Egypt (4 page)

These shopkeepers here have a real knack for display.

Golden sculptures for sale at the bazaar

Everything is lined neatly on shelves, organized by size, stacked at varying heights, and polished to give the appearance of a Pharaoh’s treasure. And there is always a man dusting the merchandise.

The shopkeepers are also expert salesmen. There is no such thing as peaceful browsing at the Khan al-Khalili Bazaar. It’s rare to pass a shopkeeper that doesn’t try to lure us into his store with questions and conversation.

“Hey, boys!” they’ll shout. “Where are you from? Ah, Americans! What a coincidence! I am American, too! You stick with me. I have everything you need at the best price!”

Others are more straightforward.

“Hello, boys,” they’ll say as we pass. “How can I take your money?”

Our cab driver, a young college student studying at Cairo University, gave us some advice before we wandered into the bazaar.

“You will not see any price tags on the merchandise,” he said. “That’s because there are no set prices. Khan al-Khalili is a hagglers’ market. To haggle means to negotiate the price. Have you ever haggled?”

“Not really,” Gannon said.

“Then be careful. The first price vendors will give you is the tourist price. That’s the price you do not want to pay. Try to haggle with them and get a lower price. And don’t be afraid to walk away if you think they are trying to rip you off. In the end, they want your business and will settle for a price you’re comfortable with.”

I wasn’t looking for anything in particular, but wound up buying an Egyptian soccer jersey for myself. Gannon and I also found a sterling silver jewelry box for our three-year-old cousin, Emerson. She’s young, but already loves jewelry.

“How much?” Gannon asked, pointing to the silver box.

“500 Egyptian pounds,” the man replied.

“No way,” Gannon protested. “That price is higher than a camel’s butt. Come on, my friend. Work with me here.”

Despite Gannon’s attempt at haggling, we still ended up paying the tourist price.

Exhausted after walking many miles, Gannon and I took a seat at a café under a colorful umbrella and ordered some iced tea and a basket of falafels. A traditional Middle-Eastern dish, falafels are mashed chickpeas pressed into a patty, mixed with all sorts of spices, and deep-fried. They’re typically served with flatbread and hot sauce.

“Very popular street food,” our waiter said in broken English. “Make you strong man!”

“Good,” I said. “Gannon needs some help in that department.”

“Ha-ha,” Gannon quipped.

We devoured our first basket within minutes, ordered another, and stuffed it down just as quick. We’re so full right now we can hardly move. I’m enjoying this time, just relaxing under the shade of an umbrella and writing in my journal as this bustling bazaar happens all around us, but we should probably get back to the hotel soon. We’ve got a big day tomorrow.

BACK AT HOTEL
NIGHT


Important matters such as souvenir hunting cannot be rushed. Patience is key. For real, it’s the difference between finding something you cherish for the rest of your life and settling for something that ends up in the back of your closet, covered in dust, forgotten and unappreciated.

Unfortunately, patience is a virtue my brother totally lacks. I mean, we’d only been at the bazaar for a few hours and he was ready to pack it in and head back to the hotel.

“Let’s get a cab,” he said, after we finished lunch.

“Not yet,” I said, “I still need to get something for myself.”

“We just walked down every street in the bazaar. Why didn’t you get something then?”

“I didn’t come across the right souvenir, that’s why. When you visit a place like Egypt, you have to leave with something special. A pyramid paperweight won’t do. It has to be a souvenir that has meaning.”

“Fine,” Wyatt said, “But you better find this meaningful thing pronto or I’m heading back to the hotel without you.”

So, we headed back into the bazaar. After some meandering, I spotted a store that looked interesting.

The crowds at Khan al-Khalili

“Look,” I said, pointing down an alleyway. “We haven’t been in this place. Let’s check it out.”

At the end of the alley there was this doorway with brass lanterns hanging on both sides and white lights strung around the door-frame. We stepped through the door into a small, narrow shop. The place was lit with dozens of candles all melted down into blobs and there were three rows of shelving on either wall and each was stacked with all kinds of little trinkets that flickered in the candlelight. Seated in the corner was an old man, puffing away on a long wooden pipe.

“Titkallam Inglizi?” I asked. This was another important phrase I’d learned. It means, “Do you speak English?”

The man nodded.

“What kind of store is this?” I asked.

“That depends,” he said. “What are you looking for?”

“Here we go again,” Wyatt said under his breath.

For whatever reason, I had a good feeling about this guy. Maybe it was that he didn’t immediately come off as pushy like a lot of the other vendors we’d come across.

“I’m looking for something that’s one of a kind,” I said.

“Let me ask you a question,” the shopkeeper said. “What is it that brings you to Egypt?”

“We’re on an archeological expedition,” I answered.

“What are you searching for?” he asked.

“Cleopatra.”

The man looked at us curiously.

“Searching for the Queen,” he finally said. “That is very ambitious of you.”

I nodded in agreement.

“You are aware that Cleopatra’s whereabouts have eluded some of the world’s greatest archeologists?” he asked.

“Yes, we’re aware,” I said, looking at an old record player he had on his shelf. “Wow, this is pretty cool.”

Wyatt immediately protested, whispering into my ear.

“You’re not buying a record player, Gannon.”

“Calm down,” I whispered back. “I just said it was cool, that’s all.”

The man had stopped smoking, but he kept staring at us.

“Since we’re on the topic of Cleopatra,” I said to him, “do you have anything that dates back to the time of her reign?”

