On that note, my otherwise awesome photos of Metruh cannot be posted.
The city seems the same, with more tanks and security forces, and everyone on edge. Funny how life goes on amidst the semi-chaos, people seem incredibly malleable to the circumstances. The street markets are open all morning when people come to stock up on produce and supplies, then curfew begins at 3 pm. Chris nor I feel unsafe personally, though slightly high on adrenaline due to the near-chaos that could potentially unfold at any time (we remain firmly in denial).
Tanks from our hotel balcony, Hotel Hamada
I did meet with several army officers (the police had disbanded at this point, and would be of no use to anyone), who put on their most formal airs as they assured me they would go to every length to find the camera. In such a place where secrets cannot be kept, and everyone is connected by less than 6 degrees of separation, it seems actually likely the camera would magically turn up, "found" on a street corner or some such agreeable excuse. To my face they were all extraordinarily polite and treated me with incredible kindness, though I could tell they did not want to deal with my silly camera loss during such intense times for the government.
Metruh itself is a summer hub that swells to an uncomfortably crowded place along with the heat, and with inflation to boot. There are plenty of hotels and restaurants along the waterfront, as well as the first 3 or 4 streets of town, though most of them are closed as this time. People are absolutely baffled to see us, first because we are tourists here outside the summer season, second because we are crazy enough to travel by bike, and thirdly because, hello! there's a revolution afoot!
We checked in to Hotel Hamada, where the owner, Joe, speaks English very well and is super friendly. His son lives in the US so he likes Americans a lot. But to be honest, I bet he likes all foreigners a lot. In other circumstances I would have been happy enough to enjoy his happy-go-lucky demeanor more, but my emotions were completely tied up in regret and sadness. I know its just a camera, an object, and replaceable (technically, although not anytime soon). But my memories are created with that black magic box and it feels like I'm missing part of me. Plus, I want to be documenting every moment, creating something that everyone everywhere can look at and understand more about what's happening at this little dot on the planet...
Lobby of Hotel Hamada, with the owner, Joe
So, after sampling pizza across the street (Egyptian pizza is so good!), Chris and I headed to an internet cafe and were surprised to find Egypt hooked back into the net. We signed online and immediately realized that our family and friends had been emailing, at first wondering our whereabouts, then gradually organizing themselves into a highly coordinated server list. Their emails no longer addressed us, but rather everyone else who may have an opinion or insight to our situation. Feeling a mixture of appreciation because we are loved(!), humor because everyone believes the media dramatization, and guilt for having obviously set off heart rate monitors across the US.... we very quickly wrote back to as many people as possible to assure everyone of our well-being.
Some two hours later I stood up to leave, paid my computer fees, and was stepping out to grab some water, when the sudden entourage of policemen appeared, forbidding my exit. Apparently they'd been there quite some time, reading our emails and computer screens from the main computer. When Chris finished they insisted we load into their truck and drove us to their nearby compound, at this time blockaded and full of officers. The men were all young, wearing t-shirts and jeans, and armed with rifles, though completely unintimidating. We were led into a small room with a couch and chairs, asked to sit down, and "questioned" for about 5 or 6 hours by two men. I say "questioned" with some hesitation because really the men were friendly and for the most part our conversation was like any other, we learned about them and their families, they learned about us and our adventure.
Occasionally one or both of them would leave to "check up" on something, then come back and pepper us with demands such as "what do you know about the Muslim Brotherhood?" or "tell us about guns", as if they were following some sort of required protocol. We laughed the entire situation off, how ridiculous. After a few hours we began to grow tired, ready to go back to our paid hotel room, though they wouldn't let us leave quite yet and apologized. Then, they asked what sort of pizza we like, and ordered us a vegetarian pizza from town! Chris didn't feel too comfortable with them buying us dinner, but hey I say they stole at least 5 hours of my time, and I'm worth the $4 that pizza cost. Plus, like I said, Egyptian pizza is delicious.
Exhausted from a long "interview"
So we slept soundly in our little private room, upstairs at the Hotel Hamada. After checking out and saying goodbye to Joe, we biked up to the edge of town where the bus station is, hoping to find seats on a shared taxi van to Cairo. For some time the men at the station were cordial with us, agreeing to put our bikes up top of the van. Like vans all over the world, they don't leave until they are full, which can take all day. Ten hours later we were still waiting in the van, really hoping to believe they would still make the journey, even though of course almost no one is heading to the capital city.
Around 8 pm and well after sundown the men approached us and told us to get out, they weren't going to Cairo today. What?? We almost couldn't believe it. Luckily, a friend of the plain-clothed policeman who sat with us most of the day (and who we assumed was also police, especially since he speaks English perfectly) took pity on us and invited us to stay at his house for the night. The driver promised to reserve seats for us in the morning, claiming he would leave at 7 am. So we biked 5 km further out of town to our host's house, a modest and comfortable place. Khaled, we learned quickly, has a family of a wife and two children, who were both studying recitations of the Koran. We sat in the sitting space/guest area for some time (all homes seem to have a big room full of floor cushions, necessary for all of the family gatherings during holidays) drinking strong tea and nibbling on cookies his daughter delivered.
Dinner with our wonderful new friend who saved us from the bus depot
As it turns out, he's not a policeman, rather an English teacher who drives vans on the side for extra income! We were shocked and relieved to learn this, and now understood why his language skills are so good. We stayed up many hours talking, watching the news and commenting on the country's situation. He translated some of the Arabic programs, including the state-run TV network, which reported very differently from BBC and CNN.
In the morning we thanked Khaled and his family profusely, then biked back to the bus/van station, only to watch a van pull out just as we approached. Rats! We waited another few hours, really hoping to get out today. Eventually we had enough passengers to go, the engine began roaring, we took off.
Emblem on our service taxi, very creative
Several times along the highway our van was stopped, everyone ordered to disembark, and men with guns searched the group more thoroughly with pat downs and ID checks. Anyone without an ID could potentially be an escaped prisoner, and citizen militia groups took on the task of protecting their villages. Or maybe they were police. No one can say for sure. Traffic became very congested as we neared the capital, every vehicle waiting for a full search and more ID checks. No one gave us any trouble. Stupid tourists.
By late afternoon the sky was a cloudy, gray mess of haze. Our van pulled in to the station, we were all but kicked out, and immediately faced with Chris' flat tire. Feeling very jaded by the sudden turn of people, dirty and sick of our ragged attire, also exhausted and daunted by the task of crossing the city to find our friend's apartment, we weren't in our best light. In true Egyptian form, a crowd of men gathered around us, set on assisting with the tire repair, all but yanking the bike out of Chris' hand to do the job themselves. I can sit back and laugh at this, because in their hearts they obviously just want to help, or maybe are just bored, but either way its nice that people would take time from their day and are once again on our side.
As we biked away Chris and I noticed the tops of the pyramids poking up from behind a mess of hotels.
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