This weekend I returned to Alexandria because an old friend of Professor Pontbriand, one of my history professors at UMass Dartmouth, lives there with his family, and he kindly invited me to stay with them.
My adventure actually began on Wednesday afternoon. I took the four o'clock bus back to Zamalek, and Drew and I tried to take a taxi to Ramses Station in order to buy tickets for Friday. (Drew and his roommate, Mazin, also planned to go to Alexandria.) The taxi driver must have misheard Drew because he took us to the Ramses-Hilton Hotel instead of Mahata Ramses, or Ramses Station. The taxi driver told us that the station was wara, or behind us, so we started walking in that direction.
Since guys are terrible about asking for directions, I had to cajole Drew into asking a guard or two where the station was. When I saw the 6th of October Bridge, I realized that they had sent us in the exact opposite direction. At this point I was more or less drowning in my stress and I felt my blood boiling. I hated Egypt with every fiber of my being. Egypt was the bane of my existence. Getting train tickets should not have been this complicated. We didn't take another taxi because I was afraid that the next taxi would take us to the hotel too. We ended up walking back over the Nile to Zamalek, my temporary home.
That "adventure" wasted two hours. Stress was still eating me alive, and I knew that it wouldn't go away until I had my train ticket, so I asked the receptionist to write down my destination, and I tried again. Keep in mind that it's dark out, the city is one big traffic jam, I'm alone, there is no effective 911, and I can't communicate with the taxi driver. The driver tried to get there by weaving in and out of narrow, sketchy side streets, and I had no idea where I was. I think that he wanted me to get out of the taxi and walk the next street over to the station, but I wasn't getting out of the taxi until I saw the train station with my own eyes.
Honestly, I was so nervous that I felt my pulse in my throat. Just as I decided to call my Arabic professor for help, I saw the train station, and I was flooded with relief. I got out of the taxi, walked into the station, and asked the guards at tourist information for help. Sure, they pointed me in the right direction, but actually purchasing a ticket turned out to be extremely difficult.
Before I came to Egypt, I learned that Egyptians don't form lines. I hadn't experienced that until I tried to buy a ticket. I waited behind some women that were getting their tickets, and people kept cutting in front of me. It was frustrating, but I was still working up the courage to approach the counter. Fortunately, an Egyptian guy who must have been watching and laughing helped me out. I was wary when he offered to help, but five minutes later, I had three tickets to Alexandria. Then the same guy approached me again and asked if I would like to be his friend. I felt incredibly awkward. Thankfully, my "just say no" training kicked in, so I was able to get out an "I'm sorry--no."
I typed "I made it back to Zamalek without any incidents," but this isn't entirely true. As I exited the station, men were pestering me left and right to take their taxi. Of course they were all trying to rip me off. Finally one man said he would take me back for 15 pounds, which is 5-10 pounds (or $2-3) too much, but at that point I didn't care. He started to climb into a car, and my immediate reaction was "Da mish taxi," or "That's not a taxi." It was just some random car. I more or less power walked away from him, found a black and white taxi that had just dropped off some people, asked the driver if he would take me to Zamalek, and hopped in. The taxi ride home was uneventful, Alhamdulillah, praise be to God.
Thinking about my adventure on Wednesday makes me feel jittery, but the reality is that I did it. Mission accomplished. +10 Self Confidence.
My adventure actually began on Wednesday afternoon. I took the four o'clock bus back to Zamalek, and Drew and I tried to take a taxi to Ramses Station in order to buy tickets for Friday. (Drew and his roommate, Mazin, also planned to go to Alexandria.) The taxi driver must have misheard Drew because he took us to the Ramses-Hilton Hotel instead of Mahata Ramses, or Ramses Station. The taxi driver told us that the station was wara, or behind us, so we started walking in that direction.
Since guys are terrible about asking for directions, I had to cajole Drew into asking a guard or two where the station was. When I saw the 6th of October Bridge, I realized that they had sent us in the exact opposite direction. At this point I was more or less drowning in my stress and I felt my blood boiling. I hated Egypt with every fiber of my being. Egypt was the bane of my existence. Getting train tickets should not have been this complicated. We didn't take another taxi because I was afraid that the next taxi would take us to the hotel too. We ended up walking back over the Nile to Zamalek, my temporary home.
That "adventure" wasted two hours. Stress was still eating me alive, and I knew that it wouldn't go away until I had my train ticket, so I asked the receptionist to write down my destination, and I tried again. Keep in mind that it's dark out, the city is one big traffic jam, I'm alone, there is no effective 911, and I can't communicate with the taxi driver. The driver tried to get there by weaving in and out of narrow, sketchy side streets, and I had no idea where I was. I think that he wanted me to get out of the taxi and walk the next street over to the station, but I wasn't getting out of the taxi until I saw the train station with my own eyes.
Honestly, I was so nervous that I felt my pulse in my throat. Just as I decided to call my Arabic professor for help, I saw the train station, and I was flooded with relief. I got out of the taxi, walked into the station, and asked the guards at tourist information for help. Sure, they pointed me in the right direction, but actually purchasing a ticket turned out to be extremely difficult.
Before I came to Egypt, I learned that Egyptians don't form lines. I hadn't experienced that until I tried to buy a ticket. I waited behind some women that were getting their tickets, and people kept cutting in front of me. It was frustrating, but I was still working up the courage to approach the counter. Fortunately, an Egyptian guy who must have been watching and laughing helped me out. I was wary when he offered to help, but five minutes later, I had three tickets to Alexandria. Then the same guy approached me again and asked if I would like to be his friend. I felt incredibly awkward. Thankfully, my "just say no" training kicked in, so I was able to get out an "I'm sorry--no."
I typed "I made it back to Zamalek without any incidents," but this isn't entirely true. As I exited the station, men were pestering me left and right to take their taxi. Of course they were all trying to rip me off. Finally one man said he would take me back for 15 pounds, which is 5-10 pounds (or $2-3) too much, but at that point I didn't care. He started to climb into a car, and my immediate reaction was "Da mish taxi," or "That's not a taxi." It was just some random car. I more or less power walked away from him, found a black and white taxi that had just dropped off some people, asked the driver if he would take me to Zamalek, and hopped in. The taxi ride home was uneventful, Alhamdulillah, praise be to God.
Thinking about my adventure on Wednesday makes me feel jittery, but the reality is that I did it. Mission accomplished. +10 Self Confidence.
No comments:
Post a Comment