jhubbel

Okay so now it's clear that I am going to be sent upstairs. The doc finally validates that I am indeed very healthy and the only thing wrong is food poisoning. I am put into the elevator...which is next to a very very dirty open area, broken this, that and the other, filthy building, this is a hospital? Yes it is. Get over it. Up we go. My guys have disappeared with my bag and my toilet paper. Um. NO.

I am upstairs and put in a room by myself. NO.

I totter all the way downstairs - five flights- and wander the parking lot to find my guys. I think it was (pardon the spelling) Falifa, who came running back up with me. He sat with me until the doctor came in, set me up with saline, then refused to leave me while I slept. About an hour later, he was shooed out while I got an exceptionally painful shot in the tush. Falifa and his buddy loaded me back up, my head back on his ample thigh, and I was put back into our previous hotel while the group went on to Luxor.

jhubbel

The next morning, I missed the balloon flight. The next day. I missed the entire Valley of the Kings. All the temples. I got a private transport to the hotel in Luxor where I slept the rest of the day.

I have no idea what's in Luxor. The hotel room was nice. I ate rice. No idea which hotel it was. Walid said it was a five star place. I remember mold in the bathroom, but at least this time my roommate and I got separate keys. I think that's what made it five star for me, not having to track Helen down, or wait around for her to show up with the key.

I was taking a whole range of antibiotics including Cipro, which has its own set of fun side effects (dealing with it now) but at least I was able to finish out the trip.

jhubbel

Hurgadah was our next destination, and we arrived in our bus late at night. Our destination was a huge resort on the Red Sea, hard to make out late at night, but the big news I had a huge big fat resort room all to myself for two nights. Walid would be taking a day off, and we were on our own.

My god. Free time.

The good news about the Jaz Makadi resort was that it bent over backwards- from the chef to the janitors to the guys sweeping the sidewalk- to make you feel welcome. While I sincerely do not care for resorts, I did appreciate the smiles, the warmth, the extra effort I felt the resort staff made at every level to make us feel welcomed. I was up extremely early, didn't matter. Someone was out on the sidewalk and grinning at me.

It was hard, however, to leave the luxury of three big rooms, the ability to stretch out, actual WORKING WIFI which allowed me to get some writing done, and venture out. But there were camels and horses afoot and I was not to be denied. The breezes were lovely, the morning was pretty, breakfast was being served before the sun was up and off I went.

jhubbel

At 8 am, I began the complex walk through the complex to find my way to the beach. It honestly was quite a feat. I wandered and wandered and wandered. There is a sea. I know there's a beach. It's around here somewhere. One resort after another.

This is why I hate resorts. Where's the damn beach?

I finally track down what looks like an ocean of latticed umbrellas, under which there are hundreds of empty lounge chairs. I hear a smattering of German. I inquire and am told that the camel guy comes by in an hour.

Half an hour later he heads down the beach calling out "Taxi!! Taxi!!" leading my big boy. I flag him down, we make a deal for a half hour ride, and I hop on.

The ride takes us along the two inch wide beach, which is heavily encroached upon by the lounge chairs but not the tourists. Even here things are rough.

The ride is great and my camel is a sweet nature boy who very much appreciates any extra affection. In fact when I dismount he's a big fat mooch. He is happy to return the favor by giving me a cheek buss, complete with camel snot, which is no extra charge.

The really good news, as I discover, is that this man's brother happens to run the Seahorse riding outfit. What I have learned about Egypt is that everyone seems to be related, which is often extremely handy. In an hour, a car has come to pick me up for a two hour ride in the sand dunes a nice drive away from the resorts. The really good news is that I have brought riding breeches, which are really handy, the really bad news is that I forgot half chaps, which you kinda really have to have, especially if you are using other people's gear, and like to come home without bruised legs. After four hours in the saddle.

jhubbel

Seahorse is just a short drive away from the resorts. I would characterize it as a ridiculously perfect place for anyone who loves animals. There was a big fat happy pit bull girl puppy who launched her nearly hundred pounds on my person and did her best to lick my face off. The goat herd. The turkey herd. The donkeys wandering the place, the ducks. I lost track of everything.

Oh, and the horses.

I am beyond laughter when I go to the trouble of telling an outfit that I am a highly experienced rider and when I walk up to my horse the guy says "don't be afraid." Come ON man. Give it a rest. Nearly every country I ride in, with rare exception, men assume women can't ride, and if they give you a break, they still assume you're incompetent.

