And in Cairo, I have come to a new understanding of what ‘Walk Like an Egyptian’ means: move as though you are a player in a video game, such as Frogger, by darting in and out of the erratically lurching cars until you safely reach the other side of the street. Lose points if you get hit, which does happen.

Today I start out on a two day felucca ride to Luxor. Once again, this city girl will experience life without running water, daily showers and the cool blanket of air conditioning. I can hardly admit that it might be good for me.

I have been broken down by the desert, by the language I do not understand. My needs have also become simple: water, sleep, “twoilet?”

Yet if I have been broken down by this experience, I have also been unexpectedly fortified. The Hail Mary, once lost in the depths of my cynical soul, has arisen as a comforting friend in a confusing place. Most times I have not even made it through the prayer. But when frightened, or startled, or unsure where to turn, I have found myself muttering those words “Hail Mary . . . Hail Mary. . . Hail Mary . . .”

On this Egyptian journey, the Bible has become a road map, a book of poetry to make sense of this foreign landscape, and a familiar confidant. I will never again read of Israel’s toil in the desert without profound empathy. And I had bottled water.

I am frequently discombobulated, perpetually dehydrated and still have ten more days until that glorious flight home.

Dahling, (Egypt) I love you
But give me Fifth Avenue! (America)