Sandcastles in the Sand

In Egypt. So far:

1. I have not been permitted to carry my backpack (my only piece of luggage). Male travelers are left to their own devices. I am indifferent to this so far.

2. The hotel did not know that I existed, but a room was nonetheless found after much perusing of my vouchers and receipts.

3. I was shepherded out of the airport before I could hit the ATM. Unfortunately, the ATM at the hotel (a very nice tourist hotel near the Pyramids, filled with what appear to be satisfyingly immodest Europeans) is broken. The stretch of sidewalk-free and fast-moving highway on which the hotel sits has a gift shop (no good with no money) and the shuttered husk of a branch of the National Bank of Egypt. It taunts me, not least because the captain who helped me with my luggage (see 1) was quite nonplussed to not receive a tip. Hopefully this will be addressed soon.

4. It's a little reminiscent of L.A., what with the hazy skies and palm trees. I feel strangely at home. Everything is sand-colored. There is a lot of stuff named after 6 October, too. Steve would probably find this a vindication of his decision not to go to Egypt. I am morbidly curious about the museum and panorama. The exhibits in the Serbian War Museum on their capture of American soldiers (complete with stolen flight suits!) were oddly revealing.

More when I can. I brought my camera cable, so perhaps there will be photos.