S.R. Karfelt's Blog, page 11

Naughty Pet Stories—The Best Kind (When it's Not Your Pet!)

"Today I noticed a wet spot on the rug and thought, no. No, Pika wouldn't do that. She's been house trained for years. She's a lady." 

"What else could it have been?" I asked my friend who'd called.

"Oh, that's what it was! She peed all over the place. My neighbor told me she has this light. You shine it on the rug and it lights up if your pet has wet on the carpet. I'll send you a Snapchat photo of what I saw."



In which Pika is hardcore busted.

The carpet had to be completely replaced. 


Turns out Pika didn't like to piddle in the cold snow.
I've been framed! I need my lawyer!
Snapchat is one of my favorite things. I like it so much that I had to delete it. The number one thing I miss most is the naughty antics of other people's dogs. But I had to get on with my life. 

I adore pet stories. Especially when it's someone else's pet. My BFF and her Jack Russells help me resist driving straight to the pound and filling my backseat with canines. 

I'd like half a dozen hairy barkers please, and a few cats!
Rocket belongs to my bestie and he's one hell of an excellent mouse hunter. Now I appreciate dogs who aren't above mouse hunting. They refuse to let cats corner that market. You wouldn't think I'd be so callous about mice. As a kid I had a pet mouse who lived in a bird cage that dangled from my ceiling. I used to keep the door to the cage open so he could walk along the top of my bedroom curtains. 


There are grand advantages to living with your grandmother.
These days I live in a house in the woods and I do not want mice on my curtains or in my house at all. My own dear and partially rotten dogs were mouse hunters like Rocket. Only they weren't any good at it. I had two. Radar the Brittany Spaniel and Tex the Beagle. They'd race across the yard with noses to the ground, rooting through dead leaves or clumps of grass, or in the winter, snow. 
They'd find mice too. Especially in winter. Sort of. They just never knew they'd found any. Many times I'd stand beside them while they both had their heads buried under snow coughing and snorting, shivering with the thrill of the hunt. Blind to their success as they rooted. The mouse would race out of her ruined home, running across the white snow. Occasionally a bird of prey flying overhead would swoop down and BAM. 

Tragic really, unless you live in the country and see ticks and plague when you look at mice—rather than pets or Angelina Ballerina. 
"Tex! Radar! Look! Look! They're getting away!" 
But they never looked up. Mostly the mouse would simply move to a new home and birth thousands of rodent babies safe from my dogs. So while technically they were mouse hunters, they sucked a bit in the follow through. 


Rocket didn't suck.
One fine day Rocket's spidey senses alerted him to the unwanted presence of a mouse in the garage. Game on. He whirlwinded through bikes, shovels, rakes, and gave chase. The mouse hid inside a cardboard box. It didn't stand a chance. Snout snapping, Rocket tore his way through the box with a fury known only to little (but enthusiastic) dogs. 

When BFF managed to grab onto Rocket, his enthusiasm had mysteriously vanished. Breathing hard through his nose he hung his head and drooled. Assuming the mouse was inside the jaws of death per usual, she attempted to pry open his mouth and get it out. But Rocket's jaws wouldn't open. His teeth were clenched firmly together. Suddenly he looked woebegone and miserable. 

BFF realized he wasn't clenching his teeth. They were glued shut. The cardboard box had been made of cardboard and glue. Rocket got enough paper fiber and glue in his teeth that it solidified and stuck them together.


Off to the Vet with Rocket.
Don't worry. He was fine, but Rocket's Vet probably owns at least one vehicle thanks to the proceeds of BFF's Jack Russells alone.

Is there a special glue to unstick a dog's teeth? Does that happen often? How many times in a week do you suppose a Vet gets a dog with his teeth glued shut? 

Once I had a high-maintenance Golden Retriever named Max. One day he ate a brand new leather leash and collar with the metal clip and buckle. The Vet had to go in through the wrong end of the dog to get it out. Surprisingly that wasn't as pricey as you'd think.

When I was a kid I wanted to be a Veterinarian. The truth is that the only reason I wanted to be one was so that I would never run out of new dog stories. I'd have made a horrible Vet. There really isn't enough money for me to ever go up through the wrong end of someone's dog. 

Sorry, folks. There's no way to get that leash out. You'll need to put Anubis's affairs in order.
When I was a kid my grandmother had a pet monkey named Gomer. He was the smartest one in the family. No disrespect intended. They're pretty clever people, but I don't think a single one of them is capable of picking open any lock known to man. That monkey had infinite patience when it came to combination locks or those little key locks.  

Returning home we'd find he'd escaped. There'd be toilet paper unrolled and pillows unstuffed, and pretty much anything done to a home that puts joy into the heart of a evil little monkey.

I always called Gomer a Boomerang Monkey because anytime we gave him away, he came back.
If Google and my memory are to be trusted, he was probably really a Capuchin. Think organ grinder monkey. Maybe a bit shorter. Naked. None of us kids were brave enough to attempt putting clothing on that monkey. 

One day he escaped and after terrorizing the house, he apparently got tired. Because he leaned against the bottom of a bed and tied knots in the fringe decorating the edges of the bedspread. Giving it his all he tied knots in that fringe right around his own neck. Lots of knots.

Gomer had to be wrapped in that bedspread and taken to the Vet just like that. Can you imagine the Vet? There is a shrieking monkey wrapped up and tied inside here. Your mission is to free him without losing a finger. I assume they tranquilized him because when Gomer got upset there was a blood sacrifice and he took no prisoners

You cannot reason with a Boomerang Monkey.
Gomer didn't like his cage, and a good deal of the time he didn't have to be in there. We lived next to a park and Gomer adored perching on top the fence and watching the world go by. A monkey on a fence in the Mid-West attracts attention. If people happened upon him they'd usually rush him squealing, "Monkeeey!"

Gomer would lose his mind. If he got off his leash he'd race up a tree. Sometimes he'd pick a tree in the park or one down by the river. I do recall family taking turns at the bottom of a tree trying to coax him down. It could be my imagination that he sat up there flipping us the bird. But it's probably true that he'd learned that much sign language. 

If Gomer couldn't behave himself he'd have to go to timeout in his cage. Once in there he'd sing sweet chirpy monkey songs of repentance. If you fell for that crap and scooted too near his cage he'd grab a couple handfuls of hair and scream monkey shrieks of I have just taken a child hostage, dammit! You best let me out!

Monkeys have wicked canines and a fierce bite. 
Voldemort's followers had the Dark Mark in Harry Potter. My family had monkey scars. Woe to the person holding the monkey's leash when someone ran toward him shouting about the cute monkey.

