The Hassle

My mouth fell open in surprise and I started giggling, all while covering my face with my hands. "You can rrride the sphinkus!" the rogue antiquities cop said with glee, after spiriting us behind some three thousand year old ruins in an ancient temple in Luxor. We did some things we really probably shouldn't have and baksheeshed the antiquities cops for their behind the scenes tour. As I walked away, I saw a fist fight breaking out over the money.

There really is a whole market for folks that are underpaid and guarding precious sites. For five bucks, you can sit on Hemingway's couch in his place outside of Havana. You don't have to say anything, they'll come to you. Screw those ropes and things, you can look through his books, check out the liquor cabinet, even go in the bathroom. You could probably even haggle a little on that five bucks, but that would make you kind of an asshole.

"Are you for Bush or Obama?" we were asked for the millionth time. "Obama. Obama all the way. Bush is a bad man", "Do you believe the bad things that he said about us?", "No, of course not. He's a bad man. A very bad man". "Hello!" the little girl called in English as we climbed up out of the Nile ferry and on to the eastern bank. "Obama" another whispered to me, eyes glowing.

"Man dress, coming up fast, to your right, brace" we whispered to each other as we roamed around Luxor after sleeping on the train from Cairo. "The man dresses are off the chain by the ferry dock" my sister muttered, after hunting down an ATM. They call this "the hassle". They mean the hawking, the pestering. On a scale of one to ten, India being ten and the U.S. being zero, I would give Egypt a seven. And the man dresses were the champs.

Men lined the streets on Friday and prayer rugs covered the sidewalks. I've visited a few Muslim countries, but haven't seen folks quite so devout. And then the church blew up and the cops filled the streets and I though of Tijuana and still didn't want to go home.

There was some sort of sphinx-like, or excuse me, sphinkus-like ruin facing the sun. But the days were moving quickly and I could visibly see the sun rising and setting over and over again across the sphinx face, as if in fast motion. Dark, light, brighter, setting, dark, over and over again. A science teacher from one of the schools I left was walking around. I woke up, startled and disturbed.

The Western couple came straight to the front of the line, with multiple porters carrying approximately seven bags. They were loud, whining. The man pulled out a stack of bills and spread them out like playing cards and began handing individual bills to his porters. The porter in front of me, who wasn't carrying a single one of their bags, saw the money and jumped over to get in line. I would normally hate something like this. Pretending you did something and asking for money. It was the eyes that got me. When the money appeared his eyes widened and pounced and his body followed, like an animal seeking prey. That's poverty. Not pretty or romantic, just desperate. As I passed through security, I saw the shoving and fighting starting over the money.

I was only five minutes late. Shit, it was Monday morning, I had flown in late Sunday and was still jetlagged. I don't know how they managed to be totally in a meeting on a planning day at that hour. My mind was still full of love and excitement for Egypt and I really didn't even care, just set my stuff down and sat in the back.

By Tuesday morning, I was already angry and my stomach churned the minute I opened my eyes to go to work.