Cairo, Egypt. Giza. Tummy full of butterflies. I had to pinch myself. Damn, I love my job.
All the years of stinky butt feet van tours, all the inedible food, all the sweaty gropers, the liars, lawyers, vampires, barnacles, and mocking birds, the instability… all the bad weather, the delusional stalkers and their legions of head voices, the under paid under qualified airport security staff waving wands across my bare feet looking for WMD’s, the jet lag, the ambulance chasers and depositions, the never ending parade/revolving door of deaf but grinning record company execs, all the Spinal Tap moments that used to be funny until they happened to us, all the tantrums/interactions with and by the socially and emotionally challenged, the “oh my god!” hotel bar and mini bar bills, etc…
All of these items/situations and too many more to list. All of them have been worth it since ALL of these experiences added up have brought me here. Right to the feet of the Sphinx and the Great Pyramids in Cairo. It took a few days for the whole experience to truly sink in. I’m still buzzing. The tour guide was waffling on. But I didn’t hear him. I was just staring. Although the notion that a picture is worth a thousand words may be true, my photos don’t even come close to capturing the feelings I had, scratch that… am still having. Stunning. Truly stunning. A rare opportunity indeed. This was The Moment dreamt and spoken of over and over again in great detail during those long “non-homework” nights in college with my room mates, Ramiro and Kjiirt. Kashmir playing at full volume, of course. And this was the tune pounding through my head, unconsciously at first, as I ascended the Grand Gallery stairs towards the Kings Chamber. It must have been bellowing out of my ears, cuz when we stepped into the chamber there were no aliens. Scared them off, I suppose. I had always assumed E.T. was a Zeppelin fan. Guess not.
That evening we did one of those borderline cheesy dinner cruises on the Nile. Huge buffet style spread, belly dancing, music, the works. The only decent red wine on the list was an Italian Barolo, which came corked and I just didn’t care. I was having too much fun to fret about it. We just focused on the extremely overpriced Special Cuvee Bollinger. I believe it was 0. I know. OUCH. “But, DUDE! I was on the NILE!” shall be my cry from skid row.


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