Egyptian shake down

We arrived in Cairo for the two week Egypt-Jordan leg of our round the world trip to a mass of people who had all gathered to help us find an overpriced cab into the heart of the city. How kind, with little experience and only US dollars we reluctantly obliged.

After the airport experience and a couple days touring Cairo one thing became crystal clear: there sure are a lot of people coming up with schemes to part our money from us.

Perhaps most surprising to a first-time visitor, was the active role played by the tourist police in this trade. In Cairo, everywhere you go from street corners to the star attractions there are uniformed and armed tourist police whose official role, I've been led to believe, is to protect tourists from scams and scamers, theft, or worse. I'd feel much more secure if my protectors weren't sleeping and reading on duty, or pressuring us at attractions to escape the marked path so they can pose us for tacky pictures (for a price).

Our first close encounter with the tourist police was on our first day in Cairo and during our whirlwind 7 hour tour of the three main pyramid sites at Dahshur, Sakura and Giza.

We took a taxi and got to the Dahshur site early. The heat and sun were already on full assault, but our early rise had meant that we had the Red and Bent pyramids almost entirely to ourselves.

As we approached the gate the tourist police were there: one sitting attentatively, two sleeping soundly, and another focused mindfully on his pocket-sized Koran. We got out of the car, stepped over a sleeping dog to wake the sleeping clerk to buy our entry into the site. We then got back in the taxi drove past the unplugged metal detector and unmanned security equipment for the short drive up to the Red pyramid.

The site was amazing and the ticket included a climb up and into the pyramid. We were basically alone, except for a couple other backpackers and a pair of tourist police.

As we descended from the pyramid to return to the car we heard a whistle and a series of calls that would become very familiar, "My friend... Where from?" "Canada Dry never die!" It seemed to be our lucky day, a tourist police offered to take a break from his guarding job to take us around to the side, out of view from the parking lot and the arriving tour groups for excellent photo opportunities.

We followed him over, took a couple pictures and turned to head back. He blocked our exit, we froze, he grinned and kindly offered to take pictures of us climbing a small monument in front of the pyramids. We said sure, he dropped his big machine gun, grabbed our camera and started snapping cheesy tourist shots of us. The one he seemed to enjoy the most, and that I imagine he shot 100 times more that day, simulated that the distant Bent Pyramid was in fact a minature prop suspended in the air from our hands.

The first time the guy with the badge and AK47 says pose ridiculously, you pose. If he says climb, you climb. And, if he grins softly and says "a little something for me" as you walk away, you hand him a tip. Then when he awkwardly implies you tipped too little, you dig deeper.

This was our first day, we had no more change. I nervously handed him 20 Egyptian pounds. He smiled and I was releaved. Thinking he got too much I got a little bold and asked if I could hold his big gun for a picture. His grin disappeared from his face, and he sternly said, "No, no!"

Holding the gun, it appeared, was not an option. I guess I had figured that since he had left his gun leaning up against the base of the pyramid that maybe his gun safety ethics were fairly relaxed. Just then, when I thought I found something in Egypt that couldn't be bought, the guard smiled again and said "Ok, maybe for $50 US." There was no way that I was seriously considering touching the gun, and besides his asking price was more than I was paying to see all the pyramid sites.

We let this happen once. Then we ignored the tourist police as we did the other Egyptians trying to sell us overpriced junk. For anyone who is concerned know that this whole situation was in good humour, the guard was a very nice guy who was basically bored with nothing much to do and we are two tourists with heavy wallets that needed to be lightened.

-- Posted from my iPhone

Flickr Re-activation

http://www.flickr.com/photos/bjvs/sets/72157622207672335/

I've relaunched my flickr site to help store/share photos. Not sure how reguarly we'll be able to update it while in other places, but here are a billion pictures from Cornwall. I hope they do this place justice as a spot to visit in both the rain or the shine. There are so many interesting things to check out, often not on the A list for Britain, but that's part of the charm... cool ruins, castles, hiking trails, etc. Can't wait until we're back again - thanks all!

