My Egyptian journey continues...

This the second installment about my trip to Egypt. There most likely will be at least four parts, maybe five. Part One was published on May 21, 2022.

The next morning, we meet our Collette Tours guide, Khaled Lotfy, as well as the 13 other people in our group in the lobby of our hotel. Most are a bit older, and all are experienced world travelers. After Egypt, some are traveling to Jordan, while another couple, who have sold off most of their possessions and travel fulltime, are heading to Bali. Listening to everyone’s travel stories is inspiring!

But it is Khaled who I find most interesting.

Khaled is a 63-year-old Egyptologist with a lifetime of experiences. As a young man, he worked as an archaeologist and climbed Mount Sinai for the joy of it. Now he is a travel guide. He is well-educated and his knowledge of Egyptian history is infinite. I am delighted he will be our guide for the remainder of our trip and look forward to talking with him and listening to what he has to say.

After our introductions, we are off to the Museum of Egyptian Antiquities.

Khaled leads us through the museum, pointing at various artifacts and statues, while imparting history about each one. He speaks easily and doesn’t rattle off a list of dates and statistics that I’ll never remember but tells Egypt’s history as a story. At times, we all assume roles of different pharaohs and Khaled relates a part of history that we play a part in. It helps me to remember because Egyptian history reads like a soap opera with brothers killing brothers and brothers marrying sisters. It seems everyone is related.

Our guide Khaled stands next to a black granite statue
of Amenemhat III who ruled from 1860-1814 BC. 

We stop at the Statue of Khafre and Khaled tells us it is one of the most important sculptures of ancient Egypt. It was found by Auguste Mariette in 1860 during excavations near the Pyramid of Khafre in Giza. The statue is 4,750 years old!

The Statue of Khafre.

After visiting a few more exhibits, we are left to wander on our own. I enter a small gallery dedicated to King Tutankhamen. It is filled with artifacts found inside his tomb. I walk in with camera ready, but just as one of the other women in my group tells me photography is not allowed, one of the docent’s yells at me to put away my camera. Begrudgingly I slip my camera into my purse.

KingTut is one of the most well-known pharaohs, but not for what he accomplished in life. He was young and ruled for only six years until his death at 19 years old, but he is known because archaeologists found his tomb intact.

Displayed beautifully in the center of the room is the famous gold mask of Tutankhamun. It is stunning and I wish I could take a photo. There are displays of jewelry and an array of other priceless treasures, but the room is full of people, and it is difficult to see the items up close.

In the hallway are more items belonging to King Tut, including four canopic jars.  Ancient Egyptians believed a dead person would need their organs in their afterlife, so the liver, lungs, stomach, and intestines were removed during the mummification process and placed in jars. The jars were then sealed and placed with the body as part of the funeral rituals. The heart remained with the body during burial.

Two of the four canopic jars that once held King Tut's organs. 

I venture to other parts of the museum, but many of the rooms and cases are empty. Items are being moved to the new Grand Egyptian Museum (GEM) which is scheduled to open in November 2022. The new museum will be at Giza near the pyramids and, with a size of 5.2 million square feet, it will be one of the biggest museums in the world.

I am excited about the opening of the new museum. Not only will it have everything from the smaller museum, but it will feature over 20,000 relics that have never been on display. It will also include treasures from King Tutankhamen that haven’t been released since their discovery in 1922! When completed, it will display over 100,000 different items making it the largest archaeological museum in the world. Christy and I are already talking about a return trip.

After the museum, everyone takes the bus back to the hotel, but Christy, Linda and I decide to walk. It’s hot, but the walk is a short one of only 10-15 minutes. Besides, the walkway is along the Nile. This is my first glimpse of the Nile, but I’m not impressed. Maybe it is just this stretch that runs through Cairo, but it looks similar to many other rivers I've seen, and it isn’t as romantic or beautiful as the movies portray it to be.  

The Nile River

One of the first things I noticed when we arrived in Cairo was the traffic. 

It is very congested. There are no individually marked lanes and cars drive wherever there is space, sometimes five and six cars wide zigzagging across the road. No one uses turn signals and it’s a constant beep beep beep as drivers honk their horns to alert others to their presence. There are very few signal lights and no crosswalks. I'm not sure who is given the right-away when driving, but it all seems to work with cars merging whenever there is an opening. 

Pedestrians, however, do not have the right-away and cross at their own peril.

Bumper to bumper Cairo traffic.

And now we must cross the street to get to our hotel.

Fortunately, traffic is light, but no one slows down as we step off the curb. I am reminded of an old video game, Frogger, and we are the frogs attempting to cross the road. We try a few times but are too scared to commit. Finally, traffic has slowed enough to where there are only a few cars, and we dart across. We are so proud of ourselves. 

