$8 USD: The Price of my Freedom

I am going to preface this post with a quote from the Lonely Planet: Middle East guide from what is has to say about being a pedestrian in Cairo, which will help to explain what follows.

"Playing Chicken In Cairo:
It may sound silly, but the greatest challenge most travelers face when traveling through Egypt is crossing the street in Cairo. Roads are always frantically busy and road rules are something that the average Cairene has heard of, but only in jokes. Our advice is to position yourself so that one or more locals form a buffer between you and oncoming traffic, and then cross when they cross - they usually don’t mind being human shields! Basically, it’s a game of chicken. Never, ever hesitate once you’ve stepped off the sidewalk; cross as if you own the road. And do it fast."
If only I had read this advice before I stepped out of the hotel, I may have been able to avoid being kidnaped by an "artist" and I wouldn’t have been forced to pay my own ransom for my freedom. At least, at about $8 USD, my freedom came pretty cheap.

I arrived in Cairo after a blissfully short flight from Dubai on Emirates, which has become my new favorite airline largely based on their advanced and varied entertainment options. The cab ride from CAI to the hotel was unlike any cab ride I had ever taken. Traffic here is unbelievable and if you have questions about Vancouver’s aging taxi fleet, you would be down right concerned at the state of Cairo’s fleet of eastern block tin machines. I only wish that my cameras hadn’t been locked away in the trunk.

After arriving at the hotel and spending some time with my liaison I decided to brave the streets again to pay a visit to the near by Egyptian Museum. It is a great place in an old building with a poorly displayed yet unbelievable collection. I stopped at the Tanis display and combed through the artifacts looking for any signs of R2, C3PO or the Well of Souls. I came up short, alas, and I cursed myself for not having packed Raiders in my DVD wallet.

I was able to shake many offers of a guide. I was quite polite about it, though one guide was very persistent. I patiently waited for him to stop describing what purpose a sarcophagus served to take a breath before I told him that: "You know I think I am fine on my own, thanks." My would be guide cast a smug look my way and wandered off.

It was great to just wander about the collection, looking at what caught my eye and passing what didn’t. It was nice to be out of the hotel, but It was really an opportunity to have a walk and spend some time thinking of things unrelated to exposure, busy lobbies or early morning wake up calls. Through the stands of security guards I made my way back to the street where I ran into the aforementioned challenges with traffic....

The Desert Safari: Update, story still pending

So where is the story you ask; Thanks Jenni G, there is a story for that too. The story may be pending a publishing date in a Dubai Magazine and deal is that I have to wait to post it on my blog. So stay tunned, there will be more to come.

You Buy?

A quick post from Dubai with a promise that there will be more to come. I have a great view over the Dubai Creek Yacht Club but I've been spending most of my time behind the camera or infront of a computer. Actually I did get out of the hotel the last two nights. Last night I headed to Deira City Center, a middle of the road mall not far from the hotel and tonight I made it to Irish Villiage, a themed restaurant and drinking establishment at the Tennis Stadium.

Last night was a frustrating and exhausting struggle through the crowds and public announcements in Carrefore, a Wallmart-style "Hypermart." There must have been a thousand shoppers and hundreds of employees in the store buying and selling everything from baskets of kids shoes to flat screen TV's to fresh fish. I managed to escape with a six of tonic water, some AA batteries and a strong desire to never set foot in Carreforre again.

Tonight was a little more relaxing, I got to chill out with a couple of pints of Guinness, a cheeseburger and a patio. It was almost a normal dinning experience and though I had no company I relished every minute of it.

Oman in the Mirror

The title of this blog may be a little misleading, there is nothing virtual about my travels no matter how much I would sometimes wish this were true. My title “VirtualTourist” has it’s origins in two parents, one an Ex-pat bar and Improv theatre in Amsterdam called Boom Chicago and the other what I do for a living. Two years ago my colleague, Adele, and I had a unique opportunity to explore Amsterdam at length and found ourselves repeatedly at the bar at Boom. On a couple of occasions we decided to put our skills to the test, with moderate success, in a weekly trivia night and we needed a team name which we derived from what we actually do for work. One of the photo products I shoot is called a Virtual Tour, it is a 360 degree panoramic image, hence The VirtualTourist.


