Before. . .

Dateline Portland. In the second instance of bad Web site design in the same day, Monday evening I booked myself a rental car without even realizing it. (The first instance is an ongoing saga, a topic for a later post, about how computers are quite literally taking over the world.)

Of course, since I’m only 24 and three months old, and since I haven’t gotten a moving violation in five years, Thrifty had to charge me an extra $25 per day for our sweet sweet subcompact car, the Hyundai Accent. But being the personable journalist I am, I started talking to the guy about the extra fee. We agreed that it was arbitrary and pointless, and that there wasn’t a thing he could do about it, except of course give me a free upgrade. Out goes the Accent, in comes the Chevy HHR. Nevermind that for the price I was now paying, $55 a day, we should have been rolling in a Buick.

I’m always skeptical of American cars, and this one, with its ridiculous blue-purple paint and interior that looked like a dog with bladder control issues had scampered over the seats, was no exception. It took some cranking of the wheel to back the thing out of its space, and the massive columns between the doors and beside the rear hatch made for some big blind spots. Oh, and the windows are unnaturally small, like the thing is supposed to be a submarine instead of a car.

But despite all that, the HHR is starting to grow on me. It’s steering is sloppier than the tight controls I’ve come to love on German and Japanese cars, but the acceleration is kind of peppy and the interior is quieter than a lot of other cars I’ve driven lately.

. . . and after.

The best part is that it’s clear there were a couple of inspired engineers working on this thing. It’s the small details that make cars for me, and this is no exception. Coat hooks pop out from above the rear doors when you push them; the hatch opens with a rubberized electronic button latch release; and best of all, there’s a white LED in the headliner above the center console that throws a soft glow on the controls at night, making it easy to find coins and coffee without having to switch on a map light. The back seat fits two people decently well, and for a compact car, the rear hatch has a lot of room for stuff. Like beer.

Way to go Chevy. I didn’t think you had it in you. Now just shrink the columns, enlarge the windows and make it a hybrid, and you might have something Americans will go for.

Well, I haven’t written in a while due to end-of-quarter stress. Finals are thankfully over, and I’m settling in for a nice two weeks of Winter Break. I plan on spending most of it recovering from foot surgery, and watching the strange movies my brother likes while I’m on pain meds. Strange movies are better that way.

Apparently the Seattle windstorm made the national news. This makes me wonder — why is our nation so obsessed with weather? And why are those of us in the Pacific Northwest the weather laughingstocks of the nation? Case in point: when an inch of snow closes school in Seattle, it makes the national news, causing everyone in the Midwest and New England states to laugh at we silly Seattleites. One of my classmates is from Chicago, and as he puts it: “you West Coasters are so cute with what you consider ‘bad’ weather.” This implies that we don’t know bad weather.

Well, let me give you a little geography lesson. The problem with snow in Seattle isn’t the snow itself. Growing up here, I loved the fact that an inch shuts the city down and closes school. That was the best thing ever. Anyway, the problem with snow is that it frequently melts a little during the day, leaving a layer of ice behind on the streets. Seattle is hilly, not flat like places in the Midwest. A little bit of ice wreaks havoc on our traffic, causing Metro buses to slide sideways and closing freeways. Trust a native. It’s better to stay home when it snows.

Actually, it’s better to stay home during any “severe” weather event here. You see, we Seattleites are pretty spoiled. Our summers aren’t too hot, and our winters aren’t that cold. We don’t get significant snowfall, and it’s a rare thing when the temperature doesn’t get above freezing on a winter’s day. So, when we have bad weather, we’re not used to it. At all.

Now, back to the windstorm. I’ve been in a couple of bad ones, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like that. Over a million people (me included) were without power Friday morning. Entire suburbs and islands lost power. Somehow, this tree on the corner ended up losing its entire top half. Amazingly, no part of the tree blocked 50th — a busy arterial — and the tree missed hitting a fence and a parked car by inches. The wind was so strong that I couldn’t sleep. The tree in my backyard was groaning. People gathered their things and moved to centers of houses or to basements, worried about falling trees and flying debris. Some people will remain without power for three days.

This weekend finds Pacific Northwesterners assessing damages, cleaning up their yards, and telling wind stories. No bridges sunk this time (we’ve lost two to windstorms in the past). And until the next windstorm, we’ll be telling new wind stories while the nation continues to laugh at we cute West Coasters.

Maybe I’ll print up t-shirts reading “I survived the big Seattle windstorm. 2006.”

Part 2 of an occasional series whose days are numbered. How to buy bubble wrap in Egypt.

Step 1: Look for packing supply stores.

Step 2: Finding none, proceed to walk around your block.

Step 3: Enter industrial kitchen supply store. Explain what you need using small sample of bubble wrap. Wait for manager to call friend who owns bubble wrap factory in distant suburb. Note especially that the idiom for bubble wrap in Arabic translates back into English as “plastic with bubbles for using in boxes.”

Step 4: Politely decline manager’s offer to send one of his employees in a cab with you to nearby store to get a roll of bubble wrap, telling him “bokra inshallah” (tomorrow, God willing).

Step 5: It’s raining. Flip up hood as you leave store. Note that you are the only person in Cairo with a hood, much less an umbrella. Continue walk around block and down random muddy alleys.

