, Nephthys, and Isis. When she reached Isis, I gave her a little nudge and a smile. She laughed. "Yes that is who I was named after!" "Isn't she the goddess of beauty?" I asked innocently. "Yes...." At my meaningful smile, she merely grinned. "Come on," she said, rolling her eyes. "Let's go." We stayed at the Egyptian museum for another hour, and visited some of the secondary exhibits such as the statue of Cheops, the commissioner of the Great pyramid, before leaving. There is an odd mix of huge hotels, medieval mosques, and modern shopfronts that make up the city of Cairo, and as we passed through the teeming streets in the suffocating heat, I had the fleeting impression of being a fly caught in the web of Cairo. When I mentioned this to Isis, she laughed and told me that with Cairo, you are either repulsed or seduced by its intensity.

Next, we visited the Citadel, the oldest mosque in Cairo, begun by Salah-ad din in the twelth century. as I snapped this picture from the top of the Citadel, Isis told me something about herself. She told me that she was born in Cairo, and that her parents were never very wealthy. "For the first thirteen years of my life, we lived in a small cramped house on the east side of Cairo. It is tradition in my family to learn the ways of belly dancing from the last female in line; that belly dancing outfit was my mom's. My father's friend- the maitre'd at Windows on the World- saw me dancing one time and told my father that I could make a lot of money entertaining the dinner guests at his restaurant. Within a week I was hired and working. Still, the money I make is only enough to pay mortgage for my parents house, and to pay off my father's debts. Now, two years after being hired, I hope to save up enough money to make something of myself, and to finally ride in that yellow taxi." Isis stared into space with a dreamy expression on her face while I sat at a loss for words.

"You're......you're only fifteen?" I asked incredulously. Isis laughed, as she did so often. "Yes," she replied. "many people say that I look at least twenty, but I'm really just a fifteen year old girl on the inside." Looking straight at her I took her hand in mine and told her: "Well, you've already made something of yourself." I squeezed her hand and released it. "Where to, guide?"

We ate lunch on a river boat restaurant floating the Nile and got off in Giza. We visited the great pyramids of the pharaohs and the mighty sphinx. Many people are under the impression that all three great pyramids- The Great Pyramid of Khufu, The Pyramid of Kafhre and The Pyramid of Menkaura-rest on top of the Wonders of the World, but in truth it is only The Great Pyramid of Khufu. These massive limestone, 4500 year old structures did not only serve as tombs to the kings of Egypt; the symbolism and design of these great mathematical and organizational feats is unparalleled except perhaps by the Great Sphinx. As Isis told me about the pyramids and the sphinx, I snapped these pictures. The sphinx has the head of a man, in most Egyptian cases a king, the body of a lion, and sometimes the wings of a bird. This enormous structure of limestone is thought to be part of the Kafhre complex, and it is very likely that the face on it is in fact the face of Kafhre. It was King Thutmose IV who placed the Dream Stele with Kafhre's name on it in between the paws of the colossal beast. The Great Sphinx is believed to be the biggest stone sculpture ever made by man. 72.55 meters in length and 20.22 meters tall, the Great Sphinx is a sight to behold. After fooling around in the shade of the beast for a while, I asked Isis for some more belly dancing lessons. "Well," she said, placing her hands on my waist. "Belly dancing is all about the movement of the hips, and the attitude. First, let's work on the roll again." Isis pressed down on my waist, alternating between her left and right hands so that my hips rose and fell in rhythm. "Hey, this is pretty fun!" I said, now jumping around swinging my hips in exaggerated gyration. Laughing so hard that she was gasping for breath, Isis said, "that's...that's great! Now work on the attitude." Affecting an angry face, she brushed past me and pushed my shoulder, rolling her body in the motion that I was trying so hard to get. So I stuck an uncaring pose and brushed past her, rolling my hips, and giving her an expression like "puh-lease!" She started belly laughing uncontrollably and fell into my arms, her hand over her mouth. I laughed too and we looked into each other's eyes, smiling. Then she kind of backed up, and Isis was looking at her feet, and I was examining my shoe laces.

