They leave the hotel and go touristing, all ready to explore Red Square and say hello to Lenin and infiltrate the Kremlin and buy out GUM and do all the other great American-in-Moscow activities. In GUM they stand in a basement sale with hundreds of Russian women, and shout to each other across the crowds; they’re a head and more taller than any of the locals there. Funny. The clothes on sale are remarkably gauche and Angela falls in love with several outfits. Back outside Humphrey flags a taxi and they sing “America the Beautiful” over Sandy’s McCarthyite rap, “Better dead—than red, yeah better dead—than red.”

They instruct their stoical driver to take them into the residential areas of the city, where great applexes are grouped around green parks. Up on a hill they figure they’re in Party territory, everything’s upscale as always in the hill districts of a city. And in fact they reach one cul-de-sac with a view over much of Moscow, and stare about them amazed. Sandy sputters: “Why it’s—it’s—it’s condomundo! It’s just like—just like—” and they all pitch in:

“Orange County!”

Total collapse. They must return immediately to the hotel and order more champagne. OC has conquered the world. “James Utt would be proud,” Jim says solemnly.

As soon as they can spend all Humphrey’s rubles they’re gone. “We still haven’t seen anything different,” Sandy complains.

“The Pyramids,” Jim suggests. “See how it all began.”

They fly to Cairo. The airport is in a desert of pure sand, even the Mojave can’t compare to it. At the baggage collection they’re met by an enterprising “agent of Egyptian tourist police” who is happy to offer them all of his private tourist firm’s tours. He is smooth, but hasn’t reckoned on Humphrey, who takes note of the many rival agencies in a long string of booths next to the agent’s, and uses that fact to grind the man until he’s sweating. Sandy, Angela and Jim just keep standing up and sitting back down on Humphrey’s orders, depending on how the negotiations are going. In the end they have a free ride to a big hotel on the Nile offering half-price rooms, and transport to Giza for quarter-price tours and free tickets to the sound and light show here. The agent is punch-drunk by the time they leave, he looks like he’s been mugged.

Cairo turns out to be the same color as the desert. The buildings, the trees, the billboards, even the sky, all are the same dust color. The Nile Hilton, across the river, has been painted turquoise to combat the monochrome, but the turquoise has turned sand-colored as well. Only the old snake river itself achieves a certain dusty dark blue.