We have crossed our first street in Cairo without getting splattered all over the asphalt!

**

The bus ride to Saqqara the next morning is 45-minutes, and even with our early arrival, we can’t avoid the heat. My travel bloat has not subsided and my swollen ankles hurt, but no matter how uncomfortable I am, I will not be deterred. It is 110-degrees as I take my first steps into the Sahara Desert, but I am enjoying every minute of it.

Our tour group poses in front of the Step Pyramid,
Saqqara. 

Saqqara is one of the richest archaeological sites in Egypt with its monuments spanning a time frame of 3,000 years. The area was used as a burial site for Egyptian royalty but was eventually abandoned and left buried under the desert sand for centuries. Recent discoveries at the site include a rare, gilded burial mask covered in obsidian, calcite, and onyx and in March 2022, five 4000-year-old tombs were unearthed.

The Step Pyramid of Djoser is the centerpiece of the Saqqara complex. It was used as the model for all other pyramids built in Egypt. The great innovator Imhotep built the pyramid for King Djoser in the 27^th century BC. 

The Step Pyramid is currently undergoing extensive 
exterior conservation work.

One of Saqqara’s more interesting monuments is the Serapeum, the underground burial chamber of the sacred Apis bulls. It consists of long passageways which house 25 giant granite sarcophagi. The sarcophagi, weighing up to 70 tons each, contained the mummified corpses of bulls. Unfortunately, when the site was discovered in 1851, all but one of the tombs had been pillaged. The mummified bull that remained is now in the Agricultural Museum in Cairo.

Entrance to the Serapeum.

Our guide stands next to one of the granite sarcophagus
in the Serapeum. For scale, Khaled is about 5'5".
 

At the Pyramid of Unas we see a tomb covered in hieroglyphics detailing spells designed to protect the king in the afterlife. Khaled tells us this is significant because this is the earliest known examples of decorative writing in a Pharaonic tomb chamber. These funerary texts later formed the basis of the Book of the Dead, which was a guide through the underworld.

Hieroglyphs inside the funerary complex of King Unas.

The pillars at Saqqara are the first known attempts to make 
pillars in Egypt.

The heat has subsided some, but not much, when we reach Coptic Cairo. I want to stay on the airconditioned bus, but Khaled says we are family and must do everything together. Of course, it is for our safety.

We follow Khaled, or the walking stick he holds high into the air because that’s all we can see, through the crowded streets to the Hanging Church. Inside, it is so packed we can barely get in. I ask why it is so crowded and Khaled reminds me it is Easter Sunday. People are arriving for church services. Tourists and worshipers compete for limited space and it is causing a people-jam at the entrance.

Our guide gets into an intense discussion with a man controlling admittance. Another man joins the argument, and a few others chime in. The yelling lasts for several minutes. At one point I thought a fight was going to ensue, but then we are let through. Whether that is because the man at the entrance gate relented or whether Khaled simply walked in on his own, I do not know. We push through the crowd to follow.

It is a difficult situation. We are tourists who have paid for this tour and are on a time schedule, but these are locals who also have a right to enter the church whenever they chose, especially for Easter services. When it is this crowded, who is given the advantage? In this case, it is us. I do not make eye contact with those waiting in line as they glare angrily as we pass.

The entrance to the Hanging Church.

It doesn’t help that it is 107-degrees and in the middle of Ramadan. Khaled explains that a person cannot even have a sip of water during their fasting and if someone who does not have a medical reason is caught eating or drinking, they can be fined. No wonder tempers are short. Later, I see Khaled and the man he was arguing with, making amends. All is forgiven.

One of the mosaics in the courtyard of 
The Hanging Church.

Next, we visit the Church of St. Sergius and St. Bacchus. It is also known as the cavern church because it is believed that the Holy Family sheltered in a cave here during their flight into Egypt. The cave is preserved as a crypt, and you descend a short stairwell underground to view it and then back up into the church.

But inside, it smells rank with cat piss.

The odor was so strong when we previously visited with Mariam that it gave me a headache. Christy, Linda and I opt to wait outside this time while the rest of the group goes inside. While we wait, we see some of the offending cats running about.  

A kitten on the streets of Cairo.

The alley leading to the cavern church is
filled with racks of books for sale.

More authentic Egyptian food for lunch at Fel Fel Egypt. I am glad to be free of the crazy crowds and the heat. We start our meal with a falafel. This is my first time eating one. It doesn’t look very appetizing, but it is delicious! Falafels are a popular Middle Eastern food made with chickpeas and fava beans that are ground up and formed into patties, and then fried.

