Nael's Second (and Final) Podcast

Today is our last full day in Egypt. We board a plane back to Cairo tonight and will fly to Germany tomorrow afternoon. Thankfully, I am feeling much much better. I would have hated life if I had to fly while inflicted with King Tut's gut.

I'll return to you tomorrow with what I haven't blogged about this week, but in the meantime please take a peek Nael's final podcast of this trip. He was very pleased with your comments and asked that I post this as well.

Enjoy!

A 9-year old's first podcast

I'm still feeling a bit under the weather thanks to what I not-so-affectionately refer to as King Tut's gut, so my 9-year-old nephew Nael pitched in by making a little podcast about the first half of our trip to Egypt. He spent two hours working with me on it and enjoyed practicing his English very much. He hopes you like it.

The Evil Eye

“Max…is good husband?” My mother-in-law speaks only a few words of English, but she always manages to communicate her point very well.

“Yes, Miha,” I replied. “He is very good. We are happy.”

“Yes…good…good,” she said with a smile. Then, her look suddenly turned sour. In a hush tone and in inexplicable Arabic, she looked at me sternly and cautioned me about that which I didn’t understand. I turned to Max for translation.

“She says to tell no one else about your happiness because someone might cast an evil eye upon you,” Max explained.

I have heard of this concept of the evil eye because it also exists in the Greek culture, and is, in fact, a commonly held belief throughout the Mediterranean and Middle East. The idea speaks to the jealous heart of human nature and states that people can never be truly happy for your successes and, instead, will secretly cast an evil eye upon you bringing misfortunes and turmoil. My family has always considered it a superstition, but Max’s mother takes it very seriously.

Just the other day, she walked up to her son, laid her hands upon his head, and began chanting.

“Alah akbar. Alah akbar. Alah akbar.” (God is great. God is great. God is great.)

Later, Max told me this was done in an attempt to ward off any evil eyes that might be directed toward him. Of course, her chant didn’t prevent me from shooting Max a look of bemusement and amusement at his explanation.

But perhaps I should not have dismissed the power of the evil eye so quickly. Not even day later, something evil certainly befell me—a bacterial infection in my digestive track, which required medical attention.

Fortunately, the resort here in Sharm El Sheikh features a well-staffed clinic. In addition to the infection, the doctor discovered I suffered from low-blood pressure and dehydration. He put me on IV fluids immediately.

I’ve been very careful of what I’ve eaten since arriving in Egypt. Last year, I also became sick a few days after arriving in Sharm and thought I had learned my lesson. But last year, I didn’t diss the evil eye. Lessoned learned.

***

(In a few days, I’ll be fine. The good news is my sickness gives me a chance to catch up on my blog reading—something I have missed since coming to Egypt. It’s been hard to sneak away from Max's family, but now I have the perfect excuse to leave them for a bit to "rest.")

Tired and Tattooed

Hello! I’m back from my travels and ready to catch up on what’s been going on with you. Unfortunately, my home computer died, so it might be a couple days before I am back and in the full swing of things.

In the meantime, here are a few photos from my Henna party in Egypt. What an experience! Wow!

Sights around Egypt

Hello all! I'm coming to you from an Internet cafe in Sharm El Sheik, Egypt. I have been mainly posting to my trip journal, and have not had a lot of time to post at the Martini Lounge. Those interested in keeping up with the trip, please check the Trip Journal link at the right side bar. For those of you only interest in pictures, please go here.

Hope everyone of you is doing well!

M-I-L

When Chico, Max and I arrived at Cairo International Airport, I spotted one of the most important, international; symbols—the sign for the women’s restroom.

“Hold on. I’ll be back in 30 seconds,” I said.

Max and Chico rolled their eyes, and I could almost see their collective thought: “Hadn’t she been to the bathroom enough during our 24-hour trip?”

Female traveling companions would have understood the necessity of this pit stop. A long voyage with little beauty sleep did little to enhance my appearance. And, in a post 9-11 era—one where you can’t carry vital toiletries on the airplane—the only hope to freshen up was a cool, wet paper towel and a couple breath mints.

As I looked in the bathroom mirror a thought hit me like a sucker punch to the gut: I was about to meet my new mother-in-law. A moment of panic ensued.

Two past marriages taught me that a woman not only weds her husband, she also marries a family. Circumstances had prevented me from meeting Max’s mother before the wedding, so I felt as though I had closed the deal sight unseen. And while I had every reason to believe my new M-I-L would be perfectly delightful, a tiny voice in my head reminded me there were no guarantees.

“Remember Cruella Devil,” it whispered.

Cruella was my nickname for M-I-L-1, a heinous and heartless woman who would have clubbed a puppy if it got in her way.

I shuddered at the thought of her. Surely Max’s mother would be nothing like her.

“There are no guarantees,” the little voice whispered.

This would be my third M-I-L meeting, but the first in which I couldn’t verbally communicate. “First impressions and body language would be critical,” I thought. “Smile a lot.”

