Sacrificial Goats and Silk Pajamas

Losing my Ray-Bans in a South African mall was the first sign that my trip to Egypt would be an adventure worthy of an episode of "Survivor." The emotional rollercoaster began with a dramatic replacement purchase at Johannesburg Airport, a transaction that felt more like an organ trade than a simple exchange of currency for goods. Armed with new sunglasses and a mix of hope and trepidation, I boarded an Ethiopian Airlines flight to Cairo via Addis Ababa.

The flight itself was mercifully uneventful, a rare gift that allowed me to nap as we crossed back into the Northern Hemisphere. I captured every moment when I thought to do so given the once-in-a-lifetime nature of this trip:

In Addis Ababa, the adventure truly began. The airport, a labyrinth of construction zones and despairing facilities, offered a rank trailer masquerading as a bathroom. My flight to Cairo faced delays, pushing me into the relative safety of the Ethiopian Airlines lounge. There, I sipped on Ethiopian wine, which has proven as elusive as Bigfoot to source, and nibbled on their version of bar mix consisting of what appeared to be various types of grain. With departure monitors on strike and announcements a thing of myth, I stopped to buy Ethiopian coffee and then stood by the gate, hoping for the best.

Finally, a bus materialized to ferry us to a gargantuan 787 on the tarmac. Even in my exhausted state, I couldn't help but marvel at the sheer size of this flying behemoth. Once onboard, I witnessed a soap opera in the making: two Egyptian men had decided to upgrade themselves to first class without bothering to pay, leaving the flight attendants to deal with their attitudes that were reminiscent of both a diva and a chauvinist. It was a spectacle of entitlement and passive-aggressive conflict that could have been scripted by reality TV producers. The flight attendants' attempts to relocate them are met with firm refusal. The blatant sexism is appalling but I try to mind my own business as my heart feels for the beleaguered crew.

Meanwhile, Fake Wife, my travel companion from my community college days, had taken a route from the U.S. via London and was now waiting anxiously for me in Cairo. Lacking an international cell plan, she was reliant on airport Wi-Fi and growing increasingly nervous about being a solo female traveler in a city known more for its pyramids than its feminist credentials.

Climbing stairs in front of a 787 engine that could easily suck me in and pulverize my body.

Upon landing, I was immediately thrust into the bureaucratic gauntlet of a health screening for passengers from Sub-Saharan Africa. This was followed by the need to procure Egyptian Pounds for a visa, necessitating a detour to the airport bank. After being double-charged and standing in line three times, I finally secured local currency and my visa, all of which left ample time to text my ex—a decision I would come to question.

It was nearly 4:30 am Egypt time, around 6:30 pm back in California.

“I made it to Egypt,” I informed him.

His response was as dry as the Sahara: "That's good. Decent flight?"

"Actually, yes. Ethiopian Airlines is nice," I replied, including a photo of the airplane's interior and another of the lounge's bar mix.

"That looks like birdseed," he noted, before disappearing from the conversation. We would exchange sporadic texts over the next few weeks, grasping at the comfort of familiarity despite his new relationship, the emotional distance between us as palpable as Ethiopian bar mix.

Ethiopian Airlines lounge bar mix that some may say looks like birdseed.

With visa secured, I moved through customs and reunited with Fake Wife, who greeted me with a hug that was half-relief, half-exasperation. We Ubered to the Hilton Ramses, our driver rear-ending another car at a toll booth while playing traditional Arabic music. The statistic about car accidents killing more American tourists than any other cause flashed before my eyes.

I pull out my phone to email the tour company to see if we can rearrange our tour schedule given 5:00 am is fast approaching and the original plan was to be picked up at 8:00 am.

At the hotel, TSA-style security greeted us. We checked in and collapsed in our room on one of the top floors of this skyscraper hotel. Fake Wife donned her silk pajamas and kitty cat sleep mask, crashing in the king-sized bed that I was hoping to have to myself. I quickly laid claim to the master bathroom.

