Journey to Egypt

Disclaimer #1: My internet is now in Arabic, so I may post things wrong or in weird orders because I can't really navigate pages.
Disclaimer #2: This post is absurdly long and rambly, so don't feel obliged to read the whole thing.

I’m here safe in Alexandria, Egypt! First and foremost, I need to give thanks to my mom and the kindness of strangers, because without them I would assuredly be bumbling along somewhere lost in transit. My journey took 23 hours, although that was only the time spent in airports and airplanes. I first flew from Minneapolis to Chicago, had a three hour layover (which involved a terrifying realization that I was in the wrong terminal and had to take a train to the international terminal before going through security again. Ugh big cities…). I made it in plenty of time, however, and had two hours to sit before boarding my ten hour flight to Istanbul. I sat next to a Moldovan on the flight and thus commenced my first of many deficient attempts at communication.

After ten hours that involved more listening to the loud woman behind me than sleeping, I landed in Istanbul for my seven hour layover. With a $5, 10 ounce cup of coffee in hand, I set out to try and find my gate, but my ticket read “Gate 000” and my flight wasn’t listed on the screen. Fending off panic, I asked someone at a desk if he could help me locate my gate and with a disdainful look he told me in his strong Turkish accent that because my flight was at 1 AM the next day my gate would not show up until midnight. I therefore spent the next six hours drifting from gate to gate trying not to fall asleep or look too much like a vagabond. Either I failed at the latter attempt, or I just looked blatantly American, because the disdainful looks I got from everybody I made eye contact with were positively withering

The frostiness continued on the plane, where the man next to me literally turned his head the other way when I asked him a question. I was going to give him the benefit of the doubt and tell myself he was deaf, but when his wife came over and asked him a question, his perfect pitch that eliminated that option. I won’t lie, I was beginning to doubt my certainty about this whole study abroad experience, but things took a turn for the better once we landed.

The first positive sign was a man who helped me fill out the Arabic customs form and told me where to find the visa counter and exchange my money. Outside the airport another man asked if I needed a taxi. I had actually arrived fifteen hours before the program was set to pick us up, because I hadn’t known the specific time of pick-up when booking my ticket. I played it safe and booked the earlier ticket rather than the evening option. My program director had said I would be able to take a cab to a hotel and just explore Alexandria for the day.

I did, therefore, need a taxi, but following a strange man out to the parking lot at 2 AM seemed like a bad first move in Egypt. There were no cabs in sight however, so my options weren’t exactly infinite. As I started to follow the man, I saw one of the pilots from my flight and, instantly trusting a person in uniform, I asked him if the driver was safe. I tried to be discreet, but to my dismay the pilot burst into laughter and informed the driver of my concerns, then proceeded to assure me that I was safe as could be.

I thought the driver was offended because he didn’t say anything for the first ten minutes of the ride, but when he stopped to buy chocolate and cigarettes he offered me some of each and then blasted Arabic music the rest of the way, so I guess we were okay. He dropped me at a hotel, which was on the fifth floor of a ramshackle building in an alleyway and then massively ripped me off (although I think it had more to do with me being a naïve American than having offended him). I knew 170 Egyptian Pounds was about double what it should have costs but he spoke too little English and I too little Arabic to be haggling at 3 AM in an alleyway.

Inside the hotel I checked in and then tried to go to sleep, but each time I changed into PJs the receptionist knocked on my door to tell me something he’d figured out how to say in English and I had to quickly throw my modest clothing back on to see what he wanted. I had initially asked where the bathroom was, forgetting that in Egypt it’s “toilet” and he thought I wanted to shower, so at about 4 AM he came and told me to follow him pointing out that he had mopped the bathroom and turned on the hot water generator for me. At that point I felt too rude not showering, so it wasn’t until about 5 AM that I finally slept, which rendered my expensive journey to the hotel rather pointless. I could have bummed at the airport for free, but oh well.

When I woke up at about 10 AM, I had an email from my program director telling me that the people at the dorms were expecting me to drop off my bags and that I could take a taxi to “The City of the University” in Shatby across the street from St. Marc’s College. I had to check out of the hotel by noon so I packed up and lugged my suitcase down onto the crowded street to try and find a cab. The first cab declined my request, but a man, seeing this, asked where I was going told me that any bus would take me to that area. Eager to avoid another swindling cab driver, I took the man’s advice and boarded the next bus that stopped. Within the first minute of the ride, I Supplied

 the whole bus with a good laugh because I thought the driver was asking for 70 pounds instead of 70 cents. Hilarious, really. The rest of the ride involved a bus-wide argument having something to do with Americans, although beyond the continued use of the word “Amreekiyun” I understood next to nothing.

After a treacherous ride, the bus careened to the side of the rode and I was informed that this was my stop. Despite my clambering that I didn’t see St. Marc’s College anywhere, I was shunted off the bus and left to deal with this dilemma on my own. There was an Alexandria University building, so I approached the guard and after a strained interaction figured out that my actual destination was about a mile down the road. Off I went, 45-pound suitcase and all, along the cracked, litter-filled sidewalk and through perilous traffic, to the apparent delight of many onlookers. At long last, and drenched in sweat, I reached St. Marc’s College, where I found to my dismay that the school was literally surrounded on all four sides by streets. This significantly complicated the phrase “across the street.”

Again I approached a guard, but this time was met with far less comprehension. To my broken Arabic of “where is the dorm?” he responded (rather sardonically I have to say) “which dorm?” and I just stared at him blankly, wondering why my program director hadn’t mentioned this minor factor. I later found out that “The City of the University” was the name of the dorm, but of my many mistakes that day I think this was one of the less intuitive. I was finally able to express that I was looking for a dorm across the street from St. Marc’s and indicating a large, tenement-esque building and he responded, “oh yes, this is a women’s dorm.” Maybe I should have mentioned earlier on in the conversation that I am a woman.

Flooded with relief I entered the building only to be met with more confusion. No one spoke much English, nor had any idea who I was. As an increasing number of women approached me, trying in vain to address me in rapid Arabic, I attempted desperately to explain that I was an American student and that Gamila had told me to come here. Finally someone asked if I was alone or with a group and when I mentioned Middlebury a long-sought after glint of comprehension dawned on her face. She brought me upstairs to Madame Amel’s (?) office, where I was met with a scene strangely reminiscent of Mother Superior and Maria’s in the Sound of Music, only in Arabic, with a hijab instead of a habit, and minus the ten-minute song.

Finally it seemed that I was in right place and after a quick encounter, of which I understood nothing, I was passed along to a younger woman who brought me to my room and introduced me to my roommate. My roommate is wonderful. Our initial interactions involved me pretending I understand her and her becoming annoyed as the conversations progressed and I clearly had not, but she has started to slow her Arabic to a classroom speed when speaking to me. I spent the rest of a long and exhausting day meeting new people, whose names I don’t remember, and being positively showered with new vocab, all of which escaped me within minutes of having it explained. I would be more worried, but I’m pretty sure my brain has just reached its saturation point for the day and hopefully a full night’s sleep will enable me to regain some mental capacity.

Despite the chaos and confusion, I’m very excited. I am extremely relieved that my roommate is sweet and patient. I know I will learn a great deal. Thank you all for bearing with this lengthy blog post! Until next time! Salam!