11 March  2000  

Postcard purchased in Egypt by my great-grandmother, Blanche Brechbill, 1927

 Airport security searched my husband’s tin of mints. It’s the sort of thing I’d normally obsess about, but there’s no time for that now because we’re already on our Egypt Air flight to Cairo via New York and there are too many other things to contemplate.

First thrill: we have a Coptic priest on board. He has a curly gray beard, long black robes that are full in the sleeve and edged at the cuffs with a wide band of red satin, and an expensive looking brown leather briefcase. His hat is made of three black silk donuts, stacked together and topped by an upside down red felt dish embroidered with a Coptic cross in gold thread.

Most of the female passengers are wearing scarves around their hair: chiffon in plain pastels, flower borders, or geometric designs. No full chador. Faces are exposed, skirts are ankle-length, and tops are form-fitting with long sleeves. The materials are strictly synthetic, almost polyester double-knit.

A couple of women near us are traveling with children (young children) and no visible husbands. The kids are in constant motion so an accurate head count is impossible, but my best guess is four or five per woman. One of the mamas has taken off her shoes and I can see henna  tattoos wrapped around her ankle like a chain; the bottoms of her feet are hennaed too. She’s plump, with a smattering of freckles on light coffee skin and a dark scarf around her hair. Her oldest daughter can’t be more than eight or nine, yet she is fully in charge of the small fry. Eventually a couple of men, presumably the husbands, show up and spend a few minutes chatting with the women. The reason for their absence is now clear: they are seated in Business Class.

The gentleman behind us has removed his shoes, a toddler with a loaded diaper is dashing up and down the aisles, and in the restrooms Egypt Air has thoughtfully provided bottles of overpowering lemon cologne that our fellow travelers are using liberally.