Before the trip, I had booked a two-room suite at the Hilton Ramses. This was mainly for the two separate bathrooms, given everything I’d heard about travelers' sickness in Egypt. There was a second adjoining room that acted as the living room with a sofa bed, but I guess Fake Wife really was my fake wife on this trip.

Unable to sleep, I made coffee and stepped onto our 34th-floor balcony. The surreal scene below was a mix of the Nile at sunrise, party boats blaring music, and the morning call to prayer. I noticed red liquid running through the streets and panicked.

Sunrise on the Nile sometime after the party boats cleared out.

I called to Fake Wife, "Uhhh do you think this is red paint or blood running through the streets?"

She jumped out of bed, mask askew, and peered over the balcony. Then it hit me—we’d arrived during Eid ul Adha, a holiday involving the sacrifice of goats. I'd seen this on one of those Anthony Bourdain-style shows. The streets were flowing with the blood of sacrificed animals, a sight both morbid and culturally significant.

Eid ul Adha celebrations commemorate the Prophet Ibrahim's sacrifice. The sacrificed goats are often shared with extended family members and portions are given away to the needy. As morbid as the sight is, I appreciate that the man doing the sacrificing doesn't allow the waiting goats to watch their comrade get killed.

I stood there in awe and confusion, coffee in hand, overlooking the sunrise painting the sky with hues of gold and crimson, I realizing that amidst chaos and uncertainty, there is beauty to be found in the most unexpected places. Life's trials often lead to moments of understanding and connection.

Fake Wife, however, had already had enough. Streets flowing with blood after a long journey filled with delays and a car accident were not what she signed up for. But, perhaps that's exactly why we should've expected it.

I checked my email for a response from the tour company without luck and headed to the lobby on zero sleep to meet our tour guide.

A jovial guide greeted me in the lobby, immediately asking, “Where’s your friend?”

“We didn’t get to the hotel until two hours ago, and we’ve both been awake for 24 hours. She needs to sleep,” I explained.

“Can you convince her to change her mind?”

“No. I’ve tried multiple times." She’s not the type to change her mind, especially after being awake for days.

I followed Mr. Jovial to an SUV and met our driver. The guide gave me a rapid-fire lowdown on everything.

“Have you drank any water in Egypt?"

“Well...” I respond knowing what the correct answer should be based on his tone of voice, “I read that hotels have water treatment systems, so I brushed my teeth and made coffee using water from the sink.”

“Don’t do that again. You read old information. Let me know if you start to feel ill. And take these,” he says as he hands me a punch-out-style pill package of medication I couldn’t identify "just in case." He then took the name to tell me that his name was Usama.

I shot Fake Wife a text to tell her not to drink the hotel tap water and wonder if she’ll see it before making a mistake.

Usama continues to explain, "It’s the perfect day to visit the pyramids of Giza because the holiday means no crowds, but we will rearrange the trip so that your friend can come with us to the pyramids since they are the most important landmarks."

"That's considerate," I think to myself.

The driver and Usama speak in Arabic while we commute through the streets of Cairo. I take in the architecture of a developing country and goats lined up on every other street corner. Then we pull up to what appears to be a police station.

“We have to register all tourists with the police.” says the tour guide to my confused facial expression. He asks for my passport, gets out of the car, and I await his return in the still-running SUV with the driver who doesn’t speak English.

The guide returns and I continue to feel bewildered by what’s happening.

“Americans are always confused by measures to keep them safe.”

“Huh?”

“All of my American visitors get anxious over the police. We had a terrorist blow up tourists several years ago so now the police want to keep them all safe so that we don’t get a bad reputation.”

“Oh.” is all I can muster up after a morning filled with goat blood and a police station after not sleeping for days while traversing the entire African continent from South to North.

I look out at the passing scenery - greenery, marshland, palm trees - and remember history classes in college. It makes sense that this is where a grand civilization would sprout.

Our first non-police station stop was an enormous statue on its side - the Colossus of Ramesses II carved in limestone. It is about 39 feet long, even though it has no feet.

Poor fallen Rames II.

