It’s not a great sign when a guy cancels just before your third date. But it’s a good thing I anticipated his possible flakiness and went grocery shopping today. I had designed a menu from a new cookbook I recently bought “Rose Water & Orange Blossoms” by Lebanese-American author Maureen Abood. In the end, spending my Friday night cooking quality food for myself is a preferred alternative to subpar dating exercises.
One of the best parts of life in Egypt is the abundance of wonderful, fresh ingredients. A lengthy pomegranate season is a delight. Readily available rose water, ground sumac, lebnah (yogurt cheese) and reasonably priced nuts make Middle Eastern cooking a delight.
Fayoum (aka Fayum, or Faiyum) is a mere hour’s drive from Cairo, the origin of the world’s famous encaustic mummy portraits, the opening to a string of oases – small and large – and the stomping ground of a prehistoric whale (with legs!), the great Basilosaurus. I spend the weekend there recently, enjoying 4×4 wheelies in the sand, a molasses, feta and fattah lunch, countless shooting stars, a sleep under the naked sky (where foxes trolled around me leaving a smattering of footprints), a morning walk through the dunes with no sound but the wind, and the spotting of another interesting geologic form from the Eocene era: nummulite fossils, the shells of single-cell marine organisms.
There are parking lots. Like the one at Ikea where, before you proceed into the mall complex, security guards check the trunk of each car. The car park is a circulation of vehicles, taxi drivers, Ubers, cycling around the open space.
And then there are “parking” lots. The Ring Road, where traffic is packed so tightly, cars are bumper to bumper. My cabbie puts his car in park. I glance at the time. My forty minute cab-ride to see friends across town will be prolonged to an hour and twenty minutes. A typical Saturday at 6pm. I notice everyone is at a standstill. Guys are milling around between the cars, chatting up a storm. The traffic ahead lurches. The men rush back to their doors, hop in and scoot a few meters. To my right is a man pushing his car along in neutral, taking his time while the traffic moves at a predictable snail’s pace.
My driver makes an opportunity of the lull. The typical questions follow: Where are you from? How long have you been here? Do you speak Arabic? Where in the US are you from? What are you doing in Egypt? And then, as it sometimes happens, I get the following question: Tell me, honestly, and please don’t think I’m strange for asking this question… Do people really hate Muslims in America? Continue reading “Parking Lots”
“We can complain because rose bushes have thorns, or rejoice because thorn bushes have roses.” ~ Abraham Lincoln
Yesterday, with an absent voice and a pathetic level of energy, I called in sick. I woke up unable to return to sleep; just after I finally passed out again, the doorbell echoed down the hall. I grumpily donned some pants and a t-shirt and found my bowab*, A3del, at the door with his son. They were concerned when I didn’t come down to fetch my bicycle in the morning!
When I finally roused myself to seek some pharmaceutical aides, I ventured out in thick heat. Summer is far from fading. When I exit my building I have to decide – do I want to walk the busy road, where things are conveniently located, and deal with the hassle of people staring? Or do I want the less populous street where I fear I am about to be mowed over? I chose Road 9, the populous option.