| Memoir of her solitary travels... |
[10 Aug 2008|10:39pm] |
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mood |
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Martini w/honey |
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music |
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The Forest Whispers my Name~Cradle Of Filth |
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"In neither case should they be taken literally, for they are not to be understood semiotically, as signs for definite things, but as symbols. A symbol is an indefinite expression with many meanings, pointing to something not easily defined and therefore not fully known. But the sign always has a fixed meaning, because it is a conventional abbreviation for, or a commonly accepted indication of, something know. The symbol therefore has a large number of analogous variants, and the more of these variants it has at its disposal , the more complete and clear-cut will be the image it projects of its object."
Symbols appear when the human mind is approaching a subject that is too incomprehensible for it's
understanding.
Eman and I left Cairo after three days of sharing a room at Intercontinental hotel and dashing around. We held hands while crossing the brick-like grid of traffic, I helped her with her scarf when her hair was showing, she taught me to swear with Egyptian words, I snapped her bra straps back in when they came undone on the train without any males peering. It was an easy friendship, triggered by her invitation to Egypt and long hours together in windowless rooms. Working together, co-workers were suprised at the sound of Eman and myself travelling together- such opposites and the differences of character are far deeper than mere age and culture.
It ended easily as well, our sprouting friendship.
Every rosepetal off the flower with my growing annoyance at the bossy nagging nature of tonal accents, disregard for my health. Marking her with a red pen won't do much, but the situation was silly, the argument grown was stupid, as all are. The inevitable culture clash. Getting back into Alexandria by train late.
Eman showered, I used a million tissues for my poor nose and drank another gallon of water. My stomach at this point in the journey was tight and prevented me from eating anything. I was wet all over. Sweet taste in my mouth. Sweat like angst dripped down into the crevice of my chest and that unusual sick smell was strong emanating from my pores, even after a morning shower at the hotel. That smell is caused by fever and I rarely get it, but when I do I know not to push myself. Eman wore heels for the first time during the trip and had wrapped a scarf around her hair flickering with tiny star crystals. I smiled at this, understanding the feminine nature a little too well. On the way to her cousins obliged me and we stopped into a pharmacy- I didn't want to jeaporidise my time, so I went into the pharmacy to get some medication. They spoke English and had very helpful advice on what to take. Unfortunately Eman thought it was time to step in and take charge and tell me what I needed whereas I would rather follow the advice of a pharmacist. I turned my head said sharply, "Halas, Eman please. I'm going to buy this kind now, I'm sick and nauseas and this is what I was recommended.
Outside she was quiet for five minutes while we walked and I unwrapped my silver coated packages, after these minutes passes she halted in the middle of the street and proceeded to tell me how rude and insolent and ignorant I was about my own health and how I embarrassed her in the situation by disobeying her recommendation. This furthered into how she is Egyptian and knows the people more than I do, the ailments ect. She exploded into a rage about how I could do such a thing to her family.
I was at a loss, and didn't quite 'get it', especially with a head full of feverish thickness. So I listened and commented when she was finished that there was nothing against her family in my choice of medications and I didn't feel I was being rude. I made the immature comment about how she is not my mother, I can take care of myself.
She brought up things about David, how I live with him and he takes care of me thus proving I do not take care of myself. David must take care of me.
My temper lashed by I held it back tight with age, wisdom and lack of heart.
I could have told her about how all the taxi cabs I was paying for were from my own pocket, of the three months of no shopping or eating out I did to save up, etc. Comebacks like this flashed through my mind lightning sharp and with rabies. Instead I took a deep breath of clarity, understood that she is Muslim and has never been in a relationship, and doesn't understand fully what it means to be a couple, how couples take care of each other when loving. Instead I smiled and said to her "ok, I'm not feeling well, especially fighting on this street."
She stormed off towards an unknown apartment block which happened to be her cousins and when they smiled and greeted us, she fell into their arms with a burst of sudden crying. I at this point was both dumbfounded and exasperated.