Akhmed is my guide. He rides like Quasimodo. The moment we are out on the dunes he takes off and has my camera in hand. I've got a whip, don't need it at all. She takes off like a shot. What I love about her is that her gallop is like warm milk. My butt doesn't leave the saddle, I sit straight up and we are a bat outta hell.

Two hours of runs, walks, beach explorations and wanders around a perfectly gorgeous turquoise lagoon later, we head back at a nice gallop. Akhmed says," should put you on a more powerful horse."

So about two minutes out on my

jhubbel

Don't know what happened there.

For any of us who were kids in the sixties or seventies, or who ever loved horse stories, we all read Walter Farley. Many of us grew up with The Black Stallion. I still have my copy from fourth grade. Some saw the movie. Read every book in the series. All of us dreamed of riding, owning The Black.

Well, Akhmed introduced me to Valentino, their pure black, half wild, purebred Arab stallion he wanted me to ride. He snorted, laid his ears back, kicked into my face and ran around the corral. This is $95,000 animal. Me? Ride this?

Sure. Why not? It's not every day that a fourth grader's lifelong dream really truly does come true. I mean really?

So he gets saddled up for the sundown ride. Meanwhile, I wrapped both my calves in blue Rocktape, protecting my pegs from what I knew was going to be an interesting ride.

As soon as I swung up on this animal and settled into the saddle, he laid his ears flat back. Then he screamed a challenge that took up his entire body.

Okay well then. You have a choice. You can get the hell off. Quite sure that's worked. You can try beating him for it I'm sure that's happened too. That doesn't work for me. I made fun of him. Not sure that's ever happened to him before. Hell, I'm either going to die fast, or it's going to be exciting, either way I'm going to have a helluva smile on my face.

What ensued, since the guys wanted to see if I could control him, was about fifteen minutes of "Make Me," which is actually a pretty good Jack Reacher story, but for me it was keep my butt on his back while he bucked, and I insisted, gently but firmly, that he move forward, in circles, like it or not.

We got there.

I was told (and I love this- from men, natch) that I would have to keep a VERY tight rein on him all the time, and man handle him). Well, we did a nice run right out of the gate. AFter that I gave him plenty of rein and we were fine for about 90 minutes. What I have learned is that when you are calm on the horse, and your animal knows you are not going to do anything stupid, cruel, ugly, unpredictable, it will calm down. When you add to that a calm hand on the neck, praise, a pet for good behavior, fun runs and a free hand, it's funny how a horse learns to enjoy himself with you and returns the favor by wanting to please.

We ran, trotted, walked the tides, the waves, cantered the sands. The sun began to sink. We took a break, took photos.

It is a curious thing to stand close to an animal like this. Valentino tolerates you, you can pet him, you can stroke him. His great huge liquid eyes do not focus on you, you are not worthy of notice.They are on the horizon at all times. He studies the distance for two things: rivals and mares. You really don't exist in his world. That's why in many ways a part of you has to recognize you don't conquer an animal like this. You ride alongside. That's about it.

The reddening sun dipped below the range and silhouetted us, spreading a sheen of pure gold on the damp sand beneath Valentino's feet.

Then it was time to go home.

jhubbel

The sun had gone down, the dunes lay ahead of us, great undulating expanses of sand that Akhmed knew and I didn't. Beyond lay home, food, water and mares. Light was fading fast as we made our way down the draws between the dunes. Valentino was agitated as all horses are on the way home, and I repeatedly asked for the canter. He was badly undertrained, clearly people hadn't spent much time working with his commands and gaits.

Finally we reached the perfect spot. I knew it and so did Valentino. I lifted my rear off the saddle, grabbed two handfuls of his mane and screamed at him as I let him have his head.

Valentino leapt forward with so much power that had I not had the mane in my hand I'd have tumbled over his butt. In seconds he was running so fast that tears were running down my cheeks despite my sunglasses which I had to keep on because of the force of the wind. His mane whipped my face, I was completely blind. I figured that Akhmed was around somewhere. Didn't give a crap.

There are times in a life when you simply lose yourself, and this was one of them. All I could feel was the pounding of this magnificent animal, his speed and and power and the pure furious love of running. All I wanted to do was be absorbed into it. He let me. We finally pulled up at the top of an embankment, I pulled him hard to the right, the only time I had to use a little force. I actually tore my teres minor in the process.

Akhmed pulled up, barely visible in the light.