I also try another new dish, Shakshouka, which is a combination of eggs poached in a tomato sauce, onions, and minced meat. I don’t like it very much and prefer the kabob of mixed beef and chicken as well as eating a second falafel or three.

My first falafel!

We get back to the Kempinski Hotel about 5pm and I am glad to call it an early night. Our wakeup call is at the ungodly hour of 2am! We are flying to Luxor tomorrow morning and will be boarding the Movenpick Royal Lotus to begin our cruise down the Nile!

One of the tourists shops we visited near the cavern church.

Two women walk along a Cairo city street.

A man sells garlic from the bed of his truck at an open-air
market in the streets of Cairo.

Welcome to Egypt!

Egypt.

 I have been dreaming of pyramids and riding a camel in the Sahara Desert for many years. My bucket list is long with dozens of places I want to visit and just as many experiences I want to have, but money always seems to be a factor in what I can and, most often, can’t do. 

However, when my friend mentioned Egypt was also on her bucket list and she wanted to go, I didn’t care how much the trip would cost. I was going!

A man walks alone in the Sahara Desert.

Unfortunately, our adventure didn’t start out as smoothly as I’d hoped.

First, as much as we planned, everything was done last minute by our travel agent, which caused us a fair amount of anxiety. She over-nighted our travel paperwork to us two days before we left, so of course it didn’t arrive in time. However, that was just a minor inconvenience as compared to what followed.

To put it mildly, American Airlines/British Airways suck.

A delayed flight into Heathrow Airport from Dallas/Fort Worth – or an on-time flight, but an hour sitting idle on the tarmac because airport personnel didn’t know what they were doing – made us late for our connecting flight. 

Even with the hour delay, however, we were still 45 minutes early for our connection, but the apathetic woman at security wouldn’t allow us through.  She said we wouldn’t have time to get to our gate and instead, directed us to stand at the end of a very long line of angry passengers who had also missed their connecting flights.

Heathrow Airport sucks.

One after another, travelers took out their hostilities on the clerk working the rebooking window as if everything was her fault. With tears in her eyes, she tried her best to appease each customer. At one point, I heard her on the telephone saying that if someone wasn’t there in ten minutes to help her, she was walking out!

Good for her, I thought, but bad for us because we were still in line. When it was our turn at the counter, we were polite. We hoped our kindness and understanding for the shitshow that Heathrow is, made up for all the rude people who came before us and, who I’m sure, were to follow.

Our original flight was scheduled at 9:45am, however our rebooked flight wasn’t until 4:45pm, so that meant several static hours at the airport. Our frustrations worsened when we learned our original connecting flight had been delayed an hour. We would have made it had we been allowed through security!

This is all just part of the adventure

I told myself this many times, both in my head and aloud, but it did little to improve my mood. It was at this point I learned my dislike of people hadn’t lessened any during retirement and travel-bloat is a very real and painful thing! My feet and legs were so swollen – cankles! I was ready to cash out and book a flight home, but the thought of seeing the pyramids and camels I’ve dreamt about for so long persuaded me otherwise.

It was an excruciating 12-hours of wandering around a very busy Heathrow, eating crappy airport food and trying to find a seat to elevate my feet. At 8pm after about a half dozen gate changes and numerous other delays, we finally boarded our flight to Cairo.

Flying into Egypt at night.

The next morning, I am exhausted and cranky, but eager to begin our explorations of Cairo. We meet our guide from Gallivant Egypt Tours in the lobby of our hotel, the Kempinski Nile Hotel.

Our guide is a beautiful young Egyptian woman with dark hair and an engaging smile. Mariam does not wear a hijab and against tradition, has moved out of her parent’s home and lives as a single woman who attends and pays her own way through college.  Her English is perfect, and she smiles appreciatively as we tell her how proud we are of her and her accomplishments.

Me, Christy, Linda and our guide Mariam Zaky.

She takes us to many historic places, but first we visit the Great Mosque of Muhammad Ali. It is built from limestone sourced from the Giza Plateau and, having been built in the mid-19^th century, is considered a newer construction. With its great central dome and two towering minarets, it is one of the first landmarks to be seen when entering Cairo from any direction.

The Great Mosque of Muhammad Ali.

Next is Saint Virgin Mary’s Coptic Orthodox Church, one of the earliest churches in Egypt dating to the 4th century. It is more commonly known as the Hanging Church because it was built on top of a Roman fortress. Logs from palm trees and layers of stones were stacked above the ruins to be used as the foundation.

