in skopje, macedonia

Just arrived from Kosovo, where I admit it was a bit unnerving handing over my diplomatic passport to a busdriver to register with the border guards. I watched his crew have a bit of a conversation over it at the restaurant while they ate soup and discussed god-knows-what. But it turned out fine, as Kosovo is run by the UN and anyone is welcome. Now we have moved to Skopje, the capital of Macedonia, and tomorrow we head to Lake Ohrid for a visit. Then Sofia, Bulgaria for New Year's, and back to Cairo for two weeks before heading off to Nairobi, Kenya for safari and whatever else it is one does in Kenya when on vacation.

off in belgrade

finally, clean air. i no longer gag when walking down the street. we went to shabbat services this evening in the only synagogue in belgrade, after receiving an invitation from the rabbi earlier in the afternoon. we met a beautiful jewess, but the community is small here in belgrade. at a techno>driven internet cafe now, and it's packed because a concert is soon to commence upstairs. not sure what the national drink is here, but shlivovitz is on the menu. visited the citadel and am staying in, as the rabbi put it, the cheapest hotel in belgrade - leave it to the jews.

A couple of cars wait for Secretary Powell outside the conference center.

The action never stops in Sharm, and here an intrepid press officer leads a gaggle of journalists for a photo spray.

Sharm is filled with paparrazi and Mona had had enough.

downtown cairo

children on a field trip at the citadel

The guards at Sadat's tomb.

Sadat's tomb

el-fishawy coffee shop

Friday prayers in tent makers bazaar. I priced a nice tent, by the way, fits two or three people, about $150, lovely for the living room.

the khan al khalili

outside the khan

coptic cairo

old cairo from the citadel

view from the citadel

tourists storming the citadel

sharm from the hallway of the hotel

Got lost recently while walking near Al Azhar mosque. I went right instead of left, and ended up walking down the kind of winding roads you might imagine an old middle eastern city to have. Usually I sit in a coffee shop and watch the people walk by, but this time I decided to sit in one on a thoroughly normal everyday street. I sat right outside the shop, smoking sheesha ma'asl, a dank mess of black tobacco and honey. Across from me a man sat in a chair making cheap jewelry boxes for sale in the khan. In fact, every shop seemed to be a factory of men making something for the khan - boxes, silver, copper, beads. Horses, donkeys, bikers, mopeds, and cars tried negotiating the narrow street, while kids played ball and walked about. Two guys sat next to me, and began asking me questions. Where do you live, where are you from, why are you here, are you muslim? I replied that I lived in Dokki, was a Christian, here studying arabic, and born in new york--at least half true. They were very happy to learn that I voted for Kerry, and wanted to know why Bush was starting wars. mish-aarif, I don't know. The shop closed for fifteen minutes during the call for prayer, no one prayed, and then opened back up. No one spoke English, and my broken Arabic didn't facilitate too much conversation, but there were lots of smiles and nods and slaps on the back. Then I think they invited me to a wedding, who knows.

rent control in egypt. i've wondered how egyptians get by on such little money, then i found out a bit about rents in cairo. apartments here are passed down through the generations, and stay rent controlled, so you can pay about a dollar a month for a 3 bedroom apartment, and so my 5 pound taxi-fare to work, about 75 cents, doesn't seem that low. a lady in the embassy owns a whole building, fully rented, but loses money every month paying the doorman's salary.

Blue hotel on lonely highway...Blue hotel that don't work out my way ...aaaaaa

Friday noon, listening to NileFM Flashback Cafe. All their dj's sound like Downtown Jule Brown, and mideast accents are not heard. Lots of DuranDuran. As for other radio, before coming I planned to buy some Um Kulsum--never got the chance. When I arrived I found her on the radio constantly. At first it was charming - Um Kulsum and Naguib Mahfouz everywhere - now...

First Friday I've been in Cairo awake before 3pm. When I went outside for cake I found almost all the shops closed. The sidestreet had turned into a mosque, carpets on the ground, cars pushed back, and 100 men sitting crosslegged facing an empty shop being used as a preacher's dais. Some were praying, latecomers I imagine, but most listened to the preacher's amplified voice. He was giving quite a sermon.

kozmo-like service makes it in cairo

Cairo's online delivery service is a thousand times more advanced than Washington's - as in Cairo has one and DC doesn't. This service puts DCMenus to shame. Place your order at most Cairo restaurants with otlob, they call to confirm, and 30 minutes later a snazzy motor-scooter shows up at your door. Tonights order left much to be desired, but how good is Pizza Hut in the States anyway? Wait, ask Amer.

An aside: I'm connected with a painfully slow 34k dial up connection, which makes me wonder how much time I had on my hands when I started in '95 with aol's 14k. Reluctant to deal with Egyptian tech services, I'm stickin'. But I met get DSL for this new site dedicated to funny shit.

Your blogger escorted some interesting journalists around Sharm: Peter Kenyon—recognizably NPRian with the New York Review of Books tucked under his arm; Robin Wright—lovely and spirited; Steven Weissman—irascible; Neil Macfarquhar—speaks Arabic, has a lovely assistant.

Shot the shit with Christiane Amanpour for a half-hour. Not part of the Secretary’s traveling press corps, she didn’t have credentials to attend the conference, and so waited in the CNN offices and then outside near our press vans for an interview with the Secretary back at the hotel. We watched together as the intrepid Mona ran down foreign ministers and pushed through their security details for a quote. Christiane gave Mona some advice on becoming, well, Christiane (work hard, love your job, develop good contacts), and was surprised to find an American who smoked.

