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Alexander Wager

Posted on January 06, 2012 By Joseph

Having recently sailed the Mediterranean aboard the Regent Seven Seas Mariner as part of a PTV at Sea cruise and Travelscope shoot, reminds me of my first Mediterranean cruise in 1995.

I was on a two-week cruise aboard Cunard Cruise Lines’ MS Vistafjord, which has now been christened the Caronia and is described in Cunard’s brochure as “a classic liner with an Old World charm and a hospitable British style that are reminiscent of Europe’s finest hotels.”  That sounds pretty close to how I remember it.

Yet, what I mostly remember about the ship is being alone and unattached in a sea of couples many years my senior.  Never mind, I was a journalist on assignment, gathering interviews and audio for my travel radio show and had shipped out for the experiences that I was sure awaited me in the Vistafjord’s many ports-of-call.  While most of the ship’s stops were only for part of a day, in Alexandria, Egypt we actually weighed anchor for an overnight.  While most passengers stayed in the ship’s dinning room at their assigned table, I headed ashore in search of adventure:

ALEXANDRIA WAGER

Cunard Cruise Lines’ MS Vistafjord has docked in Alexandria, Egypt and it’s my first chance to explore ashore on my own.  With 400 of my fellow passengers I’ve spent the day on a shore excursion to Cairo to see the Pyramids, the Sphinx and the treasures of King Tutankhamun’s tomb housed in the Egyptian Antiquities Museum.

There’s a saying, “There are two types of people in the world — those who have seen the pyramids and those who have not.”  The same could be said for Alexandria.  This morning when our bus went through the city it seemed as if we were driving through a war zone.  Everywhere buildings were in the process of either being put up or pulled down.  The ancient city looked every day of her 2,343 years.  She was cracked, crusty and way past her prime.  Yet, the adage that “beauty is only skin deep” is true for cities too, and a few rough edges should never deter any traveler.

Upon my tour’s return to the port, I leave the luxury of the Vistafjord, descend the gangway and head for the lights of Alexandria.  I agree with Kara, our bus tour guide, that “If you wish to experience Egypt you must go to her.  She will not come to you.”  Her words struck me as both seductive and challenging.
 
I accept the challenge, walk through the gates to the port and immediately I am set upon by a horse and carriage driver.  I climb into the carriage and settle into the surprising luxury of soft leather seats as we clippity-clop to the city’s center.

Alexandria looks better at night.  The night-lights soften her features.  The dust and dirt are hidden in the shadows and the city seems cloaked in a veil of mystery.  Music strange to my ears fills the night.  Under a string of bare-bulb lights, I can see buyers and sellers at an outdoor market haggling.  Their hands flutter like moths hovering near a candle’s flame.  Surely, someone will get burnt tonight.

A festive atmosphere prevails along the Corniche, the seaside promenade.  The sidewalks are thick with people.  Salesmen hawk their goods and couples strut their stuff.  The cafes are doing a brisk business.  Egyptian men loiter at outdoor tables smoking a nargili or water pipe, sipping strong Arabic coffee and watching the passing parade of which I have become a part.  It is noisy and crowded, but not threatening.  “Egyptians are friendly,” Kara had told us.  “Don’t be surprised if they walk up and talk to you.”

Indeed, as I am consulting my guide book in search of a dining suggestion a tall young man approaches me with a smile.

“Can I help you, sir?”
“I’m looking for the Sheikh Ali Bar.”
“Are you looking for something to eat?”
“Yes, or maybe just a beer.”
“I know a place where you can have both.”

Okay, okay. I know that in certain countries touts bring tourists to shops and restaurants where they get a commission on what the tourist buys. And I know that I should beware of strangers bearing gifts, even if they’re Egyptian instead of Greek.  So I say, “No, thanks,” and start off.  But, then I stop.  What am I afraid of?  I’m here to have an experience.  Shouldn’t I take a risk?

His name is Ali and his recommendation is just up the street.  We enter a clean, well-lighted place which advertises “pizza” and “falafel.”  I order two beers, but nothing else — I am cautious.  But then at the next table I hear English spoken and relax.  Maybe Ali is on the level.

Things proceed nicely.  The beers are cold and although Ali doesn’t speak much English, the people at the next table do.  I strike up a conversation and discover that Mareya is an Egyptian-American who teaches at the American Cultural Center and Kareem, who was born in Alexandria, was once her student.  They offer to give me an inside view of Alexandria the next day.  As we talk, Ali just sips his beer, smiles and says little.

After arranging tomorrow’s rendezvous spot, my new friends leave and it’s time to make a decision about Ali.  Considering the fact that I’ve met Mareya and Kareem because of him, I feel I owe him a meal.

“Let’s go to the Shiekh Ali Bar,” I suggest, consulting my guidebook again.
“Yes,” he says. “Come, I will show you.”
We hop a cab to the restaurant and as we approach the entrance Ali says, “Let me order so that they do not charge you tourist prices.”

I like this place.  The Shiekh Ali is frequented by locals and foreigners.  It harkens back to English colonial days with an ornately designed tin ceiling and fans rotating slowly above our heads.  Ali orders two large beers and a plate of squid swimming in a tomato-based sauce and a platter of peeled, boiled shrimp.  The food is delicious, and is served with a plate of tahina, a sesame spread spiced with oil, garlic and lemon.

Dinner over, Ali negotiates payment with the waiter in Arabic.  Sure, I’m suspicious when he reports that the bill is what I consider a tad too high, but I don’t care if he may have tacked a few dollars on for himself.

“Now, we should go for dessert and coffee,” I say.  “But first I need to change money.”
“I can change your money,” he offers.
“Fine,” I say, and give him twenty dollars.
“But I can’t do it here,” he says as he pockets my cash, “We have to go to shop to change it.”

Once at the shop, Ali tells me to “wait” while he changes the money.  But he doesn’t go into the shop.  Instead he walks down the other side of the street away from me.  I follow. The faster he walks, the faster I walk.  We must look like the Marx Brothers heading down the street one behind the other in perfect unison.

“Ali,” I finally shout, “What’s up?”
At my shout, he stops and comes back to me.
“The shop was closed,” he says, “You wish to go to a cafe, right?  We can change money there.”
Finally I’ve had enough.  “Why, don’t you just give me back my money.”
“Joe, Joe, please,” he says, as he hails a cab.  “It’s O.K., it’s O.K.”

When we reach the cafe he enters the front door, and I follow.  He exits out the back door, and I follow.  Now standing in an alley I shout, “Ali, where are you going?”
“Stay here,” he says.  “I change money.”  For a brief second I believe him and pause.  In that moment, he turns the corner and is gone.  I stand there alone in the ally feeling silly.  And embarrassed.  And then, I shrug my shoulders.

I’ve been scammed for food, drinks and twenty dollars.  And what did I get?  I met two gracious Egyptians who will give me a personal tour of Alexandria the next day and I had an experience.  Not a nice one, but an experience.

The night before at the ship’s casino I wagered $20 at the black jack table and won $50.  I had intended to go back tonight.  Instead, I risked $20 on a human being.
 
Well, as every gambler knows, sometimes you win and sometimes you lose.

Travel Musings — The Short Happy Pursuit of Pleasure, a collection of tales for the traveling soul by Joseph Rosendo, will be available soon for your kindle, at Travelscope’s online store and at your friendly book purveyor.

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