It is one of Cairo’s most exquisite churches, but I can’t concentrate on its beauty. The thought of standing on such a precarious foundation gives me a stab of anxiety, especially after seeing a window in the floor exposing what can barely be called a ‘foundation’. However, since it hasn’t collapsed yet from all the tourists tromping through, I suppose it must be rather sturdy, but nevertheless, I imagine myself crashing through the floor at any moment.

The Hanging Church was destroyed during 11th century.
Expansion and reconstruction have gone on ever since, making
 it difficult to date precisely any specific part of the church.

From Coptic Cairo we drive towards St. Simon the Tanner Monastery, but first we must travel through Garbage City!

Driving through Manshiyat Nasser, the proper name for the village, is a wonderful surprise. The streets are narrow and full of garbage. However, it’s not casually discarded trash, but trash carefully collected and sorted for recycling. There is no efficient garbage collection in Cairo, so the residents have taken it upon themselves to become unofficial garbage collectors.

Daily life in Garbage City.

Almost 90% of the garbage is recycled and prior to 2009, much of the organic waste was given to pigs for disposal. The villagers would then slaughter them and sell their meat. However, as a preventive against swine flu, the government ordered all the pigs in Garbage City to be culled.

A girl walks past stacks of garbage.

No surprise that the village stinks and is swarming with flies. It is not a healthy environment, but it is a photographer’s dream. As much as I want to wander the streets with my camera, it is highly discouraged by Mariam. Instead, I take pictures out the van window. Garbage City has become a highlight of this trip!

A man makes basbousa on the street corner in Garbage City.

 I am disappointed when we leave Garbage City behind, however the monastery complex with the Cave church is magnificent.

The Cave Church is exactly that, a church built in a large cave. The stone walls surrounding the church are adorned with sculptures depicting the life of Jesus and the amphitheater has a capacity of 20,000 people. We wander through the complex, also visiting St. Marks, but now it is time for lunch.

Entrance to the Cave Church.

I am hungry to try authentic Egyptian food!

At Bonne Soiree Restaurant, lunch is buffet-style. Mariam recommends the Mulukhiyah soup. She explains it is the national dish of Egypt and is made from jute, which is a green leaf vegetable. I am eager to try it, but it has a slightly bitter taste with a slimy texture. 

Mulukhiyah soup.

I swallow a few more spoonful’s so I can say I at least tried it, but I can’t stomach much more. I push it aside and move on to more delicious foods like rice, fish, meatballs in a red sauce, and Egyptian basbousa. Basbousa is a sweet, syrup-soaked semolina cake that is sometimes filled with cream. I am hooked!

At Khan al-Khalili, a historic market built in 1382, we push our way down passageways, past rows of shops full of trinkets, clothing, and other souvenirs.  Vendors call out to us from the doorways. I notice they are all men, and each has his own way of attracting attention.

A vendor stands in the doorway
of his shop.

“Welcome to Alaska” one of them jokingly calls, while others simply smile and wave. The more aggressive ones hurry along beside us, thrusting their wares in our faces and shouting out prices in hopes of negotiating, "Five for a dollar!" Bargaining is a must in Egypt!

The sounds and sights of the bustling market are dizzying.

A vendor smiles at tourists 
walking past his shop.

The Arabic language is harsh and raspy. The men’s voices are loud and spirited as they shout from the doorways of their shops. There are no discernable words, only what sounds like throaty coughs and expulsions of air. I don’t know if they are arguing or discussing their evening plans. Occasionally, someone will shout in English, and I know it is directed at us. They want us to look their way. If I make eye contact or show the slightest bit of interest, then they become unrelenting. I’ve learned my first Arabic word: La, meaning no.

Merged with the harshness of sound is the beautiful, vibrant colors from the many scarves, dresses, and other fabrics stacked on floor to ceiling shelves inside the shops. Every available space is taken; sometimes there is only enough room for the shopkeeper to stand. Tables are set up outside full of souvenirs making the walkway even narrower. Chintzy trinkets sparkle blindingly under the light.

A shop displaying vibrant fabrics.

It is breathlessly exciting, but I am glad when Mariam stops at a small café and we can sit down and relax, but it doesn’t last long. Three very white American women make for an easy target. Several vendors approach and are persistent in their attempts to sell us their cheap tokens.

La. La. La. La. La. La.

But the vendors will not go away. Mariam snaps at them in Arabic. I don’t understand her exact words, but I get the gist of it by the tone of her voice and the abrupt turnaround of the vendor as he heads in another direction. Mariam looks sweet, but do not be fooled, she is very capable and not to be trifled with!

And then, unfortunately, I must go to the bathroom.