I double and triple checked to make sure remnants of my airline dinner hadn’t gotten caught in my teeth. Then, I patted my face with a damp, paper towel. This was as good as it was going to get.

I stepped outside the restroom and saw Max jokingly tapping his toe and looking at his wrist watch.

“30 seconds, huh,” he laughed. And then as if he had known my fears all along, Max grabbed my hand.

“Come on,” he said softly. “It’s going to be fine.”

And with that the little voice in my head stopped. The time had finally come to meet my new mother-in-law.

It's Almost Here

In only nine days, I travel to Egypt to meet my husband's family for the very first time. As you can imagine I am curious, excited, and nervous. Fortunately, I am not traveling alone. Along with Max, my brother Chico makes the journey to this historic country. Even before I met my husband, traveling to Egypt has been a goal of mine and my brother since we were kids. It means so much to be sharing this trip with him.

Although I haven't physically met Max's family, I have spoken with them by phone. His father, two sisters, and nephew speak perfect English with an almost British accent. His mother only knows enough to tell me that she wishes to have a granddaughter in the family.

"Make baby. I want a girl," she says, giggling the entire time.

Since we've already been married two months, I'm sure she wonders what is taking so long.

I've left the planning of this trip completely to Max and his family. We arrive in Cairo, spend a couple days touring the pyramids, and then will head to a resort area somewhere along the Red Sea. We will spend a full week at the resort, in part to escape the 100 degree temperatures in Cairo. Then before returning to the United States, we will visit Max's extended family and take a dinner cruise down the Nile. I am also looking forward to a Henna painting ceremony for Max's female relatives and me. Apparently, this is a all the rage in Egypt, something special for brides just prior to their wedding.

Doesn't it all sound amazing?

Max understands my need to journal and blog about the experience, and he is prepared to take me to Internet cafes around the country if necessary. I do have the best intentions of posting to this site, as well as a trip journal I set up for my family and friends. I've included a link to my trip journal on the side bar if any of you want to get all the nitty gritty details of the trip--the sort that will only interest my family. Longtime readers are familiar with this routine because I have produced journals for trips to Greece and China. On the site, readers will find a place set e-mail notification of updates, as well as a messages center. This is how my family and friends will sends notes to me, Chico, and Max while we're away. I love getting messages because it makes me feel as though my friends and family are sharing in the adventure.

Of course, I hope to keep Martinis updated as well. There may be few topics I wouldn't feel comfortable discussing with my family-like how Chico has been e-mailing Max's youngest sister over the last few months and whether anything is developing. So my trip journal will be the place where I share the Pollyanna version of Egypt, while Martinis will offer a more complete picture on the off chance anything doesn't go well.

But let's hope that doesn't happen.

Guess Who's Coming?

Now that Max faced my Big, Fat Greek Family, I’ve begun obsessing about the next meeting to take place. Our trip to Egypt to meet Max’s family is still a few months away, but that doesn’t mean I can’t already be stressing about it.

I ask myself all the usual questions that a new bride poses before meeting her future in-laws. Will I like them? Will they like me? Will I be accepted as part of the family? But I also worry about the vast cultural schism that might exist as I, an independent Western woman, make my way in an Islamic world. I do not know much about Muslim society, and I would hate to offend Max’s family out of sheer ignorance.

“I read that in Middle Eastern cultures, it is an insult to show your sole to a guest. What if I accidentally cross my legs and show my foot? Will your parents be offended?” I asked.

“ Maybe,” Max replied. “I really don’t know.”

And he really doesn’t know. Having never lived in Middle East and rejecting much of the culture himself, Max offers little guidance. As far as he is concerned, we might as well be visiting Disney World. There isn’t anything I need to do differently in order to prepare for this trip.

“Just chew with your mouth closed and flush the toilet after you use it and everything will be fine.” Max says with a chuckle.

Since he’s not taking my worries seriously, I’ve been doing online research. After all, we know that everything on the Web is 100% accurate.

Max insists that because Egypt is a popular tourist destination, the people are familiar with Western ways and style of clothing. He says I don’t have to change anything about how I dress while we are there. But everything I read tells me that this isn’t the case. While I wouldn’t need to don a head scarf, I should try to wear calf-length skirts and ¾ sleeved tops at a minimum. If we go to a mosque, I will have to cover myself completely.

As you can probably guess, my wardrobe wouldn't be considered "modest" even by western standards. So I’ve already begun hunting for my Egyptian wears. Somehow I’ll need to find clothing that covers my body, but will also be comfortable in the 100 degree temperatures. Even with my savvy shopping skills, this task may be a mission impossible.

Max’s immediate family spent many years living in Greece, so I am less worried about offending them with my wild Western ways. But a few of his extended family are less moderate, and some of the female cousins even wear burkas, clothing the completely covers the head, face, and body. In these cases, Max tells me he has not seen the faces of these women since they were children. I think that my fiancée shares these tales as a way of preparing me. He is hosting a post-wedding party for about 50 of his friends and family in Cairo, where I will be on full display for all to see.

Did I mention that alcohol is forbidden in Muslim countries? I’m a goner.