Global Reflections

Yesterday afternoon, Jeff and I walked down to Maadi Grand Mall (MGM) to go tuxedo-shopping. We had been told by a friend that there was a good tailor there who could make Jeff's tux for the Marine Ball, and since we didn't know how long it would take, we decided that we needed to get moving on that. I also needed to get a rhinestone accent piece for my dress, and my tailor had told me that there was a store in MGM where I could find what I needed. I'd been there once, but only for a few minutes, and only on one floor, so I didn't fully understand what I was letting myself in for.

Jeff and I had a pleasant walk to MGM. The weather has started to cool off some. The temperature was probably in the low 80s, and there was a breeze, and it was shady most of the way. And it was comfortable inside, too; it must be air-conditioned.

We had no idea where in the mall we needed to go. The mall is pretty big, with maybe five floors. According to the internet, there are around 300 spaces for stores. Each floor is laid out around a central balcony. One or two rows of stores flank the balcony, and on each end there's a little maze with other stores. It can be a little overwhelming when you're searching for something specific but don't know the store's name and therefore can't really ask for help. I also noticed that the mall map didn't seem to have any store names, just numbered boxes to represent the stores.

We decided to start at the bottom and work our way up. We roamed the ground floor and saw two or three tailors and one thread shop. No sparklies in the thread shop, so no luck there. We also saw a food court, some scarf shops, some menswear shops (dressy and casual), some kids' shops, and of course, a lot of women's shops. Of these, many had western clothes, from casual to evening wear, and quite a few had gallabeyas, also ranging from casual to evening. On to the first floor . . . and the second . . . and on up. Somewhere in the middle--I forget which floor we were on--we spotted a larger-than-expected shop that had to have been where my dressmaker had sent me. One wall was covered with fancy threads and ribbons. Two walls were covered from floor to ceiling with boxes. Each box had a small, clear plastic bag on front that had samples of what was inside: decorative items that could be sewn onto clothing, drapes, or whatever. There were "useful" items like buttons, and there were purely decorative items. Most were gold- or silver-toned. Two or three were rhinestone. I had hoped for one piece, long and delicate-looking, like what was on the original bridesmaids' dresses. No luck there. But I found some small flower-shaped pieces and bought ten of them. If they're put in a wavy line, they should mimic the look I want. I don't think the dressmaker will use them all, but I'd rather have too many than too few. I was surprised at their cost--LE8.5 each. At current exchange rates, that's around $1.50 each. It was more than expected, but everything else on the dress was so inexpensive that I don't really mind. So my mission was accomplished; how about Jeff's?

All in all, we saw probably seven tailors. We had no idea which one had gotten the recommendation as a good, inexpensive tuxedo maker. We called our friend who had told us about him; our friend had never used him and didn't know where in the mall he was, just that someone had been pleased with his work. Jeff admitted that he really wasn't so keen on the idea of having one made without knowing that someone had had good luck with the specific tailor we were using, and I agreed. Jeff also admitted that he wasn't so keen on the idea of having one made in the first place; he'd rather buy one off the rack. It's easier.

So we went back to a men's shop that had had nice suits and one nice tuxedo in the window. A sales attendant came up to us immediately, and Jeff just said "Tuxedo?"

"Yes, yes. Here." He pulled out a nice, classic, conservative black tuxedo coat (no tails), with satin on the lapels. Jeff and I both liked the look of it. The salesman, however, took another look at Jeff, looked at the tag on the coat's sleeve, and frowned. He pulled out another coat and started trying to convince us that it was better. In reality, it was pin-striped. The lapel was the same material as the rest of the coat, except that it was bordered in satin. Jeff was a good sport; he tried it on and looked in the mirror. Neither one of us liked it so well. We told the salesman that we really preferred the other. He said that the only one they had in Jeff's size was the striped one. We prepared to leave the store. The salesman hurriedly told us to just wait a moment while he ran over and got on the phone. He came back with a downcast face, and we knew we'd be leaving.

