The Labors of Bucephalus

Gallery: The Best Ones

jreuter — Sat, 29 Mar 2008 08:12:00 GMT

my faves

Remember the Stars of Sinai

jreuter — Sat, 29 Mar 2008 04:49:00 GMT

In a coffee shop in rainy Portland, I feel a sort of strange disassociation from the English speakers around me. In a way, I miss the unintelligible Arabic tongue I had grown accustomed to, miss the concentration it afforded me while writing. Eavesdropping was largely impossible for me in the Middle-East, and conversely, unavoidable in the states, and so here I have sat, for what seems an hour, staring at a blank screen, wondering when I may have the privilege of traveling yet again. But the trip has re-ignited a certain glean to this city, and it has occurred to me that perhaps I should more view my hometown as another destination on life's journey, and not merely a place to pursue the patterns and rituals of the so-called rat race. That being said, I believe there is much to explore here, and I have in no way exhausted the possibilities to make new discoveries and engage fascinating people.

There is much to be missed though. The hospitality, the ettiquette, the beautiful desert scenery and the sheer electricity that coursed through my veins when I first saw Khufu's capstone towering over the buildings of Cairo, or when the facade of The Treasury subtly peered out at me from between the narrow canyon walls of that magically winding siq. And though it may occur in the twilight of my life, how could I ever foget the stars of Sinai, as our taxi wound through the rocky crags between Nuweiba and Dahab, the sky so abundantly sated with the glow of those fantastic orbs, so numerous they resembled luminescent spider webs? My trip to the Middle-East, in essence a glimpse of the path of Alexander the Great, did not, as hoped, reveal to me my life's path, or offer a tangible experience with God. Rather, it imparted to me the exhaustive breadth of possibilities that are so readily available to those who would take them. My two months backapcking was often dwarfed by those travelers I had met who had come to tackle Arabic, or teach, or volunteer their time and effort in helping others. To merely see, is undoubtedly wonderful, but to push beyond the mere practice of tourism through cultural involvement, well, that's truly noble. And utterly motivating. And has opened up more possibilities than ever even considered. I will remember those stars, but beyond creating mere memories lies infinitely more important desires: To engage, to rouse, and to inspire. The world beckons.

The End.

Alexandria the Great

jreuter — Sun, 23 Mar 2008 07:24:00 GMT

Arriving in Alexandria was an initially morose and depressing experience for me. After all, this was the intellectual center of the Hellenistic world, home to the legendary Cleopatra. Founded by Alexander the Great in 332 BC, Alexandria boasted of monuments such as the Library of Alexandria and the Great Lighthouse, one of the seven wonders of the ancient world. And now, what of its past glory? Burned, destroyed, and swallowed up by the ocean. All that remains of a city celebrated and renown by philosphers and poets, a city of gleaming temples marked by graceful and flawless pillars...is the memory of a glorious past. Somewhere beneath these streets, the tomb of Alexander is rumored to lie. Beneath the waves that nonchalantly lap at a littered beachfront, remnannts of grandeur sit, slowly and surely devastated by the ravages of time. As I stood in the 5th floor lobby of my hotel, looking out over the harbor towards where I imagined the Lighthouse may have sat, these were the thoughts that reverberated through my mind. So I walked, walked everywhere I could think of to find some small but significant reminder of Alexandria's past. I first found myself at the Bibliotheca, Alexandria's modern-day attempt at reversing the tragedy of its ancient library's fate. Here, schoolchildren gazed at me with looks of intense curiosity, and a barrage of greetings and questions such as "what's your name?" and "are you married?" quickly made me forget my self-induced depression. And the gaggle of schoolgirls tripping over each other as they stared at the pale, blonde-haired tourist in front of them easily ensured my mirth-filled laughter.

