Maybe I should get out more

My brother is a doctor and he calls this morning on his way to work to have a chat. I make small talk for a few minutes and then we have the following exchange:

Me: "Yeah, so I'm having this strange back pain."

I can just hear him rolling his eyes

Brother: "Uh huh..."

Me:"No really, it's in my lower back, it burns and it's weird and well...I think it's my kidneys."

My brother laughs out loud and puts on his best Arnold Schwartzeneggar accent: "Is it a tuuu-mah?"

Me: "Be serious! I could be having kidney failure!"

Brother: "You are not having kidney failure."

Me: "How do you know?"

Brother: "Tell me where you are having the pain."

So I tell him.

Brother: "Yeah, your kidneys are no where near there. You probably just pulled a muscle. Been lifting anything heavy, sleep funny?"

Jeez. What's the point in having a doctor in the family if he won't take me seriously? Pulled muscle - ha! It's my kidneys...I can feel it. Maybe mine are positioned lower in the body than other people. It's possible.

Top 10 things I love about being back in Canada

10. Being close to family
9. Breathing clean air
8. Drinking water straight from the tap
7. Shoppers Drugmart and its aisles and aisles of beauty products under $5
6. Tim Horton's coffee and chocolate dip donuts (drive thru only) (I'm not getting out of the car)
5. Having a car
4. Access to delicious, affordable food from all over the world
3. Watching current seasons of Grey's Anatomy and Desperate Housewives (Don't judge me, you have some secrets too)
2. CBC radio. Particularly “Q” and "Arrivals" on C'est la Vie - not even the BBC can match the radio that is made in Canada
1. Universal health care (Admittedly, I've been out of the country too long to even use the system anymore but....it's not everyday Obama gives us a shout out so I felt it deserved to be on the list)

A world away from my world

So I'm back in Canada, in the small town where I grew up, sleeping in my old room and visiting my old haunts. It's a beautiful part of the world: wild deer in the backyard, countless oceanfront beaches only minutes away and nothing but green trees, blue skies and the river to look at out the windows of our family home. That and the cherry blossoms and wild flowers that have taken over my parents' property.

I made one phone call to a childhood friend (we bonded on the first day of Jr High when we were the only two girls in class wearing new dresses -- her out of duress, me out of a love for clothes. At the time, I told her it was duress. The alternative felt too much like social suicide) and within minutes, I was caught up on a year's worth of developments: births, deaths, divorces, affairs, poisonings, daycare politics, contaminated poop, exchange students, work take-overs and lawsuits. Yep. One phone call and I got it all.

Dusty, noisy Cairo couldn't seem more like a distant dream.

Yikes! has it been that long?

So, I've been receiving irritated messages from friends who say they've stopped reading my blog because I don't update.

That's a little harsh, I thought.

Until I went to the web and checked the last thing I posted. Umm. oops. Ok, I'll be more on the ball now, I promise!

Perception vs reality: Pakistan trip part 1

So I just returned from a fabulous, three-week trip to Pakistan. Considering the latest political developments, I realise that it is a rare sentence these days that includes "fabulous" and "pakistan" in the same breath.

Staying with relatives in the suburbs I was oblivious to the many suicide bombings, depositions of provincial governments and exchanges of gunfire that took place during the short time I was there -- and that was just what was happening in Sind and Punjab, I haven't bothered to mention the mayhem ensuing in the north and west of the country. I was even in Punjab during the lawyer's Long March from Karachi to Islamabad. While chaos engulfed the streets of Lahore, my cousins and I drove along Canal Road in Faisalabad, digesting our samosa's with a cool almond kulfi....

I don't know what I remembered of Pakistan before I went to visit but my latest trip was calm and fun and could not have been further from the scenes of shooting and chaos I had watched on CNN and Al Jazeera before I left. Life on the ground, for people just trying to do their shopping and going to work was business as usual. The feeling of "we're all in this together" was alive and well. The forces currently playing themselves out in the country were largely felt to be external.

People there see Pakistan as a pawn in someone else's game. They are living their lives the best they can until it passes -- after the dust settles, they all know that they'll have to live with each other.

The day before my return home, my cousin and I were crossing town to fulfill my husband's most heartfelt request: Sugar free Rabri from Dilpasand (it's basically a really fatty, artery-clogging rich cream dessert). The sun was blazing, the temperature in Karachi was in the mid 30s (celsius) and our car radiator ran out of water. We stopped at the side of the road and within minutes, three rickshaw drivers, a taxi driver and numerous by-standers pulled over to help us out (we looked quite pitiful: water was sputtering out of our hood at least 2-3 meters into the air as we gingerly tried to fill the over-heated radiator with our stash of cold mineral water.)

"Baji (sister) please step back! Let us take care of this, please stand in the shade, don't let your clothes get dirty. Don't worry, we'll fix it for you." And my favorite: "Don't take tension." Their efforts to help us were effusive and genuine and they worked together to get our car running again and waited for us to re-start the engine.

I waited for the rub -- just how much was this going to cost? I slipped my hand into my purse and whispered to my cousin, "How much should we give them?" She shushed me and shoved my bag away quickly, "Put that away! If you suggest giving money, they'll be VERY offended!"

They waited for us to get into the car and drive away, saying nothing to my blubbering thanks. After we'd driven off, my cousin turned to me and said that no matter what else is happening in Pakistan, it is common practice to help one another. We're all in this together.

Look, I'm not so naive that I am blind to the very many things that are completely dysfunctional in the place. It was just a surprise - a pleasant surprise - to see that this one thing that had been drilled into me throughout my life was alive in well in the country my parents left behind. While Pakistan is immersed in instability and poverty, it gives me hope that there are still some core values that endure and have withstood the pressures of those challenges.

