And so begins a series of short travel stories that I promised a few weeks ago. These stories will be of varying lengths, but all will involve tales of me finding myself in a bit of trouble because of my desire to stray from the beaten path when traveling. Things may have been stressful and unenjoyable at the time these stories unfolded, but they are the memories we laugh about for years. And if anyone knows a publisher interested in making a book of light-hearted travel stories, holla!
This first story went down on August 12, 2009, when me, Amanda, my mom, three of our friends, and two really shady Egyptian men visited the priceless pyramids surrounding Cairo.
And...here...we....go...
Prior to my three-week Egyptian Adventure in August of 2009, I spent eight months researching, planning, and even writing about the upcoming trip. I expected to see grandiose historical sites, eat some delicious food, and experience a unique and dynamic culture. However, I never expected to nearly kill one of my best friends.
My experiences in Egypt taught me that there is a big distinction between “tourists” and “travelers.” Tourists take the organized bus tours, stay at the nice hotels, and eat at the fancy restaurants. Although the tourists probably won’t get deathly sick or even kidnapped, they also miss out on many priceless, albeit sometimes stressful, experiences. A tourist in Egypt sees Pyramids, temples, and museums, but doesn’t get to wander the bustling and gritty streets, hang with the locals at shady shisha cafes, or browse through the exotic markets. Or nearly get run over by donkey karts and see men cutting off the heads of squawking chickens.
I’ve been both a “tourist” and “traveler” during my various journeys over the years. Usually I fall in the latter category because I can be a bit of a cheapskate. I refuse to pay $20 for a ten minute cab ride when I can easily walk there myself, even if does take me ninety minutes. Although we ate at a few nice restaurant in Egypt and actually spent 3-4 nights in something not called a hostel, we were definitely “travelers” while in the Land of the Pharaohs. Thus, even when visiting the well-worn paths of the “can’t miss” spots in Egypt, such as Saqqara and the Giza Pyramids, we tried to be as adventurous as possible. Personally, it was a little frustrating to see these ancient landmarks full of tour buses, empty water bottles, guys selling plastic trinkets, and the occasional burly guy who tried to hold us hostage for extra tips. We tried to stray from the crowds at these sites so we could get a semi-legitimate Pharonic experience and to avoid losing any more money (voluntarily, through the buying of plastic junk, or involuntarily, through the awkward tip-demanding situations.)
At Saqqara, probably the world’s oldest building, we had a great time exploring the ruins and desert surrounding this famous steppe pyramid. We were completely alone as we wandered around this ancient site. There were no tour buses, no trinkets, and definitely no fanny packs. Just rocks, sand, and tons of garbage. And of course, a few schemers trying to take our money. We decided to take a similar non-touristy trek at Giza. After visiting the Sphinx and the pigeons living in his nose, we started on our off-road journey up to the three Giza Pyramids.
After avoiding a guy who insisted he’d give us a free tour of this historic site (which meant he’d hold us hostage in a tomb at the end of the tour until we paid him), we began an exciting walk through the ruins surrounding the Giza Pyramids. Like Saqqara, we had outflanked the thousands of tourists and we were completely alone. It was just me, five of my friends, and five thousand year old tombs. No tourists. No buses. No camels. No donkeys. And definitely no plastic trinkets.
However, there was a hole. A twelve foot hole. Even worse, a twelve foot hole full of dirt, rocks and trash. And this hole was completely unmarked and right in the middle of the path of any idiot travelers who tried to hike across ancient rubble en route to the Giza Pyramids. Idiots like us.
I actually spotted this hole as we walked around the ruins of the tomb of Queen Khentkawes. I almost warned everyone not to fall in the pit and mentioned about how unbelievable it was that such a death trap was completely unmarked. However, I said nothing. And that almost got my friend killed.
Soon after spotting the hole, but keeping the discovery to myself, I turned around to Howard and Chris and asked if someone could take another picture of Amanda and me in front of the Pyramids. Chris, much to Howard’s eventual relief, grabbed the camera and then started to take a picture of us in front of the two smaller pyramids. I jokingly told him he was an idiot (in slightly nicer terms) and that I wanted a picture with the two big pyramids behind us, rather than the diminutive Pyramid of Menkaure. To satisfy my somewhat demanding request, Chris took a seemingly harmless step backwards to line up the two bigger pyramids behind Amanda and I. Despite my better-late-than-never scream of “nooooooooooooo,” Chris stepped backwards into the twelve-foot pit.