I finally allowed myself to breathe, and leaned over to hug Valentino. He ignored me.

jhubbel

It took us a few minutes to dance our way home, where Valentino was paying no attention to anything but the ladies. We were all beneath his dignity. This allowed Akhmed and me to wander the stables and meet the rest of the boys, which included another high priced white ARab stallion and a few characters in their stalls.

Now those of you familiar with horses probably are familiar with some of their grooming habits. One common habit is that horses use their teeth to rub each other's withers, which is that smooth lump on the back right where the long neck joins the back, or where the saddle tends to sit and the mane ends. This is a very pleasant experience for the horses as well as a bonding process.

When horses are in stalls they don't get this grooming, so when I visit animals who live in closed spaces I try to sneak inside to do this for them. Often the animals- especially stallions- can be very nippy. Hell stallions are nippy anyway, most folks will tell you that boys bite and girls kick. Often true.

Akhmed introduced me to a big nosy black boy who would not keep his mouth to himself. I snuck in the stall and immediately got my fake nails into his withers. What happened next was comical- and again, horse owners can see this coming.

He stood shock still, lifted his head, eyes at half mast, then his head went long, sideways, his lips quivering, mouth opening and closing. Back and forth his head went like he simply didn't know what to do with his damn self.

Akhmed, who was taping this, was in stitches. He'd never seen this before. I gave my boy a nice massage up and down the neck, down his back to the tail, and when done, gave him my hands.

When we were done wreaking havoc with the stalled animals I went back to the pit bull, who was happy to get her turn back. Then it was time to leave, which was hard, because it was animal city, and for me, probably the happiest place I've been in a long time. All the animals were well fed, happy, well loved and clearly valued. What a nice change of pace.



Which he licked, my usual payment.

jhubbel

We flew back to Cairo, and back to the original hotel. This time we were placed in what was called the 3000 building. Rather than the newer rooms, this building apparently had some challenges associated with its inner workings.

Having done some serious riding, and having not been terribly well, I had on my mind a bath. My room had one of those lovely tubs that requires scuba gear. I was practically salivating. The one thing you can count on in Egypt is hot, right? No problem, right?

Wrong.

I turned on the water full hot.

Tepid. Really?

Gave it five minutes. Ten.

Tepid.

I know old buildings and pipes, but ten minutes?

So I call the front desk. I will be kind here, but I will say that the level of dripping condescension that I received about did you do this (yes) did you do that( yes) and on and on and followed by the implied (you stupid woman) was beyond the pale. Finally he agreed to send the engineer.

Twenty minutes later, I am still writing by the phone, nothing has happened. I call again. Dripping tells me that he has been there. ( and I know this how?)He launches into several minutes of how the pipes are on the outside of the building (and this affects me how? and I care about this why?) He called you. Well actually no he didn't. Yes he did. NO he didn't, since I haven't left the room and I am sitting here right by the phone. Test the water. Tepid. Run it five minutes. (pause.)He has hung up. Water is still tepid. He's now pissed off royally. The water is tepid. What I am explaining is that the water needs to be HOT, as in you can steep tea in it. He doesn't care, clearly.
He send the engineer over, who this time actually bothers to come to the door. This guy is just as pissed and rude. He checks the water. It's hot. No, it's tepid. It's hot. No it's not. This is going down the drain. I kick him out.

jhubbel

Dinner wasn't any better. I walked inside to eat, but was the kicked out because I didn't want to eat the buffet. Really? The place was cavernous and nearly empty.

So I go outside, where there was nearly no one at all. A soccer game was on at the bar, which is clearly where the staff was because they weren't serving.

After about half an hour I got up to find someone. Another half an hour or so later my soup arrived (how hard is it to serve pre prepared soup?). It took me ten minutes to eat.

Half an hour later I am still trying to flag someone down to order something else, and had to go find someone again. All I want is a yogurt salad. The table of four across the way is having the same issue.


Forty five minutes later I got my yogurt salad, and have finished it. I had to gang tackle another waiter to request my bill and wait yet another twenty minutes to get it.

Soup and yogurt salad should have taken me half an hour to order and eat. I was there for possibly three hours.

jhubbel

I wrote up a incident report on Trip Advisor. It was very crisp. You don't have to be angry to simply tell the story. The facts do enough damage. The other telling thing is that other guests had said much of the same thing. This place had not chosen to make any changes in the training of their staff or the facilities.

I sought Walid out the next day and he argued hard not to publish. The manager tried to talk me out of it. I published anyway. Why? Because other guests before me had complained and they hadn't fixed the problem. Because my experience had been reported and recorded a number of times prior, and the manager's admonition to me the next morning that things would change right away was absolutely false. They'd had plenty of chances to upgrade, to respond. And they hadn't. So I published. And I told Walid that if they had cared enough the first, second, third, fourth etc. times that guests had complained, the problems would not still be there.

