The Longest Day (So Far): Egypt is Way Cooler Than Egypt Air

---

First let me apologize for the very long delay in blogging. It finally caught up with us. Our busy days in London meant we reached Cairo behind, and my shift in focus to my radiology presentation made it even worse. By the time I left for Orlando, we were still blogging London. In real time, I am writing this blog two weeks after the fact, and with the hundreds of pictures we have to upload, our time in Greece will weigh heavily toward beach and blogging (and soccer of course), and not so much toward the birthplace of Western civilization. My goodness, isn’t that a travesty!?!

In the last few days before Paris, I was in Orlando while Leroy stayed in Egypt. We’ll write our portions separately, though my suggestion would be for you to just skip my part unless there’s something exotic about radiology or Orlando for you.

Meli: Don’t Take Egypt Air
On my last day in Cairo, I was up early and ready to leave for the airport by 7am, driven only by Khaled as I urged Leroy to enjoy a little sleep-in. I was not looking forward to the flight - almost 13 hours on Egypt Air from Cairo to JFK, then a three hour layover before my Delta flight to Orlando. It peeved me more than little that Egypt Air has no airline partners (what the hell am I going to do with Egypt Air miles?) despite being the first airline in Africa and one of the first in the Middle East and 75 years of history. They’re just getting around to it. Then, there’s Delta, whose miles expire and who I don’t fly frequently enough to get any benefit from their program. Am I being a miles princess? Perhaps. The flight to JFK was horrendous. I don’t really want to relive it, nor do I want to waste precious kilobytes in what will surely seem like an insult to the entire airline and all Egyptian passengers. That would not be my intent, and I would not want to shed a negative light on Egyptians, particularly since so many of them were friendly to us in Cairo. But to be on a 13-hour flight with a plane full of what I will kindly call travel rookies - you know, the passengers who delay you at security and seem perpetually lost, yet don’t mind breaking all rules and letting their children run up and down the aisles - was more than I bargained for. I did not sleep a wink. I couldn’t - not with the kids running up and down the aisles (I was being serious), the stench from the bathroom and from the lady who sprayed her cheap perfume so heavily that it suffocated her neighbors (me), or the annoying woman behind me who kept pushing my seat forward beyond its normal parameters. Wait, I said I wouldn’t go into it. Let’s just say it was miserable. Not the most miserable (nothing can beat the poor elderly lady who dripped liquid poop up and down the aisles on a Sun Holiday to Hawaii in 2004), but definitely second.

Meli: I Finally Make It to Orlando
I arrived in JFK and was out of the flight as soon as I could, although I will admit having words with at least two women who kept pushing me. So they don’t speak English and I don’t speak Arabic. I don’t need to understand a language to know that you shouldn’t push me just because you’re impatient. I’ll let you know about it and give you a chance to remedy your actions, but do it again, and we will have words. Having escaped from Egypt Air (and dreading having to take the return flight), I took the airport tram to Delta and waited in a really long line to check in. It was mayhem, but I took the opportunity to call my mom and to touch base with Leroy’s mom since I would be in their Florida neighborhood for a couple of days. Finally checked in, I sat at a bar, ordered a salad (yum, roughage!), and watched Game 1 of Phoenix vs. San Antonio, you know, the one where Steve Nash was hemorrhaging his face out by the end of the game. Unfortunately, my three-hour layover turned into a five-hour one, and I got to Orlando past 11pm. A quick ride to the JW Marriot (and if you can believe it, he jipped me by not turning the meter on - can’t let your guard down, even in Orlando!), where the conference was held. I got into bed within minutes and was fast asleep. I miss my bed.


Leroy: I woke up and my baby was gone! Oh what shall I do?
I got up late. The long day of pyramids, Wadi Digla, the Yacoubian Building, and Meli’s packing wore me out. I’m sure she kissed me good bye; I’m sure I said be safe, e-mail me when you get there, good luck, I’ll miss you, and I can’t wait to see you in Paris. I’m sure…

It is almost noon when I stumble into existence—Tita Marie, I’m sorry I made you wait so long to eat. I dusted off the remainder of the taamiya and we jet. Our itinerary is short: eat lunch and pay the internet bill. We dine at Fusion, a Japanese restaurant not too far from where we boarded our felucca a few days ago. I fancy a Sapporo, but have to settle for an Egyptian lager. The menu is a 25-piece sashimi and sushi platter and miso soup. A quarter of the way through, Tita Marie throws in the towel and I go to work. Not a grain of rice is left. Hardly any ginger either. Tita Marie shares more experiences about life as an expatriate and raising children as one. She gives sage advice about making love last forever.

Our last stop of the day is the internet company. Why is it that no matter where you are on planet earth, customer service sucks? It’s like people are trained to do the opposite of what the consumer expects. Thirty people waiting. Two people fielding questions, two accepting payment. 95%!o(MISSING)f the people there have questions about their bill. Now what? After 30 minutes and only 25%!o(MISSING)f the customers seen, one guy makes it his duty to voice the concerns of the masses. I don’t speak Arabic, but Tita Marie made a friend a couple of minutes ago—she validated Tita Marie’s previous acknowledgement that it is impossible to get in and out of this place under an hour—who translated the racket. In short, this fat Egyptian sitting and waiting was yelling about the notion of so many people waiting and so few working. After all, although it is Sunday, it is the first day of the business week in the Arab world. Not understanding exactly what he’s saying, I crack up at the drama of it all. Sixty minutes after we arrive, the bill is paid and we are on our way home.

What’s missing, besides Melissa?
Tita Marie dips into the kitchen with ambitions of making Thai Iced Tea, or at least her version of it. I find the concoction rather refreshing, but she feels like something is missing. Having imported some Absolut Mandarin, I offer it up. Success! Just what was missing. By the time Tito Armando makes it to Maadi after work, we are nice and relaxed. He joins us and pretty soon we are all appreciating Tita Marie’s concoction. We are all “celebrating” too, because he is taking the day off tomorrow so we can have a beach day at the Red Sea!

I spend the rest of the night calling Wells Fargo to access my bank account—trying to log on from the Middle East/Africa results in an automatic freeze to online banking—and attempting to switch my ticket to depart Cairo 11 hours later than scheduled, so as to fly to Paris with Meli. I win against Wells Fargo, but lose to Iberia Airlines in extra time.

---