We headed across the mall to another nice men's store; I think it was called Lorenzo's. This one didn't have a tux in the window, but the suits were really nice, so we were hopeful. We had seen tuxes in other windows, but they were . . . not so much Jeff's--or my--style. Very current and stylish . . . okay, to speak plainly, they were in line with some very UGLY fads. We wanted a classic look, in line with the suits we saw in this particular window. So we went in, and a salesman again immediately greeted us. Jeff used his one-word question again: "Tuxedo?"

"Oh, yes, yes. This way." The sales attendant led us to the back of the shop. Tucked away in a corner, there was a rack of tuxedos, all hanging nicely in their plastic bags to keep the inevitable dust off. There were boxes of vests, ties, and handkerchiefs stacked neatly on a table. Shirts of all colors were nestled in their plastic bags on shelves. The store looked similar to what I would expect of a nice store back in the States. The attendant showed us some vests. Some very modern vests. We finally found one that was more subdued, with a black-on-black pattern. It was available in medium or in 2X. I was doubtful, but Jeff pointed out that Egyptian men tend to be smaller than him, so the 2X may work. He was right.

The attendant eyeballed Jeff and said a coat size (I forget what, but it was in the sizing system we're used to). Jeff was doubtful but went along with it. The coat fit perfectly. It was a nice classic look. There were some random strings and fuzz, but when the salesman saw me start picking them off--partly to make sure they weren't attached and partly out of an uncontrollable impulse that most women seem to share--he quickly got most of them off. As Jeff turned around to look in the mirror, I spotted someting on the back of his shoulder: a pick in the fabric. The salesman was horrified. "Don't worry, I have another one, same size. No problem. The fit is good?" We agreed that we liked the coat, just not the pick, and like magic, a new one appeared. This one was in good condition--no, it was in excellent condition; the first one had been in good condition. The attendant asked Jeff his pant size--actually he asked Jeff if he was this size or that size (I don't know if Jeff really wants his pant size on the internet, so I won't say what sizes he named). Jeff indicated the larger, and the attendant frowned. He asked Jeff to try on the pants. Jeff disappeared into the fitting room.

While he was gone, the attendant laid the coat out on a table and showed me some black satin material and some fancy button covers. He said that we had choices: we could take the coat as it was, with plain lapels and buttons; we could have the lapels and buttons covered with a matte black satin to make it a little more formal; or we could have the lapels and buttons covered with a shiny black satin to make it really formal. He pointed out that the satin all could be replaced at any time; just bring it in. Around that time, Jeff came out, wearing his own clothes. The pants were too tight. While he was out there, I showed him the satin, and we agreed that if it was going to be a tux, it should be formal. Shiny satin it is. Once that decision had been made, the salesman ushered Jeff back into the fitting room, where he was to put the pants back on, too small or not, so the on-site tailor could get a look at them. A few minutes later, Jeff came back out and we chatted while the pants were let out.

Jeff tried the pants on again. Perfect fit in the waist. The attendant folded up the pants leg and asked my opinion of the length. I have no idea where the pant leg should hit the shoe. I just know it's too short when I see it flapping in the breeze when he walks, and it's too long when he steps on it. I deferred to Jeff's opinion. He deferred to the attendant's.

Next the attendant pulled out a white shirt. Back into the fitting room. Eventually we settled on a complete outfit, except that Jeff didn't need any socks and we have to check the shiny black shoes he currently owns to see if they'll look nice or if we need to buy him some more shoes too. The work on the coat and the pant hem will take three days, so we can pick it all up anytime after Tuesday night. I'll try to get Jeff to model for the camera.

So we bought a tuxedo for Jeff. The really nice thing: it cost about the same as what we paid for one of Jeff's suits back in the States. Just for reference, for those who may not know us all that well . . . we don't pay a lot for suits. We get nice suits, but not huge names, and we get them from outlet stores or off clearance racks. We've never paid $200 for a suit, and I doubt we ever will.

