The previous chapter will be posted shortly--this is the final chapter in Cairo, right after our bus ride from Dahab, which you will be able to read all about as soon as I post it.
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After our fifty-seven hour night bus ride-which included seven security checks free of charge!-Lisa and I found ourselves in Cairo at dawn, listening to the recycled tunes in the Four Seasons lobby, waiting for the sun to rise. I printed my itinerary from the business center, just in case. It is Egypt, after all. Whent the sun did rise, we cabbed to Cilantro and got a tiny, expensive breakfast. Lisa was staying another few days, but my plane was scheduled to leave in a few hours, so we walked through the empty Zamalek streets to the President Hotel where we showered, dressed in our cleanest dirty shirts, and re-packed.
My wonderful, $7 Andiamo suitcase and I took the first taxi we saw to the airport, about a 45 minute drive. I could barely keep my eyes open, but I tried to pay attention to the expanse of Cairo below me as we sped toward the airport. Cairo is a brown city, like it rose of the dunes and never managed to shake off the dust. It leaves your feet brown, your palms dusty, and your skin clogged. The thick smog seems less to have settled than to have risen from the ground, kept close to the rooftops by a general languidity, a heat that is too lazy to rise into the atmosphere. The airport, too, feels brown and dusty, sleepy, and as I handed the last of my pounds to the cabbie, I felt a tingle of excitement at the prospect of a warm, clean shower in Frankfurt.
I walked to the check in gate for Austrian Air. I was the first one there. I felt svelt and well-travelled in my long, terra cotta skirt, my chic, borrowed jacket, and my tidy, rolly suitcase. The gate opened and I stepped up to the helpful looking man and passed over my passport and itinerary. "I have an e-ticket," I offered in my smoothest voice. He typed away for much longer than necessary. He called someone else over. There seemed to be a problem. "Ma'am, we don't see your reservation in our computer, so if you'll take a seat, we'll check and get back to you." "...you don't see it? Well, I do have one, because it's here on the itinerary." I gestured toward the itinerary. They repeated their offer "It seems your reservation has been ccanccelled. We'll do our best to rectify this." "Well...um...Is there a place to get a cup of coffee?" I asked. No, there was not, not until after you pass security with your boarding pass. Which I didn't have. Well, I thought, maybe I can get a 15 minute nap. I laid down on the metal seats.
Fifteen minutes and no sleep later, the same short, goateed man came over and told me that he was sorry, my reservation had been cancelled and there's nothing they could do. "What?" I was stunned. "Why was it cancelled?" "You used your free miles on this ticket, yes?" "...yes." "Well, you had a reservation on the 23rd, and you didn't show up, so they cancelled it because you have changed your itinerary after beginning your journey." "No, I'm sorry, I think there's some mistake. I never had a reservation on the 23rd. My reservation, AS you can SEE," I pointed dramatically at the itinerary, "is for the 27th. Today. Al-yeom." "Well, our computers say you were supposed to be here on the 23rd." "Well, then why does this itinerary, which is FROM UNITED AIRLINES, say that my reservation is on the 27th?" He shrugged. "I don't know ma'am. Next?" "Wait, wait, wait, what am I supposed to do now?" A sickening wave of anxiety washed over me: I could be stuck in Cairo another day, another night, and I really just wanted to leave, to get on the plane and go, go, until I landed in a country where the customer is always right. "Erm...go talk to the Austrian Air representative." I stared at them, infuriated. "Which is....where?" He yelled at the tall man next to him, "Ali, take her to the sales office."
Ali seemed nice enough, and he also seemed very confused at my state of fury and confusion. "Is there a problem?" he asked cheerily. "Iowa. Fii mushkila." "Ahhhhh! You speak Arabic!" This seemed to make his day. He whistled as he led me out past the security check I had already passed once. I was not in nearly as cheerful a mood. Up the stairs, down the stairs, past the crowds, to the Austrian Air office. I walked in with my trusty Andiamo.
The woman behind the desk leaned forward, clicking her long nails together as she talked to a tall man. "Begad?!" she lilted. They continued to have a long, fascinating conversation about her cousin's wedding. I tapped my foot and glared at her. She turned her head to me. "Yes?"
I explained the situation. She typed with her long nails on the keyboard, tap tap tap. "Erm, you did not show up for your reservation on the 23rd, so they have, erm, cancelled your reservation."
"I never had a reservation on the 23rd." I showed her the itinerary. "My reservation is on the 27th, today, to Frankfurt. This email is from United Airlines." I pointed at the United logo. I was holding back tears of exhaustion and frustration.
"Yes, erm, I do not know, but you do not have a reservation, and there is nothing I can do. You have to, erm, call the United representatives in the US, yes?" She looked at her watch. "But I think it is very early in the US and it is also the weekend, so probably you will have to wait to call them because they are not open now."
I looked at her without forgiveness. "So what am I supposed to do, sleep in the airport for two days? Do you have a solution?" She stared at me. I continued, whimpering, "Can I at least try to call from your phone, since this is clearly not my fault?"
"Erm, no, we do not have international phone lines."
