Catherine Price by 101 Places Not to See Before You Die Page A
Authors: 101 Places Not to See Before You Die
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of onlookers focuses their cameras, a fifty-nine-foot-tall plastic Jesus rises up toward heaven, arms outstretched in a T . Slowly rotating, he blinks and turns his palms skyward as speakers hidden in fake palm trees blast the “Hallelujah” chorus, its triumphant melody broken only by the roar of passing planes.
Chapter 52 A Vomitorium
H ere’s a bit of cocktail trivia for you: a vomitorium is not actually a room where ancient Romans went to barf.
I know. You don’t want to believe me—thanks to a misunderstanding popularized in many sixth-grade history classes, most people assume that a vomitorium is a room where Romans threw up after particularly heavy meals. This would seem to be a natural extension of other weird things the Romans did, like wear togas and speak Latin. But it’s less strange to use an inflected language than it is to build a vomit room in your house. The Romans were no strangers to gluttony, but they didn’t designate specific chambers to capture the results.
Instead, a vomitorium is an architectural term for a passageway in a theater that opens into a tier of seats. Think of the entrances in a typical sports stadium—you know, the tunnels that pop you out into the stands? Those are vomitoria. The name does share its root with vomit —both words come from the Latin verb vomere (to throw up, spew). And, depending on the event, they may very well contain nauseated fans. But the name vomitorium itself refers to the passages’ ability to quickly move spectators into the stadium. Or, more graphically, to puke them out when the show is over.
Chapter 53 Medinat al-Fayoum, Egypt, Accompanied by Your Own Security Detail
A bout eighty miles southwest of Cairo, Medinat al-Fayoum was once a holiday destination for thirteenth-century pharaohs; today’s highlights include lesser-known pyramids and water wheels built by ancient Greek settlers. Since Medinat al-Fayoum attracts far fewer visitors than Cairo, it offers a welcome relief from busloads of camera-toting tourists at some of Egypt’s major attractions.
However, it’s also an easy place to get paranoid. After a horrific incident in 1997 where terrorists slaughtered sixty-three tourists at an archaeological site in Luxor, a city farther south, the leaders of Medinat al-Fayoum committed themselves to making sure nothing like that ever happened in their town. So whenever Western visitors come to the city, they’re assigned their own security detail.
The problem is that no one tells you this. One traveler reported that after receiving a series of unexplained phone calls in his hotel room asking for the details of his itinerary, he and his girlfriend were stopped by a policeman on the street after dinner and told it was time to go to sleep. Once back at the hotel, they received another anonymous phone call instructing them where and when to have breakfast, and telling them that as soon as they visited the site, they’d be leaving town. Confused and scared, they spent the morning before their departure touring historical ruins with several men carrying assault rifles.
Once you realize that you’re not being abducted, having a police escort can be a fun novelty—parading down the streets with your own bodyguards is a great way to pretend that you’re important. But after a while, the Big Brother routine can get tiring, especially because most guards seem not to like their jobs. Instead of introducing themselves or acting as guides, they lurk in the background just close enough for you to know they’re there. This is particularly awkward at mealtimes, when you and your traveling companion try to enjoy your food with a guard glaring at you from the next table.
If you’re feeling naughty, you can try to evade your security detail—when’s the last time these guys played a good game of cat and mouse? But considering that they’re armed and cranky, it’s probably best to just do what they say.
Chapter 54 The Steam Room at the Russian &
Chapter 52 A Vomitorium
H ere’s a bit of cocktail trivia for you: a vomitorium is not actually a room where ancient Romans went to barf.
I know. You don’t want to believe me—thanks to a misunderstanding popularized in many sixth-grade history classes, most people assume that a vomitorium is a room where Romans threw up after particularly heavy meals. This would seem to be a natural extension of other weird things the Romans did, like wear togas and speak Latin. But it’s less strange to use an inflected language than it is to build a vomit room in your house. The Romans were no strangers to gluttony, but they didn’t designate specific chambers to capture the results.
Instead, a vomitorium is an architectural term for a passageway in a theater that opens into a tier of seats. Think of the entrances in a typical sports stadium—you know, the tunnels that pop you out into the stands? Those are vomitoria. The name does share its root with vomit —both words come from the Latin verb vomere (to throw up, spew). And, depending on the event, they may very well contain nauseated fans. But the name vomitorium itself refers to the passages’ ability to quickly move spectators into the stadium. Or, more graphically, to puke them out when the show is over.
Chapter 53 Medinat al-Fayoum, Egypt, Accompanied by Your Own Security Detail
A bout eighty miles southwest of Cairo, Medinat al-Fayoum was once a holiday destination for thirteenth-century pharaohs; today’s highlights include lesser-known pyramids and water wheels built by ancient Greek settlers. Since Medinat al-Fayoum attracts far fewer visitors than Cairo, it offers a welcome relief from busloads of camera-toting tourists at some of Egypt’s major attractions.
However, it’s also an easy place to get paranoid. After a horrific incident in 1997 where terrorists slaughtered sixty-three tourists at an archaeological site in Luxor, a city farther south, the leaders of Medinat al-Fayoum committed themselves to making sure nothing like that ever happened in their town. So whenever Western visitors come to the city, they’re assigned their own security detail.
The problem is that no one tells you this. One traveler reported that after receiving a series of unexplained phone calls in his hotel room asking for the details of his itinerary, he and his girlfriend were stopped by a policeman on the street after dinner and told it was time to go to sleep. Once back at the hotel, they received another anonymous phone call instructing them where and when to have breakfast, and telling them that as soon as they visited the site, they’d be leaving town. Confused and scared, they spent the morning before their departure touring historical ruins with several men carrying assault rifles.
Once you realize that you’re not being abducted, having a police escort can be a fun novelty—parading down the streets with your own bodyguards is a great way to pretend that you’re important. But after a while, the Big Brother routine can get tiring, especially because most guards seem not to like their jobs. Instead of introducing themselves or acting as guides, they lurk in the background just close enough for you to know they’re there. This is particularly awkward at mealtimes, when you and your traveling companion try to enjoy your food with a guard glaring at you from the next table.
If you’re feeling naughty, you can try to evade your security detail—when’s the last time these guys played a good game of cat and mouse? But considering that they’re armed and cranky, it’s probably best to just do what they say.
Chapter 54 The Steam Room at the Russian &
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