My attempts at regaining some sort of stoically, nostalgic mindset were hopeless, as my stroll near the supposed site of the Great Lighthouse was interrupted by friendly inquiries from numerous people, showing genuine interest in a complete stranger simply because, he looks different. This was the beginning of my love affair with the city of Alexandria, and I regret only that my time spent here was so short. I must have sat there for an hour, chatting with the locals, laughing and joking and being tested (unsuccessfully) at Arabic. The evening culminated in a new friend and I serendipitously stumbling upon an outdoor wedding celebration held right on the street. Music, fireworks, and Arabian dancing horses were all part of the festivities, and soon enough, it seemed my Western friend and I were part of it as well, as offers of tea, sheesha, cigarettes, and pepsi were showered upon us while we sat at a table, surrounded by children and adults, all so generously interested in showing us hospitality and kindness. How does this affect an American, so used to giving and receiving apathy when it comes to strangers? For one, I smiled for almost two hours straight, and as my Parisian aquaintance duly noted, our faces hurt. More importantly though, it seriously challenged my long-held attitude of disinterest towards the strangers I come in contact with in everyday life, such as on the bus or in a classroom. I realize things are definitely not perfect in the middle-east, but the lessons learned (which I pray I retain) were worth more to me than I can say. There really is a special feeling that is invoked when strangers in a strange city extend their friendship, when the people of a relatively poor country choose your happiness over their pocketbook. Alexandria, in all truth, loosened tears from my eyes, just not in the way I had expected.

Gallery: Alexandria

jreuter — Thu, 20 Mar 2008 07:46:00 GMT

Gallery: Giza Plateau

jreuter — Thu, 20 Mar 2008 07:16:00 GMT

True Wonders

jreuter — Thu, 20 Mar 2008 07:01:00 GMT

Michael Jackson was cranky. I know this because when I pulled left, he turned right. When I snapped the reins, he slowed down, and when I shot a photo of him, he grumbled and moaned. The camel is an amazing animal though, and one that I'm not sure I'd ever get used to. With their floppy snouts, protruding teeth, and gangly legs, they look like something out of a fantasy novel. And man, when they stand up you feel about twenty feet up. It was a grand experience, riding about the Giza plateau atop a desert beast named Michael Jackson. But I must admit, I feel slightly at a loss for words regarding the Giza Pyramids. It resembled the feeling I had as a teenager upon seeing the Grand Canyon: they just don't seem real, and, how could they be? I think my brain slightly short circuited as I looked at just one block of the Great Pyramid and tried to grasp the idea of the massive labor involved in this undertaking. It is comparable to trying to imagine a new primary color, or contemplating eternity. The concept simply does not compute in the human mind, and yet there it was: this ridiculously large superstructure weighing millions of tons, built millenia ago, by human hands lacking anything near modern technology. The inside was mind-blowing as well. A narrow shaft that climbs up, and up, into a small, unassuming chamber supposedly once laden with sumptuous and grand grave goods, plundered by unscrupulous thieves long ago.

The coolest thing though, is this: As my trip nears its end, it is not Aya Sophia, or Baalbeck, or Petra or even the Pyramids that is emblazoned in my mind. It is the people. Generous, kind and hospitable people who are vastly more interesting, and beautiful, than the most skillfully wrought pile of rocks.

Dante's Tenth Circle

jreuter — Sat, 15 Mar 2008 07:35:00 GMT

I'm not sure why, but for some reason, a dinner cruise along the Nile sounded like fun last night. So I threw down my 120 pounds, put on a nice shirt, and almost immediately regretted my decision. It seems I was the only one at my hotel who signed up, so myself, and my monosyllabic host Aywa, caught a taxi to the river and boarded a brightly lit world of evil. I envision hell as a sort of dinner cruise, where you're stuck at a table with someone who has already been there one thousand years and is bored stiff (Aywa), while the karaoke band enthusiactically and eternally belts out "Hotel California" and that hell-spawned Titanic theme song, all the while being electronically accompanied by...you guessed it, a Casio keyboard. So yes, I saw a vision of hell last night, and it manifested itself on a tourist-packed, cheeky dinner cruise down the longest river in the world.