Gomer would lose his crap. If you didn't let go of that leash, you'd lose some flesh. 

Yet the only time he ever bit me was that one time I sat on top his cage.

Never ever sit on a monkey's cage.
There are absolute truths in life and that is one. I used to tell my kids Gomer stories when they were little. The moral of the story was usually that monkeys don't belong in cages. They belong in the trees of their homelands. But I'd always end my tales with, "Never, ever, sit on a monkey's cage." I think it has served them well in life. 
The only strange pet my kids had was one pet snake. I called him Houdini because no matter what my son did to his cage he'd escape. Snakes don't really bother me, but seeing that thing slithering down the hallway would give me instant hot flashes. 
My son tried everything to make the snake tank Houdini-proof. That ended up causing my strangest conversation with a Vet.
Yes, hello? I'm wondering if you could tell me how to get duct tape off a snake?
One surefire way to piss off a snake is to soak him in water and "gently" peel duct tape off of him. Nothing says I love my kid more than doing stuff like that. 
By the way, I could hear the Vet laughing while they explained S.R. Karfelt
Author & Monkey Cage Sitter Survivorwhat to do. Fortunately my ten-year-old couldn't. The snake was fine too. Naughty pet stories are only good if they have a happy ending for the pet. They don't have to end so well for the kid who sat on the monkey's cage. People need to learn respect, don't they? 
Since I never became a Vet (much to your relief, I'm sure), and I had to give up Snapchat, I'm running dangerously low on naughty pet stories. If you have a good one, this is the place to share it. Let's put some fun content on the internet—even if yours demanded a blood sacrifice too.

My Husband Makes Me Nuts—Secrets to a Long Marriage

The Glitter Globe/S.R. Karfelt

People ask, "What's the secret to staying married so long?"

Once, at a dinner with other couples who'd been married ten, twenty, or thirty years, I asked what they thought the secret to a long marriage was. There was nervous laughter, but in the end they gave variations of the same glib answer I have.


Don't leave.Or, if you must leave, make sure you go back. 
Pretty lame isn't it? But the truth is that there isn't an answer to staying married. Articles and research on the subject catch my eye online. I'll start to read them, sigh, and shut them down without finishing. They're written by experts. They're written by someone nearing their seventh anniversary—or maybe their tenth. 
Come October I'll have been married thirty-five years. 
THIRTY-FIVE YEARS. Please, girlfriend, unless you've been married that long (or longer), when I read your sage advice I'm probably going to roll my eyeballs so hard they creak. 
No! They don't always do that! 
I've never let age define me, probably because I'm so bad at math that I hardly notice time and number things. But when the thirty-five years number sank in, I considered lying about the age of my marriage. 
Yet as I tell my husband, the warranty isn't even up yet. Plus it doesn't feel that long. That is probably a good sign. I'm seriously considering renewing that warranty when it is up. That's not what I say during fishing season though. 
Life is hard af
It is every shade of wonderful to have someone who will always have your back. But what kind of person will always have your back?Someone you can trustSomeone who is kindSomeone who can trust youSomeone you respect
Experience has shown me that real marriage doesn't look like a Hollywood Romance. You can fake it through the white wedding and maybe a couple years in, but is that who you both really are? Or is it a template of what you assume marriage should be?
Marriages don't have to fit into a box. 
You can make your own box. It seems mandatory to adjust expectations to what works for the two of you. My husband loves archery and fishing. He saves the electronic guts of everything that breaks and builds stargates and portals to other dimensions nothing yet, but he could. 
My days are spent making imaginary characters say what I want, and moving piles of books and papers around. Sometimes I wake my husband in the dead of night because the printer won't work or other life-threatening emergencies. This works for us. (It does, babe. Don't argue.) 
When someone asks what makes a long marriage work, I say you have each other's backs and keep finding things about life that thrills you.
It's never going to be a picture perfect marriage. Living with someone else is just too damn annoying. Can you imagine coming home to another box of fishing crap stuff from FedEx (possibly live insect larvae doomed to become bait) sitting on the dining room table next to a box of random boat motor parts? How about finding your husband using your hairdryer to blow dry the inside of his fishing waders?
It killed the hairdryer.
Don't worry. You can probably get the parts to fix it online.
Here comes the big secret.
The secret that no one tells you about marriage is this...
You don't always like your spouse!
It's true. Sure, I've seen those testimonials of people married sixty-five years who say, "We've never had a fight!" I call bullshit on that. Maybe they're from a stiff upper lip generation or culture, but I promise you there were some marital battles going on that could liquefy the bowels of a Cold War politician. 
Some marriages shouldn't last. Nobody should have to endure abuse and cruelty. I don't judge couples for opting out. Choosing the right partner is at least partially good luck. 

If you love, trust, and respect your partner it's worth staying.
My husband still does all those little annoying things he did since the start of our marriage. His dirty clothes live in a pile about two feet from the hamper. Unless I drill-sergeant over him he never makes his side of the bed. Over the years we've slowly, almost imperceptibly, broken up the chores into those traditional His and Hers boxes that I swore I'd never allow. 

After all this time I can admit with confidence that I'm annoying af to live with too. He gets to watch me make the same mistakes over and over. He gets to talk to a woman who drifts completely out of the conversation and into a story-line. He always knows. He says, "Hey! Where'd you go?"

"Uh, sorry, Kahtar needed me."

How do you deal with the petty differences and the same person's annoying habits for years? I can only tell you what works for us. (But I know it's worked for many friends married just as long too!)

Give each other space to continue growing as human beings.
After we got married I was certain he'd give up hunting and fishing to hold my hand and listen to my story ideas for the rest of his life. I also knew he'd stop dressing like a nerd with a few top quality camo jackets. He knew I'd never hang onto pregnancy weight for a decade or stop being young, and I'd certainly stop philosophizing about whether or not animals have souls. And I know he thought I'd quit walking around the house with my nose in a book about twenty hours a week too. 
Nothing changed but us.
There have been plenty of growing pains over the years because he continued to be who he is, and I continued to be who I am. But the magic is that we found common ground because we looked for it!
Our Dorky Love Story isn't very Hallmark.The reality is that neither of us is the near-child the other married. They're in here still, but we've both changed into older, wiser versions of ourselves—with no regrets. I like to think that's in large part because we've had each other to count on all these years.
My husband has continued to fish too much and hunt with bows and arrows. He likes to be in the woods or on the water, far from civilization. Sometimes he does slightly Frankenstein things with electricity and old computer parts. I like to write and travel the world. Most of the time we do these things separately and when we're back together again we meet up with the same enthusiasm we had when we first met. That's not half bad for almost thirty-five years. Maybe I should renew that warranty, hmmm?

