[ Zoom Map ]

Assuit, Egypt
27° 10' N 31° 10' E
Oct 27, 2006 17:14
Distance 222km

Choose another map, showing:

• The Nile
• Mediterranean
• Africa
• Eurasia
• Eurasia, Africa & Pacific
• The World

Other entries in Asyūţ

my very own bodyguard

Text written in: Unknown

as i've said, assiut was a very functional stop for me. it was simply the cheapest and most practical way to get into egypt's western desert without going all the way back up to cairo.

the train ride to assiut was slated for four hours but it took about seven. that's egypt, baby. because it was like three cents cheaper, and because i'm a true glutton for punishment, i decided to ride second class. it was a sweltering hot and rancid-smelling train ride under the egyptian sun. there was no air conditioning and the smell of feet was everywhere. since it was the muslim holy month of ramadan--where ninety percent of egypt's population fasts during the day, abstaining from food, water, and cigarettes--the dining car was empty. it was empty, that is, save a few christians and apostate muslims. i therefore passed my time drinking endless cups of sugary tea and chatting with egypt's unholy ones. 

for some reason or other everyone on this train wanted to exchange pens with me. lucky for me, i had bought a pack of pens in croatia that i absolutely hated. they were advertised as "ballpoint" but were, in reality, that smeary kind of ink that runs if you breathe on it too hard. so the attendant behind the counter was like, "i give you egyptian pen, you give me american pen." i was like, "i don't have an american pen, but i have a croatian pen i'll give ya." he pointed at my pen and goes, "american pen?" i go, "no. croatian pen." "american pen?" "croatian pen." it went on like this like we were kids on a teeter-totter, back and forth, back and forth, american? croatian. american? croatian. but this guy wasn't going to let me trade until he knew this was a true american pen he was getting. after his 373rd "american pen?" i go, "yes. american pen. very very good american pen. i hope you enjoy it very much. it writes like a dream." this satisfied him. he seemed happy with the lie and, knowing he was being hoodwinked, gave me a smile and a wink.

i arrived in assiut simultaneously exhuasted from the heat and wired from drinking about two million cups of sugary-sweet tea. after humping around town for about fifteen minutes with my luggage strapped to my back, i found my roach motel for the evening.

(sidenote here: seriously folks, you can't believe some of these "hotels" i stay in. cockroaches are the least of my worries. i also consitently deal with spiders, termites, flies, mosquitoes, ants, bed bugs, cold-water showers, toilets that look like they haven't been cleaned since they walked off the assembly line forty years ago, no toilet paper, brown stains everywhere (including the walls, mattresses, carpet, etc.) and blankets you wouldn't give to your worst enemy. i stay in these wretched hovels because they're cheap, sure, but they're also a way to live more like the people do. i find that when i isolate myself with money while travelling i feel much less contented.)

so, three-dollar room secured, i set out to find some food. the guy at the front desk goes, "sir, where are you going?" i always hate these questions. in poor countries people are always asking, "friend, where are you going?" and i usually just smile and pretend like i don't understand. but i said to this hotel guy that i was just going out and about. he had a look of panic and terror in his eyes. "but sir, where?" he goes. at this point i'm thinking hm, something's weird here. just to rile him up, i tell him i'm going out to get wasted and find a hooker. he looks like he's gonna explode now so i tell him, "dude, i'm just gonna go get a bite to eat and get my bus ticket. pretty standard procedure." he tells me to wait a minute. one minute turns into forty-five and i ask him what's going on. "oh sir, it's nothing. just for your safety, sir." what he was doing, in fact, was arranging a police escort for me. i found out some time later that a bus load of german tourists was blown to smithereens near assiut some time ago. since tourism is egypt's biggest source of revenue, the government now mandates police escorts in the town of assiut. after some more fancy cop-wrangling, i finally get my escort. the cop was gracious enough to leave me alone at dinner, but i had to have another escort on my way home. i didn't know whether to feel like a rockstar or a prisoner, but having my own copper made me feel cool nonetheless.

in the morning, i was raced away to the bus station in a police truck, sirens and all--ha! they put the freaking sirens on!--by a gang of policemen wielding machine guns. (mom, if this doesn't say protection, i don't know what does.) i caught the nine a.m. bus to dakhla, via al kharga, where i had the misfortune of siting next to some idiot who just "loooooved america" and wanted to be my best friend because i am from there. he wanted all of my personal information including, but not limited to: email, home phone, cell phone, pager, website, voicemail, social security number, date of birth, star sign, mother's maiden name, what type of toilet paper i use, sexual orientation and so on, ad nauseum. i told him i didn't have any of these things, but he was undeterred and gleeful as ever. he thrust his card in my face and said, "you will write me postcard?" i lied and said, "sure." he goes, "promise?" i hesitated and thought we're all entitled to break our word every once in awhile, right? i mustered up a good deal of zeal and said to him, "absolutely, man. i promise! have a good one! it was great talking to you!" with that, the man was off the bus and i had the seat to myself. i pondered the desert the rest of the way to dakhla and was incredibly happy to finally be in the sahara, alone. sans idiots.