The drive to the hostel was only about twenty minutes, most of it spent on a highway that was packed to capacity with vehicles. As soon as we exited, the roads narrowed significantly. We'd entered a densely packed region of buildings, all stone-colored and tightly packed together. Thankfully, the tiny car that the internship program had arranged to have pick us up could fit all of Angela's bags, because I didn't know how we'd have fit on the slender street if we'd had to take an SUV.
The pair of clear stringed beads that adorned the rearview mirror swayed abruptly, casting specks of prism light around as the car jerked to a stop.
"Oh, thank Jesus!" Angela exclaimed, bolting out of the car. "I'm dying in this sauna. It's too damn hot!"
I rolled my eyes at her ever-present dramatic flair and followed her outside. "How on earth did you decide on becoming an archaeologist?" It wasn't a glamorous job. Most countries that held internships during dig seasons had hot weather and required teams to be out in the sun from sunrise to sunset.
But I had to agree with her, it was too damn hot. Even with my sweatshirt tied around my waist and my hair up in a messy bun at the top of my head, I was dripping with sweat.
Angela shrugged as she tipped the driver for unloading her bags. "I like vintage things."
Her eyes settled on the weathered, beige-colored building in front of us. A flashy red sign that read "Luxor Hostel" was proudly displayed over the front door. Dull brown paint outlined the glass entrance, with dark wood shutters hanging alongside the windows.
A look of horror washed over her face. "What kind of hotel is this?"
"A vintage one," I teased, smirking as I wheeled one of her bags through the doors. I supposed she had missed the memo on our assigned accommodations.
The interior was much more bright and cheerful than the exterior. Greens, yellows, and reds were splashed all over the walls as paint and tiles. The floor resembled something I had seen once in a 1920s coffee table book of Egyptian lodgings. The whole vibe made me feel giddy to explore the country.
My excitement, however, was in stark contrast to Angela's shock. Her eyes bounced from the check-in desk to the communal dining table right next to it, covered in a light blue vinyl tablecloth.
I had never stayed in a hostel before, but based on stories I had heard from friends who frequented them, I'd expected this kind of atmosphere. My friends swore that this was the best way to travel on a budget, and it seemed like the internship program agreed.
"I am not staying here," Angela muttered under her breath so the gentleman at the front desk couldn't hear.
"Don't be ridiculous! This place is so charming!" I spun around in place, just noticing the mosaic tiles on the ceiling for the first time as my sweatshirt tails danced around my waist. After a gleeful three-sixty, I approached the counter.
"Welcome to Luxor Hostel. Checking in?" the man asked in heavily accented English. He seemed to be a little older than us, maybe by a year or two, with dark hair and a short, scruffy beard.
"Yes, we're here for the archaeology intern program. My name is Kitty. . .um, Sanura Taha, and this is my friend Angela Bowman." I signaled to my friend over my shoulder and saw she still looked like she was ready to hightail it out the door at any moment.
Angela gave a weak wave.
"Egyptian?" the man asked in Arabic with interest. My name coupled with my thick curls spilling out of my poorly composed bun was probably the giveaway.
"Half. My father was born here," I answered back in Arabic.
That earned me a nod with a warmer smile. "Welcome home."
It was like, in that moment, I wasn't just a tourist visiting a foreign land, even though I should have felt that way. This stranger felt some sort of camaraderie with me based on a shared heritage. I hadn't expected that to happen here...I had expected to feel more like an outsider since I'd been born in America and spoke only the Arabic that I had learned from my bachelor's program.
The man typed something into the desktop in front of him. I focused on the array of signs behind him as the keys clicked, all written in English for out-of-town travelers, no doubt: "Free Wi-Fi"; "No Alcohol on Premises"; "No Noise from Sunset to Sunrise."
"You will be in room five at the top of the stairs on the left," he replied in English this time as he eyed Angela behind me. He passed me a set of keys for each of us. "We serve three meals a day for the entire hostel, but you are free to use the private kitchen in the back if you would like meals in between with your own foods from the market."
"What? No room service?" Angela huffed out in disbelief.
"Thank you." I smiled earnestly, anxious to shove Angela in our room so she'd quit embarrassing herself.
"We have to take the stairs?" Angela had her hands on her hips, looking at me as if I'd had something to do with the decision not to install an elevator.
"Oh, come on, diva! Your ass should be so tight from all those kickboxing classes," I teased, careful to keep my voice low enough so the receptionist wouldn't overhear my use of the word ass. I wasn't sure how conservative he was, though he had probably seen a lot running a hostel.
I grabbed two of Angela's bags and rolled them toward the stairs. Luckily, there weren't too many steps, but the stairway was narrow, so I had to stand at the top of each step and pull the bigger suitcase up like my life depended on it.
Winded and muscles shaking, we made it to the top.
"Room five," I read off the door. "This is it." I slipped the key into the lock of the wobbly knob and the door pushed open.
Angela tipped her chin up to the sky and scrunched her eyes shut. "Oh, sweet Jesus. Why is this happening to me?"
"Leave Jesus alone. He's busy staving off famine. It's not that bad! Look, we have air-conditioning." My eyes bounced around the quaint room, from the large AC unit overhead to the two twin-sized beds with white sheets and flannel blankets on top. Plain white walls encased the room and the only access to the outside was a small window between the beds. Sure, the décor was lacking, but archaeologist lodgings weren't extravagant. Grants awarded for digs were usually slim and researchers didn't want to waste all of the funds granted on five-star hotels and gourmet meals. The digs were for such a short amount of time, and we were expected to tough it out.
Angela plopped onto the bed, the springs creaking under her back. "I can't believe that I could have been on a yacht in the Caribbean right now with a cocktail in my hand."
I lay down next to her, ignoring the stiffness of the mattress under me. "But then you'd be missing out on 'the adventure of a lifetime,'" I sang, quoting an excerpt from the description section of the internship listing.
She turned her head to me. "How the fuck are you so insanely optimistic, yet we're such good friends?" For a girl who called on Jesus as much as she did, she sure had the mouth of a sailor. A good Christian sailor.
I shrugged. "Because I'm just so loveable. Now, give me some of your clothes so I can go take a shower and wash off the airplane stink."
I was dead tired after the day we'd had and I needed enough rest to survive the first day of our internship tomorrow. We had to be up at 4 a.m., and I just hoped our mentor was the high point of this experience, because Lord knew that Angela's patience would be non-existent when she had to wake up that early.