One of her aunts walked me back to her other aunts and from there and spoke with David for a while in the dark until I fell into a slumber, only to be woken by the 3am arrival of Eman. In the morning she continued to be sarcastic and biting, "bitchy". So I made the decision to fall behind when she went to her cousins and I told her family goodbye, gave them a colorful Ramadan lantern as a parting gift. All of this is still very confusing to me a week later. Her family was very nice to me the duration of the trip and as I was leaving explained to me in broken English that Eman is "little, she's small." I left Eman a mother of pearl jewelry box on the dresser and called a taxi. We had a nice time but it was girlish and wonderful in that aspect.. but it was uncomfortable because we didn't really bond... In the end she felt we had indeed and called me sister and such, but I told her in her face we were just friends, maybe after the trip- sisters.. She was insulted for other reasons as well and we parted our ways halfway in the trip.
It made me realise I really am not meant for superficial relationships.
There are times when life calls for a change, like the seasons.
At the bank, I met a nice graying French teacher who spoke little English. He suggested a cheap place to stay, the Acropole Hotel. It was 50EGP, less than $10USD.
I took a taxi there, it was situated by the cornice of Alex and the room was big. I asked for one with a balcony. My happiness shone through my fever long enough to explain to David the situation. Relief seeped through every nerve and lit me up like a firecracker. Relief for not being around screaming loud Arabic woman all day, for getting myself out of a mentally damaging and confusing situation, relief for being on my own.
And then fully clothed, in all my glory and putrid polluted sweat, with the lights on I passed out.
Only to be woken again by the tram directly below the room every hour. Delirious, I dreamt of the walls crumbling down around me, dying in white 200 year old rubble.
The next day I paid the bill and with cellular Davids insistence, I obliged him, checking myself in at the Alexandrian Sofitel Hotel, Cecil. It was quite expensive, enough to suck out almost the last drops of my bank account. I thought they were going to call the police, Arabs hate drugs and I looked like I was on a few. My lips blistered, fever peaking, eyes black and bloodshot with trembling hands from dehydration. Explaining I was sick, the woman still gave me an odd look and asked if my husband was coming, I again explained I was alone.
The hotel was nice, I'm fond of iron elevators crimson chandeliers, Chinese restaurants on the roof. It's rumored to have been built on the same spot where Cleopatra committed suicide. Two marks found on her body. Cobra, the poison of choice for royals and dignities.
Checking in early, I took the entire day to heal, governed completely by idle thoughts and relaxation. I read through SHE on the balcony, watched a cheesy Goosebumps Horror movie,another called Paris Je 'taime and ordered caramel apple pie from room service, it was pure sweetness and revenge. At midnight I took a shower, the water dripping black from my skin and into the drain where it came from. I yawned, I napped, I giggled, I relished. Opening my beautiful windows wide, the curtain flying like a kite. I was in a hotel room that overlooked the Mediterranean sea, laughing with ice cream dripping off my chin, feet tucked in under me, with Japanese movies. Hans Christian Andersen said: "Life itself is the most wonderful fairy tale."
Each morning and night I went up to the roof, pressed the number above mine on the elevator and ordered fried banana with honey and ice cream. Aside from Carmel Apple tart & bottled water, I lived on this and only this. Happiness.
Like in Paris, I only had one thing on my mind, in my agenda. Catacombs. When I was well and seeing straight I hailed a taxi who took me to the City of the Dead to the Kom el Shokafa Cata-Comb where I pranced around through the tombs and admired symbols in the walls. Ra, the sun god peered at me. I could have cried at the understanding of my self in this place. What I am drawn to is what I choose to follow and it always keeps me happy. Even in my choice of adventures. I knew I'd love it and I worshiped the walls. Winged Isis, Ra, royal serpents carved up the walls embracing my glee. Euhemeristism revealed itself to me. My hands feeling every crevice, every every curve and the myths whispering truths into my palms.
I didn't steal any bones this time.
Into the taxi, another open air museum, ruins in a garden, Greek stadium seating. I was dreamy with the romance of catacombs still entwined around my skull. The guard took my photograph, lots. I wandered around. Fight with taxi cab driver. Dull.Attempted to cheat me of money. 150EGP for a cab ride, I scoffed at him and gifted him with 70. Hotel. Water. Banana with Honey, fried (drool***), walk outside to watch sunset, back upstairs to dine w/coconut sauce shrimp, sleep. I wonder what colour my eyes are these days, still turning green?
