The ferry ride - after persistent demands of what-is-in-that-case, now I have about 80 fans, all crowding around me, videoing me on their cell phones, clapping, laughing. Finally I have met a woman in this place where women are kept so far away; a big, loud, charismatic grandmother in beautiful draping clothing and headscarf. She kissed me on the cheeks, pulled on my shirt and sweater, tugged my jewelery, poked at my lipring, talking to me in an entertaining steady stream of Arabic the whole time. She taught me how to ululate - you know that sound, shrill and like a slow rolling of "rrr", but with a soft tone? - side to side with the toungue, not up and down like I had guessed. She clapped and ululated while I sang, then after the yelling and applause, took me by the hand and led me around the ferry, trying to help me with my entry stamp to Egypt (which I already had, but it was a nice gesture). Welcome!
Egypt on a Friday afternoon - The sun is warm, the sand is dry, the mountains are quiet and sharp. In the bus depot, the huge machines lie sleeping. A driver prays on carpet. Few people work on Fridays. I have three hours until the bus to Dahab stops in. I look up to cross the street. A car passes once in a while. I squint from the glare, skip across the pavement, feel the heat change over the black tar. The large open air cafe has only a handful of people, speaking quietly or watching TV in different corners. The worker has been frying onions, there is basil growing in planters. I have never been hungrier. I walk back to my pack sitting at my table. I breathe in the stillness and the warm afternoon sun.
Egypt on a Friday afternoon - The sun is warm, the sand is dry, the mountains are quiet and sharp. In the bus depot, the huge machines lie sleeping. A driver prays on carpet. Few people work on Fridays. I have three hours until the bus to Dahab stops in. I look up to cross the street. A car passes once in a while. I squint from the glare, skip across the pavement, feel the heat change over the black tar. The large open air cafe has only a handful of people, speaking quietly or watching TV in different corners. The worker has been frying onions, there is basil growing in planters. I have never been hungrier. I walk back to my pack sitting at my table. I breathe in the stillness and the warm afternoon sun.
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