Ater our main goals at the mall were accomplished, it was time to just look around. We visited an electronics store and a Timberland store. Even before the mission was accomplished, Jeff hadn't been able to resist a computer store and a Nike store. All in all, I was pleasantly surprised by the mall. There's a lot more in there than you would think. The stores all seemed to be nicely maintained, and the salespeople are friendly and helpful. They spoke English, but they smiled when I attempted to communicate in Arabic. That's pretty common here in Maadi. You can get by without any Arabic (other than with taxi drivers), but the already-friendly people get just a little bit friendlier when you try to speak Arabic, even if you do mangle it.

Today has been a full day. No less than three things I want to blog about! Originally, it was all about going to the fabric market, but as I walked to Sherry's place this morning, two other blogs just kind of happened. So I'll start at the beginning. Don't worry; the fabric market is still most of it.

I left home this morning a little before 10, as I was meeting Sherry and her landlady around 10:30. It was a nice, comfortable temperature, so I wanted to walk. As I headed down Bour Said, my first blog happened: I saw a man on a motorcycle, and he actually was wearing his helmet!! That sight alone is blog-worthy. Here you often see people on motorcycles holding a helmet in their laps, sometimes along with a child or two, but it's rare to see a helmet on a head. So there you go, first blog done.

As I continued down Bour Said, I heard a horn honking behind me. This, too, is nothing unusual. Cars often honk just to let you know they're there, and taxis honk to attract your attention if the driver thinks you may want a ride. I was on a nice, high, wide sidewalk (no chance of being hit by wandering out into traffic), and I didn't want a ride, so I didn't turn to look. As the car passed me, though, I saw that it wasn't a taxi. It was a newer model, shiny black personal vehicle. It got about ten feet ahead of me and pulled over. The driver's side window was up (therefore the vehicle had air conditioning), but the passenger side window rolled down as I watched. The driver was male, and he was alone in the car. Now this behavior is unusual and a little creepy, same as it would be in the States. I continued walking, although I patted the outside pocket on my purse where my mobile phone lives just to make certain it was accessible. As I walked by the car, the driver glared at me. He didn't say anything, didn't get out of the car, didn't even smile appreciatively the way some rather rude Egyptian men do. (They aren't supposed to notice women who aren't noticing them.) I broke with "proper" female behavior by glaring back at him and kept walking. After I had gone a few feet past the car, he pulled back out, tires squealing, and sped off. I haven't had anything like that happen before, and I don't know why it happened now. I was dressed modestly; I was wearing loose khaki pants and a loose blouse with three-quarter length sleeves--I even had my hair up in a clip, although not covered. Anyway, it was a strange occurrence.

So I continued on to Sherry's place. Her landlady, Iman, was late--by U. S. standards; she was on time or maybe even early by Egyptian standards. She showed up around 10:45 for the 10:30 meeting. Sherry and I hopped in her car and we were off. We headed out of Maadi and up the Corniche. We went past the embassy a little ways, then turned off onto a small street that ran roughly parallel to the Corniche. I saw fabric shops lined up in rows on my right. On my left, there were cars double-parked on the side of the road. Car after car after car . . . not a hole in sight. After a few minutes, ,we saw on empty spot, but the car ahead of us took it, so we kept going. Finally, we reached the end of that road, and our driver spoke with one of the parking attendants. These are men who hang out in areas where lots of people want to park; they stop traffic so you can get into or out of a spot, and you tip them. The attendant confirmed "Mafiish makaan" ("there is not a place"). So we went back out to the Corniche.

