Yesterday, when my mom died, there was the most extraordinary sky, where the sea and the air seemed to fuse into one.
Photographers lined the boardwalk in Dahab, oohing and aahing over the magnificent colors and the abundance of beauty. And I bet they had no idea it was just my mother saying goodbye.
I’m going home for a little while. The world tour continues Jan. 27.
Pyramids. They’re every bit as awesome as you’d expect.
Temples, hieroglyphs and things older than Jesus.
Wonderful hikes, camel rides, diving and exploring, all with stunning scenery.
Dahab, a tiny slice of heaven at the Red Sea and my personal version of paradise. This is where I am resting, healing and getting strong again.
THE BAD
Smog, pollution and garbage everywhere. (This one is mostly directed at you, Cairo.) Also questionable sanitary conditions.
Constant harassment from vendors who won’t take no for an answer. My husband and I were tricked, followed, even physically assaulted by vendors. It’s exhausting, and it’s what tainted some experiences that should have been magical.
Aggressive men. The sexist and inappropriate behavior goes way beyond catcalls. I have been groped, slapped, smacked and fondled. Men deliberately walk into me and paw at my chest, grab my ass, reach between my legs. (Keep in mind that I have also been dressing modestly in pants, long-sleeve shirts and a scarf around my hair.)
Blatant ripoffs. For instance, the menus at restaurants often list a price in Arabic numbers, which is half as much as the inflated tourist price.
Bribes, payoffs and corruption. For instance, it is strictly forbidden to touch the Great Pyramid of Giza. So when I got close to it and a policeman ran up to me, I put my hands in the air and backed away to make it clear that I wasn’t doing anything wrong. The policeman said, “You want to touch it?” I said no. He urged me to put my hands on it. Again, I shook my head no. Finally he said, “You can touch it. It’s OK — just give me baksheesh.” (i.e. a tip.)
THE UGLY
A terrible incident took place when my husband and I toured a temple on Elephantine Island.
A security guard ushered my husband and I into the temple ruins. Then he separated the two of us. He forced my husband to go with a guide into another part of the temple, then he pushed me into a secluded corner. Before I could comprehend what was happening, the guard nudged his gun against my hip and tried to smash his rotten teeth against my mouth. I firmly said, “No!” but he tried again. I slid away and managed to avoid him until I was reunited with my husband.
Afterward, both the guard and the guide wanted a tip, which we ultimately shelled out just to get rid of them.
So yeah. That right there had me longing for the ladies car on the subway — and sad that I felt that way.
The crudely fashioned pendant was slightly tarnished and scratched. The chain was twisted. There was no clasp. And on the top right corner, where the “M” attached to the chain, there appeared to be a chicken foot.
It was nothing at all like the liquidy, flowing script I had imagined.
Someone later said, “Where’d you get that cheap hunk of metal?”
I said, “Well, I was told it was silver.” He laughed as he fingered the necklace, then pointed out that real silver has a stamp on the back. Silver also doesn’t bend.
“Also, what is that thing on the ‘M’?”
I said it’s supposed to be a lotus flower. The man giggled.
“Looks like a chicken foot,” he said.
I saw the Bedouin man again and told him that the necklace was a fake. He called his guy, there were some angry words exchanged in Arabic, then he calmed. When he got off the phone, he explained, “It doesn’t have a stamp on the back because this man uses such pure silver that there is no such stamp for it. It’s the fake silver that has a stamp, because they want you to think it’s real.”
He continued, “And it bends because real silver is soft. Fake silver has other metals mixed with it to make it strong.”
I didn’t want to get into an argument because it wasn’t worth it. The Bedouin obviously wanted to trust his guy, and there was no way I was going to win. I would just have to suck this up as a mistake.
I’ve been wearing the necklace for the past week, as I’ve been burrowing in another part of Egypt. The metal is already starting to rust, of course, but I love it anyway.
I feel like it actually does represent me and who I am right now. A little weak but pliable. Beautiful despite the imperfections. Authentic and precious in my own way.
Best of all, this necklace proudly declares my name for all the world to see: Maggie Chickenfoot.
I am burrowing.
I tend to do this every winter. For the longest time, I thought it was seasonal affective disorder. Then I moved to the California desert, which gets approximately 500 days of sunshine per year, and I realized I no longer have an excuse.
Now I’m starting to think it’s the natural rhythm of humans. Or maybe it’s just the natural rhythm of me — holing up, turning inward and building a cocoon before I have the energy to break out again.
What surprises me is that I have to still do this while traveling. I mean, here I am out in the world … I should be going places! I should be meeting people! I should be doing something!
Instead, I am void of ambition. I am mentally and physically broken down. I have some family issues going on, which leave me feeling vulnerable and imperfect. I am lonely and a little sad. Plus, I recently got over a case of worms and parasites, and the 17 mosquito bites on my face are only now starting to heal. I am exhausted.
So I am holed up at El Salam Yoga Camp in Dahab, Egypt.
This is where I am resting. I am jogging on the shore of the Red Sea. I am getting lost in hours of yoga. I am reading and catching up on writing and making confessions in my journal. I am playing with puppies and squeezing kittens. I am thinking.
I feel guilty about all of this, like I should be doing more, traveling further, volunteering for somebody somewhere. Instead, the biggest accomplishment of my day is making soup.
Dakini, the woman who runs this camp, gave me a little squeeze around my shoulders and assured me that I’m doing exactly what I need to be doing.
“Get strong,” she said. “You have to honor yourself. Realize that by helping yourself you are helping the people around you, and ultimately that helps the world.”
Soon, I hope I will find myself with the ability to move on and have more meaningful experiences and adventures.
But now, I am burrowing.
Before I arrived in Egypt, I imagined it in neutrals. The dirty khaki of Cairo. The warm, beige sand of Giza. The glow of ancient gold.
But now that I’m here, all I see is blue.