As a Disney cast member (you are one for life, like it or not)I was at Disney World on opening day. I know something about customer service. You either care or you don't. There are gradations. You don't have to be Disney. But when you ignore the problem, they will indeed come back to bite you hard.

annhig

what a marathon post, jhubbel and what a read too. I'm not a rider but I can understand the thrill that it brings and the relationship with the horses too. your points about understanding that their culture is not ours are well made too.

as for gastro-intestinal issues, please go well equipped to Cuba. I am quite susceptible in that area [I was even ill in Australia and had to miss the GBR as a consequence] but in Cuba even DH was affected and he is normally bomb-proof. We never drank tap water, were reasonably careful with what we ate and drank in cafes and restaurants, but in the end it's going to get you as it did everyone we met. So if you can take a prophylactic, do so, or take plenty of the "necessary" and copious amounts of what we in the UK call immodium.

Good luck!

jhubbel

Thanks annhig. I have tons of immodium, but in this case it is useless, for I am battling what is called c.difficile, which can only be treated with flagyl, since you only get it once your poor belly has been bombed with nuclear quality antibiotics, which mine has, and a very very very bad operator has been allowed to PAR-TAY. I am on a long course of this. I use a Steripen, which is used religiously. All I can do is pray like hell and eat nothing but rice and fresh papaya, which does wonders for the tum, and ply myself with Pedialite. I'm taking tons of stuff with me. All I can do. Appreciate the head's up.

jhubbel

As Walid was most kind, and he was, loud AND kind, he knew that I really wanted good papyrus. So he arranged for me to visit a genuine papyrus store not far from the Pyramids. Now those of you who have been here know you can get cheap banana leaf papyrus on any street corner for a few bucks. There are a few government sanctioned stores in town who are committed to making the real thing, the old way, and who provide demonstrations to you to show you how. And boy it isn't cheap.

Walid dropped me off at such a store, and had a private conversation with the owner, who is a friend. I was to find out what this really means a bit later. I was handed off to one of the salesmen who showed me around, gave me a demo, and then delighted me for the next hour or so by showing me the various artists, styles, and educating me about what was used to make paint. Crushed rubies. Twenty four carat gold. The pieces he showed me all told stories. I had one piece in mind, an Isis figure. However so many appealed. Soon I had a pile. Some of them had enormous prices on them. These were all originals, and they were done by one of the better artists. As I am an artist myself it wasn't hard to tell which of the pieces had a steadier hand, a better eye, and greater talent. Natch. Like walking into a store and nabbing the most expensive piece off the rack.

We had a curling pile of some eight pieces, which my guy gleefully added up on his calculator. After they brought out the defibrillator to revive me, the owner came out and took my salesman aside to have a quiet conversation.

A few minutes later, he emerged with an amount that was reduced by 75%, the Walid "friend" discount.

Some friend indeed.

Once all was bought, wrapped up and packed, the owner drove me back to the hotel. What I so vividly recall from that conversation was his comment that "money comes and go, but people don't. We can always make money. But we cannot do that with relationships."

This simple pronouncement has stuck with me ever since. I've quoted time and time again, and noted that it came from an Egyptian merchant hit hard by the tourist downturn. What I so respect about this man's comment is that even while times are tough right now, he understands that relationships matter far more than profits. Times change. How we treat each other lasts. Words for the ages.

jhubbel

On my last day, the salesman (whose name I cannot recall at the moment, being in Tampa at a conference) offered to take me to a stable to go riding. Walid was most concerned about this as tourists are monitored and provided guides, such as himself, for their protection. This young man was not a tourist guide as such so this offer was effectively "going off the reservation," and Walid was very protective. I ended up putting the two on the phone together, which was fun, because this young man was terrified of Walid, who of course was friends of his boss. Walid was kind, but clear, and probably put the fear of you know who into him about assuring my safety and not trying to sell me a bunch of stuff I don't want.

I did get to the stables, which is in and amongst a great many of them, and here is where it gets difficult. After the 2011 revolution, the tourist industry took a massive hit. Nowhere did I see the impact of this more directly that here in these neighborhoods, where tourists once thronged to ride Egyptian and Arabian horses and get their photos against the silhouette of the Pyramids. The stable where I was taken, the horses were still in good shape.

