Sunday, October 16, 2011

The confusing story of me to Egyptians continues, and other events

"Oh, you speak Arabic well...[are you] Bosnian?"

That's what my taxi driver this morning told me.  So add Bosnia to the list of my possible origins!

That was right before the car ahead of us rear ended the car turning in front of him because there is no organization to the streets here other than un-organization.  Then he, my taxi driver, proceeded to yell out the passenger window, pinning me between the seat and his outstretched right arm, pointing finger and all, in defense of the one who was rear-ended.  And that's because there is no officially followed or obeyed system for driver's insurance here.  Instead the two parties just work it out on the spot deciding who pays what and how much.

Literally, if you can imagine braiding hair with cars, that's what the streets of Alexandria look like.  Occasionally the hair gets a knot in it.

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