But I exaggerate. Aywa finally warmed up after I used every conversation starter known to mankind, and watching the extremely buxom belly-dancer shake her stuff within inches of an elderly, unamused nun was definitely good for a laugh. The food was quite good, and hallelujah, it only lasted two hours.

Gallery: Cairo

jreuter — Sat, 15 Mar 2008 07:08:00 GMT

Chaos and Cheops

jreuter — Sat, 15 Mar 2008 06:41:00 GMT

As I have heard from numerous travelers heading north from there, Cairo is not for the faint of heart. The traffic, the dust, the noise and the smog, plus the inumerable touts, make this a mind-blowing (or numbing) metropolis. I am still amazed that after three cab rides through the city, I have yet to see an accident. Lanes are mere options. Driver move fast, take any inch of roadway they can get, and repeatedly come within inches of pedestrians, horses, goats, camels, donkeys, cats and, of course, other cars. And yet, it works. There is a method to the madness, and who can beat a 20km taxi ride for five bucks? However, nothing cheap comes without a struggle. While haggling over prices can be fun, it is also exhausting. My visit to the Cairo Museum (which hosts a phenomenal collection by the way) was followed by a non-stop hassle walk through Khan Al-Kalili, the Great Bazaar. The nice thing about Egyptians though, is their stellar sense of humor and eagerness to help. The hassling can get old, sure, but thankfully they hardly ever take it too seriously, and jokes, handshakes, and offers of tea and cigarettes inevitably accompany even the most eager touts.

Gallery: Luxor

jreuter — Sat, 15 Mar 2008 05:59:00 GMT

My Addiction to Sheesha

jreuter — Sat, 15 Mar 2008 05:43:00 GMT

Luxor has been fabulous. This is, after all, my first exposure to what I consider "true" Egypt. It is a hot, hazy place chock-full of palm trees and awe-invoking temples. This was the capital city of Ancient Egypt during the 11th and 18th dynasties, when it was know as Thebes, and boy, it shows. Luxor, Karnak and medinet Habu were by far the most impressive temples I saw. From top to bottom almost every square inch was inscribed with hieroglyphs. Towering obelisks pierce the sky, accompanied by the collosal icons of pharoahs long past, wearing faces of menacing solidity. A sunset felucca ride was another highlight of Luxor. A stroll on Banana Island, assaulted by the gurgling cackles of Ibises and strong scents of greenery in full bloom invoked memories of my youth. Well, not so much the cackling Ibises, but the smells brought back the springtimes of my childhood. It took a while to place it, but this exotically charming island smelled a lot like dandelions. I had evidentally forgotten just how good they smell. A reminder, I suppose, to stop and smell the roses, or dandelions or whatever odiferous flower may come acrosse my path. 5 Egyptian pounds gains entry to the island, plus a bunch of bananas that, despite my aversion to the fruit, I had to try. After having exhausted a good portion of possibilities in Luxor, a sleeper train, with an extremely accomodating staff transported me to Cairo. Just don't eat the lamb, my stomache has yet to forgive me.

Cool Water, Scorched Earth

jreuter — Sat, 8 Mar 2008 22:11:00 GMT

One word describes Dahab: Paradisal. And to no surprise, my first intention of only two days here has turned into six, as I have been practically hypnotized by its idyllic, tranquil vibe, and have spent many an hour on pillows by the water side, sipping on milkshakes and simply staring into the distance. It is places like these though, that remind me how strangely I am wired, as the inactivity of relaxation inevitably leads to depression, and I am delighted, though hesitant, to leave. It hasn't all been lethargy though. My first true experience of snorkeling happened here, at the blue hole, an 80 metre deep cavern off the coast of Dahab. surrounded by massive reefs of coral and home to aquatic creatures I have only seen on television. Schools of electric blue and silver, angel, parrot and blowfish, sea urchins and spindly eels...the reefs are alive with animated colors, an aesthetically magical world just below the surface. A hike up Mt. Sinai reminded me just how difficult hiking can be after four days of vegetation, and planted in me a new respect for Moses. Wandering here for 40 years is not appealing. It is hot, shadeless, and completely devoid of moisture and life. I had the pleasure of being accompanied by Sindre, a Norwegian who is poised to set a Guinness world record for ascending the highest peaks in every European country in the shortest amount of time. Needless to say, hiking with him was a somewhat humbling experience, and entertaining, as being within the shadow of Gebel Musa invariably leads one to discussions of a theological nature, and eventually to a tiring bout of negotiations with taxi drivers for the best price back to Dahab.