I was incredulous. "Isn't this an international airport? ...never mind. Where can I call?" My eyes were red, I could feel them stinging.
"Go downstairs to the pay phone."
"Where are the stairs?"
"Outside my door."
"Yes, clearly, they are outside your door, but which way should I turn when I get outside your door."
She raised a penciled eyebrow at me and pointed to her right.
I took my Andiamo and I stalked out of her office. I went down two flights of stairs and spotted the pay phone. I held up my credit card at the little shop: "I need a phone card. Will you take this?" "Of course!" "Ok, 10 pound phone card. Thank you." I handed him the credit card. "Oh...no, sorry, this no work."
I didn't try to argue, although I could think of a few words he should have heard. "Where can I get cash?"
At this point, a round, helpful man walked up, perhaps taking pity on my teary eyes, and directed me up the stairs to the ATM. I went up, past the crowds, to the ATM. I got 20 pounds. As I withdrew the money, friendly taxi drivers hassled me, "Taxi, taxi, taxi? You need taxi to Cairo? I have meter in taxi!" I kept walking and waved my hand too angrily in their direction. I returned to the store. I bought the phone card. I slided to the pay phone. I dialed my parents, knowing they would be up at 7 am on a Friday morning.
My father picked up the phone. I started crying as soon as I started talking, tears of exhaustion and frustration. "Daddy, I'm stuck in the Cairo airport and--sniff--they say I don't have a reservation to fly to Germany and --sob--I can't call united because it's an 800 number and -- cry--I just want to leave *sob* this CITY." He was getting ready for work, but he put my mom on and I sobbed the story out to her, when the phone died. I bought another phone card and called again. The line was busy. I left a message saying I would call in ten minutes. There was no way they could call me.
I sat on my luggage with my back on the yellow tiled wall downstairs in the Cairo Airport. I felt alone. Men were gathered in small groups, praying, drinking tea, talking on cell phones. None of them offered to help. Even if they had offered me a cup of tea, I thought, how hard would that be? If I saw a stranger crying in an airport by a pay phone, I would offer her a cup of tea if I had one. (I didn't want to think about if this were really true or not. It probably wasn't. But it is now: If I see you crying in an airport, I will help you.) I felt them watching me as I sat there, tears gathering in my eyes and sometimes escaping down my cheeks. They stared, but they didn't move. The few women stood in groups and glaced over occasionally.
That's when I got out the Blackberry. It still had a bar of charge left. I emailed Fares and my parents, and not two minutes later, my mother wrote back. She was on the phone with United, sorting it out. 15 emails later, she wrote back: go check in at the Austrian Air office, it should be ok.
I walked into the Austrian Air office and sat down defiantly. "Please check my reservation again."
The woman clooked at her nails and then started tapping. "Hmm, yes, erm, Range? Yes. So...this ssays you never had a reservation on the 23rd!"
"...yup."
"That is so strange."
"Yup."
"Wellll, I guess...you can go through to check in now!" she chirped.
"Yeah. Great."
I walked up the stairs, outside into the dusty Cairo air, and back into the first security check. The man recognized me. "How did you get out without me seeing you?" I wasn't in the mood to explain, so I pointed vaguely in the direction of the other exit.
My mother sent another email: You should be going to the check in now. Sure enough, I was walking to the check in counter where this rigamarole first started. I got the same man, Mr. Goatee, at the counter. "I should be ready to go now. Please check."
He acted as if I hadn't just spent the last hour jumping through Egyptian hoops, calling overseas in a building with no international lines, and explaining that I didn't actually have a reservation on the 23rd. He acted as though he'd never seen me. Maybe he didn't recognise me with the red, puffy eyes. "Oooooh, your bag is 12 kilos. You will have to check it."
I looked at him blankly. "No. I am not checking this bag. it's 1 or two kilos over? I could take my shoes out and carry them and it would make the weight. Plus, last time I checked my carry-on, you lost it."
Mr. Goatee shrugged, "I am sorry, it is too heavy."
"Ok, let me take out the things that will break." I took out my camera, lenses, and headphones. "Now is it underweight?"
He looked puzzled. "Well ... I will check it through to Dulles."
"Wait a minute, wait a minute. I have a 20 hour layover in Frankfurt."
"Yes, it is rather long."
"You want me to spend 20 hours in Frankfurt with no change of clothes? You want my bag to sit in Frankfurt for 20 hours? You think it won't get lost sitting there all day."
Mr. Goatee thought about this. Then he tore up the ticket. Then one last thought seemed to occur to him. "Well, you shouldn't have wheels on your suitcase. That is a problem."
"They come off."
"...oh. Can you take them off? I mean, I just don't think the lady at the gate...she won't like it if it has wheels, maybe she will make you check it. I just want you to have a smooth entry."
I took the wheels off.
"Oh..." he handed me the boarding passes for my entire trip back. "Have a nice flight."
I didn't say anything. I walked to the gate. 20 minutes later, they called for boarding.
The lady at the gate? Was Mr. Goatee.
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The rest of the trip was seamless.
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