I wake up with a stiff back from a very lumpy, worn out mattress, but for some reason I have slept like a baby. No interruptions. I had put my head to the pillow and was out until 4am. I meditate in bed for a while and then write in my journal. I pull on my jeans and a long-sleeve, loose top and a saffron colored shawl (to respect the modesty of the local culture). Soon I’m at breakfast enjoying “fuul” (mashed beans), one of their main dishes here, goat cheese and day-old bread. I wash it all down with warm black coffee while I listen to the melodic “call to prayer” that happens five times a day, and watch flocks of birds swirl through the hazy, drizzling gray sky above the hotels and apartment buildings with their filthy rooftops cluttered with satellite dishes, wood, metal, and garbage. (I am told that the rooftops in this area are home to many squatters, which explains the large black trash bags and other odd things that clutter them).

I move my chair closer to a large open window to breathe in the fresh air that last night’s long rain has bequeathed us. I am the only guest here, except for an elderly New Zealand woman. I engage her with a warm smile and she returns a “sabah al-khair” (good morning), then walks over to me. She is wearing an all-white outfit – nurse-type pants and a loose fitting, long-sleeve top.

I ask her if she is traveling alone. “God no. Not in Egypt! Or anywhere. It’s too dangerous. Besides the danger, I wouldn’t know where to go or what to do.”

“I understand.”

“I’m traveling with an Australian/New Zealand tour group. But there is one woman in our group who is 74 years old and she travels alone all the time to foreign places and teaches English. Could you imagine doing that? Especially in a Muslim culture?”

I smile. “I would like to meet her.” It makes me think about my future, because I always feel like I have to travel now before it’s too late — before it becomes really difficult to leave the States with the ever-increasing travel restrictions, and before old age sets in and it simply gets too tiring to leave home and deal with all the challenges. But here is a woman who doesn’t seem to let those things stop her. It’s encouraging.

I’m laying in my bed, exhausted from my twenty-two hour journey. I was really looking forward to a nice hotel room – and with a name like The President Hotel and a modest recommendation from my Google hotel search, I thought I was in good hands. When I pulled up in front of the architecturally beautiful hotel that looked like it was built in the 1930’s – an old European building with a Middle Eastern flair – I got excited, since I was going to stay here for two nights before moving to the Cosmopolitan, which Hameed had recommended for the rest of my stay.

As I walked through the doors, I was met with a warm smile and friendly greeting from the doorman. Wonderful. Hameed hadn’t shown, but I had made it safely from the airport to a decent looking hotel with friendly, helpful people. The bellboy took me to a fabulous old European-style elevator with two wooden doors, and pressed the button for the second floor.

But as soon as he opened the elevator doors, the charming atmosphere of the lobby abruptly faded. The bellboy led me down a grimy hallway to room 207, and when he opened the door to what would be my home for the next two days, I almost gasped. It was utterly disgusting! Dirty walls, and I mean DIRTY – they probably hadn’t been painted in twenty years. The air reeked of toxic cleaning fluids and bug spray and was musty – perhaps from the big old brown chair, or maybe the faded bedspreads or the heavy drapes loaded with dust. The toilet leaked and never stopping making noises all night long. The towels were old, stained, and looked more like rags. Oh well, I thought, I can deal with it, since it’s only for two nights. It’ll be a good humbling experience. ;0

Lufthansa Airlines – Frankfurt – Cairo

On the second leg of my flight I am seated next to an elderly Iranian couple. As it turns out, they don’t speak a word of English and ask for my help filling out their entry visas. I’m translating for them using English and intuition and large doses of sign and hand language with the flight attendant.

Taxi ride to hotel:

I arrive at the airport and look for someone carrying a sign with my name on it. Nothing. I keep looking. Still no one with a sign saying “Lisa.” I head to baggage claim and then out the airport doors with my luggage. There are more men waving signs with people’s names written in large, bold, letters. But again, no Lisa Haisha sign. All of a sudden, I don’t feel so safe anymore. Where is my nice, trustworthy Hameed?

Within seconds I am bombarded by taxi drivers and tour guides: “Hello Miss. Welcome. Do you have hotel? I know good hotel with good price. I can do everything for you. You are like my family. I will love to invite you to dinner. You can meet my wife and children, they will love you too. We love the American people, they are very good. I can take you everywhere you want to go. How long you staying Cairo?”

I just keep walking, while saying, “No, shukran.” (thank you). “No, shukran. No, Shukran.” I don’t want to give up on Hameed but I may have to. Finally, after about twenty minutes, I accept one of the taxi drivers’ invitations for a ride to the hotel Hameed told me about. There are no vacancies for another two days. I ask my driver to take me to another hotel I had looked up on the internet as a back-up: The President Hotel, supposedly, a three-star hotel.

During the half-hour trip my driver, Mahmood, is hell-bent on teaching me basic Arabic. I had told him I was here to learn the language, and his excitement is bubbling over. “Baba. Can you say, ba-ba?” I repeat, “ba-ba.” “Good! You will do very well. Salaam aleikum.” I repeat, “Salaam aleikum.” “Ahh, very good …’

Over the course of my twenty-minute taxicab lesson, I learn the following words that Mahmoud feels are very important for my stay here in Cairo:

madrassa — school

baba — father:

‘um — mother

shukraan - thank you

salaam aleikum – hello

sabah al-kheir — good morning

insha’allah – God willing

allahu akbar – God is great

al hamdullilah – peace be upon you

Great! Now I can impress my teacher on my first day.  But all I can think about is getting to my hotel room and taking a shower and collapsing. Insha’allah!

Lufthansa Airlines – LAX- Frankfurt

I’m in seat 48A, sitting next to an elderly couple headed for Florence, Italy. We chat and they are perplexed when I tell them my final destination is Cairo. “Don’t you know we are at war with the Arabs?”

I smile politely. “I’m going there to learn Arabic, not to get involved with politics.” They give me a strange look. “Arabs behead people.”

“Terrorists behead people.”

“There are terrorists all over the Middle East. Here, read this.” The wife hands me a newspaper article about over a hundred people killed in Iraq the day before.

“Oh well,” I reply. “If it’s my turn to go, it’s my turn to go.”

They go on and on, trying to help me understand I could be on a suicide mission. Many of my friends in LA had felt the same way, but trusted my instincts to go. I knew from my past travels that a country usually isn’t half as bad as the news makes it out to be. Still, I have to admit that they do get me thinking.

Cairo. Why Cairo? Simply because I woke up one morning about a month ago with a powerful urge to learn Arabic, the language of my father. Although I was raised in a fairly traditional Arab-American community in San Diego, my mother is American, and my sisters and I all rebelled to some degree against the culture. None of us learned to speak more than a few words of Arabic. But lately I had been feeling an urge to reconnect with that part of me. It seemed the best way would be to go to my father’s part of the world and immerse myself in Middle Eastern culture. Since Iraq was out of the question at this time, Egypt seemed like a good alternative. So I announced one morning to my husband, “I’m going to Egypt to study Arabic.” He laughed and told me to go back to sleep.

Instead, I went online and Googled “Arabic lessons Egypt,” and “4U Arabic School” was the first name that popped up. I promptly emailed the school, and the next day in my inbox was an email from a man named Hameed. He explained all about his school, said he’d pick me up from the airport, and recommended a hotel (The Cosmopolitan). I got a good feeling from Hameed, a positive energy. That is how I have always navigated safely around the world – through my gut impulses about people and situations.

And now, a month later, I am on my way – wearing an evil eye pendant around my neck for protection, courtesy of my slightly nervous but very understanding husband.