My First Egyptian Taxi
At the end of a day that began in an Istanbul hostel and involved delayed public transit, airport negotiations regarding a hatchet, a missed flight and buying a new ticket, I shoulder my pack around two am, exit the Cairo airport, and am immediately swarmed by a paparazzi of forty to fifty men yelling “taxi” repeatedly at me. Being a white guy, I knew my body would label me as money here, but I was not prepared for this. I brush past and try to look for an actual taxi as I’ve no clue whom to trust, but one fellow persists. He’s charming and a few years older than me, and my first four “no’s” don’t seem to be getting me anywhere. Figuring I’ll need a ride anyway, I finally relent, mostly just to stop the interrogation.
I show him my journal with…