Funny story. Silly. I fell asleep with the television off only to be woken up by the Television ON. Thinking I must have fell asleep with it on, I switched it back off, and fell back asleep. Shortly after I awoke to the main room light being on. I sat up in bed, propped up on my 6 pillows and instantly was alarmed. Could someone have climbed in through my balcony? I sat there, my Esalat phone credit was run out and I didn't know what to think... and then the TV switched itself on. To top it off, the light started flickering suddenly and then went out! Only the TV was on. I panicked and made a phone call to the operator for a long distance call to Qatar to David. I stared at the pink carnation when speaking to him. He laughed and laughed at me, especially when telling him I think it's haunted and I'm in the same place Cleopatra committed suicide and I think I am going nuts. He told me someone was probably playing a trick on me, which furthered my feelings of being trapped in some cheesy horror flick.
After a half hour of blubbering to him, I opened the door and stood in the hallway. A wandering hotel employee helped me get the door jam unstuck and I explained to him the situation. He said it was just the electrical problems. David continued laughing on the phone and I went to sleep peacefully with erotic dreams.
Next day I checked out of the hotel, leaving behind a most messy room. They held my baggage for me.
I had most of the day to kill, so I went back upstairs for more honey fried banana, wrote my mere and pere Giza postcards, sent text messages, wandered outside for a impulsive horse & carriage ride, and smelled the sea which doesn't smell much like anything.
At the gift shop I purchased matching cartouches with our names engraved in hieroglyphs. A matching bracelet cuff for the silver depiction of Isis around my neck. I've never identified with Cleopatra, the real version or the glorified tyrant. Isis, Maat and the feather of balance that the heart is weighed against in death... these are my Egyptian symbols.
I took a taxi at 6pm to catch my 8pm flight. The airport was tiny, and is mostly referenced to as a drop off point. They were nice enough for me because I like Egyptians. Egypt wasn't the most beautiful place, it didn't have a radiance or beauty, it smelled, the people threw their trash out of their windowless homes because the city doesn't provide proper disposal. It certainly needs a good dusting off. However, it captures your heart when you leave it. That dusting off is done by your mind when you are aware you are leaving, it suddenly enraptures you and binds you to the little details. Or is that with every far away land upon leaving?
Coming home (to Qatar) I was gripped with such a feeling I grabbed David for an illegal kiss at the airport, saw his face fresh again and how wonderfully sexy and divine he is, how his foreign accent wavers over the Ts and how his hair flows like the sea through my fingertips. Blushing, difference showing in my eyes, he feels the same and I know it and love it and never aaaavvvvaaaarrrr want to leave without him again unless I'm in need of pure solitude lacking love.
FIN.
Trainride to Alexandria. Bad Nesecafe.
50EGP room had a shared bathroom in the hall. I was planning on just using the sink for my teeth brushing but it didn't work.
Virus at its worse. Vomiting soon after this documentation, then baddreamtrainsleep.
The Balcony
Mother of memories, queen of paramours,
Yourself are all my pleasure, all my duty;
You will recall caresses that were yours
And fireside evenings in their warmth and beauty.
Mother of memories, queen of paramours.
On eves illumined by the light of coal,
The balcony beneath a rose-veiled sky,
Your breast how soft! Your heart how good and whole!
We spoke eternal things that cannot die —
On eves illumined by the light of coal!
How splendid sets the sun of a warm evening!
How deep is space! the heart how full of power!
When, queen of the adored, towards you leaning,
I breathed the perfume of your blood in flower.
How splendid sets the sun of a warm evening!
The evening like an alcove seemed to thicken,
And as my eyes astrologised your own,
Drinking your breath, I felt sweet poisons quicken,
And in my hands your feet slept still as stone.
The evening like an alcove seemed to thicken.
I know how to resuscitate dead minutes.
I see my past, its face hid in your knees.
How can I seek your languorous charm save in its
Own source, your heart and body formed to please.
I know how to resuscitate dead minutes.
These vows, these perfumes, and these countless kisses,
Reborn from gulfs that we could never sound,
Will they, like suns, once bathed in those abysses,
Rejuvenated from the deep, rebound —
These vows, these perfumes, and these countless kisses?
by Charles Baudelaire |
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