12 March 2000
The Great Pyramid from Mena House. The tower on the right is part of the hotel.
We are over the Mediterranean as I write this and the next land we see, forty-five minutes from now, will be Egypt. We’re late but it couldn’t be helped. Air Traffic Control put us in a holding pattern as we approached JFK. A fifteen minute delay became half-an-hour, then stretched to two hours with no explanation.
Because we were so late they wouldn’t let us leave the plane in New York. We stood and chatted with the woman behind us, whose name is Huda. She’s originally from the Sudan and was raised Muslim but now she lives in Santa Barbara and is a Native American Sundancer.
Chaz has had yet another mid-air pen disaster. There’s a splotch of ink on his passport control card and the tips of two fingers are black, but considering all the henna around here he looks quite fashionable.
At 7:10 pm we arrive at Cairo International Airport. The airport –- or at least this terminal of the airport –- isn’t nearly as large as I expected but there’s no doubt we’re in the right place. The ceiling panels are aluminum but the floor is granite and the square pillars are encased in alabaster. The Hadj is just starting so the place is packed with well wishers from the countryside, seeing their loved ones off on their great religious adventure.
Twelve of us are assembled and waiting for the Museum Tours representative, Khaled, to shepherd us onward. Khaled has thinning wavy hair, boundless energy, and a cell phone glued to his ear.
Once outside the airport we board a bus/van hybrid and are introduced to Moustafa, our guide for the duration of the trip. Moustafa is young, exuberant, friendly, and speaks English with a clear accent. He will be perfect.
The ride from the airport to our hotel is a blur of sights: cars and motorcycles driving without lights (why do they do that?!), trucks piled high with bulging sacks of grain, and cattle on the way to the butcher.
We pass a replica statue of Rameses II and then the City of the Dead, an Islamic cemetery that’s home to thousands of squatters. It’s sprawling and spooky, walled off from the main road but we can see down the narrow streets as we pass. Cooking fires flicker in front of darkened tomb doorways. Moustafa tells us the government can’t force people already living there to leave, however they offer interest-free loans and help getting apartments. There are 65 million people in Egypt, 18 million in Cairo.
At 8:30 pm we arrive at Mena House, an astonishing island of tranquility. We’re in room 163, ground level of the newest section of the hotel. Our room is furnished with two comfortable chairs, a low table, several lamps, an old-fashioned wardrobe, and an up-to-date looking television. The beds and windows are draped with tapestry-like material and the bathroom has a marble counter and floor. The tag on our room key is thick, heavy brass.
