Egyptian Men Part 1: The Penis Story

Most bad decisions make great stories. My imprudent decision was to spend a few days traveling through Egypt by myself. As predicted, it resulted in some of my best stories of all time.

Egypt is Muslim country, so that means I spent most of my time interacting with men whether I liked it or not. Most of the time, I liked it. Other times, I liked seeing how tough of a chick I can be when I come into a situation where I feel threatened in one way or another.

My flight to Cairo landed around 5:30 am, and I found myself on a piece of crap bus that looked like it should have been donated to The Kidney Foundation back in 1955. The bus ride started the trip off in the same way that I found most of the rest of my solo adventures: free from the cares of safety, modernity, caution, and female company. As the bus slowed down to let people on and off, I noticed how adept all the men were at keeping their cool when entering and exiting a moving vehicle.






I miraculously landed safely on the ground in front of the Cairo Train Station, notepad in hand with a timetable of the trains going to Aswan, a city in southern Egypt. As I attempted to use my broken Arabic to buy my ticket, I realized that the guy selling tickets wasn’t interested in selling me the one I wanted. Luckily, a guy about my same age overheard enough of the conversation (Me: “La, la, la, la. Anna LAZIM rooh Aswan fee wahad sa’an, mafi lilit.”) to know what was going on. He looked like the kind of guy who would be in the military or some other organization that liked playing the hero, so he stepped up and did all the talking. Sometimes it’s nice to be a white girl who shows a little hair! Turns out, he was riding on the same train and managed to get us seats next to each other.

I thanked the guy for his help, and we boarded the train that was slightly newer than the rickety buses. The train began to move, and we each pulled out our breakfast. I shared my bananas and rolls with him, he shared his Pepsi and cookies with me, and we began the small talk that consumes nearly every train, plane and bus ride I’ve ever taken. The conversation lasted about an hour, then he moved on to more obnoxious topics. He asked me if people fart in America, and I explained that everyone does it, but it’s not considered polite. I don’t know where he gets his facts, but he said that fat girls fart all the time. I decided that I would change the topic to who he was going to visit after he exited the train. His face lit up and he announced that he was returning home to see his wife and daughter. He had been married for four years, and he loved his wife very much. I saw a picture, and agreed that she was beautiful.

This is the part where it got even more uncomfortable than questioning arbitrary fart facts. He said that his wife is very beautiful, but he likes to have girlfriends, too. He asked me if I wanted a boyfriend, and I told him that I wasn’t looking. I told him that I had been up all night and needed to get some sleep. I rested my head on the window, in the direction opposite of where he was sitting, then crashed. I woke up a few minutes later and he had put an unrolled sleeping bag over both of us. I thanked him, then dozed right back to sleep. Next thing I knew, his hand was on mine, moving it to his crotch. When I realized what had just happened, I jumped up, loudly said that he had a small dick, then grabbed my stuff and moved to another seat.

I spent the next several hours enjoying the view of the beautiful countryside, reading a book and dozing, all the while hoping that no one would sit next to me.




From then on, I was a bit leery of Egyptian men. I kept my guard up, and am happy to say that was my only penis experience for the remainder of the trip. After that, everything tamed down even though all the major characters in my adventure were still Egyptian men.

Egyptian Men Part 2: Money Both Talks and Flirts

I got off the train nearly 15 hours later, and made my way to my budget motel. As I entered, three young men were sitting in the small lobby. I announced who I was and that I had a reservation. One of them checked me in while another asked me if I wanted to take a tour bus to Abu Simbel and Philae Temple the next morning. Sure did! Turns out the bus left in four hours, so I thanked the guys, paid my money and headed to a bed belonging in the most budget of budget motels.

Maybe sleeping in my clothes detracted the bedbugs and lice I knew I was certain to make friends with during the short night of sleeping fully clothed on top of the covers, but I rested well enough to stagger into the lobby for my bus. The sites were extraordinary, the bus sleep was everything you expect, and I returned to the motel that afternoon wondering what would come next.

Turns out I didn’t have to wait long to find out. The 25-year-old man who organized my trip soon knocked on my door and asked me if I liked my trip. Yup! I loved it! He invited me to tea with him, and I wasn’t going to turn down an offer like that. I joined him for an hour of sipping tea and smoking sheesha. He described the village where he grew up, how he got his PhD in special education but found himself working in tourism because it pays better. Apparently money talks in every language! Being the good little tourist dude that he was, he asked me what else I wanted to do in Egypt. I quickly answered that I wanted to ride in a felucca.

One quick phone call and ten minutes later we boarded the small boat where two of his friends worked.

My tour guide unofficially worked overtime if a customer who sparked his interest let him put in the hours. He asked me what else I wanted to see, I pointed at a glowing mosque, and off we went on a walking tour of Aswan where he pointed out his apartment complex, favorite barber, and stopped at a shwarma stand where he bought me some dinner. We walked around the mosque, and he asked me if he could show me his favorite place to drink juice. How could I resist?

