غرق - to drown

To drown = gharaqa

I feel like I'm drowning, but in a good sense. Sensory overload is easily come by in this city, and daily life ranges between relaxing to happily overwhelming to utterly stressful back to calm and relaxing. Usually in the range of a few hours, and then the cycle repeats. My dad tried to encourage me by saying that immersion language learning should always feel like you're "taking in a little bit too much water." Truf, dadman, truf!

Over the past two weeks, I started work in my internship at a wellness center in Loran (near the bougie San Stefano area), began a direct-enrollment class in the university, and figured out how to buy ARUGULA SMOOTHIES from the amazing juice stand between my apartment and the tram. I also tried the famous melukhia soup (Jew's mellow soup… a great taste and beautiful green color but an odd consistency that's disconcertingly like, well, snot) and "swallow's tongue" soup (really just orzo pasta, butter, lemon and chicken broth, named for the shape of the orzo, but a jarring name, non?).

Direct-enrollment was a trip and, as we were assured by our director, is more cultural experience than academic. I understood little in my class - Cultural Relations between the East and West - and at the end of his swiftly-spoken lecture, when the professor asked me (and ONLY me!) what I understood, in front of all my Egyptian classmates, I said something that must have translated roughly to: "This class was interesting general case of looking at history of political marriages in the times of the history when east and west were not friends, yes." I can only guess it sounded like that, perhaps worse. Hopefully in the future I can string something better together.

Hints of homesickness have crept in for a lot of us, but nothing more than occasionally wanting certain, silly things we can't get here. (Driving, wearing tank tops in green, grassy parks, tofu) I wish at different moments that specific people could experience something with me. Megan, I wish you and I could run along the corniche (the sea coast), and Ashley and Dyl, you would love the famous library. Dane would enjoy the dusty, colorful "yacht" we rode today, and so many others - Brianna, Sara, Michael - would love the organic, cheap, overflowing fruit and veggie markets, in neighborhoods with names like Ibrahimiyeh and Cleopatra.

Today some of us took a trip to Nelson's Island, a small, deserted spot of sand and tufty hills off the coast of Alex. It's still home to tombs of British soldiers and apparently saw some battles in Napoleon's day. It was a strange and fun friday of riding in boats, gettin' sandy and feeling like castaways. Lunch was delivered to us by boat (the typical, but delicious, blackened fish 'n guts, fisherman's rice, tomato/cucumber/onion salad, bread, and tahini) and I still have sand in my ears from the constant wind.

We've also experienced Egyptian bureaucracy in its glorious inefficiency. A couple examples: Our entirely unnecessary crack of dawn trip to a government office to extend our visas brought us face to face with an entire office of people more concerned about breakfast than helping us (and we even had an appointment!) Turns out we had to wait for one specific man to arrive and , well, allahuaalam where he is. Probably also more concerned about breakfast than us. Fair enough. When he did arrive, he didn't do much, and they just called each of our names aloud and then we left. Hmm.

Second example of pointless bureaucracy, and everywhere having a million employees and very little actual help: Bought a new washing machine, after our resident director finally got our less than great landlord to agree to pay for most of it. (We currently have a semi-functioning half-automatic Japanese contraption in our bathroom. Aside from spilling gallons of dirty water on the bathroom floor and not rinsing or spinning any of our clothes, it's not terribly useful, so we're happy to see it replaced. Sorry 1972 Sanyo.) 

At Carrefour (Walmart, French/Egyptian style) when Robert and I decided on a washing machine, an eager attendant typed in our order on one computer, then took us to a cashier, then took us to an after sales desk, then to another desk where we had to wait for "exactly the right man" to come LOOK at our receipt and draw a check mark. Then because someone in that silly chain of events had torn off the top corner of the receipt, along with a couple of allegedly, apparently, important numbers, we had to do it all again, and wait at some different places along the way.

A long process, but entertaining, since while waiting, Robert and I talked about Ghadafi's death and the Ohio animal park fiasco in Arabic, which just made both events sound even more surreal. Surrounded by swarms (QUITE LITERALLY) of Thursday night Carrefour shoppers (Friday is the weekend, Thursday is getreadyforweekend day), and the ubiquitous, fun, way-too-loud Arabic pop music, it was one of those laugh out loud "whoa, I am not in my home" moments.

An entire entry should be devoted to topics like the traffic (Lord save us all), some of the fun and unique food, hilarious signage, revolutionary graffiti, and other shtuff, but perhaps later. It's time to head to my direct-enrollment class and mumble another ridiculous answer to my professor's questions.

The disaster left on the conference table, after our director from D.C. visited and surprised us with Costco bags of Halloween candy. Plus there was pizza. I can't remember why. 

Internship work, tea, and shisha at Rihani café in Camp chezar

The "dar," where we flop around on couches, study, drink nescafé, and avoid speaking in English except at 6 PM when we're always REAL tired.

View from our window of the Kuliat al-adab (college of liberal arts)

Drinking Sport Cola at an adorable seaside café in Abu Qir, waiting for the boat man.

Then he arrived, our barefoot boat driver.

Arrival at Nelson Island

Island of Nelson.

Our grilled fish picnic in the sand. We were pretty ravenously hungry, don't judge.

Some pictures of the homestead. This is the living room. Note the cozy chairs and red walls! Also, one of three balconies. However, also note the absence of a coffee table. The landlord took it and thought we wouldn't notice. We still notice.

View to the right outside my window

View to the left outside my window.