On The Road Again...the not-so-glamorous-truth about travel

The Glitter Globe by S.R. Karfelt

Travel has romantic connotations it doesn't deserve.
In some ways it's like marriage. It's great, but you work for results and there is pain involved. 

In that way travel and marriage are like a fitness plan too. You pay for shortcuts and bad choices.

This morning Microsoft put a lovely green hillside covered in steppes on my screen. I took the click-bait and asked for more information. Where was this lovely place? Vietnam. 

Now I grew up seeing movies and soldiers from Vietnam. Never once did I think hey, I wanna go there! But the war is long over and it's a gorgeous country. If I do someday go, I'll bet that the insects are brutal and the rain miserable—not to mention the flights and getting around.


But the photos would be epic!
Travel photos lie so hard. You'll see the Alamo without seeing San Antonio is crowded right up to the walls. You see the perfectly centered Colosseum without seeing the traffic or the masses of tourists melting in brutal Roman heat—not to mention the pickpockets. You'll see the Parthenon without seeing it took me three hours lost with google maps (or the cost of my phone bill for all my data usage), as I slipped and slid over smooth-as-ice ancient marble walkways to get there. You also won't see that the wind on top the Acropolis blew so hard that my dress flew up around my ears. Mind you nobody should see that, but it probably made a show on somebody's Snapchat somewhere.


Pictures might show you a thousand words, but there are a billion words you're not seeing. 
We see pictures from other people's trips without seeing that their seven day trip included 1.5 days of travel-heck each way. Not first-class private plane travel like in the movies. It's usually the flying equivalent of sitting on a seat of nails inside a chicken bus next to hygiene-impaired travelers who want to talk politics. 

You don't see the traveler's credit card bill after they get home. You don't see if they ended up having to buy another ticket to fly home because weather cancellation wasn't covered by the crappy trip insurance they bought. 

Looking at travel photos we don't see that the traveler got dust-induced bronchitis or some version of what they so elegantly call that travel stomach ailment in Egypt—Pharaoh's Revenge. Don't drink the water is an excellent warning, but it's like trying not to get a contact high during a Motley Crue concert. Sooner or later you have to inhale. Sooner or later the water and bacteria in your environment will infiltrate that sack of water and protein that constitutes your body.


Travelers rarely take photos of the ugly bits!
Who wants to remember the bad stuff? Maybe that's the secret to success in travel, marriage, and life. Embrace the beauty. It's something I try to do. 

That time the flight got cancelled and the airline put me into a concrete room with shutters opening onto an alley freaked me out. There was no glass. I could see feet walking by at one in the morning. Shoot, I could have reached out and grabbed an ankle. Likewise they could have slipped inside my room. People would have seen them, but they could said my solo-travel-mind.

It took me an hour or two to realize the alley was dotted with many rooms like mine. The night air kept the old rooms cool in the hot climate with no air-conditioning. Come morning I woke to sunshine and flowers draping the windowsill. The feet never stopped.

In the end it became a good memory, but you never know how things will turn out. It's a fact when you travel, but it's a fact in life. The secret about travel is a secret about life in general. You find the joy by setting your sights on being positive. You roll with it. You plan the best you can and endure or embrace the changes that come your way. 

Travel does change you. But so does life. The thing is, a pretty picture of your trip or your life isn't the part that changes you. It's the squat toilets that change you. It's finding the inner strength to keep walking. It's getting lost and finding your way that changes you. It's when you choose to remember the beautiful parts and that you got yourself there that makes travel wonderful. 


S.R. KarfeltIs change always painful? I'm still learning, still traveling, and still changing. There's definitely pain involved.

This picture is me manning the rudder of a faluka going down the Nile in Egypt. That trip was magic. I fell madly in love with the place. I also had Pharoah's Revenge a couple of times. Breathed dust for three weeks. Had severe culture shock. The traffic scared the living shite out of me. So did all the heavily armed police at first. Couldn't walk outside without getting swarmed by strange men. That last bit probably sounds way better than it is. It was a growing experience. I can't wait to go back.

This trip, the one I'm heading out on now, is going to involve a concert to see The Struts at last and glamping. They tell me glamping is glamorous camping. Experience has taught me that camping is always painful, but I'll bet I get some excellent photos.

The Valley of the Kings and Tut's Curse

The Valley of the Kings, Luxor, Egypt



You do realize that every single person entering this tomb is going to die, don't you?

Eventually.

After weeks in Egypt most of the study group was coughing, not entirely from mummy dust. Probably not from ancient curses. Egypt is dusty. Deserts are dusty. Have I mentioned the dust?

There's an old-fashioned tram you take to reach the tombs in The Valley of the Kings. It reminds me of Disneyland. But no amount of artifice could duplicate this place. High cliffs surround the valley. Boulders worthy of Indiana Jones perch at dangerous-looking angles as you pass beneath. 

Precarious boulder placement always reminds me of my husband. Once we were driving a rental car with questionable brakes along a narrow road beneath dodgy-looking overhanging rocks in the Sierra Nevadas. Below us cliffs dropped to raging rivers and certain death with no guardrail.

     "I have to close my eyes," I said.
     "Why?" asked hubby. "Do you think this mountain has been waiting millions of years for you to drive by?"
     "Yes," I said. "Yes, I do."
     "That's pretty conceited."


Only an engineer can make you feel vain about expecting death.
The biggest dangers in The Valley of the Kings appears to be sun-related (heatstroke, sunstroke, not packing enough water). I appreciated those precarious boulders just the same. Vendors selling postcards waited as we disembarked. I bought two large piles of them for $1 each. To date I've taken approximately thirty-five thousand photos on my phone and I doubt one of them is as nice as a postcard. 
Photographs aren't allowed at all in what I consider the best tomb. Seti I is stunning. I recommend going there first thing. Most of the tombs are enormous. The hieroglyphs, paintings, reliefs, and few remaining artifacts are so beautiful and intriguing it's easy to spend an hour or more in each tomb and run out of time. Seti I and Ramses VI were my favorites, but they're all stunning.

No, this isn't Seti I's tomb. I followed the picture rules.
The tombs have color themes and hieroglyphs leading the way down ramps.


Only one tomb had protective covering over the walls.
Yes, it's as far down as it looks!



Every tomb is stunning.


An attempt at a panorama. See why I purchase postcards?