I have been in the Middle East for almost two weeks on assignment work shooting 360's of lobbies, pools, bars and hotel rooms, sometimes at very awkward hours. After a late shoot and a long day I found myself staring at my reflection in an elevator mirror and wondering if this is indeed the face of exhaustion. I am almost finished my assignment in Oman and tomorrow I will be leaving for Dubai for two weeks in a city regarded as Las Vegas on Crack.

This afternoon I took advantage of an opportunity to get into the city for a couple of hours. I was dropped off on the Corniche, in the port area, and left to explore both the tourist and fish souks. The tourist market is a labyrinth of corridors, stalls and vendors selling spices, frankincense, fabrics and cheap trinkets. Everyone was my friend and everyone wanted to show me what they had for sale. The exchange between the vendors and the tourists is a well practiced dance, vendors seem to know exactly what the tourists are looking for even if they don’t. During my short tour I was offered t-shirts, head wear and textiles and I did my best to smile and wave my way through the crowds.

The fish market was a little more interesting, crowded, hot and smelling of the day’s catch, I noticed much that I can’t imagine seeing in the market on Granville Island. Tiny shark, whole tuna and dozens of other kinds of fish were piled on mats lying on the floor. The fish market experience couldn’t be more different from shopping at home. It is these experiences that remind me that I am indeed a long way from South Granville Rise.

Well in a fit of homesickness I am going to take a wander down the beach to “coffee corner,” it is a little plaza with a Starbucks, a Costa (UK) and a Second Cup. A Second Cup? I haven’t seen a Second Cup since the last time I was in Montreal. If only there was a Tim’s!

So Long Amman

Downtown Amman is a rabbit warren of streets, alleys and stairs which go on forever all in the relative shadow of the Citadel. The Citadel is home to a collection of ruins left by the Unayyads, Byzantines and the Romans and while I was there it was a sanctuary from the frenetic activity in the city below.

On the occasion of my last afternoon in Amman I took the opportunity to do a little exploring. The truth is that I had been limping about for most of my stay due to a mysteriously strained ankle received somewhere between my apartment and the airport in Vancouver. My complaining ankle and the area around the hotel, not being particularly pedestrian friendly, kept me hotel bound for much of my stay with the exception of my dinner adventure (last post).

It was a short and thrifty cab ride from the hotel to the Citadel though my driver offer me a warning as he pointed to a group of parked cabs, “those guys, Syrian cabs,” he said as he waved them off. I am sure there is a story there somewhere but I had ruins on my mind.

For a couple of hours I wandered around the ruins, probably more grateful to just be outside than terribly interested in the specifics of one column or another. Though I could hear the hustle of the streets below there was something calm about being on the hill. There were few people and I had the place largely to myself until I was getting set to leave. Il-balad, or the downtown region was as busy as the Citadel was quiet. I braved the traffic, both foot and auto, to have a brief walk through the shopping of the area and saw heaps of cheap clothes, electronics and jewelry. I’m glad I had the chance to see the area but I was pretty worn out and headed back to the hotel on foot.

Amman is a city built on hills, and as it turns out, just because you can see your hotel doesn’t mean you can walk there. After walking for about an hour I could see the hotel and made in that direction only to come to an over look high above a valley dividing me from a hot shower and something cold to drink. I felt so defeated I wanted to catch a cab, but crippled more by pride than hobbled by a whining left ankle, I pushed on and after another 40 minutes I finally presented myself to be frisked by the hotel security check point.

The first picture, from the Citadel, is of the remaining pillars from the Temple of Hercules built during the reign of Marcus Aurelius (AD 161 to AD 80). The second picture is one of the city. I found remarkable how one city, the ancient city, seemed to give way seamlessly to the new.

Amman in a Cab

It wasn’t until I slipped into the back seat of the cab that I realized that I had no idea where I was going and the only words of Arabic in my vocabulary amounting to “hurry up baby”where severely unlikely to guide me through any communication breakdown. As soon as we pulled away from the Hyatt it occurred to me that I had just left four different and perfectly reasonable dinning options behind me.