The café we are in doesn’t have a toilet, so Mariam takes me in search of one. Again, I don’t know what exactly Mariam says to a nearby shopkeeper, but I notice his body language and demeanor. He smiles at Mariam and seems fine with her request, but when she gestures towards me – which I assume is her telling him the bathroom is for me – he shakes his head and sends us elsewhere.

Several times we stop, and Mariam asks about a bathroom, but each time we are directed to another place. People either don’t have a bathroom in their shop, which is possible because the shops are small and crammed full of touristy stuff or they don’t want to let me use it.

Finally, we find a bathroom and it is disgusting!

Christy wanders down one of the rows
of Khan al-Khalili market

It’s not even a proper bathroom, just a toilet shoved into a closet with a rickety door that doesn’t close all the way.  It’s dirty and dark, with water on the floor from a leaky toilet and of course there is no toilet paper. However, Christy has come prepared with travel size rolls, and we each carry one in our purse. There is no sink to wash my hands, but again I am prepared. Wet wipes! When I push open the door to leave, a man is standing just outside waiting for his turn. No privacy at all.

Because we had to go to several different places to find a bathroom, Mariam is uncertain of how to get back to the café. Down various alleyways we go, sometimes two or three times down the same one as Mariam tries to orient herself. It doesn’t help that there are five cafes within Khan al-Khalili that all have the same name. It seems each time Mariam asks for directions, she is directed to a different one. Eventually, we find our way back to Christy and Linda who thought we had abandoned them.

As much as I think the market is crazy, it’s about to get worse.   

Ramadan is the ninth month of the Islamic calendar and observed by Muslims worldwide as a month of fasting, prayer, reflection, and community.  We knew we would be traveling to Egypt during Ramadan, but I cluelessly had no idea of what it consisted of.

People gathering for Ramadan just 
outside Khan al-Khalili Market.

Fasting is from dawn to sunset, and we are out well past sunset. We emerge from the market into streets packed with hundreds upon hundreds of people. Rows of tables are set up where anyone can sit to have iftar, which is the nightly meal with which Muslims end their daily Ramadan fast. Free food is given so everyone can eat, regardless of their status in life.

People are everywhere!

People sitting down to enjoy Iftar.

Mariam leads us as best she can through the crowd to our awaiting van. At times we all hold hands or grab onto each other’s clothing, so we don’t get separated. It’s a bit disconcerting, but we make it unscathed to the van, however, once inside, I realize our ordeal is not over.

Now our driver must carefully maneuver the van through the throngs of people.

I don’t know if they are police or security guards, but there are men in uniforms manning a blockade to control the flow of people. They are attempting to let only a few at a time into the area where the food is being served, but it’s not working. There is lots of yelling and hand gesturing as people push past the guards. Soon the area is overrun, and our van is surrounded. Based on the angry words shouted at our driver and the banging on the sides of the van from pedestrians, I’m pretty sure we hit a few people as we made our getaway.

And this was only our first day in Egypt.

The upper terraces of the Citadel offer spectacular views over the city of Cairo.

A big life change? Maybe.

 This road trip is different. 

It’s not about adventure or travel.  It’s not about photography, visiting national parks or about getting back to nature.  This road trip is different because it’s about finding another place to live that’s not in California.

Normally, I am well prepared, packed a week ahead of time, but this time everything was done at the last minute.  It wasn’t from lack of planning, but from my wanting to put off for as long as possible the emotions that I knew would come.  There have been fleeting moments of excitement for this “new chapter” in my life, but mostly there has been guilt and indecision. 

When most children are returning to their elderly parents to care for them, I am abandoning mine.  It seems selfish for me to want to leave San Diego, the place I was born and raised. It seems selfish to leave my parents at a time when they are needing my help the most.  I can afford to live in California, but I can’t afford to live my life in California. 

The decision to move was not one made in haste.  These thoughts have been in my mind since 2018, actually for much longer.  Moving was something my ex and I discussed doing when we retired.  I’ve been retired now for over three years; however, it’s taken me this long to get the confidence to even consider it.  It is a huge life change for me and I’m not sure if I am ready for it or if I can do it on my own.

The rollercoaster of emotion is fast and fierce.  I don’t know if I am making the right decision.  I make excuses as to why I should stay in San Diego, but then I use the same excuses as to why I should leave. The arguments within my mind are endless.   Half the time I am excited, the other half I am crying.  And then there are those rare times when I am absolutely terrified by even the thought of leaving San Diego and it takes a moment for me to catch my breathe.  I wonder if this is what a panic attack feels like?

The road to Utah is long and the severity of my mood increases with every mile.

I’m driving north on Interstate 15 when there is an accident, or so I think.  Otherwise, why would traffic be at a complete stop on the freeway?  It’s stop and go for twenty minutes, but there is no sign of anything that shows cause for the traffic, but in that time, my mood worsens. 