Isis took me back to the hotel and we ate dinner together at Windows on the World. We belly danced again, and swam until midnight afterwards. Isis had a hotel room at the Hilton, so we both dried off and went to our separate rooms, promising to meet tomorrow for lunch. Tomorrow is my last day in Egypt. Oh, I'm going to miss it!

Ramses Hilton-Good thing I'm not in Paris!

Everyone always says that Egypt is probably the coolest place you can visit- because of its rich and often bloody past, the mummies, and the tombs, and the mysteries of the Nile- and I think they may have hit the nail on the head. After just checking into my room at the Ramses Hilton, a five star hotel nestled in the heart of Cairo, (I decided that since I spent virtually no money in Bahrain-save for a coffee to keep me fully awake and ready for the sights of the country, although the sights alone were enough to keep my eyes open-I would allow myself to splurge on one of the greatest adventures of my lifetime.) already the city-or what I saw of it in the taxi ride to the hotel- has made a lasting impression on me. Upon reaching my door on the twelth of thirty-six floors, I took a deep breath and stepped aside, clutching my key with a death grip, making room for the untried traveler's mingling companions of excitement, anticipation, and just a little bit of fear of being left to fend for oneself in a foreign world, (a fear only slightly abated by my time in Bahrain. I was not really alone there. Most of my time was spent with Qua Tar.) I extended my unsteady hand and inserted the key into the lock; with a sharp intake of breath I turned the key with trembling fingers. Shuddering one last time, I threw my shoulder into the door and burst into my hotel room. I stood there panting, a relieved and pleased smile playing out on my face, a warm feeling of pride flushing my cheeks pink, and surveyed the room that I would be spending way too little time in. Immediately I got on my knees and scrambled around in my rucksack, searching for my camera, which was becoming so valuable to me these days. Standing back up, I snapped this picture.The room is a nice size for a family of three and had space in excess for my so few needs. The room is decorated in all pastel colors and classily furnished. Despite the fact that it comes equipped with a T.V., telephone, hair dryer, and air-conditioning system, the room is somewhat dated. Somehow the fact that I had this huge room all to myself must have dispelled any notions of unpacking and I rushed to the bed and began bouncing on it and shouting, without even bothering to close the door. I could tell the bed was old but it was nice and springy-perfect to bounce on. As I was in the midst of whooping my excitement, a man in Hotel uniform carrying luggage on a gleaming brass cart walked past my open door, and stopped, smiling. "First time," he guessed as I fell shamfacedly to the blankets. Nodding bashfully, my cheeks flushed with something entirely different than pride, I watched as he threw his head back and laughed, responding: "I understand," and walked on, carting the baggage on. Apparently it was a common sight for first time travelers to be marveling at their luck. Knocked out of my initial sense of delirium, I began to unpack what I had brought with me. My camera, the photographs that Qua Tar had given me, the photographs I had taken, my Pirates of the Caribbean hat that I had nearly lost at camp the previous summer, my notebook, my pens, my laptop, the picture of my friends and I after "Kiss Me Kate," "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince" and other select books, my pocket knife, and my flashlight all came out of my rucksack. The rest of my luggage was still with the Bellhop who would deliver it to my room in due time. As I placed the picture down on my nightstand, the blinds over the window parted for an instant and for a brief moment I was blinded by a spear of light. After the large purple blot had faded and my vision returned to normal, I threw the blinds aside and gasped at what I saw. What I took to be a window was really a screen door opening to a small balcony furnished with ornate furniture-but it was not the balcony or the furniture that had caught my eye and interest so; it was the sight beyond. Spread bare for the beholder to examine and exclaim at from above lay the sprawling city of Cairo. As I gazed out on the beautiful city below me, my breath caught in my throat. I walked over to the deck chair and collapsed into it, letting the sun soak into my still very pale skin.( Although it was always sunny in Bahrain, I did not spend much time outside there.) Closing my eyes, It struck me as odd that my luggage had not yet been delivered. I noted that although it was a five star hotel, a fifteen minute walk to the city shopping center, and a five minute walk to the Egyptian Museum, it did not have very good service. I must have drowsed off because when I opened my eyes, the sun was low, the light haze over the city had intensified to a brown and black smog, and the rest of my luggage was in a neat pile next to my bed. On a whim, I decided to go swimming-after all, the outdoor pool with a view of the Nile was one of the reasons I had picked this hotel. I grabbed a bathing suit from my luggage and changed into it in the bathroom. Snatching a towel from atop my suitcase, I made my way to the elevator.