The problem is that some random and vague notion of threat is enough to make my pants a little more uncomfortable than usual. In pulling away from the hotel I instantly felt like I had just put a heap of faith in a cab driver in a way that I never have to worry about at home. So I was a little spooked cruising through Jebel in the back of cab on the way to a restaurant I had read about in a Lonely Planet guide book. I didn’t really think that I had anything to worry about but then again it was dark, I had no idea where I was going and Arab men are the new bad guys on American TV.

“How much?” I asked as we pulled up to the Blue Fig Café. I really had nothing to worry about. Clearly I watch too much television and though I try to avoid them at all costs, Fox News and Donald Rumsfeld have had an impact on my pysche.

“Four JD, my friend.” Nothing like six bucks and a cab ride to seal that bond of friendship. And since we were now friends I was concerned about the amount of searching the driver was doing to come up with some change for my tenner. “Do you have anything smaller.”

“Ah, nope.”

“Then you will pay me later, my friend” He reached back with my ten and his card and offered “Just leave some JD at the front desk at the hotel and I will pick it up later. And here is another card for you my friend.” Friends indeed. After my heartfelt commitments to leave money at the hotel I backed my way out of the cab feeling vaguely ashamed for my earlier fears. It was not unlike a moment I had in Athens with my friend Filip a couple of years ago.

We were at the end of a week in Greece, split between Athens and Naxos, and were both feeling very burned out by our time in Athens. We had spent the day photographing a cruise ship and we were on our way from our hotel to meet friends of mine for dinner near the Plaka. On our way we stopped for a snack, kebabs and pita. Just a few moments after we sat down a well dressed man, about 80 and five feet tall, put a can of beer and a glass in front of both Filip and myself. In a state of shock we tried desperately to show our gratitude to our host but he just smiled and waved his hands wiping clean all of our negative feelings of Athens for at least a few minutes. It was a moment of great generosity and equal humility for Filip and I who were both so exhausted from navigating Athens, and work and shifty cab drivers.

After dinner, a stop at Starbuck’s and a reminiscence of being humbled by kindness in Athens fresh in my mind I boldly stepped into the street to hail a cab back to my hotel.

“Grand Hyatt.” I offered to the driver.

“Who?” He offered back.

“Hotel...Grand Hyatt.”

“Sorry, no understand.”

“Ah...Hyatt Hotel, Grand Hyatt.” I gratefully resisted a mighty temptation to talk slower and Louder.

“Amman?”

“Yes, Grand Hyatt Amman.”

“Ah Okay.” And we pulled into traffic and stopped. The passenger window dropped and my driver hurled a slew of Arabic to a guy in a climbing into a Toyota truck who responded with a litany of emphatic hand gestures and an equal slew of Arabic. It occurred to me that my driver could have been asking how much an American was worth on the open market, though it was my sincere hope that he was merely asking directions.

Two blocks further on we stop again, and again my driver yells out the passenger window. At this point I am concerned that the guy in the Toyota made a low ball offer for me and my driver drove off in disgust and was now looking for a better offer. More hand gestures and more Arabic and again we drive off into the night.

A third stop and the ensuing emphatic conversation between drivers made me wonder if my driver was trying to force a bidding war. ‘But I am not an American, and there is no way my company will pay for my release’, I think to myself. Ironically it was the discomfort of getting caught in a bit of a traffic jam which made me think that he really was asking for directions because he clearly doesn’t know his way around. But since he wanted my three bucks nearly as much as I wanted to get back to the Hyatt we had no choice but to stick it out like humus and pita. Ten minutes later and another stop for directions I was safely returned to my hotel.

I left some JD at the front desk for my new friend Moussa making a promise to myself that if I needed to take a cab I would gladly pay the hotel rate again for a driver who knows where I am going especially if I don’t.

Amman with a View

This is just a quick post to let everyone know that I have arrived in Amman, Jordan. After what felt like two days of travel, and an extended stop in Frankfurt, Germany, I arrived very early this morning. From the back of a Mercedes taxi I peered into the dark trying to discern any view, and any image of Amman I could but knowing that I was only a 99JD (about $160 CDN) cab ride to the Iraqi border my mind was hardly focused. It was a surreal trip into the city, only a few kilometres separated a sign directing drivers to either the Saudi or Iraqi border and another advertising Chicken Mc Nuggets.