“I was hoping you’d ask,” he said with a mischievous grin. “Follow me.”

I raised my eyebrows to Wyatt as the shopkeeper disappeared behind a curtain in the back corner of the store.

“Come on, Gannon. Don’t be stupid. This guy’s going to scam you.”

“Let’s just see what he wants to show us. It’s not like I have to buy it.”

“I know you. You’re a total sucker. I’d be willing to bet he ends up with every last Egyptian pound in your wallet.”

We followed the man through a storage area that exited into an alley so narrow that we had to turn sideways to squeeze through it.

Wyatt was getting really nervous.

“This isn’t smart,” he whispered.

“Relax, bro,” I said.

“You know what Mom and Dad would do if they knew we were following a complete stranger down some creepy alleyway?”

“This is just the kind of experience that leads to the best souvenirs.”

“Or a kidnapping.”

A short way into the alley it opened up and we came to a small courtyard closed off on all sides by high buildings.

“Just up this ladder,” the shopkeeper said.

“I’m not going,” Wyatt said, quietly.

“This guy’s harmless,” I said under my breath. “Look at him.”

We both turned to the man and he smiled, showing off his teeth, which were all crooked and brown with a few missing here and there. Okay, it might not have been a pretty smile, but it was sincere.

“See?” I said.

Wyatt took a deep breath.

“Fine, but if this turns out bad, I’m telling Mom and Dad it was all your idea.”

“Whatever.”

“After you,” the shopkeeper said.

Looking up the rusty ladder that led to an even rustier balcony, I had second thoughts myself.

“You sure about this?” I asked the shopkeeper.

“It is safe,” he said. “I promise. You will not be disappointed.”

“You know what,” I said. “I’ll follow you.”

So, up he went. I followed. Wyatt was close behind.

At the top of the ladder, we climbed through a window into a small room where all kinds of dust was swirling through the air. Everything inside was covered in bed sheets that had turned yellow with age.

“What’s all this?” I asked right before I sneezed.

“These are my treasures,” the man said, and carefully drew back a sheet. Underneath was a shelf full of random artifacts. He reached up and took in his hand what looked like a broken piece of pottery.

“My grandfather was an archeologist,” he continued. “His name was Rifa’a Kamil. He made many great discoveries and was well respected by his peers. The one thing that always escaped him was the tomb of Cleopatra.”

Now this guy really had my attention.

“At the end of his life my grandfather was confident he was close to finding the Queen’s final resting place. He was rather secretive about his work. No one knew the exact location of the dig, but I do know he was in the northern deserts not far from Alexandria. He was afraid if he gave the exact coordinates, others would show up and rob the tomb. This broken tile is the only relic he ever brought back. See the profile carved into the stone?”

“It looks like a woman.”

“It is a woman,” the shopkeeper said. “Cleopatra.”

My eyes almost popped out of my head.

Wyatt scoffed.

“What ever happened to your grandfather’s excavation?” I asked.

“One winter, he returned to the site of the dig saying that he would be home in the spring. While he was there, a major sandstorm settled over Alexandria. It lasted for weeks. We never saw him again.”

“He disappeared?”

“Most likely buried where he stood.”

Wyatt leaned over and whispered in my ear.

“This guy is full of it,” he said. “What are the chances that this piece is actually from Cleopatra’s tomb? I’ll tell you. Slim to none. I bet he broke a tile in his shop and now he’s trying to cover his losses by selling it to you. Don’t be an idiot.”

“How much?” I asked the shopkeeper.

“If you buy it I’m disowning you as a brother,” Wyatt said.

The shopkeeper ran his dry, calloused fingers over the piece.

“The artifacts in this room have never been for sale,” he said. “However, I am an old man now. Since my days remaining on this earth are numbered, I’ve decided that certain pieces should be given to the right people. My instinct tells me you are the right person.”

“Did you say given?” I asked. “As in for free?”

The man nodded.

“Thank you, sir!” I said excitedly.

“First, you must make me a promise. This is not a souvenir. I believe in my heart that it is truly a piece from Cleopatra’s tomb, which makes it an archeological treasure whose value is beyond measure. You must respect it as such.”

“I promise to honor your wishes.”

Apparently he felt my promise was genuine and that he could trust me. He carefully handed me the piece. I’m not lying, as soon as my fingertips touched it this crazy tingling sensation ran all the way up my arm and into my shoulder.

“Is there anything I can do to repay you for your generosity?” I asked.

“Yes,” the shopkeeper said. “Avoid the same fate as my grandfather. You are young. Too young to risk your lives. Be careful and pay attention to the warnings. I will pray that my grandfather will watch over you.”

“Thank you,” Wyatt said. “You’ve been very kind, but we really must be going. Our expedition starts tomorrow.”

“Travel safe,” the shopkeeper said, raising his hand to us as we made our way back out the window.

“Thanks again,” I said. “Your grandfather’s piece is in good hands. I promise.”

The shopkeeper nodded.

“See, Wyatt,” I said as we climbed back onto the rusty balcony. “I told you that guy wasn’t going to rip me off!”

Through the window, I could hear the shopkeeper laugh.

FEBRUARY 24, 9:28 AM
CAIRO, EGYPT
17° CELSIUS, 63° FAHRENHEIT


This morning, I saw the Great Pyramids for the first time. There’s almost no way to describe the feeling you get when you first take in a sight so amazing, but I’ll try.