I had to go through the lobby to get to the pool entrance, and the noise nearly deafened me. Rushing through the gate to the outdoor pool, I was met by a breathtakingly beautiful sunset over the Nile. Pulling out my camera, (I always keep it on me.) I snapped this picture here. You can see a group of tourists like myself taking a ferry down the nile. Maybe I will take such a ferry tommorow. As the sun sank even lower, I gazed on in splendid rapture, and it was not until the sun's light was no longer visible above the horizon that I finally threw aside my towel and jumped in the pool. I have always loved swimming at night, and this pool was 89 degrees. After an hour of lounging in the pool and hot tub, I realized how hungry I was, and decided it was time to find a restaurant. Of course, I could always order room service, but where's the fun in that? It was 9:00, and the restaurant crowd was sure to be heating up. Boy, was I in for it.

After drying off, I headed back through the noisy lobby, and up to my room on the twelth floor to change. I knew there were a number of restaurants in the hotel, and I wanted to find the one I was sure to enjoy the most. I flipped through the list: ( this is the actual list that I took off of Gulliver Travel Services before coming to Egypt.)

* Terrace Café:Informal 24-hour buffet restaurant overlooking the River Nile. International and Oriental dishes including salads, meats and pastries. Kids under 1.2 metres eat free, and can dine in the kids’ corner. Hosts Italian, Indian and seafood theme buffets on Sundays, Tuesdays and Thursdays. Open for breakfast, lunch and dinner.

* Citadel Grill:Semi-formal restaurant offering traditional Mediterranean specialties freshly prepared in an open kitchen. Live entertainment from guitar/flute duo. Open for dinner.

* Falafel Restaurant:Serves Oriental cuisine such as Shish Kebab, Lebanese Mezze and Oriental desserts, followed by traditional Egyptian belly dancing. Open for dinner.

* Regent Chinese Restaurant:Serves authentic Chinese dishes. Open for lunch and dinner.

* Windows on the World:36th-floor restaurant & cocktail bar offering international dishes and panoramic views of Cairo reaching as far as the Pyramids. Nightly live entertainment includes piano music and belly dancing. Open for lunch and dinner.

* Sherlock Holmes Bar & Pub:Traditional English pub serving daily specials and drinks in a pub atmosphere with music and a widescreen television. Open for lunch and dinner.

I decided to go to the Windows on the World restaurant-it sounded like a fun time. So I made may way to the elevator once more, and came out on the thirty-sixth floor. The door to the restaurant's waiting hall was propped wide open and the maitre'd came striding out in his tailored suit to greet me in a rush of Arabic, or at least I thought it was Arabic. Sensing my confusion, he immediately switched to English and apologized, saying that he would find me a table right away. There was a very festive atmosphere in the room and as the maitre'd led me to a table overlooking the bustling city of Cairo I let the wave of English, Arab, and numerous other languages that I could neither identify or understand wash over my ears. It was not an abrasive sound, but alien and exciting to hear, as if I needed proof I was in this foreign country. From the colorful and often exotic garb, it seemed to me as if there was a representative for every country in the world present in that room. As my gaze swept across the room, I witnessed a particularly rowdy group of locals cheering on several men and women as they downed identical tall glasses of some glistening liquid, only to break up into laughter and applause as the competitors lurched drunkenly to the restrooms, not even bothering to distinguish "Gentlemen" from "Ladies, as I read it in English. " There was another loud rush of English and Arab and I could've sworn I heard the word "Amnesia."

