Leaving Egypt, Part II: Oh So Egyptian

In Egypt, a timed departure can take place anywhere from half an hour before an appointed time, to two and a half hours afterward. Luckily our departure from Alexandria fell somewhere in the middle of that spectrum. The bus that arrived was more or less on time, but was the wrong bus. It was only about half the size of the charter bus we expected, with no room below for our bulging suitcases. We stood on the Corniche for a half hour, and vendors tried to take advantage of our situation to surround us and offer rugs, bubble blowing machines and squeaky squeezy puppet things that we will NEVER FORGIVE TOM FOR BUYING.



To make matters more complicated, we had turned in our cell phones and had no way to contact classmates who hoped to use the extra time for a last cup of tea at a seaside café.

I double-checked with our sweet program director: I would be able to reissue my ticket at the airport, right? Right.

We ultimately decided to take this short bus, and classmates formed a prison line to pass suitcases packed to capacity down the length of the bus and stack them ceiling-high in the last two rows of seats.



At 3:30 a.m. we arrived at the Cairo airport. Grabbing our belongings, we took off for the first security checkpoint, which “screens” us before we check in for our flights. (I say “screen” sarcastically, because every metal detector you will walk through in Egypt will be ignored. It will beep and wail and scream, and the Tourism and Antiquities Police will wave you through.) However, once coming out on the other side of this checkpoint, I realized that we left behind two classmates who were off to other destinations, as well as our Egypt-specific program director. I waved. Our numbers were down from 25 to 17.

In line to check in and heave those heavy suitcases on the conveyor belt that would eventually feed them into the plane, our southernmost-accented classmate, with the best 3amiyya skills, called me and two of my fellow ticket-less classmates to the front of the line so we could have more time to fuss with reissuing our tickets. He had no authority to call us past the 15 people between us and him, but did. And no one questioned it, because he acted with authority. Because this is Egypt.

The man checking me in was floored. I was checking in with a PAPER ticket? Why had I chosen a PAPER ticket?

I didn’t. It was provided. To me and my 24 classmates.

Well, where was it?

I don’t know. I must have lost it sometime in the last two months.

So where is it now?

SEE PREVIOUS ANSWER.

Do I have a copy of the ticket, or the issuance information from the travel agency?

NO.

*Scoff* Well then. I’d need to buy a new one.