That was not true for many. You simply cannot blame the owners. If you had to choose between food for your family or for your horses, what would you choose? Precisely. So horses were let loose to feed in the massive garbage pile, wherein there were a number of dead horses left to rot. And here I might add the government imposes yet another unfortunate duty on these folks. They require a hefty payment to remove the trash and carcasses, money these people don't have, because there are so few tourists, so the carcasses stay. The locals have to live with the rot, the smell, the disease, and so do their children. In my mind, it's another way to punish the poor for being poor.

Not my culture, not my country. But it was painful to see, smell, and ride past. Instructive, important to observe, understand. Not judge. Understand.

The stable owner had a lovely white Arab stallion, for which he wanted eighty an hour. I don't pay that much for a top horse in Denver, so we negotiated. Hard. I got him to a reasonable price for his best horse, and my new guide, Magib, and I took off. We weren't two minutes out on the sand before it was very clear that my stallion was very lame, and unable to walk.

I took Magib's Egyptian stallion (a horse that the stable owner said was about thirty an hour). This animal had been ruined by frightened tourists who had the horrible habit of sawing on his mouth out of fear, so his once soft, delicate mouth was like concrete. No matter, just something to keep in mind. Good thing I lift weights.

The stable sent out another stallion, and Magib and I were set free.

Now the area around the Pyramids is just made for haul ass. The sand, in places rocky, rises and falls, there a long, long draws. You can let your animal take off like a banshee, they are accustomed to it. The trick is stopping. The first time I tried this with my bad boy I got a lesson in just how hard his mouth really was. Fine. Lesson learned. It took me ten feet to stop him, which can be dangerous if you're close to an embankment.

After that, Magib and I just ran our hearts out. We'd walk for a while, then rest. Often resting consisted of dismounting and walking the horses around the flat top of sand bank. You quickly learn that the desert is home to a particularly vicious kind of small swarming fly, which aren't as much a bother for the humans but are a terror for the horses' eyes. I quickly endeared myself to my stallion by putting his head into my chest and protecting his face, periodically rubbing his eyes, and keeping the salt loving flies off his shoulders. When Magib's horse found out that I would do this for him as well we'd take turns, the off horse enjoying a face rub. It was nonstop. As long as they were moving, the flies weren't an issue. At one point, we were walking around in a circle to give them a breather and I realized that there was heavy breathing on my left shoulder. My stallion was on my right, and I was stroking his eyes. Magibs stallion was pacing me on my left, and Magib was standing off to the side, laughing.

"I think he likes you better than me," he joked. Magib had a lovely sense of humor, along with a thick pair of tree trunk soccer legs, which he used to hurtle onto his horse without stirrups.

jhubbel

There is a small rise in the desert not far from the Pyramids where riders stop to rest. An old man lives and works there, and he sells cold drinks and snacks. Most of the women who ride stop here after a short ride, then go back to the stables. Many of the male riders come here and show off for the women, so it's a busy place. Magib and I came here to get some water, and after tending to the animals' comfort as best I could, I noticed a little ass tied off to the side.

Ever a sucker for a donkey, as they can be very affectionate, I wandered over. This little boy was no different, as soon as he realized what was in store. Once he was accustomed to the feeling of a neck scratched, he moved in so close he nearly bowled me over and began chewing my shoelaces in pleasure as I worked on his neck muscles. When I went after his head, he chewed my ankles and most particularly my Achilles' tendons. Not in a mean way, but mutual grooming. What really set him off was when I used my girly girl fake nails to give his long ears a proper scrub. It's genuinely fun to watch what a donkey does the first time a human goes after those long, long ears and really scratches them, down into the canal. Heaven on earth. Happiness indeed. He closed his eyes, flattened out his head, went perfectly still and as we say, was very much "in the moment." I love donkeys. He was one happy boy.

Shortly thereafter we leapt on our steeds again and took off, with plenty of time left to explore the dunes, rocks and area, our horses ready for lots more running.

jhubbel

There are roads that wander in and out of this area where excavation continues, and riders can and do explore this area. This being rather late September, the temperature was milder, so even though it was late afternoon it wasn't horribly brutal. Magib and I explored here and there. Every so often my stallion demanded to run, and started to take off. I put his nose onto my knee and turned him around two or three times, a classic trick to make him mind. Magib had never seen this before. He asked what I was doing and I explained. It's the difference between getting into an argument and beating an animal, and simply showing him who's in charge by making him do what you want him to do by distracting him, I explained. It's gentler, it still makes the point, and there is no need to get into a full on fight with a 1500 lb animal. No one gets angry, and he ends up doing what you ask. Even if you have to do it several times, he ends up doing want you want, largely because you're consistent, and not mean. Magib nodded sagely. Seems like a new idea.

