Nobody's going to BELIEVE the day I had...

Read all of it: it's worth it.

So, after much stalling and a number of hang-ups, I finally decided to get off my sick ass and go somewhere: el-'Alamein, the battlefield famous only for the World War II clashes between the British General Montgomery and the German (he-wasn't-a-Nazi) General Rommel. About an hour and a half away. Not bad. Lonely planet said you can hire a car to take you there from Thomas Cook (basically Avis) at Ramleh Station for about 300 pounds-- translates to about sixty bucks. Hey, it's the weekend. And along the way, says Lonely Planet, plan to drop by the Monastery of Abu Minas.

Okay. Sounds simple enough. The monastery itself was a big pilgrimage site back in the Middle Ages (fancy that! I'm a medievalist!) and became a huge trading city when the holy water there started curing people-- it's believed that after Minas was buried there (he was a Roman legionary that refused to renounce Christ and thus was martyred) gave the grounds special properties. Regardless, as most pilgrimage towns often become, it was a center for trade-- so large and rich, in fact, that it became known across the Rim of Africa as "the City of Marble"-- at least, until the wells dried up and a series of catastrophes (fire, famine, plague-- even a giant earthquake) destroyed the metropolis. For some centuries thereafter, the place was raided by local rulers (even the "civilized" Romans) for its rich supplies of alabaster and marble. Very little remains of the original church, but you can still make out the groundworks and the outline of the city and see the original altar of the basilica (which is pretty neat-- at least some peeps had reverence). However, there's a new monastery on the grounds that's quite beautiful and fully functioning. I was much bemused reading the Arabic variants of my favorite saints under their icons-- "Betrus" for Peter, and so on-- but the icons were quite striking.

I managed to wander around the olive orchards (where I wasn't supposed to) for about thirty minutes before I run into a philosophy student that kindly guided me out, and stopped to talk to an old cruciform-tattooed effendum (old guy in a galibiyya) about how to access the ruins. But my time had run out, so I walked out to the front of the monastery back to the car.

Or so I thought.

I waited for an hour-- my car didn't show. The driver (quite legitimate) wasn't there. I waited an hour. Two hours. Eventually, other Coptic students from the university began a history lesson and decided to school me on the history of the monastery, trying to convince me to see the ruins. I told them I was waiting for the car.

Eventually, I gave up. I looked around-- saw a gate and a gatekeeper at the far end of the monastery, and walked toward it. I asked the man where the ruins were: he pointed to a spot in the distant sands and said "There. Maybe half an hour by foot. Do you have a car?" I shook my head. "Then God be with you," he said, and he laughed. I wasn't sure how it interpret that.

I shook his hand and walked. Into the desert. The rusty, massive door slammed behind me.

The entire time I was telling myself that this was a bad idea. Probably was. Passed old, burned-out buildings, something resembling a muddy stream, and a mound of impassable reeds. Reads gave way to rocks. Rocks to bricks. And suddenly I was there. Marble blocks on marble blocks, felled columns likew neglected tree trunks. And in the midst of the chaos of what looked like a storm's aftermath, there was the sane gridwork of a Latinized city-- and the half-moon cruciform rooms of basilicas in places. There was a market and a bath and a baptistry, and there it was: I was crawling on top of it, able to tell what it all was from sight, only to confirm it later with a guide and a map. There were capitals-- marble tops of palm trees that had been left in the sand and the sapphire sky. It was incredible.

Eventually, all this reverie was interrupted by Amir, one of the local guides employed by the monastery to show people around, who managed to point out the finer details (the original site of the saint's grave, the wells, the old altar), and bring me back to the comfort of a very cool tent. And who should be waiting there? The history students I had discussed the monastery with earlier.

And thus came my favorite Egypt moment thus far: we played chess for while sipping the sweetest, coldest water I've ever tasted. And bantered each other's chess game.

Let's put it all together: I played chess with history students in an abandoned monastery in the middle of the North African desert after being abandoned by my hired car and driver.

But that's not all.

I walked back to the sound of the monastery bells tolling-- when the gatekeeper informed me that today was the visit from the Coptic Pope-- Shenuda. So: I managed to also see the Coptic Pope.

Eventually, I hitched a ride back from a minibus to Misr station and was greeted by Marym and Markous's smiling parents who had cooked a magnificent meal in out digs. Sand still in my hair, skin sun-kissed, I ate and laughed and told my story.

It was a good day.

(And I still haven't managed to get out to el-'Alamein).