We drove slowly up the Corniche, looking for a place to park. No luck. Finally, we had gone so far that we wouldn't be willing to walk back to the fabric market, so we found a turnabout and turned around. Next thing I knew, we were on a bridge heading across the Nile. Iman looked a little surprised and said "I am going the wrong way!" We had gotten up onto a bridge because the vast majority of the road went straight onto it, with no way to turn around, and the part that went around it to continue going south along the Nile was small and required a quick turn. So we headed across the Nile to one of the islands--I forget which one, but it wasn't Zamalek; it was north of Zamalek, I think--then headed down the Corniche on the other side until we got to a turnabout. Then it was back north to the end of the island, back across the Nile, and we were headed south again.

Not long after that, we started seeing cars parked on the right side of the road. Iman said that she didn't think you could park there, but we all agreed that apparently you can. There was a small break in the cars, which we didn't see until we were past it, so Iman backed up a good 20 feet along the busy Corniche. The woman is fearless. When we got back to the spot, she started to get into it, then realized that it was too small. She started to pull back out, when a man came running across six lanes of traffic from the other side of the Corniche. It was the parking attendant. Iman said out the window "Sughayyar!" (it's small) and started to keep going, but he indicated for her to wait a minute, he'd push the cars to make the spot bigger. Apparently when you parallel park on the side of a busy street, it's customary to leave the car in neutral so the attendant can push it to let another car in or out. So Iman parked, and we crossed the Corniche--it didn't even scare me this time!--and headed a little farther south to the fabric market.

Iman led us directly to a shop called Soiree. The owner, Fayez Labib, sells all sorts of beautiful material for dresses. There was lace and silk, as well as other nice fabric I didn't really recognize. And of course, there was the satin for which I was looking. I wanted either a royal blue or an emerald green. I wanted to see the material before I picked a color for certain. When we first went in, Iman gestured at a beautiful brown and gold lace with a matching taupe silk, and the shopkeeper pulled it out and spread it across a table. He pulled out pictures of models wearing different dresses made from the same type of material. I don't think Iman realized that I already had the style in mind and really just needed satin. The lace and silk she had picked out actually would have been nice with my coloring; they just didn't fit the dress I wanted. So with some help from Sherry, I conveyed what I needed, and the shopkeeper brought out some satin samples.

First he showed me a lot of reds, yellows, and oranges. Not exactly what I had in mind. I don't know any Arabic color words, but Sherry eventually made him understand that we wanted to see blue and green. So he pulled out his very limited selection. The Arab skin tone looks amazing with the warm colors; they don't get as much call for the cooler colors, so there were fewer options. They had bright greens, but only one dark green. It was almost black. They had several blues, including one almost purple one that Sherry and I both loved. But when I told Labib how much I needed, he faltered. He tried to tell me that that was too much; dresses don't require four meters of material! Where did I ever get such an idea that so much was needed? "From the dressmaker." Iman rightly guessed that Labib didn't have enough of that particular fabric. So he brought out large bolts of two other blues and practically begged me to come see myself in a full-length mirror with those fabrics held up in front of me. I have to admit it; he had picked out two beautiful blues that worked well with my skin tone. So I picked one of those and asked how much. "Twenty-five pounds a meter." So LE100, roughly 20 dollars. I was okay with that. Iman . . . not so much okay with that. A little arguing--I mean, bargaining--later, I walked out of the shop with four meters of material. My wallet was LE80--roughly 16 dollars--lighter.

Iman needed to buy some slippers, and Sherry and I wanted to see a little more of the fabric market, so we didn't head straight back to the car. We roamed down a narrow "road" between open stalls. Most had bolts of fabric stacked neatly along the walls. Some had scarves, dresses (Western-style and gallabeyas), or blankets displayed. One seemed to sell nothing but bras. We went into one other fabric shop, where Iman took stock of what they had available. Apparently, she's going to need some dresses for some events coming up, so she's getting ideas.