Surprisingly, King Tut's tomb is the smallest!
This Pharoah's unabbreviated name is Tutankhamun. His tomb is recognizable and notable because it was discovered intact—which is unusual. The other tombs had been ransacked over the centuries. 


TutankhamunArchaeologist, Howard Carter discovered Tut's tomb in 1922. There are old black and white photographs outside the tomb.

Some of my study group have been returning to Egypt and the Valley of the Kings for so long that they reminisced about a time when you could slide down into the empty treasure room on a ramp.  

Now that treasure room is covered up and beneath your feet as you stand outside the tomb entrance examining photographs.


Tutankhamun's treasure can be see at Cario's Egyptian Museum. Here are a few of my favorite pieces.





This snake is designed to surprise and slide quickly out of his hiding place.It still looks like it's moving!



Anubis is my personal favorite.He's the god of the afterlife and not a dog as I like to pretend.Who doesn't want to be greeted by a dog in the end? So pleaseleave my illusions alone.


There are several thrones. What delighted mewas the footstools decorated with the kings enemiesso he could rest his feet on them. Why did that go out of style?



S.R. Karfelt
Valley of the KingsLord Carnarvon died six weeks after helping Carter uncover Tutankhamun's tomb. Something happened with a canary. Cobra symbolism became involved. There were rumors. It was said. Whatever, whatever. 

In the end every single person who uncovered Tut's tomb died! Don't allow the near one-hundred years that have passed make you logical. There was dust! Probably coughing. 

Please excuse my curse irreverence. I reserve my worrying for important things like precarious boulders. Come on, which do you think is more likely? 

It's my Vertigo Anniversary—Seventeen Years Living with Vestibular Migraine Variant

The Glitter Globe/S.R. Karfelt


This month marks seventeen years since my first vestibular migraine. 

In honor of that my migraines have showed up more often than usual. Maybe they're waiting for cake. Meanwhile it feels like someone is sticking invisible nails into my forehead and spinning my world hamster-style.






Vestibular migraine or migrainous vertigo is a type of migraine that may or may not cause a headache, but can include a number of debilitating symptoms affecting the ears, vision and balance. It is the second most common cause of vertigo.

A vestibular migraine is a nervous system problem that causes repeated dizziness (or vertigo) in people who have a history of migraine symptoms. Unlike traditional migraines, you may not always have a headache.




When it comes to vestibular migraine I'm one of the lucky ones. I get bouts of them, but they go away eventually. I stop clinging to the bedpost, throw some clothes into a suitcase and run off into the world in search of adventure. I'm a cheerful traveler no matter how many times my flight is cancelled. In fact I'm a cheerful person because any day without effing vertigo is the best day EVER.
The headaches started in 2001. I'd never had a migraine in my life. They came out of the blue, something called Cluster Migraine. Four to five migraines hit per day for six months that year. For me it was mini-hell because my life came to a grinding halt and I had no idea what was going on. I didn't know they were migraines and assumed it had to be something really bad and likely fatal. 

Nobody had answers, so being me I kept meticulous records figuring data was the key to science. Everything from headaches to my rounds of medical testing were written down for years. So far that has helped me with only one absolute—it's definitely my vertigo-versary.



For years I ran from doctor to doctor. They scheduled test after test, CT Scans, MRIs, blood tests, hearing tests, eye tests, and the only thing that they could tell me was that I was an unusually healthy woman and there was absolutely nothing wrong with me.
Oddly enough no one mentioned migraine until I went to the ER one day convinced I was having a stroke because of the flashing lights in my head. Migraine with aura they call that. Lightning storm in your head I call it. The pain is the thunder, followed by earthquakes and general end-of-times mayhem in your skull.
Still, after six months the cluster migraines ended. To this day some visual disturbances have remained, and so has vertigo. But the non-stop murderous pain of cluster migraine stopped as suddenly as it began.

Why did the Cluster Migraine Suddenly Stop?
To me it felt like they'd fried out the pain receptors in those pathways of my brain. If that's a real thing I've never heard or read about it. That's just what it felt like. There's no science behind that theory. It's my writerly take.
At the time all I really cared about was that the pain had stopped. There's still shadow pain and shadowy visual disturbances, but no flashing lights. There are still bouts of extreme vertigo—spinning, rocking, brain floating in skull bobbing, and the inability to think clearly. Maybe my thought processes are interrupted by these migraines. Maybe my brain is focused on coping during these episodes. It's hard to know as it feels like both. I reassure myself by setting my attitude to enduring until it passes.



What has worked for my Vestibular Migraine?
After some dangerous encounters with meds that my body got creative with, I discovered that what I ate (or didn't eat) helped and I didn't wind up at a major medical hospital like I did with medications. (Note, meds help some people. My body is just an uncooperative one.)The above said, I did have some success with Diazepam. I don't know why it works, because one grain too much and you spin far worse. For several years I took it at half the lowest dose each morning and it seemed to help. Eventually I went through a period of constant spinning and stopped it. The spinning stopped. I've not taken it for years, but I keep a vial of ancient tablets as a talisman.Not consuming caffeine, meat, alcohol, processed foods, and anything made of flour helped immensely. Don't I sound saint-like? Don't fall for it. I just got through the Winter of Cake. (Preceded by a summer of Hamburgers.) But notice how I'm complaining my Vestibular Migraine is much worse? There's a direct correlation. Walking a few miles a day helps. When my vertigo is mild I can still manage to walk. Either I take up more space on a path wobbling a bit, or I walk on my treadmill. I also have a Stairmaster. It's been my experience that a stronger body makes everything better.Taking quiet time when I need it. That includes when I'm having tough days. The world does not cooperate with this need. There is no sympathy for a medical condition no one can see. I take them anyway.Not allowing Vestibular Migraine to make me miserable. I'm at war with it. We have battles. Sometimes it wins a battle but I don't allow it to control my life. I travel, hike, take extreme risks, and do my very best to make this life a wonderful life. !@%! vertigo. 
It's probably obvious I'm winging it at life with Vestibular S.R. Karfelt—who hiked the Grand Canyon &
regretted wearing bifocal lenses doing it.Migraine. I'm not a doctor or medical professional. I'm one of the minuscule percentage of people living with it. If you have it, or think you might, what works for you?
I'm simply coping with it. In many ways it's made me appreciate life. It's made me fiercer. It's made me CUSS SO MUCH. It's made me sit down and write the novels that have danced through my head my entire life. 
It's made me appreciate the good days. It's also made me want to cry (but I don't because that makes the spinning WORSE). Vertigo does not define me. We all have our demons. I prefer to march over the body of mine as I go on with my amazing life.