Cairo tomorrow!

How to be Unhealthy under the Cornish Cloud

In addition to the great beaches and surf, walks and history Cornwall, England has no end of tempting treats, but if you’re not careful it’s possible to exceed your daily limits in every diet measurable by ten-fold. Now, I haven’t done this (I swear!), but here’s how to have the unhealthiest day of your life while relaxing under the Cornish Sun …or cloud:

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Wake up and head straight to the breakfast table. Do not volunteer to lead a pre-breakfast trek to the beach for a morning surf, and instead grab your spoon and get ready to dig. First up is a bowl of TESCO’s Honey Nut cereal accompanied by a hearty scoop of clotted cream – that’s right straight fat tinted to a creamy yellow plopped into your cereal bowl.

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With breakfast 1 done it’s time to head to town (St. Merryn) to pick up lunch and some newspapers for the beach. This is also where second breakfast happens because it’s almost impossible to enter a baker’s den in this county without being tempted by their chocolate-injected croissants.

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You’ve entered the baker’s shop because that is where you get the most famous of Cornish delights – the famous Pasty. A Cornish Pasty is simply a pastry shell wrapped around steak, potato, carrot and onion chunks. You eat it with your hands, which makes it great for the beach. It feels like a brick in your tummy, which makes it terrible if swimming is on the agenda. Originally, Cornish tin miners ate these down in the shaft, the thick pastry crust served as a disposable handle for grubby fingers. Today we eat it all, grubby fingers or not!

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Weather permitting, you’ve been in the sea all afternoon and you’re ready for ‘tea-time’. You could go the tea and biscuit route, but you’re on holiday and have been tempted by any one of the following three options: cream tea (more cream, this time on a scone), strawberry jam filled doughnut (at this point the baker is just rolling in dough), or – dare I say and? – a 99er (ice-cream cone with a chocolate flake in it).

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If you’ve made it this far, you might as well finish the journey, but brace yourself, the worst is yet to come. Fryer Tuck’s Fish and Chips has a line-up out the door and around the corner, and you are destine for that queueueueue. Select the take-away option and return home to the cheers of hungry companions. Settle into battered cod, thick British chips, and if you’re wise, a cup of the curry sauce for your dipping pleasure. Wash it all down with a pint of some locally brewed ale, call it the day, and roll all the way to bed.

rain, surf, beer, beaches, croquet and pasties

Our stay in the British south has been more grey than shine and more wet than dry. September has begun and we've closed out the summer holiday season here with a stormy bang - great company, way too much fun and delicious 'inputs'.

I relearned very quickly that while body surfing is the donkey to the regular surf, doing it right requires impeccable timing - you've got to launch yourself ahead of the wave at just the right time. I also learned another valuable lesson: do not attempt to teach a spouse about something unless you are a certified expert in it. After remarking to Stephanie that she ought to be careful, stay between the yellow flags and practice patience she stuck a tongue out at me and managed to perform quite well exactly where she was.

Equally important in the 'fun' category is water temperature. If you want to be immediately roused to full alert, the English sea is the place to be. The ocean of south England must surely be set at the lowest possible temperature in which a person can swim in the name of fun – at least there is no chance of a shark attack.

This week when swimming was not on order sitting on the beach was hardly a long-term intermission activity. With the rain dominating the sky we took to strolling along the coastal cliffs, touring stately homes, enjoying a pub lunch and less than friendly games of croquet. When those things weren’t happening we had a steady supply of British newspapers – the Telegraph, Times and Guardian being our selected prints – to plough through. Basically, it’s been all Britain all the time.

We also ate and made merry with the family. Our kind relatives hosted an excellent British-style BBQ for us complete with fireworks towards the beach (and house), we took in a family team-building raft race on the high seas, and marched down to the Cornish Arms pub for a family dinner. So far so good, or jolly. Stephanie and I have been here a week, and have got a week to go. On September 11th we head to London, then in the early AM on the 12th we're off to Cairo. This week I intend to write about the unique foods of Cornwall, but first I gotta try them all, a few more times...