I am tired.  I got on the road at 6:30am, but it wasn’t early enough to beat the heat of the Nevada desert.  It’s 100-degrees when I reach Las Vegas.  I am irritated at everyone and everything, so it only seems fitting that when I cross the border into Utah, a rock hits my windshield causing a crack to snake its way across the window. 

I’m wondering if this is a sign.  Maybe I should go home, abandon all thought of moving to Utah?  Maybe I should return to the familiarity of a lifetime spent in San Diego?  But I don’t.  Instead, I check into a Motel 6 in Cedar City where the lobby smells like poop.  How apropos.

The next morning, the lobby still stinks, but now the entire hallway does as well.   The woman behind the counter puts down her spray bottle and rag that she’s been wiping everything with to give me my receipt at check-out.  I consider telling her about the smell, but then I wonder why she can’t smell it on her own?  Plus, I don’t have the energy.  I let her go back to sanitizing against COVID without saying a word.

Focusing on getting to Draper, where I have made hotel reservations at the Hampton Inn, has helped to subdue the voices in my head, but my thoughts are still heavy.  Doubt creeps in at every opportunity and I feel myself returning to the foul mood of yesterday. 

Along the freeway, I see a sign for Cedar Breaks National Monument.  I have never been, so I quickly exit.  The drive from I-15 to Brian Head along Hwy 143 is a pretty one.  My thoughts soon drift to nature and my mood improves. 

Cedar Breaks is a natural amphitheater, stretching across 3 miles, with a depth of over 2,000 feet.  The rim sits at about 10,000 feet in elevation.  The rock of the amphitheater is like that of Bryce Canyon National Park, but unlike the national park, Cedar Breaks attracts less visitors.   For the most part, I am alone.  It takes me only an hour and a half to drive through the park and back again, but it is exactly what I need to soothe my soul. 

The next day I begin my search for apartments, but it is disappointing.  I cross many off my list without even touring them because I don’t like the location.  And those in my preferred location don’t have the amenities I am looking for, like a garage, or they are older builds when I am wanting something new.  I have a long list of apartments to see, but there is white smoke billowing up from behind the Wasatch Mountains.  The air is thick and it is difficult to breath.  I cut short my apartment hunt and retreat to the air conditioning of my hotel room. 

Maybe the fire is another sign I shouldn’t move to Utah?

The Parley Canyon fire was caused by an overheated catalytic converter on a vehicle.  It is east of Salt Lake City on the south side of Interstate 80 near Park City. I am in no danger, but the air quality is horrible.  It is Sunday and the leasing offices of the apartments I want to look at are all closed.  I knew the offices would be closed, so instead, I planned on going to Antelope Island State Park to see birds and wild bison, but it is recommended that people stay indoors because of the smoke.  So I stay indoors.  It is like being at home.  I watch TV while not wearing any pants and snack on trail mix.

Monday morning is spent getting my cracked windshield replaced and then it is back to apartment hunting.  The air quality is still bad, but I wear a mask and spend as little time outside as possible.  During my downtime on Sunday, I re-prioritized my wants and have decided to add townhomes to my list.  From American Fork to Ogden I drive, identifying possibilities and eliminating others.  The next day I drive back and forth again looking at more and more apartments.

Over the past six days, I have looked at dozens of apartments and townhomes and have a folder full of literature, along with a binder of handwritten notes about each one.  It has been overwhelming and exhausting.  The internal bickering resumes as do my tears.  More questions, more doubts.  I have had a stomachache for two days.  Because of my mood and of the wildfires that are burning pretty much in all the western states, I decide to end my trip early and return home. 

The uncertainty and doubt that plagued me on my trip to Utah, stay with me all the way home.  I am even less sure as I sort through all the information I have gathered.  I ask myself the same questions, make the same rationalizations, and experience the same guilt and anxiety as before.  However, it all comes down to one simple question that I’ve asked myself a million times over the last few days:  Should I move to Utah?

And the answer is YES.  Yes, I am moving to Utah in October.

Part 2 of 2: Potatoes, dead fish and no cell phone reception

It’s 36-degrees and sunny when I say farewell to West Yellowstone.  I drive south on Highway 20 and further still on Interstate 15, but I don’t get very far.  I have my sights set on Salt Lake City, but I see a sign along the freeway that reads, “Potato Museum next exit” so I exit. 

The Potato Museum in Blackfoot, Idaho was built in 1913 and originally a railroad depot.  It was placed on the National Register of Historic Places in 1974.  However, in 1984 the Union Pacific closed the depot leaving the building abandoned.  It became the Potato Museum a few years later in 1988.