Dodging Dorcas—A Vampire's Tale of Woe, Part VI

The Glitter Globe/SRKarfelt.com 
“Chick’ns afore they hatch,” one snickers.
          “Oi! Where’s Jack?” says the other.
          Intention oozes off people like sweat. Poppy’s is curiosity, a vibrant enthusiasm for life. These men drip wastefulness. They’re takers, bored with lives that will evaporate before they live. They approach Poppy with a surly lust she should fear. She stands with fists balled. “I kicked ‘is balls up into his belly. Want me show you how?”
They rush her.
I pull years from both. They’d waste it anyway. Poppy knees Chickens on his way to the floor. His friend falls and cracks his head on a pew.
  Poppy stands over the men. “Damn, Drake! Wait. Did you do that?”
          Their time flows through me. It’s a heady narcotic feeling. My mouth waters for Poppy. I flit my eyes over her curves. A darkness around the edges of my mind thrills.
          Hurt her.
          No! That’s what they were going to do! 
          Not since the beginning have I taken so much at once. This is what has made Dorcas rot. It’s darkly tempting and I drop to sit, stomach churning. Poppy rushes toward me.
“No! Back off!” I can smell her from here. I want her. Like a vampire.

         “Drake, you’re scaring me!”
  Poppy’s words make me laugh. She’s perceptive.             Images flicker through my mind.             Parties.   Roofies.   Drugged women.   They’ve done this before, at my church!
          “Did Jack give you something to drink?” 
          “No. Well, he tried to give me some of the church’s wine—out of a box. So gross.”
          The communion wine. I will myself to vomit. It’s dotted with Christmas cookies. Poppy backs away.           I’ve been roofied. No wonder my glamour didn’t work on Poppy.
          The urge to attack Poppy stays. I think it will until I’ve used the time I took from those dirty bastards.

          “Drake, are you okay?”
          “I took so much energy from them I can feel their thoughts.” I shut my eyes trying to push dark urges away. “Poppy, these guys and your friend Jack had plans for you tonight.”
          “What? What do you mean?”
          I open my eyes. “The wine was drugged.”
          “What!” Poppy runs over to the unconscious men and starts kicking them. She’s wearing boots.
          “I really don’t care if you kill them, but it might bother you later.”
          “No, it won’t.” She continues kicking. Hard.
          “I’m pretty sure Jack’s the mastermind.”
          Poppy and her boots head for the office.

S.R. Karfelt with KahtarIt's writing season here in The Glitter Globe. I'm working on two books simultaneously. One is Votadini Warriors of ilu—the first book in a trilogy from the world of Covenant Keepers. The other is A Vampire's Tale of Woe. Installments of that novel are published here on The Glitter Globe. Check them out and let me know what you think!


A Vampire's Tale of WoeParts I-VQUICK LINKS 
A Vampire's Tale of Woe Part I 
A Vampire's Tale of Woe Part II
A Vampire's Tale of Woe Part III 
A Vampire's Tale of Woe Part IV 
A Vampire's Tale of Woe Part V 
A Vampire's Tale of Woe Part VI

A Matter of Chance—An Interview with Novelist, Julie Maloney

The Glitter Globe/S.R. Karfelt


Women Reading Aloud founder Julie Maloney tackles fiction after a lifetime dedicated to the arts  
Debut novel portrays a distraught mother’s search for her missing child.

When eight-year-old Vinni Stewart disappears from a Jersey shore town, Maddy, her distraught single mother, begins a desperate search for her daughter. Maddy’s five-year journey leads her to a bakery in Brooklyn, where she stumbles upon something terrifying. Ultimately, her artist neighbor Evelyn reconnects Maddy to her passion for painting and guides her to a life transformed through art. 
Detective John D’Orfini sees more than a kidnapping in the plot-thickening twists of chance surrounding Vinni’s disappearance, but his warnings to stay away from the investigation do not deter Maddy, even when her search puts her in danger. When the Russian Mafia warns her to stop sniffing into their business, Maddy must make a choice whether to save one child―even if it might jeopardize saving her own. 




“Beautiful and sensitive…effortlessly readable” ~ Christina Baker Kline, author of the New York Times best-selling “Orphan Train”



This novel is one I'm thrilled to share with you. You're going to want this book on the top of your TBR pile. Over the last few years I've had the pleasure of hearing Julie Maloney's writing and it is beautiful. 
If you read my blog you probably can't escape my love affair with Greece and the annual writing workshop I attend there. Julie Maloney is an author and the genius behind Women Reading Aloud, and she was kind enough to answer my questions.  


Julie, over the years I’ve had the pleasure of enjoying your writing. I’m looking forward to this book. What is the main thing you hope readers take away from this story? 
Julie Maloney, WriterLife isn’t neat. In my debut novel, “A Matter of Chance,” (She Writes Press), the protagonist, Maddy Stewart, continues even when her life has been traumatized by the disappearance of her young daughter. I want the reader to see how things are rarely, if ever, “black and white.” I want the reader to realize how compassion necessitates forgiveness.
 What inspired you to write this book?

As a former dancer/choregrapher and artistic director of my own modern dance company in NYC, I had a home life with three young children and a husband. Balancing all of that was near to impossible…and yet what happens to a woman who cannot give any of it up? Who refuses to accept that a choice must be made? I selected from my experiences, even though it is fiction. Stephen King says: “In fiction lies the truth.” I agree wholeheartedly.  I wanted to write a story about a complex woman—aren’t we all—who had to face who she was amid heartbreak and devastation. The publishing industry wanted a “kidnapping” story, but I wrote about the woman/mother left behind…it is Maddy Stewart’s story. My question is: What happens to those left behind? How do they cope? What do they discover about themselves? 

What would surprise the reader to know about the research you did for this book? 
I traveled to Germany to see the work by Germany’s most renown artist—Kaethe Kollwitz. There are two museums dedicated solely to Kollwitz’s work—one in Cologne and one in Berlin. I traveled to Cologne. It was an emotional experience to walk in and see a life-size portrait of the artist right inside the front door. Initially, I discovered Kollwitz at a chance visit to the Morgan Library in New York City. Immediately, I was enchanted. I knew she was my muse for “A Matter of Chance.” Her images honor the downtrodden and the poor. I also drove through Bavaria and took in the landscape. I had to find the ending to my story and I did. Also, I worked with an undercover DEA agent in New York. Retired, he was willing to speak with me over several conversations about crime—and how easy it is to get away with it.


