As I write this, I'm currently cruising at 40,000 feet over the North Atlantic, heading home from three weeks in Egypt. When I say 'in Egypt,' I mean all over the country. We went as far south as Abu Simbel, which is about 30 miles from the border of Sudan, to as far north as Alexandria, where our hotel was literally on the shore of the Mediterranean. Yesterday, I sat and had lunch with the Sphinx staring me in the eye.
This was not my first trip overseas. Last summer, we went to Greece, where we saw the Acropolis in Athens, swung down to Corinth, and all the way up to Thessaloniki, which was a lovely city save for the one sidewalk that tripped me up and left my right knee looking like it had been on a date with Chris Brown. Greece was amazing too, and for entirely different reasons.
If you had told me 30 years ago that I, a girl who grew up in a family so poor we didn't know if we'd make each month's mortgage payment, would be traveling the world, I would have laughed at you. Poor people like me didn't get to travel internationally. We grew up taking summer road trips to whatever amateur bowling tournament or union function my father had to attend. We stayed in crappy hotels where the pool was more of a pond, and there was the time when the hotel we stayed at was flattened by a tornado a few days after we checked out. The most painful childhood memory was driving to Miami Beach, Florida, wanting desperately to go to Disney but just not having the money.
Sure, road trips are still a part of my repertoire. My sons and I did that for a few summers, and we might take a short jaunt this summer. But traveling internationally not only opens up a world of history to you — I got to see the remains of several of the mummies, including Tut. In Greece, I got to see Agamemnon's gold mask. I have taken thousands of pictures and will cherish the memories we made.
But, at the end of the day, there's no place like home.
Greece is a nation struggling economically. Athens, despite being a historic world capital, is run down. Graffiti is everywhere. In the last hotel we occupied in Greece, we were literally two blocks away from a methadone clinic; strung-out, homeless Greeks littered the sidewalk. We mentioned this to the agency that arranged our trip, and the reference to the meth clinic was removed from Google Maps almost the same night.
Egypt is similar. The traffic rules are there are no traffic rules; people cross the streets randomly, between cars. Horns are for communicating, and turn signals are optional. Stray dogs dot the streets, sometimes roaming in packs trying to find food, water, or shelter from the sweltering heat.
In 1997, armed terrorists from al-Jama'a al-Islamiyya stormed the Mortuary Temple of Hatshepsut, Egypt's first female pharaoh, at Dayr-al-Bahri north of Luxor. They killed 62 people, most of whom were tourists. We were there on this trip, and I was blissfully unaware of this incident until several days later, when we were assigned what I will politely call a 'babysitter' for two days: an armed Egyptian security officer. I had noticed them at the geological sites; it's hard to miss a guy in a suit and tie in 100-degree weather. They're there to protect tourists from another horrific incident like that one.
At every hotel, our vehicle was checked for explosives, our bags were scanned, and we walked through metal detectors. At the airports, we went through several layers of security that made the TSA look quick and simple. It's understandable, even if it's not fun. For Egyptians, it's part of daily life.
Tourists are advised against eating fresh produce, using ice, or drinking tap water. Other than Flint, I don't know of any place in America where that's the rule of thumb.
What stood out to me the most is that there doesn't seem to be an Egyptian middle class. Cities go from big high-rises to absolute slums within the span of a block. Not far from the first hotel was a massive, sprawling gated community, while a block away, a woman begged for handouts. The exchange rate is also unbalanced; one U.S. dollar is worth about 50 Egyptian pounds. We ate a fancy meal atop the Cairo Hilton that cost less than $100, including foie gras. The tip we gave our tour guide was equivalent to a month's salary for most working Egyptians.
I will land in Chicago, where my son will pick me up and drive me back home to Milwaukee. On the way, we'll stop and pick up dinner at Kuma's, my favorite Chicago burger joint (that also makes a mean bowl of macaroni and cheese). When I get home, there are three things I want: bacon, movie theater popcorn, and a glass of cold Wisconsin milk.
No, four things: I'm adding my bed to that list.
The point of this story is this: you don't know what you've got, or how to fully appreciate it, until you spend three weeks away from it. America is the greatest country on earth, bar none. Yes, there are problems that need to be solved. Yes, the Democrats are hellbent on destroying what we have to rebuild it in their preferred socioeconomic and political worldview.
But I am safe in America, by and large. I can go to a hotel, a museum, or a historic site without getting patted down or escorted by armed guards. We have a robust middle class, of which I am a part, that makes it possible for me to travel abroad every summer. I can wear what I want when I go outside. I can get an education. I can work. I can live my life as I see fit.
And at the end of the day, America is home. Home sweet home.
All of that is because of men who, 250 years ago, founded this nation on a radical dream of individual rights and liberty. The 250th celebration kicked off last night on the National Mall, and may we spend the next week celebrating everything that makes America great.
Because it is.
