Story of Matt, Part 9 - Egypt

The worst of the fireworks between Matt and I was over by the time we returned to Athens. His bank had finally released his money and the next day we bought tickets on Air Egypt to Cairo.

The only international hostel in the city was full of refugees from Sudan so we took room in a hotel on Talaat Harb St, the main street of Cairo. It was built by Europeans a few decades earlier and had seen better days. The high ceilings had patterns of black mould, which Matt referred to as 'Egyptian motif'. The ground floor was a brothel, and while the upper floors were relatively clean, we saw the occasional rat scamper across the rundown lobby. It was no different from the rest of the city which had settled into decay long ago.

Egyptians say anyone who drinks from the Nile will always return. Travel agents warn us that anyone who drinks from the Nile will never leave. Matt seemed to be immune to the 'Pharaoh's Revenge'. I escaped it too, except for a few debilitating cramps one afternoon, so we were able to maximize the use of our time. Each day we woke to the morning prayer calls blaring mercilessly from loudspeakers at every street corner. We strolled the dusty streets and dodged the kamikaze drivers to see the City of the Dead, the street markets and museums.

I had never been anywhere for foreign to my Canadian sensibilities, but I adapted with enthusiasm. As we walked along the crowded streets, we placed bets on which we would be asked for most often, sex or money. Sex usually won out. Matt taught me to choose the food dishes at delicatessens that were crawling with ants, not flies, since ants don't shit on their food supply. He had learned this in Morocco. We also spent a romantic evening at the Felfela, a famous restaurant oozing is atmosphere and charm, with live pigeons in cages and street cats wandering about.

Then we began our excursions outside the city, up to hills east of the sprawling city to the fortress of Saladin, where Mohamed Ali headquartered his rebellion against the Turks a century ago, and to the great pyramids at Giza to the west. The excursions were a great deal of fun. On the bus to Giza we were packed so tightly we could hardly move. Matt was forced tightly against me, his crotch pressing against my hand that was clutching a railing. No one saw as I rubbed him with my thumb until he was hard as a rock. Our plan was to climb the great pyramid at sunset, as Peter Lee and Mel Gibson did in the movie "Gallipoli", but a scuzzy urchin claiming to be a guard wanted "baksheesh" or he would report us to the authorities. We opted not to try, fearing that he would report us for a reward even if we did. As part of the ying and yang of the universe, the wonderous creations of Man are always surrounded by human cess.

We put his bike in storage at the hotel and boarded a train to the south for a few days. The sun was setting as it rolled up the Nile past the sillhouettes of 30 or more ancient pyramids of all shapes and sizes, the palms trees looking like stick black cellophane against the coloured sky.

Our first stop was Luxor, where the ruins of Karnak are, the ancient capital of Upper Egypt. Our hotelier offered us a joint but Matt refused, fearing that the hotelier would then turn us over to the police and we'd have to pay thousands for our release while he collected a share. I learned from the hotelier three days later that he only hoped had sex with the both of us.

Everywhere we went, young men walked in pairs, hand in hand, as Egyptian friends do. They stared with unabashed lust and awe at Matt's red blond hair and muscular build. He could have had anyone he wanted, and I would have let him since I had accepted that we weren't really dating, but he was afraid of getting VD. On our way back from the Valley of the Queens we chatted with the proprietor of a refreshment stand, a handsome guy our age, who had good English from working in Switzerland two years. He offered us his special treat, "Egyptian hot milk", with a wink. Matt pretended to be interested and then asked if I would be. I said I might if he was, so we arranged to meet him at a certain location in town later. When it came time to meet him, Matt told he me never had any intention of going, that he had done it so that I could have fun. Perhaps he hoped I'd need or expect less of our relationship afterwards, or maybe he just wanted justification to accuse me of being a slut later. I left without discussion but I didn't go to the meet up point. I returned half an hour later and told him the proprietor did not show up.

There were no other incidents like that in Luxor, or later in Aswan, though we often took refuge in the 'winter gardens' of European hotels to escape the incessant attentions of admirers. On the train back north to Cairo, three handsome youths in their early 20s chatted us up, boldly praising our beauty, asking us to sing songs to them and begging us to be their friends. They wanted us to get off at Asyut and stay with them in their dorms at the university. The conductor came along and ordered them to leave us alone, probably as much for their protection as for ours. I suspect if he hadn't, Matt would have tried to get me to leave with them when we arrived in Asyut.

When we returned to Cairo, I only stayed two more nights. I tried to convince Matt to come with me to Israel, but he wanted stay a couple more days and then cycle through the Sinai Desert first. I asked if he wanted me to stay with him a couple more days, but he didn't want that either.

On our last night I cuddled with him on his bed and tried to get him to make love a final time, but he was deliberately cold and unresponsive. Tired of his callous oscillations, I gently pulled away without a word and crawled into my own bed on the other side of the room. What are you doing? he asked, suddenly concerned and sounding like a frightened child. Going to sleep, I replied. Then he became tearful and begged me to return to his bed. He held close me all night, but as I was leaving in the morning he was polite and mechanical, as though saying goodbye to a work colleague or client. That was the last I saw of him for almost a year.