I’m not expecting much but I am pleasantly surprised. 

The museum is small, but full of potato paraphernalia as well as a few pieces of machinery used in harvesting.  I never thought much about potatoes, but the history and trivia are interesting.  Did you know the largest potato ever grown was 7 pounds, 1 ounce?

Welcome to Utah!  

A night of rest in Brigham City and then a short drive the next morning to Bear River Migratory Bird Refuge.  The refuge contains nearly 80,000 acres of marsh, open waters, uplands, and alkali mudflats.  It lies along the edges of both the Pacific Flyway and the Central Flyway, making it an important area for birds.  More than 250 bird species use the refuge.  It is my first time here and I am excited to do some birding.

Right away I see a Ringed-necked pheasant.  I get some decent shots and that makes for a promising day.  In the Bear River Channel, there are ducks and a few American White Pelicans, but then I see something that isn’t familiar.

It swims along the water’s surface and then lumbers briefly onto shore.  It’s a beaver! A big, brown blob and all I see is its butt.  Then it’s back in the water and swims away.  This is the first beaver I have ever seen in the wild!

I follow the auto tour route along a dirt road through the refuge.  The road and channel parallel one another, but then the water level gets extremely low.  The main channel has taken a turn and, I think, this shallow pool is overflow.  I’m not sure, but it is full of dying carp.

They flounder and float on their sides while seagull’s peck at them.  It is a carp graveyard with fish carcasses in varying degrees of decay and bones scattered along the shoreline.  The carp are an invasive species, so I’m not saddened at their demise.  Plus, I know their death is a benefit to other wildlife in the area that will feed on them.

It stinks and the seagulls squawk loudly.  As disgusting as it is, I am very fascinated and get out of my truck to take a closer look.  However, I am suddenly attacked by large flies that bite my back and shoulders through my shirt.  It hurts! 

I jump back into my truck to escape the flies, but the interior is now infested with mosquitos.  I have left the windows open!  The mosquitos cover the inside roof like a carpet.  I turn the air on super blast, but it does little to dispel them. 

I take a few quick photos of the seagull-carp carnage and quickly drive away.  The flies follow me, however.  I roll up the windows, but they keep pace with me.  They are so big that I can see them flying next to my window and when I stop, they land on the windows and hood to let me know they are still there.  It’s as if they are stalking me!

I grab a can of bug spray from my camping gear and attempt to spray both the inside of my truck, which is still covered with mosquitos, and myself.  However, the nozzle is broken, and it doesn’t spray properly, just bubbles, but I’m able to get enough on my skin to keep the bugs away.  

The flies quickly lose interest, but the mosquitos remain.  I squish a few, but they leave tiny blood stains on the fabric of the roof.  Since they are not biting me, I leave them alone. 

The bugs are horrendous and it’s scorching hot.  Apparently, the entire western half of the United States is in a massive heat wave.  I have picked the wrong time of year to visit, but the birding is good, so I see the positives in that.

Sandhill Cranes with a colt, Yellow-headed Blackbirds, Cliff Swallows, egrets, herons, coots, ibises, baby geese, and Black-necked Stilts…I am getting some great photos, but my favorite are the Western Grebes with chicks riding on their backs.  Adorable!

I exit the refuge 5 hours later with a card full of great photos and go to Salt Lake City in search of a laundromat.  Some of the mosquitos are still hitching a ride with me and I continue squishing them for the next several miles until they are all gone.

The next day, I meet my friend Christy at the Radisson SLC Airport.  She has flown in from Denver to help me look at apartments in the Salt Lake City area.  We spend the next three days driving from one side of town to the other touring apartments and stopping every so often for ice cream because it is over a 100-degrees every single day. 

We also take time to eat delicious Mexican food at Red Iguana, which was featured on Diners, Drive-ins, and Dives with Guy Fieri.  The food is good, and the waiter is a cutie.  He charms us two old ladies with his smile and customer-service flirtations.  It works.  We leave him a big tip.

At the Capitol building, we take a self-guided tour.  I ask Christy if it is illegal to have a gun in the building.  She responds with an expletive.  I tell her I’m asking for a friend.  I don’t know what the statue of limitations is, so I will neither confirm nor deny anything remotely associated with anyone possessing or not possessing a firearm inside or outside of a federal building or any building for that matter.

Our stay at the Radisson SLC Airport is only three nights, but unfortunately, they are not good ones.  From mold and a persistent musty smell in the bathroom to highly incompetent staff, our time there flat out sucked.  Plus, the cleaning staff threw away our personal toiletries that we had in the bathroom.  Including my purple soap box that I’ve had for, like, 20 years!