As we headed back out to the Corniche, I stopped to look at some scarves. There were some nice ones, and I asked "Bi kam?" (how much?) The shopkeeper told me that the one I was looking at was LE20, and he promptly took it off the display, unfolded it, and thrust it into my hands. He then led me deeper into the stall, pointing out scarves all along the way. I turned to make sure that Sherry and Iman hadn't left me--I had been in back--and saw Iman scowling. I asked her if it was a good price. "No." We left. As Sherry and I followed Iman through the crowd, she suddenly doubled back. "He is calling us back." Sherry and I looked at each other--had either of us heard anything that remotely sounded like it was directed at us? No, didn't think so. But we went back to the stall. Before I knew it, Sherry and I both were holding several scarves (Sherry wasn't even looking, they just got thrown at her), and Iman was talking with the shopkeeper. The shopkeeper was getting more and more upset. I couldn't understand what was being said, but he kept stalking off then turning back. Finally Iman told me that the scarf was LE15, a good price. I bought two as gifts and we left. The shopkeeper--still scowling--seemed glad to see us go.

We headed back to the car and down to Maadi. After a quick lunch, I took the dress material over to the seamstress. She saw the material, complimented its color, felt it, and scowled. She tried to make it seem okay, but I think the material is too thin, not thick enough to hold the shape of the dress. She seemed to think that she can make it work, especially after I told her that I wanted it lined but didn't know what material is best for that. She agreed to find and purchase the lining. I think it'll be a nice stiff fabric. I'll find out next week, when I go for my first fitting.

So how many women out there have husbands who really really want to go to a formal ball?

I do! In fact, Jeff has been mentioning for a while that he and a coworker or two are trying to get a group together to go to the Marines' Ball next month. I resisted this idea. Why, you ask? For one simple reason . . . I have no dress. Really. No dress. At all. Not even just "not a ball gown." No dress, period. I don't wear dresses. On those rare occasions when I need to look like I'm wearing a dress, I wear a top and skirt. My body is not made for dresses. I'm two different sizes. So when dress shopping, I try on a gazillion dresses and none of them fit. And I'm outside of the normal size range anyway, making it even more difficult. So I'm thinking that in order to get a dress, I have to order one online and then have it altered. Two problems: That's expensive, and it takes time. The ball is in a month. Shipping alone often takes two or three weeks.

A solution was offered by Pam, a friend from church. She had a dress custom-made here in Maadi and said that it isn't too expensive and it doesn't take too long. At first I resisted even that . . . even if something fits me, I don't know until I try it on if I like the way it looks, so how am I supposed to pick out a dress I've never tried on because it doesn't exist yet?

Jeff was disappointed but was willing to skip the ball. I felt like a heel. So I decided that we were going to the ball if possible. I got online and started looking at dresses. I remembered that there is one dress that I unquestionably liked the style of . . . my wedding dress. And I had picked out my bridesmaids' dresses to match my wedding dress; they had the same ruched waist that I liked about my wedding dress. So . . . I have a style that I know I will like, at least well enough. Step one: accomplished.

Next goal: actually getting the dress. The store that did the bridesmaid dresses doesn't ship to APOs, and even if they did, it would take too long for alterations. Okay. Time to find Pam's dressmaker. My friend Sherry came in handy with that. She knew where the dressmaker is; she uses her for alterations, and she's seen Pam's picture on her bulletin board. So today we went to visit the dressmaker. I met Sherry at her place, after my language class, and we walked together to the dressmaker. Turns out the dressmaker is a block from my flat--how much better can you get?

Anyway, the dressmaker spoke very limited English, so I was thrilled to have Sherry with me. I showed the dressmaker a picture of the dress, plus one other with a similar style, and asked which would be easier to do. She could do the bridesmaid dress with no problem, but the embroidery on the other would be a problem. So the bridesmaid dress it is. She took a couple of measurements and then told me to buy four meters of fabric--satin, to be precise. That'll be enough for the dress and a matching bag. It'll take two weeks from when I bring her the fabric, and the cost for her labor is extremely reasonable. Step two: get things arranged with the dressmaker--accomplished.