"Some "Amnesia" for you then, too?" Startled, my head whipped around to find my waitress, a ravishing woman of maybe 19, grinning from ear to ear, with pen in hand. My skin burning I replied: "Uhm..no...I mean ...do you have any..anything non-alcoholic?" She threw back her head and laughed, her voice carrying to me like windchimes in a breeze. "Well, we have water but we may well be out of that, what with that damned sun shining all the time." I blinked. "it looks like you've found that out the hard way," indicating my sunburned face and arms. "Yah, I fell asleep... I mumbled, embarrased and impressed at the same time. "My name is Isis; I will be your serving companion for this night." At my wondering expression, she smiled and asked: "I'll just be getting that water then?" I watched as she disappeared into the kitchen. The maitre'd came over and placed his hand on my shoulder. Seeing my Harry Potter wristband, he exclaimed: "Oh! You like Harry Potter as well! I have just gotten the book and am about half-way through it." "Yah, I love harry Potter, but don't tel-" at which point he interrupted me saying: "Did you know that J.K. Rowling has already killed off three people? I just about died when I read it, and I just know more are on the way. I am at the part when Harry-but oh! Y must know that the book has been leaked onto the internet? How terrible indeed! Here, let me tell you what happens!" Paying no attention to my cries of protest and, expression of utmost despair, he went on to tell me that Bill and Fleur get married. "It was truly wonderful, and Ms. Weasley finally gives her blessing." I wanted to strangle him, or to just get him to stop..talking. If I found out what happened in book 7 before I read it for myself I would...... Iwould- "And then Ron comes and he-" then Isis came with my water and in a desperate attempt to shut the maitre'd up I snatched the water out of her hand and dashed the water, ice and all, onto the oblivious maitre'd's suit jacket.

Realizing what I had just done I rose from my chair and started apologizing profusely for what I had done. At the same time he was apologizing to me that he should've realized that I was a hard core Potter fan and of course he wouldn't want to spoil the ending for me. "Isis, get this fine young man another water please?" The bewildered Isis complied, heading back to the kitchen. As she turned around, he shouted to her back: "Extra ice, please!" At this point he started striding briskly away and promptly slipped on an ice cube. When Isis came back with my water, she asked: "What was that all about?" I replied with a smile: Oh, just discussing the Qur'an. Apparently he would sooner slip on an ice cube than spoil the ending of Harry Potter 7 for a fine young man such as myself." I was rewarded with a dazzling smile. "So, what do you recommend I order?"

I was halfway through the recommended Kebda Iskandarani, an Alexandria style liver, when Isis flounced down next to me and told me between breaths that she had to get ready and to watch for her. Her last words were, "You better be able to dance," before she scampered off and disappeared into the crowd. A couple minutes later, the lights dimmed and the musicians struck up a lively Egyptian beat. I started to tap my feat as a woman stood up on a table with a microphone and started wailing and howling to the beat of the music. All of a sudden the table of locals who I had seen holding the drinking contest vacated their seats and started dancing. As I contemplated getting up myself to dance, a young woman of maybe 19 emerged from a beaded arch way wearing a shimmering sequined outfit of gold. As she began to dance, and the gold around her shifted to the music, everybody turned their heads to her. She began to roll her body as the band struck up an even livelier beat. "Traditional Egyptian belly dancing is truly a sight to behold, is it not? I turned around to find the maitre'd at my shoulder. "Yes, that Isis is something." I nearly choked on an ice cube. "I-Isis?" I spluttered. Just then the song ended and isis came running toward me, smiling mischeviously. "Come on," she said, taking my hand. "Let's dance!" Isis pulled me into the center of the room and we began to dance to the beat of the music. It was as if I had become an extension of Isis's arms, and she twirled me around with a wonderful smile. We danced for what seemed like forever, and we were at the centre of attention. Isis then pulled me aside and proceeded to instruct me in the ways of belly dancing.

"Ok, so the most important part of belly dancing, other than feeling the music flow through your veins as if it were your own blood, is the body roll. You must roll your body....like so." "Like this?" I asked, giving an awkward sort of wiggle of my stomach. Isis laughed her laugh like tinkling glass and placed her hands on my waist, trying to guide me. But my skin was burning and I couldnt quite get the twist of the stomach. She laughed once more and lead me back to the dance floor. She gave me an encouraging smile and began to belly dance once more. When she realized I wasn't joining in she grabbed my hand and we belly danced together, master and student. Everyone around us laughed and clapped when the music ended and Isis kissed me on the cheek. For the countless time that evening, I turned a bright scarlet, then I gave a funny little bow. Isis kissed my cheek once more and whispered in my ear: "You are now a fully authentic traditional Egyptian belly dancer." She laughed again and told me to get some sleep, because tomorrow, if I was in need of a guide, she would give me a tour of Cairo and of some of Egypt beyond the city's limits. I agreed faintly, paid, and returned to my room. Now I must go to sleep. Tomorrow is going to be great!