My numerous complaints are met with half-hearted apologies, and not once did they offer to replace any of the items they had thrown away.  Not even with cheap hotel soap!  I give them one star in my Yelp review only because I couldn’t rate them a zero.

After saying our goodbyes, Christy heads east and I head west on Interstate 80 towards Great Salt Lake State Park.

Great Salt Lake is one of the major tourist destinations in Utah.  It is the largest saltwater lake in the Western Hemisphere at 75 miles long and 35 miles wide.  It is too saline to support fish and most other aquatic species.  The only living things in the lake are algae, bacteria, brine shrimp and brine flies. 

It is also a popular spot for birding as it provides a habitat for millions of native and migratory birds.  However, I am disappointed when I arrive.   There are no birds, no shade, and the visitor’s center isn’t open yet.  I walk around in the 85-degree heat for about 45 minutes waiting for the visitor center to open only to discover that I am at the wrong part of the lake. 

I am at the boat marina. 

If I want to see birds and other wildlife, I should have gone to Antelope Island State Park, but that is an hour away and back the way I came.  It’s a disappointment, but all part of my journey.  There will always be highlights and lowlights to my trip and this just happens to be a lowlight, but at least I can say I saw the Great Salt Lake. 

With a pocket full of caramel candies I bought at the visitor center, I continue west on Interstate 80.  Past the Bonneville Speedway where many speed records have been set, the first being in 1935 by Sir Malcolm Campbell and where I wish I would have stopped. At West Wendover, I turn south on the 93 towards Ely and spend a quiet night at La Quinta planning my next stop.

I have my America the Beautiful park pass ready, but Great Basin National Park does not have an entry fee.  It’s a beautiful morning, sunny with wispy clouds, but at 8:30am it is already 80-degrees.  At Lehman Caves Visitor Center, I am met with another disappointment.  Reservations are required to tour the caves and I haven’t made any.  The next available time slot is a month out! 

Great Basin National Park was established in 1986 and is just over 120 square miles in size.  It’s known for its groves of ancient bristlecone pines and the Lehman Caves at the base of 13,063-foot Wheeler Peak, as well as Wheeler Peak Glacier.   

From the visitor center, I drive Wheeler Peak Scenic Drive.  The road twists and turns as it snakes up the mountain, however there are very few turnouts for me enjoy the views, and no vast meadows where I can view wildlife.  I stop when I can to take pictures and then the road ends at a parking lot. 

There is a kiosk showing the many trails branching out from the parking lot.  I’m not dressed for hiking, I’m wearing jeans, but I stuff several waters and a first aid kit into a backpack and wander off down the trail. 

The high elevation is making breathing difficult, and I stop frequently to catch my breath, but I don’t want to turn back.  It’s quiet, beautiful, and I want to push myself, but then I start thinking about bears.  I have left my bear spray in the car and I am hiking alone.  I wonder if I should turn around for safety reasons, but I think, “oh well” and keep hiking. 

I am hot and sweaty in my jeans and it feels like I’ve been hiking for days, but it’s been less than a hour and I’ve gone only ¾ of a mile. The trail has steadily gained in elevation and for a moment I think I might vomit, but just up ahead I see an opening and a sign that reads, “Teresa Lake, Elevation 10,230 feet.” 

I’ve made it and I’ve done so without hurling my breakfast.

Teresa Lake is a small, glacial lake near Wheeler Peak along the park’s Alpine Lakes Loop Trail.  Most of the water comes from snowmelt, but it also has a spring flowing into it.  I find some shade along the rocky shore and soak my feet.  The water is very cold but refreshing.  It’s been another good day.

When I leave Great Basin National Park, I have two options.  I can drive east and eventually connect with Interstate 15 that I’ve driven a thousand times, or continue on Highway 93 and see all new territory.  I opt for the unfamiliar and head south on Highway 93 in search of a hotel, but there are none.  In fact, there are no services at all, including cell phone reception.  I am a bit uneasy about my choice in routes, especially when it starts to rain.  I wonder how long it would take someone to find me if something happened….

I drive almost a 100-miles without services, but I eventually reach Panaca, Nevada where there is a gas station.  Civilization!

Another 150 miles on Highway 93 gets me to Interstate 15 just north of Las Vegas.  It’s 111-degrees when I arrive.  I want to make a mad dash for home, but I am too tired.  A Motel 6 near the Las Vegas Motor Speedway provides adequate accommodations for the night.  

The next morning, the last 340 miles home is a breeze.

Total trip mileage: 3,362.

Visit my Instagram page to see more photos from my trip.

Visit my Facebook page to see more photos from my trip.

Yellow-headed Blackbird at Bear River Migratory Bird Refuge.