Moving again

In case anyone still checks this space I should notify you that in my ongoing effort to stay up to date with the changing social media, tweeting, Facebooking, blogging scene I've stumbled into tumbling. Feel free to stop by. Cheers.

Unforeseen resurrection - the return to the blog

I’ve been looking for a good excuse to break the two year silence on this tired old blog, which was set up to keep family and friends abreast of my travels and share some insight into personal daily revelations or observations about the world I live in. This was not what I had in mind. The night before last I was deported (technically denied entry) when I tried to return home to Egypt, where I’ve happily been living for a bit over two and half years. If you’re in the friend or family category looking for an update, I’m fine and well – if not just a bit surprised and saddened by the potential ramifications this may have on my plans to return to Egypt and the work and life that I love there. If you’ve stumbled here following the misnomer of the American ‘blogger and activist’ who was denied entry and appeared in the news or activists sites, I’m afraid I might prove a bit of a disappointment. As you can see, its been two years since my last blog post, so I'm not much of a blogger - and my ‘activism’ is limited to a solidarity march for Gaza – a people and ‘cause’ for which I’m very passionate but for whom I’ve done remarkably little. So I'm not much of an activist either. However, if you’re looking for entirely self proclaimed witty, albeit terribly outdated, musings on life you’ll find that in plenty in the posts that follow.

As far as the story goes – no one told me why I was denied access to the country – and I presume the soldiers holding me didn’t really know. I was ‘in the computer’ and can only assume, as the articles written in the last 24 hours suggest, that it had to do with my presence on the march. So for now I’m happily held up with friends in London. This is more than I can say for the poor young men who I shared an immigration detainment cell with for only a night, in which some of them had been held for nearly a month. In an odd twist they were primarily from Gaza, travelling with visas but unable to cross a closed boarder, waiting in no mans land without a country to get sent back to. Their story deserves to be told – travel being just one of the hardships bore by an oppressed and ill-fated people – and maybe I will at a later date.

But I suppose as a result, here I am, back blogging again – so maybe this time I’ll get back in the swing of it and the next chapter of life, be it in Egypt or some new place I’m forced to go searching for adventure, will get chronicled more effectively than the last few years.

Life is Beachin'

A hand reached down and helped me out of the endless turquoise water before I could even get my snorkel mask and fins off. And while I washed the salt water from my body a young man waited patiently with a towel he had retrieved from a rack not more than 3 meters away … I wouldn’t want to exert myself. Moseying to the upper deck of the 50-foot power yacht I was given soft white fluffy slippers to save my feet the heat radiating from the sun drenched deck. I found a place in the sun and stretched out to top up the tan, but before my head hit the mat a silver bowl overflowing with fresh fruit was put before me. I retrieved some grapes and fought the urge to ask the waiter to feed them to me. A bottle of water was set beside me without asking and after about half and hour … right as that moment of sweaty discomfort arrives a cold wet washcloth was handed to me in silver tongs.

Shall I continue? Half turkey, lamb leg, beef side, whole calamari, sea bass, and crabs – one meal. Frosted beer mugs, fruit smoothies, sheesha and complimentary … everything.

This past weekend I was asked along for a media trip to the Taba Hilton, recently reopened after the 2004 bombing, which left dozens dead and a collapsed wing. The GM told me during our stay that, “ the increased regularity of bombings in the world has meant that our business suffers less in the wake of these incidents” – an unbelievable reality, but a testament to human resilience and the normalization of even the most heinous circumstances. How strange when a place so comfortable and luxurious has such a dark history – but like many things in this strange world, the two coincide. Poverty and riches, my freedom in a place where so many are oppressed, dream vacations where someone’s worst nightmare took place.

The Israeli boarder is the edge of the hotel property, so guests would literally step out of the hotel with roll-on suitcases and walk over the boarder. As we drifted from the dock our second day I could have thrown a rock into Israel, but thought better than to actually turn that metaphor into action – lest I spark an international incident throwing stones at Israeli boarder guards from Egypt. They’d never believe it was just a stupid white tourist. From my ninth floor hotel room you had even more stunning views of the international waters and the shores of Israel, Jordan and Saudi Arabia.

I go along and pretend its all old hand, while inwardly bursting with a 7 year old boy on Christmas morning’s enthusiasm. I guess I ask good questions, behave professionally and generally show enough class and appear grateful … but not overly, to avoid looking desperate. At least I hope I do. It was the second such trip I’ve been given in the last three weeks. The first was to the southern city of Hurgada, where I was treated in similar style – albeit alone and having to make some new friends.
This time my trip was vastly bettered by the presence of Sarah, who I suspect is lacing my food with some of that potion #9, because she seems to be growing more beautiful to me every day.

Generally, I can’t complain. Well, I can … and embarrassingly I do. But I shouldn’t complain. I’ve found a new stride, and when I feel like things can’t get much better … they usually do. There are hiccups and hitches – nothing you can expect to avoid in life, and not every waking moment is an awe inspired revelation of earth-shattering proportions. No life is without its blemishes, as surely as I will wake up some mornings with one or two of my own. I’ve got issues, fears and insecurities that come to light and put a bit of grey in my sky. I wrestle with life, love and the pursuit of God. I question my role in this big story of the universe and from time to time wonder if I’m living it the best way. But, more often than not, I think, “wow,” and struck dumb by awe utter a silent, “hallelujah.” I’m blessed. My work is good, and there are always new possibilities and ideas on the horizon. My relationships are deep and deepening and my ‘extra’ work has made it possible to explore the beautiful place in this country. When I don’t have the extra cash to bankroll a little holiday weekend, work has come through with some sweet perks. And that’s only what’s happening on the surface – the internal exploration is so much more vivid, exciting and amazing an adventure.

