I'm vaguely aware that there's a book about Vietnam by this title, but in this case I'm talking about a kind of informal theory that, according to my source, has gained credence among development experts with enough real-world experience to become somewhat cynical.

My source in this case is a wonderful and wonderfully garrulous British development specialist I met in Diwa, a bookstore in Zamalek catering to expats and upper-class Egyptians. (Yes, rather than spending my time in Khan el-Khalili market searching for precious trinkets to take home, I looked instead for books. What can I say? I'm a big nerd). Anyway, this gentleman had spent time in Tanzania and Gaza, among other places, and had recently been sent to Egypt as part of a project for the Finnish government. He saw me browsing the small development section of the bookstore, and, noting my interest, began to regale me with tales and insights from his world.

One point that stuck with me in particular was his notion of the Rational Peasant, because I had been walking around Cairo and seeing much behavior that struck me as bizarre. In Cairo, as opposed to places like Rio de Janeiro and Sao Paulo, it's nearly impossible to avoid being confronted with Egypt's endemic poverty. It's quite common to see fellahin walking with donkeys pulling carts loaded with vegetables, fruits, or bread from the rural areas south and north of the city--20 and 30 kilometers away from the point of sale (usually the side of the road). This, for instance, struck me as irrational in an era of highways, buses, and trains. Why couldn't these peasant farmers save themselves (and their donkeys) the trouble and simply sell their produce to a middleman, who would then transport the goods and sell to shops? Or band together with friends, borrow money, and purchase an old truck to share?

Obviously, many did so, or the streets would have been overrun with donkey carts. But what my new friend told me he had learned in his years of development work was that it was important not to assume that peasants hadn't considered these possibilities. Given their need to survive above all else, peasant farmers will seek to minimize their risks, even if doing so means forgoing the opportunity to build a better life. He told me a story of a time in Tanzania when his team arranged to purchase cows for a village that didn't have any. Didn't they know that cows could be used to plow their fields more easily?

Sadly, all of the cows died a few days after they arrived. The culprit? The dreaded tse-tse fly. Had the team simply asked the villagers why they didn't have any cows, they could have saved themselves the trouble.

After about a week or so here, I think I'm finally able to collect some of my thoughts.

I'm sitting here in Egistone Internet Cafe in Zemalek, the northern section of an upscale island in the middle of the Nile. Next door is a small mosque, and neary are dozens of small restaurants, shops, and travel agencies. The neighborhood is leafy and, for Cairo, relatively quiet -- hence the good folks at the Lonely Planet termed it "continental" in character. And indeed, several European embassies can be found here, as well as the American University dorms. The stores cater to rich young Cairenes, most of whom are dressed in the latest European styles (although quite a few young women still wear the hijab). After an exhausting week of traipsing off to various tourist sites, Zemalek feels almost like home.

On seemingly every block is an Egyptian policeman in a pristine white uniform, holding a rifle or an AK-47. Knowing this would be the case, I had thought going into the trip that I would be bothered by their presence; however, they have almost always been friendly and welcoming to me. Apparently since the 1997 attacks in Luxor, tourists venturing out to rural areas are routinely accompanied by police escorts. I can imagine many Egyptians resenting the fact that so many policemen are there to protect foreigners--one could extend this resentment to the government of Egypt itself and its willingness to support American interests. Nevertheless, I saw few signs of anger at Americans or at the Egyptian government. Other than one bit of graffitti advocating a boycott of American products, my visit to al-Azhar Mosque at 8 am on Sunday morning was the only flash of open anti-American sentiment I've witnessed, as the muezzin (my tour guide) nodded approvingly when I lied and told him I was Canadian, saying "America no!" Mostly, everyone just seemed to be going about their daily lives. Every once in a while as I was walking around, someone (usually a teenaged boy) would say "Hello. Welcome to Egypt!"

Cairo, it must be said, is a big and boisterous place. It's also filthy; a thick film of grime seems to cover nearly every surface of the city, and the air is toxic. While there are some oases of cleanliness and peace to be found, these are few and far between. Signs at tourist sites, if they even exist, are usually obscured by dust so that even new signs look like they've been there for some time. Generally speaking, most Cairenes seem to have either resigned themselves to the dust and dirt, or don't notice it. It's part of the urban fabric, as is the constant sound of (usually dented) cars honking as they weave in and out of the omnipresent traffic jams. Merely crossing the street is an adventure.

This is the first time I've traveled alone as well as the longest amount of time I've spent in a truly developing country, and I have to say that I'm relieved to be returning home tomorrow. Cairo has been overwhelming. I'm actually somewhat disappointed in myself, having traveled extensively and therefore thought of myself as a "good traveler." But never have I felt so much like a stranger in a strange land. And never have I felt more like an American. Almost everywhere I went (except for the major landmarks), I was the only foreigner, and I've met very few Egyptians with sufficient English skills to allow for conversation much beyond "Where are you from? Welcome to Cairo?" Those that did speak English almost invariably saw me as a mark, and more than once I think I drastically overpaid for this or that. I presume that learning Egyptian Arabic is the key to liberation in this regard, and I look forward to not being a tourist when I return in January.

Judging solely by appearances, I have to say that Cairo looks like it has a long way to go before it can be considered "on the move." If anything, it seems that everything was built several decades ago, since which time progress has stopped. A great deal of the building stock of the city is decaying, and even presumably important places like Ministry buildings and the airport smack of neglect. I imagine that the city's pervasive smog, which mercilessly blackens all outdoor surfaces, leads Cairenes to say "why bother?" One can find remnants such as handicapped signs on some sidewalk ramps, that speak of failed attempts to make the city more inhabitable, but neglect is the operative word.

On Wednesday I leave for a 10-day trip to Cairo.

Right now I'm more than a little nervous; I'm hoping to be inspired and not intimidated by what I find. I've been somewhat cloistered here in Pittsburgh, keeping mostly to myself and trying to learn as much as I can about foreign policy and nation-building, especially as relates to the Middle East. My post-college job experience working for an environmental non-profit has been disappointing, so I'm looking for a completely different experience: an opportunity to learn something new every day just by walking outside my door, to be utterly challenged by my very surroundings. So I'm heading to Egypt both because I've always wanted to visit and because I'm strongly considering taking leave of these United States in order to begin studying Arabic at the American University of Cairo in January. This is more than a standard tourist trip: it's a test.

Assuming I can find an Internet Cafe, I'll try to post my impressions here in my Egypt Diary, and some photos in the associated gallery.

I can't promise anything profound, but I do promise I'll write something.