Bah Humbug! Bah-rain!

Bahrain....when I think of the word all that comes to mind is a little flash animated miniature Scrooge shouting to the heavens: Bah Humbug! Bah-rain! Well, that is what I USED to picture. Needless to say my little cartoon was not entirely accurate. After spending the weekend in Bahrain,(thursday, friday, saturday, and sunday) I now picture it as a flat, arid desert region where the wondrously clear water of the Persian Gulf(or as my host family calls it, the Arabian Gulf) glistens like a thousand fallen stars in the distance. In truth, it hardly ever rains in Bahrain; especially in the summer- or so I hear Qua Tar, the head of my host family, and from what I have seen in the short time I was there, I'm not inclined to contradict. Most of the inhabitants of this island, or at least the ones I have seen in the area, are Muslim. If you want to be particular, Bahrain is really a large archipelago , and hundreds of the white scarved heads that I have grown accustomed to so quickly can be seen heading for the many mosques that litter the islands comprising this chain-island country. I have asked Qua Tar what these white scarves are and he has told me that they are the keffiyeh, the traditional plain white headress of Arab men.

Qua Tar is a squat, kindly man of 60, though the spring in his step and the gleam in his eye gave him the feel of a far younger man. He told me that he has lived in Bahrain all of his sixty years on earth, and that it is the gleam and smell of the crystalline waters of the Gulf that keep him young. He was born in 1947, a bloody year for the Jews, he told me. Following the nasty pogroms of that year, the Jewish community of Bahrain all but vanished; everyone being too frightened of death and persecution to stay in the country. Qua Tar is quite the interesting figure, and he has plaenty of stories to tell, having lived through the Islamic riots of 1994(living through this decade was no small feat in itself, especially as a near fifty year-old man. During this decade, Bahrain was plagued by sporadic violence which resulted in over forty deaths in the mid nineties.) and plenty of time to tell them.

Allow me to introduce you to the second half of the Hundai family who has been so kind and gracious to me these past four days. Humie, Qua Tar's beautiful wife, is the polar opposite of her irrepressible husband. Humie, although a nice person, and a gracious host, is the reserved, quiet, subdued, docile housewife who shambles around the house following her husband's every whim. I once asked Qua Tar how she got that way, and he replied that(very timidly, I might add. I did not want to offend their culture, but I couldn't help but ask.) she had been that way ever since, two years ago, she found out that she was destined never to have children. "She somehow feels as if she is responsible and that she is a bad wife to me. Now she tries so hard to overcompensate for her "shortcomings." It is a shame you did not come two years earlier, my boy, she was as lively as she was ravishing. But I still love her fiercely."

When I arrived in Bahrain thursday night, Qua Tar was there to meet me, and he brought me to his humble abode in Manama, the capitol of Bahrain. I spent most of that night and friday morning getting acquainted with Humie and he, and consuming the encless supply of Bahraini delicacies that Humie seemed to conjure from thin air. Even now, the local foods dance around in my thoughts...mmmm shrimp machboos....and oh that lamb samboosa! Simply scrumptious! Friday afternoon and night, Qua Tar was busy at work in his boat and so I was left alone with Humie. Qua Tar promised me he would give me a proper tour saturday, and so he did. We visited all the big sites: Qal'at al-Bahrain, which is Bahrain's main archaeological site, The Royal Tombs, where the long dead kings of Bahrain were buried, (there were more than 85,000 burial grounds! It was spectacular, but also somewhat frightening...) we even went on a boat tour of the Persian Gulf, where we saw all kinds of aquatic habitation such as dolphins and a whale shark-it was HUGE!! Unfortunately, my pictures are not yet developed yet, so I will put them up later.