I love to read. I know you do too. What are some of your favorite books/authors. Are any of them in any way similar to this book? 
This is a hard question to answer. I love to read. I grew up around the corner from the local branch library. It was my greatest childhood joy to go to the library. I am a huge fan of Joyce Carol Oates and Elizabeth Strout. I have read Strout’s “Olive Kitteridge” five times. I also love “Stoner” by John Williams. Then there is the wonderful literary mystery writer, Kate Atkinson. And how can a writer not mention the masterful Stephen King! It’s all about storytelling and he is the king of it. I have just finished reading “Pachinko” by Min Jin Lee and loved it. I have read “The Great Gatsby” many times. My childhood favorite is “The Diary of Anne Frank.” I love Anne Enright, too. Of course, the poets! I cannot forget the poets who inspire me, as I have written and published many poems. I love Robert Frost and Linda Pastan, Audre Lord, Gerald Stern, Jane Hirshfield, Edward Hirsch, Ellen Bass…so many poets I love. Their words slip inside me when I need something wonderful to fill me.


As if hosting workshops all over the world and writing novels isn’t enough, what’s next, Julie? 
I have written the second novel—a sequel—to “A Matter of Chance.” It needs editing galore and I must find time to do this. I wanted to give a secondary character from my debut novel her own story…and now she has it. I have to refine it. The working title for this one is: "THE LIGHTBOX.” It is written in the voice of Tuba Schwimmer and her daughter, Gitta. Tuba is from “A Matter of Chance.” 
Also, I would like to put more of my poems into another chapbook. I enjoy giving poetry readings but I’m showing up to readings with lots of loose papers and they need to be collected between two covers. But . . . and this is something I’ve realized lately: I want to speak more to the world . . . to audiences of all sizes . . . to women in their living rooms and to men and women in lecture halls . . . to tell them to live with passion. I want to remind the world that time does not stand still. I want to hold the hand of someone who questions herself and say to her, “You are beautiful. You have a voice. Use it. Discover your inner language. Write down your words. Now sing."

You radiate serenity and encouragement at your workshops, and inspire your women writers to do the same. It’s a beautiful thing when we support each other. Is there any chance you’ll someday put that magic into a book on writing? 
Thank you for asking this question. I am seriously thinking about this…although the premise is so simple: Practice Kindness. I could offer so many instances of how far a simple act of kindness has gone to encourage a woman writer to go deep and let her voice soar. Once, during a retreat in Greece, a writer was having a very emotional experience as she read her work. She was sitting next to me. Although I always instruct everyone to allow the voice and the writer space…I felt this writer needed an extra “touch.” So I simply linked my arm inside hers as she read. I did not say one word. She continued reading to the end. Had she stopped reading, she—as well as the listeners—we, the readers, would have missed out on something glorious. Tone matters. We hear about this on the page all the time…but what about how we speak to one another? I like to remind participants to speak from their lower belly. Often, at the beginning of a retreat, I’ll hear a writer speak high from inside her throat, but as the days progress, with encouragement, she’ll begin to drop her voice into a more authentic range. As her work goes deep, so does the pitch of her voice and her TONE relaxes and resonates.


Women Reading Aloud, GreeceIt's interesting how positive reinforcement and encouragement can bring out the best in us. The very first year I went to Women Reading Aloud in Alonissos I remember telling Julie ahead of time that I might decide to stay in my room and write some days. I didn't see how the premise for the workshop—writing and reading it aloud, would teach me enough to justify spending the entire day at it. I thought I'd probably want to spend half that time writing alone. 
Julie in her infinite wisdom simply said, that would be fine but I encourage you to come to the workshop and try it first. So I did. After that I never missed a session and attended every extra evening class she generously offered. 
Each year I find I discover something new, deeper, and unexpected in my writing thanks to this workshop. This amazing woman and writer helped me find my authentic voice, and I can tell you that you're going to love the sound of hers.

Dusty and Disorganized—The Old Egyptian Museum in Cairo, A Priceless Treasure!

Egyptian Museum Cairo



Treasure of the ages awaits you at the Egyptian Museum in Cairo. The building housing that treasure is nearly as wonderful as its dusty contents. Arched windows stand open to let in the breeze, floor fans blow warm air, grimy skylights slant desert sun over artifacts. Sometimes bits of paper typed in English and Arabic tell you what you're looking at—they appear to have been typed around WWII. 
Imagine you had an Great Aunt who'd been an archaeologist around the 1920's. She lives in an old Art Deco mansion in Egypt. You get to roam her house and look through a lifetime of artifacts. She never dusts. This museum is like that only it contains the treasures of the centuries. More than your ancient aunt could have collected. 
At the outside entrance to the museum you'll pay for your ticket (pay extra for the pass to take photographs) and you'll go through security. You'll go through security again upon entering the building. That's just how it is in Egypt. I was relieved to have been allowed to keep my water bottle. It's dry and as I've mentioned repeatedly dusty. Am I emphasizing the dust? Can you taste it yet? You will. 
Don't for one minute think I'm criticizing. This was my idea of heaven. 
This Cairo Museum is spectacular!
Scribes like me
ScribeMy first visit here I had the opportunity to see the exhibits with an Egyptologist. When there was no note card explaining what I was looking at, she did. When the cards were incorrect, she knew. Because I'm a writer, she kindly pointed out and explained a scribe's place in Egypt and I thrilled at all the various depictions of those Egyptian writers. I memorized the word scribe when referred to in hieroglyphs. 
Scribe in Hieroglyphs (above the bird,
the dongle traffic light thingy, the Egyptologists would be so proud
of me getting all technical here. I can feel them cringing.). 
This is like no museum I've ever seen, and I loved it.

 Antique cabinets house row after row of sarcophagus's and coffins, canopic jars (they're the ones holding mummy guts), there are wooden statues over 4,500 years old—the pharaohs did try to take it with them, including entire armies of warriors to protect them on the other side. 

There are jewels, scarab beetles, masks, chairs, sandals, mummies (they cost extra to see), paintings, reliefs, hieroglyphs, soul houses, beads, papyrus scrolls, enormous statues, tiny statues, mummified food (because what about when the dearly departed get hungry), mummified animals, am I getting too random? Get used to it, because that's how it is here. Everything you can imagine from Ancient Egypt, and quite a bit you can't—it's all there, displayed in dim corridors or brightly lit balconies, side rooms, and at the top or bottom of stairwells. 