We drank strawberry juice on a restaurant balcony overlooking the pretty picture of Aswan at night. He invited me to visit his village the next time I was in town, and he told me that a month would be enough time to really enjoy all of it. A MONTH?!! I’m doing a two day tour of Aswan and Luxor, each with a million sites to see, and he offered me a month to kick it with him, is family, and their donkeys. Awesome! As sweet as that is, it’s an offer I just don’t see myself accepting. Instead of taking him up on that offer, I asked him if he had knew of anyone who could show me around Luxor. Sure enough, he organized a tour for me the next day, starting at 10:30 a.m. when I got off the train in Luxor.

Egypt Men Part 3: Asses of Both the Human and Animal Variety

Another sleepless night found me exhausted and cranky, and that’s just not a winning combination for the intensity of Egypt. The man who met me at the station pawned me onto his “brother” who took my bags and dumped me off on the next driver. Within the hour, I had four different guys as my driver, each one of them passing me on to his “brother.” Either it’s an entire family of lazy men or the term applies loosely. The fourth dude dropped me off at my first site, Karnak.

It was as spectacular as it should have been, but I didn’t spend too much time there because we had five other places to see before things closed for the night. After an hour of walking through the ruins, I hopped back in the car. We drove to Luxor Temple…then kept on driving!

“Hey, wasn’t that on the list of places you’re going to take me?” I was not happy, and it was pretty obvious.

The guy clearly didn’t know what was in store for him when he answered, “Later. Now I need to take you to a boat for you to cross the river. The ferry costs 10 Egyptian pounds. You will meet my brother in the boat and he will take you to other sites.”

Okay, that’s enough. I’ve been nice far too long, and being a polite customer gets you nowhere out here. “WHAT? Don’t you and all your ‘brothers’ need tips? I was planning on tipping a lot of money at the end, but instead I will call up my friend in Aswan and tell him to never use you or anyone in your family again. You are all very bad drivers and are rude to your customers. No one wants to be passed around between drivers, and this next man will be my fifth within two hours.” Knowing me, I’m sure I said a lot more than just that but you get the gist.

We ended up working out that I would take the boat and the new driver, but the 300 Egyptian pounds I paid for my transportation that day would cover the ferry. I also said that if I had more than one driver on the other side, I would demand all of my money back for poor customer service. I doubt I would have had any luck with that, but it felt good to say it.

The new guy, Saber, smiled at me as I trudged onto the boat. Any other time, just the thought of crossing the Nile would make me happy. As it was, my mood was shot. I might have given a snarly smile to the man, but nothing sincere. He told me to pay, and I refused, telling him to have his boss pay with the money I gave him.

We climbed into Saber’s car and began our drive to The Valley of the Kings. I sat there in uncharacteristic silence. He said, “I can tell you’re not happy.”

“No, I’m not. I don’t like the way your company has treated me.”

“I’m sorry.” We pulled over to Egypt’s ghetto version of Circle K. Great. Someone as professional as the last four guys. I didn’t really care, I was beyond that.

Saber came out with a grocery bag filled with drinks. He pulled out a cold can of Coke and a cold 1.5 liter water. He handed them to me and said, “Here. This will make you happy.”

Does it get any cuter than that? I don’t think so. From then on, we were friends. He drove me around with Madonna’s Immaculate Collection cranked up while I sang all the words to all the songs. He took me to the other sites on my Luxor to-do list, but substituted out The Valley of the Queens for a fabulous temple that he said was better. That’s cool with me! Show me a good time and I’m happy.

After my tour finished, he asked me which hotel I was staying at so he could drop me off. I surprised him by saying that I wasn’t staying the night, and I had until 11pm to hang out in the city, so anywhere he dropped me off would be fine.

That’s when it really got interesting. He offered to take me to his family’s home. I figured I had plenty of weird experiences in Egypt, so why not add one more? We stopped at an internet café so I could buy some more phone credit, then climbed into his friend’s truck that looked like it could cart a whole ton of impoverished farm workers to a field with unsafe working conditions.

We stopped off at a shack where Saber ordered two bottles of beer and a small bottle of Egyptian whiskey. He asked me if I drank, then changed his order to four bottles of beer and refused my money. Good man! Living in Saudi Arabia makes everyone a drinker when they’re on vacation!

When we slid out of the truck, we walked along a dirt road, past a donkey and a wheat field, then up to a rough looking brick mini-mall house. It was like four houses side by side, and none of them looked finished. Children played outside, then excitedly greeted their uncle as Saber walked up. His sister heard the commotion and opened the door with a small child on her hip. Her warm greeting and humble circumstances opened my heart even more to this sweet family. She offered us dinner, but Saber told her that we would eat later. We had some drinkin’ to do!