Step 6: Stop at foam shop. Note sheets of foam in six different thicknesses. Select 1cm-thick sheet. Buy packing tape while you’re at it. Total cost for 1m-by-2m sheet and roll of packing tape: LE 8 ($1.25).

There is less than a week left for us here in Bab el Loq, downtown Cairo. We decided it was about time we started compiling a list of memories so that we don’t always dwell on the mice, the roaches, the two broken sinks, the creepy bahweb, the skeezy cab drivers, the mysterious unmarked EgyptAir plane and the pollution. So here goes.

A few Saturdays ago was the African Cup, something which I’m sure very few Americans know about, since soccer (real football, if you will) is such a fringe sport. It was a huge game, between Cairo’s Ahli team and Tunisia. For one night, people came to coffeeshops not to sip tea, slap backgammon chips and smoke sheesha, but to stand shoulder-to-shoulder and watch the game on tiny 10-inch TVs perched perilously above counters. The bakery, the juice store, and electronics stores all had crowds affixed to the game. And the most amazing part was the cheering. When Ahli scored, we really could hear the entire city cheering.

Being in a place where the juice guy, the grocery guy and the laundry guy all know you and genuinely care that you came back.

Eating an entire fish dinner for two with salad and tahina for LE60, or about $11. Not only is the exchange rate really great, but things here cost a lot less than you think they should. This, of course, is a double-edged sword. It’s great for visitors, but for anyone living here on an Egyptian salary, it can make day-to-day living tricky. Suddenly that LE60 dinner is a huge splurge when it takes the better part of the day to earn that much, and when the street sweepers here only make LE80 each month.

The poverty here is crushing, and seeing kids wandering the streets on their own scrounging for food really makes you feel like a terrible person for having eight pairs of underwear to choose from. But the woman and her daughter who always sell tissues and random odds-and-ends on the sidewalk in front of our building smile at us every day. Even when I stroll out with my iPod playing.

The bakery in Maadi with pita bread for 20 piastres (4 cents) each, warm and with a little bit of coriander.

I already said the cab drivers suck, but that’s not quite true. Most of them do. One guy sang along to Bob Marley playing on his tape deck with us when we went out to Islamic Cairo.

Our first day here was one of the most overwhelming experiences of our life. We had no phones, no Internet, and I carried around a kilo of bananas in a plastic bag all day, having paid 50 cents for them. But our thoroughly Western dinner in the otherwise-empty Hard Rock Cafe Cairo was one of the more surreal experiences of my life. Buffalo wings in Egypt, check.

Getting out of Cairo was always a good weekend, wherever we went. Pancakes on Midan Saad Zaghloul in Alexandria and biking out to the Valley of the Kings in Luxor are at the top of the list.

Horseback riding around the Pyramids at night, watching the sound-and-light show from afar. We still couldn’t see any stars, but getting away from the city noise was a good start.

Our first month here was Ramadan, the Islamic holy month that includes fasting during daylight hours. We went to a bunch of great iftars which I will never forget, all on the roof of m.’s apartment in downtown. That’s where we met a lot of our other friends, too, and where we whiled away hours upon hours drinking tea. The walks to m’s place (or anywhere right at sunset, for that matter) stand out, too. In the half hour before sundown, the streets are filled with cars honking and careening more than usual, rushing to get home. But the calls of the mullahs from loudspeakers all over announcing sunset also bring an incredible calm. The streets are nearly deserted and the only sounds are the voices rising from mercy tables set up on the sidewalks outside of every restaurant. As the night progresses, the city comes back alive, with families window shopping and guys gathered around tables with tea. The Ramadan lights, strings of full-size lightbulbs in red, yellow, blue and green chasing each other, add to the energy.

There’s a cookie shop near my preferred wifi haunt, Beano’s, that has amazing macaroons and other baked goods. So amazing that I may well bring some back to the U.S.

We already miss our Arabic teacher, M., and we aren’t even supposed to be done with lessons yet. He’s fluent in Japanese and English is his third language. And he loves Basbousa.

Ej~ipt, v. The act of behaving in a way that is easily associated with the North African nation of Egypt.

An occasional series that I should have started a while ago, but that’s something you’ll just have to deal with. Here’s Part 1: How to sneak onto an EgyptAir flight.

Step 1: Procure ticket. EgyptAir is still on paper tickets (a month after saying it had switched to e-tickets). Real ones are printed in about 6 layers, with 2 sheets of carbon paper. Anyway, you could swipe someone else’s ticket for full effect, or just get your own.

Step 2: Arrive at airport 1 hour before flight.

Step 3: Pass through first x-rays (prior to check-in). Don’t bother to produce ticket or identification.

Step 4: Check in for your flight. Check bags if you so desire. Don’t bother to produce ID of any sort.

Step 5: Proceed to second security checkpoint, perhaps stopping for an overpriced pastry on the way. Again, keep your boarding pass and ID tucked safely away.

Step 6: Shove your way to the front of the mob of people trying to board. Produce your boarding pass. Keep ID in pocket.

Step 7: Stow your carry-on bags and soak in the Islamic traveling prayer.