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 country ruled by an authoritarian regime, 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.

Wishing for something worth while?

The question that those close to me have started to ask is, “glamour magazine … why?” And things like, “did you ever see Devil wears Prada …?” And their formulating fears that I might sell my soul to this industry, start sticking my finger down my throat and trying to fit into that extra slim Armani suit and skinny tie I realize are only inquires of concern. Nothing to fear. I confess I have had one or two Zoolander experiences, when he admits to his well moisturized, fully groomed straight out of bed roomies that he wants to ‘help people.’ And they reply, “Models help people feel good about themselves and learn to wear their hair in interesting ways.” Its not really a question of “Will this luxury leviathan devour my desire for doing development” but, “how long will I muck about having a laugh with the silly modish monster before I tire of it and move on.” The answer, I believe, is “a bit longer.”

This city has a lot to offer, and I’m trying to get as much as I can. I think that anywhere that we find ourselves we learn about subcultures and people and gain more understanding. It’s just as easy to live a sheltered altruistic life of judgmental attitudes towards all the frivolity in the world as it is to be part of a ‘frivolous’ profession and have depth of character.

I guess I’m not talking about the job you do, certainly one may have a more direct effect on helping others than the other, but sometimes humanitarian assistance fails and creates systemic dilemmas that we didn’t foresee, thus negating the actual effect. So if you did what you did without kindness, authenticity and the forging of real relationship then its rather worthless, even destructive. I guess what I mean is that its seems that the importance of our character and relationships with others far outstretches what we do. It’s all going to end one day. We can’t save everyone or make the world a perfect place - thought I sure as hell will try … but we can work to perfect out motives, our understanding and our spirit of interaction. To that end I’m learning very enjoyable lessons about a whole world I’ve never explored.

That said, if you know of a job that will change the world, drop me a line.

Going South

Thousands, maybe millions of them pursued me from every direction. I took one down and it was immediately replaced by three or four more that were twice its size – each time their numbers growing exponentially. It was 0345 hours and I had been flying all night. Their ranks were impenetrable, defeating them was unachievable. There were simply too many. Swooping down, flying so close I could feel the air swell around me as the darted close enough to draw blood. They were hungry. Even the taxi driver next to me thought the mosquitoes were ‘too many’ for sitting out – and retreated to his car, leaving me to my fate under flickering florescent lights. I had given the wrong flight time to Holly and Ben and now I was coming to terms with the reality that I would provide breakfast for the entire mosquito population of the Entebbe Airport. I wondered if there would be anything left of me. For the hour and a half I sat there I cursed the Cairo pharmacy that said they couldn’t get the right kind of malaria meds. Fortunately, I walked away unscathed, and uncontaminated with malaria.

Its funny to spend so much space utilizing my gift of verbosity on such an insignificant piece of my epic journey to Uganda. I suppose I don’t know where to begin describing my introduction to ‘real’ Africa. So I started with the first impressions … fear of disease, hot, muggy, tired. But it wasn’t long before those cares were forgetten. First in the company of Holly and Ben, who rejuvenate me more than any spa, beachfront, meditation or laying in till the early afternoon after a late night out. Theres something to be said for people that are your kind of crazy. And I, despite being slightly comatose after a night of travel, was soaking up the lush jungle terrain as we made out way to our Luxury safari lodge. My new gig at the magazine can present some fantastic perks. Very little comes from the magazine itself, but when you’re a writer, there’s a certain power you can throw around. You hold in your pocket the mighty pen, which can promote or degrade, overthrow dictators and bring down corrupt multi-national devils … or in my case, pick up a few interesting travel perks. My guilt grew that I was getting the hook up at a luxury safari lodge – but it was a deal for one full board … the writer of the article which will promote their business. After my hearts sank when I saw the glum state of the travellers hostel – which had a nice view of the hedges and gate that kept the riff raff like Holly and Ben out of my pristine Safari experience – we left the sweaty 10 sq reception room of the Hostel and wondered to my accommodation. Met by men in white gloves, a warm washcloth and fresh passion fruit juice at the door, the knife of guilt turned in my gut. Two minutes of unpresumptuous blagging with the general manager and the news that I was put up in a two room suite brought more relief than the refreshing juice … Holly and Ben got a king size bed in our two room, two bathroom luxury suite. I’ll let the views in the pics speak for themselves. They’re all from the dinning room or our back porch. The rest of our experience at the lodge can be summed up as more of the same kind of undeserved luxurious treatment. Its not a bad day when you’re sitting in the pool watching elephants on the far banks of the river.

Our gracious hosts also threw in a complimentary game drive. The sun rose as we went, and the silhouettes of massive cactus trees turned green as the sun gave us light. We had good luck, and spotted two large male lions (a real find), a herd of elephants, hippos, chimps, many of the 611 types of birds found in Queen Elizabeth Park and countless more amazing animals in their natural habitat.

I fell in love with Africa, and will share more on this, but I loved it for its natural, wild, almost carnal spirit. It’s a self-aware, in touch with its instinct sort of carnality – it chooses not to mask itself in the social obligation and convention we find so safe in the most of the rest of the world. I went south of the equator for the first time … and I did feel like much of my world was upside-down. Its an odd thing when you have had the privileged to travel as extensively in so many parts of the world as I have … you begin to think you know what to expect … but all my expectations were broken – and I left illuminated.