The Fellowship, or Spring Break (take 1)

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The beginning was spiteful. A 60 LE bag Angela had purchased that morning ripped in a fit of nerves and the taxi bit Helene’s pocket and didn’t let go until she had a large tear in the fabric.

Regardless, we were not to be deterred, and trooped off to the bus station, each armed with a backpack (Angela’s born in her arms due to the earlier rupture). We were giddy with what we were about to do. Two of us hadn’t quite told our parents that we had added Syria and Israel to the slightly more acceptable travel destination of Jordan. I was one of the two (of course).

The novelty wore off slightly when we arrived at the bus station and noticed we weren’t going to be the only white kids on our bus. In fact, 12 people that we knew quite well from AUC were also waiting to start their own epic journeys.

The plan was this: The bus we waited for would take us to Nuweiba on the Sinai peninsula in about 9 hours. From there we would catch a highly unreliable ferry to Aqaba, Jordan. That evening, we would continue the sojourn to Wadi Rum, made famous by the exploits and shenanigans of Lawrence of Arabia. A full day, to be sure.

I always try to stay up when travelling through Sinai. The views of the firmament are unparalleled and striking against the jagged foothills that rise up from the rolling desert. This time, I didn’t have to try very hard, because it was impossible to get comfortable. Ma’alesh. My inability to maintain lucidity resulted in some funny dreams, mostly because of the 1970s Egyptian movie played throughout the night.

We arrived on the coast as dawn broke, my lids pried open by a call for passports and the static of the neglected television. Another two hours later, and we were in Nuweiba. The four of us trundled off the bus, immediately accosted by taxi drivers. I couldn’t fathom that there was any place to taxi to in this shipyard. We located the line for tickets, which didn’t go on sale until 9, so we sat down to break fast. Specificity is required in situations like this, because you’ll be brought everything under the sun that you didn’t order, and then be expected to pay. So Mike and I followed our waiter to the stand where he was buying our breakfast (?) and forcefully stated what we wanted and what we didn’t until we were marginally satisfied.

As we much away on our potatoes and egg in the increasingly warm sun, allow me to introduce the cast of characters:

Mike: A charming gentleman who attends Georgetown University when he’s not traipsing through Cairo. Most definitely the comic relief in a group already endowed with good humor palates, Mike keeps those around him upbeat, even when things look dire. He speaks Lebanese Arabic, Turkish, and some Armenian because his parents are from the region originally. This talent saved us several times on the trip.

Angela: My best friend here in Cairo, the two of us have a slightly disconcerting ability to communicate simply using glances and pointed looks. She attends NYU and studies linguistics, with German and Arabic as her two languages of expertise. Intellectually curious and content to climb on Roman ruins all day, Angela is also a bastion of positivity when things go awry, and especially excited for new adventures.

Helene is Greek. Her mother is Greek. Her father is Greek. Her brother is Greek. And they are all named after Greek historical figures. Once you learn that Helene is Greek, you will also learn that she is all about art, and knows quite a bit on the subject, besides. She will make a fantastic mother because her vacation planning skills are impeccable, and she kept us frog-marching through Jordan even when we thought we would have like a break (we were wrong). Always willing to give me her left-overs, Helene goes to George Washington University in D.C., where she studies Art History and Middle Eastern Studies.

Me: See rest of blog.

Our group of heroes has by this point finished breakfast, over payed, and hunkered down to procure tickets. We met a guy named Hisham who studies in Cairo during the year, but was going home to Jordan for his spring break. Speaking in alternating Egyptian, Jordanian, and broken English, we were told to look him up when we got to Amman and swapped study stories.

And I’m sure we would have, had our ferry not left 3 hours early. We were on it, and he was not. By some stroke of luck, Mike and I had asked a police officer when the boat was leaving and where we should go. He said “Right now,” and we went. The boat was filled with people on their way to Umrah, or the lesser pilgrimage to Mecca. After much to-do, we sat down on the boat to Aqaba, me sinking into a black sleep of the dead tired, and our new friend on the wharf, another victim of Egyptian efficiency.

For photos related to this portion of the trip, see:

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2262937&l=227cf&id=919642

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