Warning: parts of this blog entry may not be suitable viewing for the very young, the very old or the very prudish.
I flew out of Matsapha the afternoon of Friday, Jan. 23, connecting with a direct evening flight (9:45 pm) from Johannesburg to Cairo. The only excitement I encountered along the way occurred when the South African Airways ticket counter clerk in Johannesburg, who was handling check-in for Egypt Air, initially refused to let me on the plane. She claimed I should have gotten a visa for Egypt in advance and, barring that, I must produce a letter of invitation to the conference I was attending in Cairo. Unfortunately, I only had printouts of a couple emails verifying my hotel reservation and the ELF meetings – certainly no official invitation. I began to wonder whether I’d dropped the ball in some major way. I’d been certain that I didn’t need to get the visa in advance, but now I was hearing differently. Finally, as I stood there in apologetic confusion and worry, she scornfully shoved the ticket at me with a boarding pass. I thanked her kindly and scurried away, muttering imprecations under my breath. (Later interactions with South African Airways staff would only deepen this impression of profound unhelpfulness.)
I arrived in Cairo, bedraggled from flying all night, at 5:45 am, where my next challenge lay in finding an affordable cab to the hotel. The lobby was full of predatory taxi agents who followed me around quoting outrageous fares as I searched unsuccessfully for a tourist information or help desk (see their hopeful faces -- those who didn't flee the camera -- in the attached photo). No help here; I was thrown to the wolves. A South African woman I’d talked to in the immigration line had told me 35 Egyptian pounds (about $6.25) was all I should pay for transport downtown – she was leading a small tour and appeared to be a frequent traveller to Egypt, so I figured her advice was sound. HA! The cheapest those wolves would quote was 60 pounds (down from the initial 80), and once I finally picked one particularly persistent fellow and was led out to his cab, the price suddenly went up to 65 (about $11.80). I tried arguing a bit more, but was no match for that potent combination of male arrogance and Middle Eastern bargaining savvy. Anyway, the actual driver of the car seemed like a nice, non-pushy fellow, so I climbed in and we headed for the island of Zamalek and the Hotel Flamenco (the outside of which is shown in the second photo).
The driver, Kamal, and I tried to converse via his limited English. Of course, he asked me what I was doing in Cairo, whether it was my first trip to Egypt, what work I do, how old I was, whether I was married and had children – the usual drill. He passed back his cell phone to show me pictures of his two children – a boy and a girl, how cute. “How nice,” I remarked, “that you can carry your children’s photos with you on your phone.” Then Kamal told me to keep scrolling through the other photos. “I have other pictures, too,” he said. “Look, I have pictures of feet.” Feet? Thinking this must be some mispronunciation issue (Kamal had earlier pronounced the word 'youth' as 'yeth'), I compliantly continued scrolling. After a few more pictures of his kids, oops, there was one of a nearly naked woman posing seductively in minimalist slave garb. Then, sure enough, along came a whole series of erotic foot shots (bejewelled and painted feet, feet rubbing against other feet, feet attached to scantily clad legs). Oi! I laughed politely and somewhat nervously, handed back the phone, and tried turning the conversation to sightseeing. Kamal then suggested I hire him for the full day, offering to put together a tour of all the major tourist sites. The day would culminate, not surprisingly, in an “expert” foot massage. (That was his other job, he said). Although not at all interested in taking up his offer, I wondered whether the foot massage would be thrown in, gratis (as it obviously would gratify him), or whether (given his “expert” skills) it would drive up the cost of the day tour. I decided not to enquire further, not wishing to encourage his advances. By now we’d arrived at the hotel; I was relieved but a bit regretful to part company with Kamal. I would have enjoyed meeting a nice guy with whom to explore Cairo, but foot fetishes are just not my thing.
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