Zahma

From time to time something you see makes you realize that Cairo has infected you with its beautiful poison. It’s a city of senses. A constant, persistent and colorful show portrays the busyness of a Where’s Waldo (Wally for you limeys) book and the almost constant frame flash of an MTV music video countdown. Neon billboards rest precariously on buildings that you fear will crumble under the weight of the pigeon about to perch on its ledge. My most regular conversation (limited dramatically by my poor vocabulary and the best big words I know all make this conversation possible) is about the manic nature of the streets of Cairo.

Since I’m surrounded daily be English speaking Arabs, my Arabic is largely isolated to my doorman and taxi drivers. So I talk a lot about the usual chit chat topics of conversation one would engage in with a cabi in any country. We talk weather, football and … traffic. If you’ve never been to Cairo you should understand that traffic here comes in epic proportions and that more people die of accidents per capita than anywhere else on earth. So traffic (which incidentally has no noun form in Arabic … rather you just say its zahma ‘crowded’) is a very common topic. Also, I’m quite certain, because most Taxi’s feel that the more they discuss it, the more money they can insist you give them. Because obviously the more traffic there is, the higher the required fare. So I get in almost every taxi with the words “traffic is normal in Egypt … theres traffic from morning till night” readied on my lips - because the price negotiation begins when they see you’re white hand flagging them down … and you’re already at a disadvantage. And because I can, I usually add “there’s traffic because there is no nizam (system), only fouda (chaos). This is as much an attempt at accurately describing the state of the universe as it is ploy to up my street credibility by showing off some ‘big’ words that you don’t learn from the lonely planet language section. The less white you appear the better you chances at walking away paying an “Egyptian price” without him getting out of the taxi and creating a shouting scene at your arrival destination.

And sometimes the fouda strikes such a strange chord, making you realize the extent to which the oddities of this rare and wonderful city have been absorbed and normalized in your mind. Just yesterday I was on a four lane busy road in a taxi with a Sarah when the taxi swerved to miss a donkey cark being driven by two 10-year-old boys with a cart full of plastic bottles came straight at us through the traffic … and the only thought that crossed my mind was “they’re going the wrong way down a one way.”

It was time to get out of Cairo … thankfully I have a job that gets me out of here from time to time.

Life, limo's, luxury and love

I know I’m rubbish. It’s been like two months and its completely unacceptable. I don’ t even know where to begin. I’ve tread perilously close to falling of the planet, but I am still alive and still breathing the sweet smell of Cairo smog … there are few places on earth with this much muck wafting about.

Lets hit some highlights – if there’s something I say that deserves more explanation, leave me a comment and I’ll tell stories by request only. I feel like each of the following list should have been given its own post.

The Passenger
I was walking into “Goal,” my favourite sheesha joint, and was stopped by a laid back, sort of permafried looking guy who is now my dear friend and agent, Nova. He asked me what I did in Cairo and if I was up for doing some work as a movie extra. I said yes, and a few weeks later found myself on the set of a new film which will be staring Omar Sharif, Amr Waked (Syriana), Khalid El Nabaway (Kingdom of Heaven) and the lovely Serine Abdel Nour, who I was chosen to dance with in 1948 costume aboard the ‘ship’ inside our media city studio. We’d head out sometimes as late as 5 in the afternoon (when I’d leave work), mostly sit around getting numb in the posterior – but occasionally getting to do some walking and in my case dancing – and finally head home by about 9am, only to grab a shower and head back to work. It’s the highflying life of a movie star without the powdery nose and entourage.

“Work”
I’m writing lots. I took the Enigma job thinking I’d have lots of free time for Arabic studies. Instead I’ve been swamped. I’ve been to restaurants for reviews, pharmaceutical conferences, hotel constructions, film festivals, music festivals, art galleries, fashion shows, costume parties and football games. I’ve asked Thierry Henry and question that made him squirm and watched Barcelona demolish the local heroes. I’ve interviewed and had drinks with, movie directors, actors, actresses, businessmen and beautiful pop stars … this is my work. Last week I got picked up on Sunday (the new Monday) morning by a limo that drove me three hours to the seaside city of Alexandria. There I met with the GM of the new Four Seasons amidst the construction of the newly finished hotel. They cleared one of the restaurant rooms for us and set a mock table and served a mock meal. We discussed his move, I was given a blue sky painted construction hat with a gold Four Seasons emblem to remember my day and told that I would be put up for a few nights on the hotel when they opened the doors. I drove back to Cairo in style, arriving just in time to shoot a commercial, in which I got paid nearly a months salary for sitting in a mock “Opera” and clapping for 20 minutes of shooting. It pays to have a foreign face – though I have a suspicion that my place in the crowd meant that only my knees were on screen anyway. No good looks required to model in Egypt, just a white face. Ha! What a farce, but I’m not going to point it out to anyone.

Romance
Perhaps my biggest news is the surprised romance that I have been so ecstatic to find. We met my second day in Egypt at a ‘white trash party’ she was hosting. There was something about Sarah’s tank top, smutty make-up and her chain smoking baby she kept bottle feeding beer too that captured my heart. Actually, it wasn’t until many weeks of friendship that my eyes opened to see her as the gem that she is. I first new in the romantic setting of the Cairo Museum … with dead rotting bodies all around me I was bound to look good by comparison. Its been a whirlwind since then, between the emotional highs and lows of both of us traveling, our movie career together (where we asked to do a kissing scene) and some Egypt adventures in the desert and on the coast.