After returning home for another wonderful meal prepared by the diligent Humie, and Qua Tar had settled down on the sofa with his pipe, the stories began. I think my jaw was dropping gradually but it wasn't until it was wide open that I noticed the drool coming down my chin as Qua Tar recounted for my eager ears his boyhood to manhood adventures. Embarrased, I brushed the drool away, but Qua Tar pretended not to notice. I realized I had been sitting on the extreme edge of my seat and was now perched in a somewhat precarious position. I eased myself towards the back of the chair and closed my eyes, letting Qua Tar wrap me in his veil of wonders. It was so easy to imagine young Qua Tar hiding from the guards and running through the immense complex of 2nd and 3d century temples that make up the Barbar temple, which I have yet to visit but sounds amazing. (It seems as if everything here is made up of a bunch of something else.) I asked him more about this temple and he gave me a couple of old photographs he had taken in his youth. The first one is an overview of the complex and the second one is of the entrance to the Holy Spring in the Barbar complex.

Qua Tar says that many believe this complex is a shrine to Enki, God of Wisdom and to the "Sweet waters under the Earth." The place is supposed to be massively big, with loads of places to get lost in without a map. Qua Tar never got lost, and he never used a map. He explored every nook and cranny, corner and alleyway. He knew the place like the back of his hand.

As Qua Tar settled into a story about his friends and he pearl diving, suddenly noticed a change in Humie's demeanor. She was still sitting as stiff as she was before, but her face had relaxed, and for the first time, I saw her smile-and what a smile it was! As I saw some of her former energy and vigor take hold of her, I caught myself staring at her immense beauty and averted my eyes, embarrased. I did not quite make out what Qua Tar had said, but I think that Humie and he had met pearl diving.

As the dinner hour drew closer, Humie resumed her rigid demeanor, and Qua Tar told me that he had invited guests. As Humie busied herself in the kitchen, Qua Tar asked me about my life. I was in the middle of explaining about this project when there came a loud knock on the door. Humie emreged from the kitchen to answer the door, but before she could, the door seemed to open of its own accord and a large man with keen eyes and a striking black turban burst entered the room. I did not see many turbans in Bahrain but Qua Tar later explained that although most had replaced the turban with the keffiyeh, there were still some muslim men who continue to wear the turban. Qua Tar introduced him as Hussai and his wife(who had been hiding in his shadow the entire time.) as Mumdai. I could see that Qua Tar was happy to see his friend but I couldn't help but notice that his gaze would inevitably slide up to the black turban atop his bald head. I too could not help myself steal glances up at it. Although, Hussai was a loud man, his wife reminded me a lot of Humie. She was subdued, submissive, and it seemed as if she lived to serve her husband's will. When Humie's efforts had been praised and appreciated, and Hussai had bade farewell to us, disappearing through the door with Mumdai shadowing him, I asked if Mumdai too could not bear children. Qua Tar looked confused, then understanding gleamed in his eye. He took me over to the sofa and told me that it was a sad business indeed. "Many Muslim wives believe that the only way to be a good wife is to serve their husband as if he were a god. There are plenty wives who take it too far and reduce themselves to docile pets awaiting their husband's next command. Humie was once a wonderful exception and this is why I fell in love with her. Hussai is one of those men who take advantage of these types of women, and Mumdai has been the result. Do not judge him too harshly; he has had a hard life. Now, it is time for you to pack and get some rest. You have a plane to catch tommorow! I was so preoccupied with this surprising news that I completely forgot to ask Qua Tar about the black turban. Ah well, I must pack. Tommorow I am off to Egypt, the land of tombs, mummies, and Pharaohs!

From Here On Out-It is easy sailing-for you!

From here on out all the posts will be related to the travels that I am about to embark on. I would just like everybody to know that I am not actually visiting these places, but researching them and simulating a visit to each exciting country.

Camp Travel

We are traveling...to camp! Ahhhhhh camp, the land of skits, canoes, campfires-IF it weren't raining, that is!! (Which it just so happens to be :) Normally, a pirate such as myself would embrace the oncoming rain with spirit and defiance; but alas, I am a pirate who can not swim and the only activity left is to swim in the lake-IF it does thunder and lightning! Perhaps me mates on boaard can teach me....AAAArgh ya booty!

This is a third test

This third test will include a picture...exciting! hmmmm a vitruvian penguin......bettterr

My second test entry

Well....I geuss I do...have a second test entry...which has nothing to do with Pirates...hmmmm depressing indeed.

~Sensitive Artist

Test Entry...?

This is my first test entry. That doesnt mean that there will be more tests...but if this works i wont need to......I am a Pirate...no doubt...