Step three will be purchasing the fabric. There's a fabric suuq (open-air market) for this. Sherry was there once buying material for her drapes, and she says they have lots of satin. Of course, we have to get there, be able to communicate, and bargain. Enter Sherry's landlady. I haven't met her yet, but Sherry loves her. I'll meet her tomorrow morning at Sherry's flat, when the three of us will take a trip down to the fabric suuq.

Step four will be finding the rhinestone accent piece for the dress. The dressmaker said that there's a shop in Maadi Grand Mall for that. Step five will include finding the shoes. I'll probably just wear the necklace and earrings from my wedding ensemble.

Oh, and we haven't even started the process yet of having Jeff's tux made.

Updates as warranted.

The room was pitch black except for the light from the television. On the screen, a small figure in white robes ran to and fro, collecting flags and assassinating people in accordance with the needs of the Assassins Guild. Suddenly, out of the darkness, there arose a huge black figure, determined to catch and eat the assassin . . . the Cleo! (dun dun duun)

In the darkness, the Cleo swiped uselessly at the bright white figure, desperate for food. The figure dodged adroitly, all the while continuing his mission. Eventually the dejected Cleo gave up and turned her attention to . . . the Cat Dancer! (dun dun duun)

So you see the fun we have with kitties :-) For anyone who gets this blog by email and can't see the embedded video, you can see it by clicking here. If the video won't play (I seem to be having issues with that), click here and then click on "slideshow."

Oh, and Jeff wanted me to be sure to say: The Cleo's attempts to kill the assassin (from the XBox 360 game Assassin's Creed) did not result in any damage to the TV screen. No assassins or kittens were harmed during the events described in this blog.

After we left Saint Macarius on Saturday, we went to Anafora, a Christian retreat center out in the desert. Unfortunately I don't have anywhere near enough pictures of Anafora. The camera's battery was running out, and the place was just so serene and relaxing that neither Jeff nor I could see disturbing the peace by snapping pictures every couple of minutes. So we took very few pictures, but if you'd like to see the 16 that we did get, you can click here.

As we drove along the highway, I saw a beautiful building enclosed in a wall. The white stone building had multiple domes. I commented to Jeff that it would be nice if we could go there. Jeff's reply: "Who knows, that may be where we're going." He was right, in a way.

We pulled up to the gates in the stone wall around the beautiful building. The driver honked the horn, waited a couple of minutes, and honked it again. No one came to open the gates. Ibrahim got out of the bus to read a sign, written in Arabic on a plain sheet of paper, that was attached to the gates. Then he pulled out his mobile phone and made a call. He got back onto the bus and announced that he had both bad news and good news. "The bad news is that Anafora is closed. The good news is that we can visit." With that, the bus began backing up and manuevering into a ponderous three-point turn. We drove up the road to the end of the wall, then turned down a narrow lane. We followed the wall until we arrived at the gate to another compound, behind the original one. We were admitted through this gate.

We continued down the lane past fields, with a few workers diligently going about their duties. Then we arrived at a clearing that had several small stone buildings. Most were connected to each other, but one stood alone. The stand-alone building faced away from us, and Ibrahim led us around the side to the entrance. Almost everyone paused to look around and take photographs of the pictures on the building's wall, so then we scurried to catch up to Ibrahim. I was so busy watching my footing that I didn't even glance at the building's front. We entered the building through some huge wooden doors. The building was almost entirely one room, with windows along each side, providing a cooling breeze when opened. The floor was covered in multi-colored rugs. There were benches and chairs along the edges. The center was covered with small stools and large pillows made out of the same material as the rugs. Near the front, there was a white cross laid out on the floor, and a tree-stump lecturn in the middle. Ibrahim later told us that the tree represents the Tree of Life. We all had a seat, and Ibrahim told us about how one becomes a Coptic monk and how the Coptic Pope is chosen. He also told us a bit more about the differences between Coptic and Catholic theology and church organization. He told us about recent events that have affected Anafora and mentioned a couple of interesting laws that exist not only in Egypt, but in other Muslim countries as well: No church can be built without the approval of the president himself, and even repairs to existing churches--as small as patching a hole or fixing a broken toilet--must be approved by the government. It used to be that Mubarak himself had to approve it; then he changed the law so that now, the regional government can approve repairs instead. Only Mubarak himself, however, can allow the construction of a new church. For that reason, Anafora doesn't have a church. Instead, it has only this meeting house. Government officials almost tore down the meeting house, saying that it was a church, but Anafora's leaders showed them that the meeting house is not a church, simply a large meeting room.