A reporter from ABC NEWS filed from the press van on the way to the Airport. He called into headquarters from a cell phone, put on his anchorman voice, and gave them 20 seconds of flawless text.

The Secretary Comes to Sharm el-Sheikh

Here in Sharm for the Friends of Iraq Conference, and amazed at the energy expended for just a 24 hour visit by the Secretary of State. Four days prior an advance team arrives from Washington, an embassy team before that, and when you remember that this is only one segment of the Secretary’s week-long trip…

The buzz word here is control, and a control officer is assigned to everything: one for each very important person (numbering about eight), motor pool, press, security, logistics, and administration. The embassy sets up a control room with a half a dozen computers, five wall clocks, two televisions, a photocopier, and a full-time travel agent. The makeshift embassy bank is outside.

Embassy press officers arrive four days before the journalists to arrange phone lines, internet access, transcription devices, tape recorders, printers, copiers, televisions, briefing rooms, vans, and credentials. All this while negotiating access and protocol with the Egyptian Ministries of Foreign Affairs and Information. Three buses escort the traveling press to and from different locations.

Most of the political work is accomplished before the meeting begins. For weeks, high ranking political officers from The Quartet and other neighbors of Iraq have hammered away at a joint statement, which the newspapers reported today, hours before the foreign ministers even met to discuss its contents.

Walking around my apartment in mid-afternoon I am reminded suddenly of my grandparents' place in Boca Raton, Florida. Perhaps it's the selective emptiness of the refridgerator - coke, cold cuts, cheese, water, bread, cake - or perhaps it's the obvious fact that the apartment came furnished and there's no hint of individuality. Or maybe it's the warm breeze.

Yesterday, I couldn't figure out why the electronics salesmen insisted on opening radios and playing them for me before I purchased one. Today I found out. I opened up a newly purchased electric razor to find it covered in hair and broken. Now I know why those radio salesmen looked surprised each time the radio worked.

a glimpse into the private life

the rod?

the rod?

Free internet access from your apartment – quite civilized. Found a better shewarma place tonight – a feast for $2.50. And then sheesha, coffee, and tea for a buck twenty-five.

A soccer game blared in the sheesha house as a packed audience screamed even louder than the set when a team scored. I knew the game was over when everyone cheered and ran out onto the street en masse – no celebrating though, just walking home. I am a stranger – people can tell by my inability to talk and my new york review. By the way, Juice, Joan Didion made mention of the radical cheerleaders in a recent issue. They’ve hit the big time.

Back now to Dokki, where your editors have taken up residence in an embassy apartment much too large and certainly undeserved in return for our meager contributions to the public good. But being ever respectful, we do not complain. Our dear readers, you are all invited to visit us here in the cultural and political center of the Arab world. God knows we have the space.

first posting

The editors apologize to general readership that we have been negligent recently (ok, always) in posting to this up-and-coming publication: The Daily Rod. Expect in the future that these pages will be chock full of intelligent and prolific insight into the complexity of Cairo society – or at the very least will provide you with a mundane record of ordinary events (today editors woke up exhausted, went to work, slept at work, went home, slept at home, ingested frightful shewarma and grainy coffee, and returned to the Daily grind of providing our dear readers with tantalizing prose, dropping from the page like beautiful bombs (stolen)).

As your editors are in the exclusive employ of a foreign government (slightly silly), and cognizant of the dangers of posting such blistering text on the internet (very silly), we have reserved our right to remain strictly anonymous and urge our readership not to delve even shallowly into our true identities, lest we unleash the hound of hell that is our diabolical intelligence agency (not silly in the slightest).

Please note that the editorship is currently enjoying an iced cold coca-cola.

Comments are welcome though unappreciated. We will cut you. Enough disclaimers.

Adventures in Masr began a short while ago with a less than luxurious fully-funded coach fare to Cairo’s new, dazzling international airport, which made the much touted froufrou Frankfurt International look like a 16^th Century caravanserai, complete with belching camels. Editors suffered the usual courtesies of having their luggage thrown about by the slick expediters and received the impressed gasps of the customs clerk when presenting him with formidable, black diplomatic visas. We were whisked away in a rotted-out van and made pleasant conversation in the elegant vernacular of Modern Standard Arabic:

- My father works in New York City; I have two sisters.
- Really? I have a brother in New Jersey. He is married to the wife of my brother and owns a restaurant that serves Arabic food. Yes, they have Turkish Coffee.

A week passes for your editors at the grand villa of one of our embassy’s top diplomats. The villa is truly magnificent – tall gates, palm trees in the front garden, expansive walled-in lawn in the back, SUV in the driveway, large foyer, high ceilings, several rooms for entertaining, living quarters on the second floor, and an apartment for the hired help on the third floor where your editors slept as the hired help in this case come only during the day. The villa encompasses two lots in Cairo’s Dokki district, a five minute 75 cent taxi ride from the bustling city centers of Zamalek, Khan al-Khalili, or Mohandessin. The house is guarded by a garrison of no less than three state security guards who occupy nearly every street corner. Cairo, by the way, employs more policemen than any city.

Dear reader, your editors benefited greatly from the generous hospitality of this top diplomat and his family. Their kindness eased our transition into this intimidating metropolis of racing tin-can taxi cabs and swarms of pedestrians crossing the streets at all points at all speeds irreverent of whizzing microbuses and flailing though powerless traffic cops. Had this family not taken in your young editors, we would have been relegated to the lonely and secluded suburban enclave of Maadi.