Is it love or capitalism?

Valentine's Day in Cairo is celebrated much like all festivities in this crazy city: with gusto. Whole hog (halal hog, of course). Over the top. All the way.

Last year, we were at Al Azhar park (I cannot remember why...) and we were literally the ONLY couple not carrying a large gift bag with fancy writing saying some variation of: "I love you" "Be my sweetheart" "Love is Everything".

All the girls were dressed in red with matching hijabs as far as the eye could see. All the boys were looking gooey-eyed and adoringly at the objects of their affection. Some couples were holding hands and others walked two together, with a mindful sister/ brother/ unofficial (and ineffective) chaperon two steps behind. Boys were carrying multiple gift bags (obviously presented to their beloved only moments before) overflowing with gifts, red flowers and cheezy balloons that rustled and swished as they walked by.

A year later and here we are again on the day of lurv. Has the economic downturn put a damper on the festivities? Have people decided maybe they should take it easy this year and save their piasters for something more practical than heart and "XO" decals for their cars? Not a chance.

This afternoon I noticed a tree on Qasr-al-Aini (a super busy, 5+ lane road into central Cairo) wrapped in red polyester with hearts dangling from every available branch. The shopkeeper looked at me hopefully from inside his store when I stopped to admire his handiwork. I'm still not sure what he was selling but the tree in the red toga - while certainly eye-catching - did not inspire me to go in and empty my wallet.

Back in Maadi, Road 9 (the closest thing we have to a main drag) was mayhem. Traffic was backed up, people were honking their horns and crossing the road haphazardly, creating even more gridlock. And they all had this in common: red outfits, toting shiny red and gold gift bags with badly composed love-messages scrolled on them, holding ridiculously large stuffed animals and fistfuls of heart shaped balloons decorated with red ribbons.

All the restaurants were filled to overflowing and there was a definite (if absurd) buzz in the air. The shop across the road had an impressive 5 ft tall stuffed gorilla in red underpants on display.

I have to wonder what accounts for the zealous embrace of this particular holiday. Is it that Egyptians are innately passionate and have a lot of love to give? No doubt.

Or is it just globalization? A holiday invented by Hallmark to nudge the economy along through the post-Christmas lull.

Oh dear, that's not very romantic of me now is it? I need to make more of an effort to fit into the culture of my new home: Happy Valentines Wishes to one and all!

Now please excuse me while I rush off to see if that Gorilla in the window is still up for sale...

In the thick of it

Every time I go downtown, I realize what a crazy place this is.

Yesterday I had a lunch downtown at Taboula (deeelicious lebanese food. My fave is their luscious kibbeh nayar) in Garden City. By the time lunch wrapped up, it was about 3.00 (what can I say, I seem to lunch the same way no matter where I live..."rush? who's in a rush, lets have a coffee and stay a while") and the start of afternoon traffic hell. I walked to Tahrir Square and considered getting into a yellow cab. Black cabs are open, smell of gas -- both human and petrol related - and you can chew the air from the open windows as you sail along while your driver chain smokes. Yellow cabs are hermetically sealed and have lovely, non-smoking, air conditioning -- unless you get the driver we had the other day: "It is winter now. No air conditioning". They are also hard to get, notoriously unreliable and cost more. But malesh, at least you can breathe.

But then I got distracted by the ever looming Mogamma. There is always something going on in front of that huge wall of a building.

Here's a little sample of what was happening yesterday: amid the usual smattering of lovers sitting closely together on benches, tea sellers minding their bubbling pots and little boys playing football or jumping on the hoses left out to water the lawns, a blond woman, handcuffed to a really young Egyptian man was unceremoniously escorted by two Policemen across the square to a shady tree just under the Mogamma.

Had I been in Canada or Europe, I would have thought: "Don't stare, it's rude." But this is Egypt where staring is considered a fundamental human right.

I unabashedly stood and watched the scene. Lots of smoking, fist waving (the handcuffed detainees) and calm down gestures (the policemen). I couldn't figure out what the hell was going on but the blond woman looked like she'd been drinking and the Egyptian kid looked like he wanted his Mom. I tried to get closer but the policemen gave me a look that told me it would be better if I just walked away. So I did. I'm Canadian, after all. It doesn't take much to get me to mind my own business.

Directly in front of the main entrance to the Mogamma, an informal market had sprouted on the cool marble promenade. So I went and checked it out. Sunglasses 7.50 LE, watches 10 LE, an entire table with everything for 2.5 LE. Scarves, tops, cellphones, kitchen utensils -- you name it, they had it and it was all under 10 LE (about $2.00) And before you ask: OF COURSE I bought something. It would have been fairly retarded not to.

After I had my fill of the market and emptied my pockets of all remaining small bills, I looked at the gridlock, thought better of getting a taxi and made my way to the Metro.

I love the Metro. Riding it makes me feel part of the city. It allows me to observe life and the people with whom I share the city. And it's probably the most efficient, reliable, enviro-friendly (if that matters to you) way to get around Cairo.

This time, I was asked directions and - eureka - was able to give them. In Arabic, thank you very much. (God only knows what train the poor woman is on now...but I meant well.) The machine ate my ticket. Immediately, a uniformed Metro guy appeared and opened the machine to give me a look at the inner workings of the turnstiles before returning my ticket and shooing me into the stream of commuters heading to the platform. I pushed my way on to the women's car (much less crowded and infinitely better smelling) where little boys and women sporting new born babies hawked everything from safety pins to dress socks to dates stuffed with almonds. After about 20 hot but breezy minutes, I was back in Maadi. No chain smoking, no lead inhalation, no traffic-related near death experiences.

Of course, I must admit there's a charm in that type of journey as well. But I'll leave that for another post.