  
Upon leaving my head felt heavy with the information it tried to store. On my next visit to the museum I didn't get the camera pass. I looked slowly and quietly and gathered data my way—as slowly and randomly as it must have been putting together this collection. 
My trip to Egypt was with a study tour, to gather information for a book I'm writing, but also to gather information for insertion into who knows what when the muse strikes, like this blog now. 
Details you might want to know when you go: the restroom/toilets/WC is to the right of the entrance. Go up the stairs, it's on the first landing. Have tip money. Please carry tip money in Egypt. Some people are paid entirely in tips, keep that in mind. A US dollar is worth seventeen Egyptian pounds. There's almost always someone working restrooms in Egypt, providing toilet paper and soap at the sinks. There is a gift shop, but it appears to consist mostly of various vendors selling their wares. There are some nice things. Negotiate.
Outside the museum there is a spot where you can get a drink. You might want to bring something for your lunch. I almost always picked up fruit and carried a cheese sandwich for mine. Carry water. You can go in and out of the museum building, but keep your tickets! I doubt you can leave the grounds and come back. Check if you want to.
S.R. Karfelt, well-dusted by EgyptIf you're crossing the road anywhere around the museum...inshallah...it's brutally dangerous. Buses drop you off by the entrance so you don't have to do that. If I had to I'd find a local to help. I've found Egyptians to be friendly and kind. 
Getting to the Cairo Museum is part of the adventure. Cairo traffic has to be experienced to be believed. I have no words to describe it. They are building a new museum closer to the pyramids of Giza. It looks to be in the early stages and I wouldn't expect it to be finished anytime soon. But, again, inshallah—God Willing. Personally, I don't know why they'd change a single thing. It's perfect as is, dust and all. 

Twenty Ways Travel Can Change You

The Glitter Globe/Twenty Ways Travel Can Change You!


Once I read that travel is the best investment you can make in yourself. I appreciated the legitimizing justification for what at the time felt like a purely fun and selfish thing to do.

My husband and I used to work together. Sometimes after a week spent at an engineering conference we'd manage to stay the weekend. Occasionally we'd even arrange a layover somewhere like Tucson in March, Portland in Summer, or drive from Vegas to the Grand Canyon while winter snows melted.

It felt like the supreme indulgence. Running your own business is often a dream many people have. The reality of doing it can be a nightmare. It is often seven day workweeks and sixteen hour days. Those trips we once took together were desperately needed and reminded us that, Hey, I remember you! You can be fun! 


Perspective is everything. If you've become a Human Doing instead of a Human Being, escaping your everyday can save a relationship, or possibly your sanity. 1. Travel can help you remember that your job isn't your entire life!After a particularly brutal conference in San Francisco we decided to make the long drive to see the Sequoia trees down south. It was a bit of a hike to the Sierra Nevada from Northern California, but I had a map. (It was the olden days like ten years ago.) After about a couple hours it hit me that if I'm headed south, shouldn't the Pacific Ocean be on my right instead of my left? 2. Travel makes you better at geography. I now know exactly where the ocean should be at all times. I can drive from Tucson to Nogales Mexico in an hour. I know which countries border Egypt. Travel helps you know the world. I know I can walk from the Roman Colosseum to the Forum in about two minutes, and where the best pizza is at a gay bar because I got lost and hungry and wandered in, with my husband. 3. Travel makes you patient because you will mess up or someone else will and, 4. You can still have a good time when things don't go as planned, and you learn so much. (Hey, the pizza is fabulous, we should come back here! Look at that, redwoods are big trees too! They are also a lot closer. Not even you can drive from Palatine Hill to the Spanish Steps that fast, James Bond.)Many people cautioned me about my trip to Egypt. None of them had been there. You will be in Africa!Egypt is a Muslim country!Traveling to those places isn't safe!5. Travel can teach you that 1.2 billion people survive just fine in Africa and you can manage it too.6. Travel can teach you that Muslims are peace-loving people. (And that there are plenty of Coptic Christians in Egypt too.)7. Travel can annihilate pre-conceived notions.8. Travel can make you question opinion and demand fact!9. Travel can make you braver. The last few years I've attended a workshop in Greece. I go out early so I can do some book research, see sites, and lay on the beach before the real work begins. I go by myself.Things go wrong. Flights are cancelled. Ferries too. I've found myself scrambling for a hotel room at midnight and unable to make connecting flights.Dammit. Looks like I'll have to be here in Greece an extra few days. Life is hard. YAS! *jumping up and down* 10. Wonderful things will happen back-to-back with the complications! (I've been stuck in Detroit too.) (It was fun.)Just because you miss a flight or don't have a hotel, I promise you will not have to live there forevermore. 11. For one moment just fantasize that you've missed your flight and will now have to live on this island in Greece. Hot damn! Suddenly your fear has become pretty much a dream. 12. Travel will make you more self-sufficient. 13. Travel will make you more capable of taking care of yourself and more confident about doing it. 14. Travel will help you learn to roll with the punches because travel, like life itself, isn't perfect.You will see things that surprise you. You could see things that might even shock you. Athens is the birthplace of democracy. Every time I go there are demonstrations. I've been in Syntagma Square to see the changing of the guard while television cameras focus on protesters there and tourists eat gyros, drink Mythos beer (the beer of unicorns), and take pictures in the same square. 15. News should be renamed Bad News. For all the bad things you see on the news, way more good stuff happened in the world today. Possibly on the other side of the news cameras. Obviously not always, but protesters are not inherently evil just because they're protesting.Was it last year when we were all getting our tighty-whiteys into a twist over same sex bathrooms? Many countries have same sex bathrooms. You know how sometimes you stop for gas somewhere and they have a single bathroom for men and women? Sometimes it's just like that. Some places have a shared sink area. Most everywhere has actual walls and doors around the toilets. This is a huge improvement over the open-top open-bottom and wide-crack stalls we usually have in the US. 16. Travel can teach you that different isn't necessarily bad or frightening.Bathrooms are different in different countries. Sometimes you can't flush any toilet paper—the ancient pipes can't take it, Greece, Egypt, Turkey, Bulgaria. 17. Travel can teach you how spoiled and lucky you are. Sometimes there isn't any toilet paper or a way to dry your hands or even soap. Paper and soap is a luxury you can't always count on having in some places, Egypt, Mexico. 18. Have you ever noticed how fortunate you are? Travel can show you that. If you can drink the water out of your pipes without getting sick and you can afford paper to flush down the toilet, you have it better than a whole lot of people.It's a vague memory now, but flying used to scare me. I Riding a camel to my beautiful life.remember wishing that the pilot wouldn't dip the plane to give me a better view of New York City. At some point I became the person sitting next to little kids explaining that roads in the air can be bumpy just like the ones your car drives over. Now I nab my drink when the propeller plane drops suddenly, and I chuckle if I caught it. Now I'll jump out of a perfectly good airplane because I love the way terminal velocity feels when I skydive. 19. Travel can help you realize you don't have to live in fear or worry. 20. Travel can help you find your beautiful life exists just outside your comfort zone. Go get it.