With a look of pure bewilderment on his face, Chris began his descent down the hole. My heart stopped when I saw him take that first step into the hole. It stopped again when I saw him fall backwards into the hole, his head falling dangerous close to the rocky wall. It stopped one last time when all I heard was a deafening silence emanating from the pit as I ran to what I thought may be Chris’ final resting place. I truly expected that Chris, one of my best friends and a guy I convinced to explore Egypt with me, was dead. At best, he was bloodied, broken, and paralyzed. All sorts of morbid thoughts rushed through my mind in a matter of seconds that seemed like days. I even thought about how I’d tell his parents and girlfriend that Chris had died in Egypt. In a five thousand year old hole.
After racing to the edge of the pit, we found Chris laying motionless at the bottom of the hole and surrounded by rocks, sand, and garbage. I was actually surprised I didn’t see copious amounts of blood or awkwardly placed limbs. Amazingly, Chris soon began to stir and he wobbly stood up. After realizing he was at the bottom of a trash-filled pit, he began to shake, scream, and curse. I was just shocked he was alive and actually able to stand. And although we were in the middle of a terrifying situation, and we still had to figure out how to get Chris out of his hole, I couldn’t escape the reality that this was both an outrageous and hilarious set of circumstances: after eight months of planning our Egypt trip, including many discussions about safe travel, Chris fell in a hole. Ironically, only a minute before his tumble, Chris had remarked about how much he loved taking the road less traveled up to the pyramids. Additionally, Chris was definitely the most cautious traveler of any of us: no fruits, no juices, no water, and no talking to strangers. Alas, it was Chris that went and fell down a hole.
But now we were faced with two issues, one which put me in a really awkward situation. First, we had to get Chris out of his hole. Second, Chris fell in the pit with my camera. The camera was smashed, but amazingly still semi-functional. However, the battery and memory card, full of priceless pictures, were somewhere at the bottom of the pit, likely buried under rocks, sand, and decades-old garbage. I was glad Chris was alive and knew he should probably get out of the hole, but I also sort of wanted (ok, REALLY wanted) him to temporarily forget about the cuts, scrapes, and bruises and dig around in the filthy mess at the bottom of the hole and find my memory card. What were the rules of etiquette about asking my almost-paralyzed friend, who I nearly killed, to dig around through trash and sand? Yea, that is little awkward.
I took the high road (pun) and insisted that Chris get out of the pit. Ignoring his near-death experience and the stream of blood emanating from his elbows, Chris started to dig around in the trashy sand. Nothing. He wanted to keep looking and even offered to buy us a new camera, all while still being twelve feet below sea level, but a confused tourist policeman suddenly approached us. We weren’t really sure what to do. We were probably breaking some laws being out here among these ruins and it was probably illegal to fall into a tomb. The policeman jumped down off his camel and tried to figure out what was going on. I decided there was no chance we’d find our 1cm long memory card in all that sand and motioned to the guy that Chris needed help getting out of the pit. Within seconds, the guy helped Chris join the rest of us above ground. We all handed the guy a bunch of Egyptian pounds and he hopped on his camel and wandered off, probably wondering how on earth how that crazy white guy fell in a hole.
Thinking about all the fun "illegal" pictures we had taken at Saqqara, I couldn’t just walk away from the pit. Howard and Yami both offered to climb down and search for our battery and memory card. I was down with that. I think Howard was getting ready to climb down when two tourist policemen, one being Chris’ hero, joined us at the tomb. After using some interesting theatrics to fill into our language gaps, they figured out that parts of my camera were somewhere in the hole. All of a sudden, one of the guys just jumps into the pit. He pushed around the sand and trash, but no luck. But all of a sudden, he found the camera battery! A welcome development, but the memory card was my biggest concern. Amazingly, our new friend finally found the needle in the haystack: my little blue memory card! Due to some unfortunate cracks and scratches, I wasn’t sure if it would still work or if the hundreds of pictures were forever lost, but hope was alive. And most importantly, so was Chris. And since disaster had been averted, we could endlessly laugh as Chris for somehow managing to fall backwards into a tomb. At the most popular tourist spot in the world.
I expected to learn more about architecture, religion, and the Pharaohs during my visit to the ancient pyramids surrounding Cairo. Instead, I nearly killed one of my best friends. This experience was a strange mix of terror and hilarity. Seeing my bloody friend standing in a garbage-filled hole, only a hundred feet from scores of tourists and souvenirs salesmen, taught me the important lesson that there may be a good reason why the road less-traveled is the road less-traveled.
The next Priceless Misadventure: "All My Friends in Vietnam are Pimps and Prostitutes"