We climbed up her cement stairs, placing a hand on the wall because there was no rail and the floor beneath us was uncovered concrete. Children here learn to grow up tough enough to withstand the harshest housing conditions, but lucky enough to ride bareback on donkeys without parental supervision. The roof was wonderful! The ghetto fabulousness blew me away! Aside from the floor covered with dirt and straw, and the electric fence instead of a rail or wall, it was fantastic! The view made all the ugliness disappear. The illuminated mountain with the Valley of the Kings, Queens and Nobles made me forget all the beige dullness of the daytime scene, and the lush fields between the rooftop and the mountain brought the beauty of rural Egyptian life front and center.

After I had a couple, I asked Saber if I could ride his donkey. I’ve done a lot of things while tipsy before, but never rode a donkey. It was awesome! I’d like to try it sober sometime, too, but that will have to come another time. I got off the donkey and Saber asked if I had ever seen a sugar cane field. Nope! So off we went.

We felt the air cool as we walked past the tall, green stalks. We sat in a dry ditch together, then laid on our backs and pointed out stars to each other, him telling me the name in Arabic and me telling him in English. It felt like a summer night in the Utah, except for the sugar cane, Egyptian guy wearing a nightgown, and speaking Arabic. He got close enough for me to smell his faint body odor, then told me about his wife leaving him four years ago. I gave him a quick word of sympathy before I scooted away a bit. Then…yup, he said something about feeling something wonderful for me. That’s a great way to put the brakes on a nice evening. I thought it was coming, but was hoping it wouldn’t. Sorry, Saber. I’m not feeling it. Time to head back.

I made it to the train station, then waited with a random cab driver until it was time to catch my train. I boarded the train, found my six-person car, then the room filled up with myself and five Egyptian men. NO THANKS! One unwanted penis on a train experience is plenty for me! I threw a tantrum on the train conductor and he found me a new room with only one man in it. Then at the next stop, it filled up with four more men. Same complaint to the same conductor. We switched again, and the same thing happened! I was pretty grouchy and tired, so I think I might have been a little scary. Anyway, it worked out okay because he kicked some guy out of a three-person room, and let me share the small room with a German couple. They spoke wonderful English and we swapped stories before dozing off to sleep for a few hours.

The night finally ended, as did my wild solo adventures in Egypt. I was ready to call it quits, spend time with another American who could laugh at all the craziness this country so enthusiastically offers, and who I would like even if we didn’t have our own version of Middle East war stories to swap. I dragged my exhausted bones into a cab and headed off to the most beautiful sight of my entire adventure: my wonderful friend, Brenda, waiting for me at a fabulous hotel with a fresh towel and an empty shower!

Jamilla, Jamilla, Jamilla! (That's my Arabic for "Beautiful, Beautiful, Beautiful!")

My first week in Riyadh I spent a few hours engaging in the Saudi woman’s national pastime: shopping. There’s no much to do out here, so hoards of black-clothed women slowly walk through malls with expensive shoes, jewelry and handbags. For a culture that requires women to cover themselves with a black abaya every time they leave the house, I understand spending a fortune on anything that you can possibly show off.

What I didn’t understand, though, was all the fancy clothes. My practical side wondered why anyone would ever buy the one item that seemed to occupy more window space than anything: super fancy evening gowns. Why were there so many evening gown stores, and when would anyone ever wear them? I can’t imagine a Saudi prom, and even prom dresses aren’t as fancy as the dresses shown in the windows. They look like a whole bunch of eight-year-old girls got together and designed their dream dresses. I've almost been here a year now, and I’ve never seen anyone wear these dresses, but really these women could be wearing anything under those big abayas!

I recently went to a wedding and the evening gown obsession made sense. Needless to say, weddings here are a little different than in America. For starters, women and men go to separate rooms for the occasion. Without any peering men around, the women were able to strut their stuff and flaunt their cleavage. The abayas came off and I felt like I was surrounded with Arabian Nights Barbie dolls. The evening gowns actually DO get worn, and these women doll up as only repressed women can!

Their hair looked like Jasmine’s from Aladdin, thick, shiny and flowing down their backs, or piled on their heads with jeweled pins keeping it in place. Bling was definitely in at this party, and even knockoff jewelry of that size and quality costs more than I spend in groceries in a month. Their makeup could outdo even the most flamboyant of drag queens, and my four squirts of perfume was easily masked by perfume worn by women standing three yards away.

Instead of alcohol, people get drunk off of chocolate and Arabic coffee. After ingesting a pound of each, I felt confident enough to hit the dance floor. Marjukka, my Finnish friend, and I tried to dance like Arab chicks but no one was fooled. At one point a lady came over to me and asked me if I was American. Yup! She then busted out the classic John Travolta finger pointing move! Hahahaha! That’s how all of us dance in America, so I did it with her. All the women watching loved it!

As the women danced the night away, I climbed into a cab. I left at midnight, two hours into the party. At that point the couple still hadn’t said their vows, the dinner hadn’t been served and only one woman had fallen down from tripping on her gown. Too bad I had to work the next day. Even though I missed out on a lot of the fun, I’m glad I got to see all those fancy dresses put to good use!