Egypt 1978 - 1

In 1977, I was twenty-six years old, living in Paris with the Tugboat Heir. A kept woman! Though that wasn't nearly as romantic as it sounds -- it was dull, in fact. There was no jewelry, furs, champagne, grand soirees or exotic sex involved. The Tugboat Heir was hopelessly in love with me and I was very bored with him. I hardly ever put out.

We lived rather simply on Rue de Vaugirard in the Sixteenth Arrondisement. For a whole year, I did nothing. I made some pretense at learning French. I drank a lot. I walked a lot. And I wrote obsessively in my diary.

Late in the year I went back to the States and my old friend Ann Duerr invited me to travel to Egypt with her. I accepted. We began the trip in January, 1978.

The paper journal I kept during that trip is falling apart, so I decided to type it up.

The person who wrote it is an unpleasant stranger to me now.

( 14 January 1978 – airborne towards Cairo )

I was a terrible writer too. I hadn't yet learned that it's the things you leave out that tell the story.