After the lecture, we exited the the meeting house and were given some time to look around and take pictures. That's when I first saw the front of the meeting house. It was breathtakingly beautiful. I can't describe it with words: look at the picture.



After everyone had walked around and taken pictures, we went back to the bus. We drove a short distance, by some more fields, to a large building where we were to each lunch. Ibrahim informed us that the lunch was free; it was a gift from the volunteers and workers of Anafora, and none of our ticket price had gone toward it. (There was a donation box that many of us used to show our appreciation for this hospitality, but there was no pressure to do so.) Lunch was a serve-yourself buffet of chicken, green beans, a potato dish, raw vegetables, flatbread, and a dip/spread that looked like hummus but wasn't. There were dates for dessert. Everything was delicious . . . except that I think dates must be an acquired taste. Everyone there was very friendly. Those who didn't speak English smiled shyly and nodded. Those who did speak English welcomed us warmly.

After lunch, we were free to roam the grounds at will. No one implied in any way that there was anywhere we weren't welcome to go. Jeff and I followed a path away from the building into the fields. We roamed along an irrigation ditch and back up to and around a swimming pool, where some men were relaxing in the water. One of them was a friend from church, who was spending the weekend there with some friends. We chatted for a few moments and then left him to his friends while we continued our wandering. Everywhere we went, there were seating areas set up. Some obviously were set up for those who wanted to sit alone, either in front of a beautiful view or in a grass-roofed cabana with a table available to hold tea or study material. Other areas were for groups of varying sizes: two or three chairs clustered around a small table on a veranda, eight or ten chairs on a breezy balcony, twenty or thirty chairs in a semi-circle under a grass roof. Everything was quiet and peaceful.

We went up to the roof of the main building and took a couple of pictures. We saw Ibrahim and a few members of our group chatting on the third-floor balcony. We discovered that the second floor was a library, and we stopped to look at the books. Before long, Jeff and I both were lounging on cushions reading. We overheard bits of conversation from outside, maybe from the second- or third-floor balcony, maybe from the veranda on the first floor. Our interest was piqued when we heard enough snippets to know that American politics was the topic of conversation, but it was so peaceful there that I didn't want to ruin it by getting involved in a discussion in which I was sure to disagree passionately with someone, and Jeff seemed to feel the same.

After a while, some conversation drifted in through the open balcony door that did pique my interest enough for me to forsake my book and head downstairs. People were talking about the delicious tea that they were drinking and about items that were available for purchase downstairs. So I went down to check it out. I drank some hot chocolate and purchased some hibiscus jam. I ended up out on the veranda sitting around a table with a constantly shifting group of people engaged in pleasant conversation. At first, it was Ibrahim and Lauren's family. Then Ibrahim and the male members of Lauren's family disappeared and were replaced by two women. At some point Lauren went in search of Zack. Then Jeff showed up; in response to my question, he said that he had come downstairs so no one would have to wait for him. I looked at my watch and realized that it really was almost 5 o'clock, the designated time for us to rendezvous at the bus. We had been at Anafora since 1 and had been left to our own devices since lunch ended around 2:30. The time had passed very quickly.

So we got on the bus and returned to Maadi. The whole way back, the sense of absolute peace never left me--even though I listened to Rush Limbaugh's podcast, which never fails to absorb all my interest and energy. Even today, thinking about and remembering Anafora, I can feel the tension leave my shoulders and my whole body relax. I guess that's what makes it such a great retreat center.