Cairo

Actually written sometime in June...

It feels like I am trying to write the first line of a magnificient novel when in reality I’m only trying to come up with the opening line for a blog that most likely no one is going to read anyway. Ah well, that’s the best I can do. Two things have been pressing on my lately. The first is how terrible I am at keeping in touch with people that I care about. The second is that crazy things always seem to happen to me. I’m not sure if this is because I do not seem to lead a normal existence or because I react abnormally to the standard occurences of daily life. Either way, I am trying to deal with both of these pressing issues with one solution. Maybe if I write a blog regularly I will be better able to keep in contact with those that I care about. And perhaps I can also record some of the bizarre experiences that seem to cross my path.

For example... the very first thing I did upon landing in Cairo was to find the restroom. After a long flight from New York my top priority was to brush my teeth, wash my face, and change my clothes. We had seven hours to wait before our next flight. I entered the bathroom, chose the cleanest looking stall, and managed to wedge my carry-on suitcase in there with me. But seconds after closing the door, I heard a knock. At first I was simply confused, so I waited... another knock. It was on my door. I opened it as if I was opening the front door of my home. There stood a woman with opaque eyes, a shabby scarf draped around her head, with a bottle of blue liquid. She pushed me to the side and approached the toilet. She then proceeded to pour a handfull of blue liquid into the palm of her hand and rubbed the toilet seat with it. With the palm of her hand! The toilet seat! She repeated this a few times before pulling gobs of toilet paper from the adjoining roll and drying the seat for me.

I simply stood there, dazed, managing to nod my head in thanks as she backed out of the stall. “This is another world,” was all I could think. I changed my clothes and didn’t even use the toilet seat she had so aptly “cleaned” for me. I exited the stall, approached the sink and brushed my teeth. There she was again, standing at my side. This time her palms were empty as she held them in front of herself, extending them to me, hoping for some change.