The Consuming Chaos of Cairo—Welcome to Egypt

Standing in front of the Great Pyramid of Giza this is Cairo.
The dust will someday make you forever nostalgic for this place.
Welcome to Egypt. This isn't going to be like anyplace you've ever been before. 
No photos can ever give you a true depiction of a place. It's difficult to capture the smell of dust, the feel of it on your skin, the magnitude of 9.5 million people in one city, the ancient co-existing with the modern, the Nile oases in a desert, the startling wild traffic, but I'll do my best for you.


Great Pyramid of Giza, far corner view. I love this picture of a vendor chatting on his mobile. It delighted me to see even people on their camels talking on their phones. Egypt is very much a contrast. 

Egypt caught me by surprise. My research, prep work, and YouTube videos couldn't prepare me for the sensory overload that is this land. 
So much of Egypt is ancient and dusty and disorganized, yet it may be the most spectacular place I've ever been. 


The people are lovely, kind, and polite.

Arriving in Cairo at night I peeked through the curtains of the minivan windows while we sped down a highway. I saw sights that I've never seen before. Cars parked alongside the freeway. People stood in groups, talking, smoking, eating. They crossed the road. So did children and dogs. If there were lanes, they were ignored. 

Eventually I'd find the rhythm of the city. Horns never stop blowing, but after a while they don't sound angry. They mean things.

     I'm coming alongside you.
     Watch out I can't stop.
     Do you see me?

That first night, that first week, I didn't see any order. Concrete barriers crumbled along the roadways, some buildings and roads appeared to be in similar condition. Ribar juts into the sky atop buildings, many don't have glass in the windows. (Later I hear that taxes aren't due until construction is complete. Tax law affects construction in many places.) Clothes and blankets hang over balconies. Raw meat dangles in the open doorways of butcher shops. So do bunches of bananas and bags of oranges. Donkey carts pull wagons of brilliant tomatoes or alfalfa. Trucks are piled sky-high with sugarcane. There are camel riders sharing the same roads in places.

Some people dress in western clothing. Most women cover their hair, some wear burqas. Adhan sounds. 





The call to prayer reminds me of the chanting of monks at monasteries, and I find it as beautiful as Egypt. It's not like anywhere else I've ever been.


It took me a week to adjust to Egypt.
Vendors at the pyramids do not take no for an answer, but they never stop smiling. Where you from? Welcome to Egypt. This is your home now.

The tourism isn't as slick and polished as most popular places. (Rome, London, New York.) That's not a bad thing. Marketing takes a far backseat to the genuine reality of Egypt and her people.



Breathe and take a good look around.

The north side of the Great Pyramid is the entrance. You have to purchase a separate ticket if you want to go inside. Go inside! You've come all this way! (Unless you're claustrophobic or can't crawl around. People are bigger now than 4,500 years ago. Take a flashlight. Sometimes the lights go out in these tombs.)

Don't be rude to souvenir sellers. No, thank you. La'a, Sho-krun in Egyptian Arabic.
They won't accept that, but be firm when you mean it.Buy stuff from them. You have no choice anyway. Figure out the Egyptian pound conversion to your currency before you go. Right now a hundred pounds Egyptian is about five pounds British Sterling, about seven dollars fifty-cents American.
Splurge! You'll enjoy your dusty trinkets when you get home! 

Even the camel ride is going to be different. You don't just pay for a camel ride. You get to know the camel guy. Your people talk to his. Where you from? You negotiate price. How you doing? You meet the camel guy's cousin. He meets your friends. You're family now. It's a good thing. His son will help you when you turn the camel in the wrong direction and wander through some tombs. Get comfortable on that camel, you're going to be there some time. It's higher than you expect. Don't worry. It's going to be a great day. Inshallah. 
Inshallah. God-willing. Things happen as we wish, or they don't. 

Your camel's name is Moses. You kiss him.  Come on. Have some fun while you're here. Just choose the camel you're going to kiss wisely. 

Negotiation takes time. More time than money. Everything here does.
Welcome to Egypt. This isn't going to be like anyplace you've ever been before. Isn't that wonderful?


This won't be like home. 
Isn't that one of the reasons you travel? I hope so, because you have no choice.
Find Egypt's pace.

This is my camel, Moses. It wasn't a little jaunt past the pyramids.
Moses and I tooled around the desert for a long time. Then he took me to see the Sphinx.
I'd have happy-cried if I'd have had one drop of water in my body to spare.


Suddenly the pyramids can become exactly what you'd imagined. You're out of sight of the buses. There are camels and horses galloping around you. There are expanses of desert here. You're doing touristy things, but you might have slipped into an old pocket of time. There's a slowness in Egypt that I've never experienced anywhere else. It's a chaotic slowness which is difficult to explain. There is always a lot going on, but you don't need to hurry. 




See the Great Pyramid in the distance? This was my first glimpse. A guy at the hotel drove me to my block of rooms in a golf cart and pointed it out for me. It took me a while to see it. I wasn't looking nearly high enough. I have a thing for ancient sites. This is something I've wanted to see since I read about it at age nine, a dream come true.



While in Cairo my study group stayed within walking distance of the pyramids at the Mena House. The conversion rate is so against the Egyptian pound that we could afford it. The Mena House has been around since the late 1800's. Many people in recent history who visited Egypt stayed here. Peace talks in the middle east happened here. 
The Mena House is a compound. You don't just drive in and out of this hotel. Bomb sniffing dogs check your vehicle, armed guards watch. This is Egypt, get used to it. 
Most importantly, don't be afraid. It's highly unlikely you'll even get pick-pocketed in Egypt, but don't be stupid either. It's a very safe, very family-oriented country. Prepare to fall in love with this land.


The east side of the Great Pyramid. There's
plenty of desert to ride your camel in over here!
I fall in love so easily, with places, with views, forests, seas, and yes—with camels named Moses. My foray into Egypt took place in February and March. It wasn't quite dust storm season, but the dust is intense. From Alexandria to Cairo to Luxor it hung on the horizon (Cairo more so than the other places!). It lands on everything, including you. It can make you cough, a lot, but to be fair I spent most of my days traipsing the desert and crawling through tombs. 

This was one of the most intense trips I've ever taken. I'd go back in a heartbeat. Take your sense of adventure when you go and leave your expectations at home. You'll love it when you open your heart to it, I promise.