We are out well west of the Pyramids here and all I can see is a host of winding roads, and my boy really wants to run. What I know is that he probably knows this area well, I have a guide, and the chances of my being able to do this again are nil. So I snugged in my legs, gave him his head, a little "Yah!" which is all he needed, grabbed a handful of mane and we were off like a gunshot.

From there all I did was minimally guide him in a general direction. He knew the roads, and we were running at full speed. I had no idea what happened to Magib and didn't care at that point. We ran, and ran, and ran, and ran, tirelessly. These horses are bred for it. Periodically I'd lean way forward to check his chest to make sure he wasn't overheating. Not in the slightest. He was having a ball and so was I. He stretched out with a joy of running through the sands that horses of the desert so love, free do as he pleased, aware of the occasional request on my part to go left or right, and little more. His neck wasn't sweating at all, my hands were buried in his mane. I reveled in his speed and he reveled in his freedom. These animals, mostly ridden by tourists, likely don't get this kind of free and open run often enough, and I was happy to give it to him. We ran long and hard, longer than I have ever run a horse, until finally we were north of the Pyramids and I pulled him up for a walk. Magib was nowhere to be seen.

He did eventually gallop into sight from behind a dune, grinning. We walked our boys back to the rise to rest them, get water, and then, as the sun began to drop, get our "romance shots," and head back to the stables.

jhubbel

One funny story I forgot to tell on Magib: we had stopped at one point in the afternoon were adjusting our saddles. Girths invariably loosen after a lot of running, so we tighten and adjust. This was still rather early in the day, and his boy hadn't gotten accustomed to being spoiled yet.

Magib had let go of his reins and they fell to the ground as he came over to do a final check of my gear once I finished. His stallion took that opportunity, as stallions do, to check out the horizon, find it more alluring, and take off. Not fast, but fast enough. Magib's powerful but stubby legs were not long enough to keep up.

The horse took off, up and over the dunes while I remounted and pointed my camera at the two of them. One stallion, fast disappearing over the distant dunes, one stubby Egyptian guy, running in the deep sand as fast as he could, losing ground with every step. I was laughing so hard I could hardly hold the camera.

A few minutes later, the stallion came to a halt on the top of a distant dune, a lovely silhouette, his mane rising in the wine.

It took quite some time, but eventually Magib appeared, slowly approaching, and the two united. He leapt back on, and they took off. He waved at me to meet him at the gallop at some distant point ahead, and we both took off.

Anyone who tries to tell me horses don't possess a sense of humor has never owned a horse.

jhubbel

As the afternoon slowly wound down we rode again past the garbage, the kids, the old houses, the rotting carcasses of horses, the soccer games. We turned in our horses and I walked into the stable office to take care of business.

Then it got fun. The operator wanted to charge me the same amount for the Egyptian horse that I had negotiated for the Arab stallion. I told him no way, as I'd negotiated a deal for the finest horse in the stable, who had turned up lame. Different horse, different negotiation. He was frustrated. I didn't budge. We found a reasonable price, and then he went to great lengths to explain the credit card override. To which I said I run a business in the United States, and of course I understand the override. Again, the eyebrows get stuck in the ceiling. Cultural differences. It always tickles me, this surprise that a woman can know these things, run a business, know medical terminology, be independent.

My friend from the papyrus shop drives me to my ancient hotel downtown and on the way he informs me that Magib was telling him that I was a fine rider and had taught him many things. Now this was extremely sweet- of course Magib wouldn't be caught dead saying this to me, but it was nice nonetheless. What I appreciated was that Magib was willing to let me ride his stallion, which was not a tourist horse. That was very trusting on his part, and I owed him. Two way street. And yes, he got a very nice tip out of it, too.

jhubbel

Finally, I had one more night in downtown Cairo at the quirky Windsor, and an early morning departure. I did learn a tough lesson. DO NOT bring your Egyptian money back to America. No one will change it for you here. I cannot find a single bank or facility which will take mine, so I still have quite a few, a bad move on my part. Not a mistake I normally make. With most currencies not an issue but this one in particular, nobody wants Egyptian pounds. I'll have to come back to use them.

I can think of a few horses I'd like to ride again. Given that, it's a very real possibility. I've tucked the money away, and we'll see what happens. Walid and several of his friends have ensconced themselves on my Facebook page, so we are all in touch now. You never know.