Escaping the Gilded Cage

Stephanie and I wake at 6:45 A.M. and enjoy the hotels breakfast buffet. There are 4 flights to Luxor today and Stephanie is on the early one. My flight to Luxor leaves at 8:45 tonight, which gives me the entire day in Cairo. I simply need to escape the gilded cage of this luxury hotel. The powers to be on this tour seem intent on keeping us captive, and this morning, upon overhearing a woman in our group say that we are not allowed to leave the hotel, I slip away. There is a taxi kiosk within the hotel and I inquire about hiring a taxi and driver to take me into Cairo. Within 10 minutes, I have handed over $40.00 and am walking to the curb with Ernesto, my driver. He is 31 years old, handsome and I will learn that he is not as honest as his name implies. He maneuvers the taxi at break neck speeds through morning traffic; 45 minutes into the City. We slip in between lanes of cars with just inches to spare on either side. Horns honk and there are no distinct lanes. I reflect on morning drives to school with my 17 year old son John, and wonder which is the more stressful commute? Ernesto's English is passable, and baring a traffic collision, I feel safe. He asks about my family and I regret that I don't have photos of Alisha and Molly on my I phone. I do have photos of Art and John from our trip to the Galapagos and I share these with him. Ernesto uses his English, or lack of English to his advantage. He speaks of the entrance fees charged to enter the Citadel, the Mosques, and the cost of parking. He talked about the government shops and how their prices are fixed with no commission given to the guides; implying that he will give me a straight deal. I learn that there was an incident last night in Cairo and that there is protesting downtown that we must avoid. I am not interested in going downtown, unless it is to look for a computer shop, but decide that this will be impossibly complicated and dangerous. (not because of the protestors, but because I am certain that whatever computer decision I make will be the wrong one, and extremely expensive.)

The cityscape on either side of our speeding car is punctuated with spires and domes silhouetted in the bright morning haze of this immense and smoggy city. Our first stop is the Citadel, a glorious mosque perched atop a hill overlooking all of Cairo. Its smooth dome reflects the sunlight and its spires reach skyward. Ernesto asks me for $250 Egyptian pounds, the equivalent of $50. He tells me this will cover all of my entrance fees, his half price entrance fees and the parking for the day. I immediately know that I am about to be taken and reluctantly hand over $300 Egyptian pounds (lacking exact change.) The entrance fee to the Citadel for a tourist is just $50 Egyptian pounds and I watch as Ernesto slips bas-shish (tips) to parking attendants and gate keepers throughout the day. He buys me a requested bottle of water and a mango juice that I don't want. There is a $25 pound charge into one of the mosques, but in the end, Ernesto keeps the change, giving himself a substantial tip. I am hesitant to write this, since I know it is making Art squirm, but I let it go and enjoy the luxury of being out and about with a private guide. The view from the Citadel would be breathtaking if not for the pollution. I have packed a cut velvet scarf with beading at both ends and cover my head when we enter the mosques. The scarf seemed to meet with Ernesto's approval and he adjusts it upon my head and smiles. He insists on taking photos of me every few minutes, assuming that this was what I want. I am eventually able to make him understand that I don't want photos of myself in front of every landmark but wish to take my own photos of the mosques, their ornate grills and their beautifully carved doors. The Citadel is a walled complex of mosques and museums and we spend the better part of two hours there. At one back gated entrance, security guards question Ernesto at length before admitting us. When we retrace our steps, he instructs me to say that he is a friend of my husband, should anyone ask. We return to the car and drive into a Christian district. A locked gate swings open, money exchanges hands and we drive into a Christian cemetery, crypts lining the narrow dirt road. Children play in the road and women wearing Hijaabs (head coverings) and Abayas (traditional long dresses) walk the narrow dirt labyrinths between the crypts. I learn later, that many of these people live there, for shelter and to watch over the graves of their ancestors. We park and walk into a Christian compound with a church honoring Saint George and the Dragon. The area is not particularly picturesque, and I am amused at the crude contemporary paintings and mosaics of St. George and the dragon. Ernesto seems disappointed that I am not more enthused, but I am anxious to move onto the Khan-al Khalili, the market place in old Islamic Cairo.