I went to the pyramids.
And that’s about all there is to say about that.
Somehow, I was expecting it to be a significant emotional experience, but I managed to leave feeling relatively unchanged. Maybe it was because it was an unexpected trip, and I didn’t have enough time to build up the anticipation. Maybe it was because I found out Lola was throwing up just before we ventured out. Maybe it was being hounded by very pushy men who would try to force you to take a “gift” and then would charge you for it afterwards, or they would insist on posing for a picture and again try to charge for the great service they had just provided. Maybe it was our “tour guide” (who stayed in the air conditioned vehicle and didn’t come to offer any narrative to what we were looking at) saying to me, “You are going to be going home with me tonight and not your husband,” while my husband was sitting RIGHT THERE. Whatever the reason, I didn’t feel emotionally connected to nor impacted by my surroundings. Which is a shame because these are the PYRAMIDS – only one of the several wonders of the world; this is a once-in-a-lifetime-experience for most people. White Girl? She’s all “meh”.
I was stressed out before going to Cairo because I wasn’t sure what I should wear. Turns out, I could have worn anything, or basically nothing, as the case may be. I loved when people tried to be culturally sensitive while still remaining entrenched in their norm:
Thanks for not wearing pants.
I kept getting mistaken for an Egyptian. At first, I agreed with The Mister when he surmised that it was the “salesmen” trying to butter me up for a sale later, “… because if they actually thought you were Egyptian, they would have asked you in Arabic.” We moved along to the second pyramid, and as we rounded the corner a man approached me, “My daughters would like to take a picture with you so that they can REALLY prove that they were in Egypt.” What?? They were from Libya, and spent some time in my husband’s town of birth, so we were all basically family anyway.
Maybe the purple puffle is actually Egyptian, hence the confusion. The ironic thing was that on the first day back in our desert town, I went to the market and a lady asked me in Arabic, “Are you Egyptian?” There must be something in the way I strut.
Some impressions I had:
Maybe the tour guide actually knew what he was talking about.