The Quiet Majesty of Petra

jreuter — Tue, 4 Mar 2008 22:21:00 GMT

"Would you like some tea?" she asked, as her doey-eyed children sold postcards and scampered among the promontories near Al-Deir. To the west lay the eastern border of Israel, dotted with crumbling, weathered mountain tops. Behind us, spread among every high place, low place, and in between, lay the ancient city of Petra, stoically waiting here for millenia, giving testament to the ingenious, flawless hands of its creators. The Bedouin people spend their days here, among rose-red temples and towering, craggy peaks, selling anything and everything that may carry some minute worth among tourists...even rocks. One Bedouin child, a boy who must have been about eight, approached me with a box of these (albeit pretty ones) pleadingly delivering his most repeated english phrase, "One dinar!" (about $1.20) I immediately picked up the nearest rock I could find and vainly tried to sell it to him. First a look of confusion, then a sly smile spread across his face as if to imply, "Yes. I know. I'm trying to sell rocks at Petra." One may have better luck trying to sell a glass of salt water on a Tahitian Island. There are rocks everywhere, as this is an extremely barren and harsh landscape. Think of the Badlands and the Grand Canyon mixed into one, packed with ancient ruins. This is Petra. After two full days of hiking, I barely grasped the scope of this city. There are remnants of the Nabataeans everywhere, on cliff-tops, in valleys, even in five-foot wide slot canyons. All throughout this once grand trading epicenter there exist temple facades, arches, tunnels hewn through the sides of mountains and stairways reaching impossible heights. And impossible is a word that occurs often in the minds of those who visit here. The temple facades at Petra were carved into the sides of cliff walls out of sandstone, and are flawless; absolutely smooth, symmetrical and stunningly perfect. Once a temple was begun, there was little room for error, and to my eye, no errors were made. My love for hiking was fully satisfied here, from Al-Kazneh to the High Place of Sacrifice, from the Street of Facades to the Royal tombs. The high places offer fabulous, sweeping views of the landscape below. Amber colored temples surrounded by canyon walls of copper, rose, and burnt sienna give way to a blazing-blue expanse of sky. Truly magnificent. This place may rival the pyramids.

Gallery: Dahab & Sinai

jreuter — Tue, 4 Mar 2008 21:41:00 GMT

Gallery: Petra

jreuter — Tue, 4 Mar 2008 21:40:00 GMT

City of God

jreuter — Fri, 29 Feb 2008 03:56:00 GMT

The one place that has left the greatest impression upon me so far has been Jerusalem. There is such a sense of ease there, no feelings of tension, or danger, just a beautiful city steeped in the history of significance. What also was impressed upon me was the strong feeling of community among not only those of the Jewish faith, but Muslims and Christians as well. The sounds of schools are ever-prevalent, as are the children, singing, playing, and walking through the narrow streets of Old Jerusalem unaccompanied, as if there was nothing to fear. And I must admit, it felt as if there was not. And speaking of singing, it was hardly exclusive to children, My first day in the city had an infectiously celebratory mood to it. People were singing and playing drums inside the Gate of the Moors, singing and dancing in the shadow of the Western Wall, singing in perfect unison, hand in hand, as they hiked down the Mount of Olives. These were not the cacophonous (to my western ear) bellows heard five times a day from every minaret, but traditional Jewish folk songs. Songs that never failed in making me smile, and that stirred something deep inside of me. These are what I will always remember, and If I felt I had the right, or the knowledge, I might have joined in.