The guide took my phone and started a photo shoot, capturing more images of me than I’d ever think to take. This was both annoying because I was hot and cranky, but also considerate given it's always tough to capture photos of yourself when you're a solo traveler.

Next, we visited what's been described as “a vast city of the dead.” - The Step Pyramids of Saqqara, particularly the Pyramid of Djoser. I was in awe of this ancient wonder, its history, and the vast necropolis surrounding it.

The famous Step Pyramid of Djoser is the oldest surviving stone building in Egypt. It's the center of a large mortuary complex in the necropolis. Little is known about the kings of Egypt in the Old Kingdom period, but the pyramids they created were statements of their power and wealth, the first of which was designed for Djoser, first king of the 3rd dynasty, by the world’s first named architect, Imhotep.. Imhotep designed the pyramid around the 26th century BCE.

All of the more recently constructed pyramids used technology created by Imhotep in this pyramid for Djoser in the then-capital city of Memphis.

It is believed that the pyramid held statues of the Egyptian gods and of Djoser himself and members of his family, including a life-sized sculpture of him seated on his throne. Beneath the pyramid was an underground structure of unprecedented size and complexity, with galleries and some 400 rooms, one of which I was about to visit.

Trying to look chipper on zero hours of sleep in front of Djoser Steppe Pyramid

The Guide hands me off to a local person who charges me to enter the pyramid. I'm annoyed that I'm consistently asked for money in this country, particularly when I'm capable of walking down a ramp alone. I look up in awe when I enter the main chamber. A night scene is depicted.

So, okay, maybe the shakedown was worth it.

I start to feel the effects of the heat and humidity reminiscent of the American South. The Guide asks the driver to open the trunk where he shows me an ice chest.

"If someone gives you water that has a broken plastic seal, do not drink it. Ask for a new bottle. People will fill used bottles and sell them to tourists, and then you'll get sick." He points to the thick plastic seal that shows that a bottle is new when he hands me one.

"Since your friend is not here, we will go to a carpet school where you'll see how we make carpets. The Persians learned from us."

I think about how ridiculous this is and how maybe Fake Wife had it right when she decided to stay and sleep at the hotel. I would later come to eat those words.

The Sakkara Carpet School is Egypt's oldest hand-made rug school. Schools such as this keep the tradition that's been around for centuries alive. Families send their children to these esteemed schools

Students are initially taught how to manipulate the wool or the silk fibers into knots. Once they’ve learned the knotting process and how to tighten the threads, the next step is interlacing them to form the picture that’s placed on the loom. Eventually, students who've mastered the craft can work on their own loom.

On this day, however, the school is mostly empty with the exception of a handful of children. The Guide explains that, given it's a holiday, children are home with their families. The children that are on campus today are orphans.

The school's headmaster walks me through the carpet-making process and then into a showroom filled with rugs that are for sale. I notice a loom in the corner where children are working.

Carpet School Showroom

"May I go watch how they're making a rug?"

The headmaster and my guide walk me to a large loom in the corner where children explain how a rug is made in Arabic, which my guide then translates for me. I ask questions about making knots, and then I'm told to sit next to the children on the bench facing the loom and try it for myself.

One of the students shows me how to tie knots a couple of times and then I try for myself. It was really loose. The student shows me again, and then I try a few more times. I give up for fear of whomever ends up purchasing this particular piece ends up with a shotty rug because of my lousy crafting skills. The student who had been trying to show me how to use the loom cuts off a few strands of yarn and ties a bracelet around my wrist. My guide shoots several photos of this moment.

There was no way that this moment could have been planned given we weren't scheduled to visit this school, particularly on a holiday when most everyone was away.

So perhaps, in the end, it's not just about the destination, but the journey itself—the people we meet, the challenges we overcome, and the moments of wonder that take our breath away.

I couldn't help but feel both grateful and sick to my stomach for every twist and turn that brought me to this place in both the geographic sense and place in life, including the meeting of a friend at the end of a community college hallway during the 90s leading to the moment when I see her wearing a hilarious silk kitty cat sleep mask, and then randomly ending up with an orphan's hand-made yellow and blue yarn bracelet around my wrist.