Street Meat

Whoever it was who told me not to eat Egyptian street food, I owe you a massive apology. Thanks to some Cairean street meat I “ate” on Tuesday -- from a little hut nestled in a tiny parking lot near my work -- I've been battling a pretty rough bout of the stomach flu. After puking my guts out, I missed almost two days of work and slept for about 20 hours in a trance-like state. While most of the nausea has dissipated, I'm still making frequent trips to the bathroom.

Went to a Norwegian house party last night, where these Scandafarians did a weird little birthday dance with bows and curtsies. Odd. Cake was also served and several bottles went-a-crashin’ down to the street from the 9th floor festivities. I talked to this girl name TONE – pronounced TUUNA – who was from a town miles above the arctic circle.

Meanwhile, my roommates continue to ingest prodigious amounts of marijuana and hash -- supplied by the doorman -- with the Sinbad roommate proving daily that idiocy knows no bounds. He's obviously watched WAY too much Family Guy and is slowly turning into a live action version of the Family Guy -- as played by Sinbad, of course. Which would make me…um….Nicholas Cage as a brooding, repressed Chris? Does this make any sense?

Not that it's all doom and gloom. The Toronto Star finally ran a piece I did about mountain biking in Bolivia, meaning a nice little bit of cash and a reassuring piece of journalistic encouragement. Also, my $40 cellphone works quite nicely, and the 39 degree heat of last week has subsided to a much more comfortable 33…

AND -- despite my stay in the infirmary, I continue to file stories on an almost daily basis here in Egypt.