The Wailing Wall

jreuter — Wed, 27 Feb 2008 00:22:00 GMT

My time spent at the Wailing, or Western Wall (The last remnant of the 2nd Temple built under King Herod) was in some ways a profound experience. Little cardboard yarmulkes are distributed, and though the slightest breeze blows them off, you are required to wear them. Within minutes of my arrival I was approached by a somewhat unconventionally dressed Jewish man (in stocking cap and trenchcoat)who immediately began educating me on the Jewish faith. Reluctantly I followed him into an area seeming much too solemn for conversation, where Jewish men prayed and read, and where intricately designed scrolls containing the Torah were housed. I did notice, from the glances of others, that this was an unpopular man, and after receiving his blessing upon me I found out why. The ever-disappointing plea for money manifested itself for, what else?, an operation for his ailing mother. *sigh* Perhaps three seconds after beginning his pitch, an older gentleman, probably a rabbi, let him have it. Unsurprisingly, it is seriously frowned upon to panhandle in such a sacred area, and the rabbi made it clear:"Do not give him money." He didn't have to tell me twice, or even once for that matter. I finally rid myself of my new "friend" and touched the Wailing Wall. It is inevitable for myself to feel a swelling of emotion in the immediate face of such history, tradition and sanctity. The mind reels, contemplating the religious significance of this small remnant of the 2nd Temple.

Gallery: Jerusalem

jreuter — Wed, 27 Feb 2008 00:15:00 GMT

Gallery: Byblose, Tyre and Beyond

jreuter — Tue, 26 Feb 2008 23:52:00 GMT

Tourism and Spirituality

jreuter — Tue, 26 Feb 2008 23:10:00 GMT

On a roof-top cafe, Old Jerusalem is gloriously sread out before me. To the north is the Church of the Holy Sepulchre, traditionally believed to be the site of Christ's cruxificion, burial, and resurrection. To theeast, the Temple Mount, where the first and second Jewish Temples were erected, where Abraham nearly sacrificed his son Isaac, and most significantly, where sat the Sacred Altar, or "Holy of Holies." At its center sits the unmistakable Dome of the Rock, the location which for Muslims, indicates where the prophet Muhammad dreamt he ascended into heaven. Jerusalem is an exceptionally well-kept city with an unexpected European feel. The tourism industry must bring in a staggering amount of money, as even now, in late February, tourists are everywhere. Which is inevitably what takes away from the mystique of a place. Via Dolorosa, for instance, (the path traditionally believed to have been taken by Christ during his last hours) could be a poignant spiritual experience if not for the souq merchants hassling you every five minutes. In the Holy Sepulchre Church throngs of predominantly Christian tourists press against each other to view Christendom's most holy place, but to be perfecly honest, I felt little more than irritation. Firstly, it is not 100% certain that these are the exact spots of Christ's death, burial and resurrection, yet at the supposed site where they took Jesus off the cross, now marked by a highly polished slab of rock, pilgrims kneel before it, digging in plastic bags or purses for various trinkets, rubbing them (whether they be plastic crosses, books or coin purses) upon the slab in hopes of imbuing them with some sort of divine power. (At the time, This brought to my mind those whom flock to view tortillas with burn marks resembling the face of a woman (it must be Mary!) or, as happened in Portland not too long ago, the faithful few who crowded under an overpass to view "Christ's face," manifested, they say, in a combination of accumulated exhaust fumes and sludge-like runoff from the highway above). Secondly,An overpowering sense of ritual pervaded every aspect of this experience: Lighting candles, burning incense, uttering 100 (not 99!) hail Marys. I realize that symbolism can be an effective means of professing one's faith and indicating where one stands, but I can't deny the whole thing felt somehow...contrived, extravagant and generic. Christ, executed and humbly buried, is now remembered here by ornate shrines of silver and gold and intricately fashioned works of art. But of course, this begs the question: Does He deserve anything less? In spite of my, perhaps overly critical observations, Christ himself walked and talked in this very city, and that is certainly reason to pause, and reflect.