Hi Folks,

I haven’t done one of these retrospectives for a while, but whilst cleaning up my files, I came across a missive written a long time ago during my days in Cairo. Thought it worth sharing, so I offer you my Cairo Gazette with an account of my exploration of darkest Maadi in Cairo. This would have been 2005 I think. Enjoy.

Cairo June 2005

You know, I don’t think I like getting older.

When I was an acne-ridden, know it all teenager, all I could think of was being old enough to do whatever I wanted, when I wanted.

Of course, real life just isn’t like that and now that I am much, much, much older, I no longer want to do the things that seemed so important then, or I have new responsibilities which still prevent me from doing them. More over, when I do do stuff, I usually end up suffering for it.

The Mad Social Life

Currently, I’m nursing a cold I just can’t shake off. My knee is hurting from an over-ambitious and ill-considered

session in the gym. The gym was intended to free my aching limbs up a bit. It’s over a week since I rode on horseback around the pyramids, ( See last Cairo Gazette), but I am still doing a passable impression of Quasimodo after the pounding I took. Hence, I find it impossible to stand up without groaning. This strikes me as grossly unfair, especially as I am alone in a hotel with no-one to moan to about my afflictions or feel sorry for me.

There was a time when, being stuck in a hotel in a foreign city, I’d have been out every night, exploring a wider and wider circle of restaurants and bars and not getting to bed until the wee small hours with a belly full of the local hooch. Nowadays, I can’t bear the hangovers I inevitably get from even modest consumption of alcohol. Whereas it used to take me a few hours to recover, these days I need a minimum of a day or preferably a week. Hence the biggest social decision at the moment is deciding whether to order my toasted cheese sandwich from room service before my bath or after my bath. Then, do I watch that interesting program about polar bears on Discovery or perhaps just read a few chapters of my book and have an early night.
I mean, come on. Just shoot me now.

I’m in Cairo, one of the biggest, most populated city in the Arab world. It’s teeming with fantastic restaurants, interesting little coffee shops, dubious bars, curious Cairo curio shops and a thousand adventures waiting to happen.

Exploring the City

So, last night I thought, stuff it and in a mad fit of enthusiasm, I cancelled the cheese sandwich, had a quick shower and after giving the driver the night off, set out on foot to explore the local area.

I’d already walked along the Nile a few weeks ago, so I thought this time I’d press into the heart of Maadi. I had a rough idea of the layout as we drive through the various side streets around the back of the hotel every day on the way to work. Being a bit of an expat haven, there are heaps of familiar shop fronts all over Maadi. Pizza Hut, McD’s, Baskin Robbins, Kentucky Fried, Costa Coffee, all the well-known chains seem to be represented. I didn’t want that though. I wanted something a bit more local and dare I say it, a bit more ethnic.

Not being in a hurry, I happily meandered around the streets. One thing about Cairo is that it is a remarkably safe place to wander. I certainly feel far more comfortable wandering around quiet back streets here than I would in say, Manchester or Liverpool. I have also learned to take a leaf out of Wifey’s book. So whenever I got a severe staring at by a suspicious local, I merely smile back and “As-salaam Alaykum” them. Instantly its all cheesy grins and a flurry of Arabic in response. I have no idea what they are saying of course, but that’s all part of the fun. Just smile and move on.

After around 40 minutes or so I found myself on a fairly busy street without a Western fast food joint in sight. There was, however, a bustling café with lots of tables outside. It seemed to be primarily full of blokes, all drinking coffee and blowing bubbles in big water pipes.

The Shisha Cafe’s

I am intrigued by these Shisha Pipes. Not since I was about 13 have I felt the urge to smoke, (another of those childish aspirations which really wasn’t that good an idea), but I do fancy having a suck on a Shisha. Trouble is, I know I’d just want to blow and would probably end up blowing burning charcoal onto somebodies lap or setting fire to the table cloth. Anyway, after a long walk, I was hot, thirsty and fancied a sit-down. The old knee trouble don’t you know. Plus a drink wouldn’t have gone amiss, so I grabbed a chair at an empty table, smiled and ‘As-Salam aleed’ in all directions and waited for the waiter.

Khalid my long-suffering driver has been persevering with teaching me Arabic. I have never been any good with languages and Arabic to me sounds like someone with a fish bone stuck in their throat, trying to clear it. So, in short, he would probably have more success teaching one of his donkeys to speak, but in the spirit of the evening, I thought I’d give it a go and order my coffee in fluent Egyptian.

The waiter looked a bit worried when he came up to me and he was right to be. After offering a winning smile to him, I took a deep breath and said, “Anna Awus Aquwa Mosri Ziader, shuckran” This all extolled in my finest Shakespearian voice with just a hint of Omar Sherif

“Que” went the waiter. Well, he didn’t really as he was from Cairo, not Barcelona, but you could tell he was thinking it. He had at least picked up on ‘Ziader’, as he kept repeating it and looking around for inspiration, but we were getting nowhere with the rest.

“Anna Awus Aquwa Mosri Ziader, Shuckran!” I repeated, just a little bit slower and a lot louder. By now a few of the blokes on the nearby tables were taking an interest and a bit of a debate started on one table as to whether I was German or Polish. Sadly, my little waiter friend still hadn’t a clue. So, I resorted to being British abroad and said very slowly and very clearly ” A cup of Egyptian coffee with sugar, please”

“Aaaaaahh”, went the waiter, “Aqwa Mosrii Zieder!” That’s what I said? Wasn’t it??

“Ohhhhhh”, went the men on the nearby table, “an American! Tuh!”

Giving it a Go

It is really soul destroying when an Egyptian understands English better than he understands my attempts to murder Arabic and then thinks I am American. I mean, to me, what he said sounded the same as what I said. Sort of. Perhaps it was a bit different as a few minutes later, I was presented with a nice cup of tea. Also a bottle of water, some pistachio nuts and a Shisha pipe. I briefly considered pointing out I only wanted a coffee but decided discretion was the best course.

I had also been presented with a bag containing a little plastic thingy, the purpose of which I hadn’t a clue. However, ever hospitable, my neighbours on the nearest table showed me what to do with it. Turns out that it was a tip for the pipe sucking hose thingy. I really don’t like smoking, I didn’t think I had asked for a pipe and despite my curiosity, I really didn’t want to smoke it. Especially as the pong escaping from the smouldering mess on top of the thing reminded me of burning animal dung.

Trouble is, I am British, which of course means, I was desperate not to appear rude or offend anyone. So, after a pause to get over my self-consciousness and with a bit of prompting from my neighbours, I took an almighty suck.

Well, what can I say. I had expected it to be vaguely unpleasant. It wasn’t. It was an awful lot worse than that. As I believe I mentioned, I have a bit of a cold and the camel dung flavoured tobacco substitute, (by now I was convinced that that must be what was burning) really didn’t help. What it did was promote a severe bout of coughing.

Once my eyes had stopped watering, I managed a weak smile to my fellow smokers who found the whole thing side-splittingly funny. I drank my tea and blew a few bubbles for form’s sake, a much better way of doing it in my opinion. As I suspected, you are rewarded with a miniature firework display of charcoal sparks, but I managed not to set anything alight. After a respectable interval, I requested and paid my bill, gave my still grinning companions a friendly nod and quickly scurried off.

I was definitely peckish now. All that coughing takes it out of you-you know. So I decided to find somewhere to eat. I wasn’t up for a big meal and nor did I fancy the ersatz Italian or Korean restaurants I passed. I definitely didn’t want Western-style fast food, so I opted for Egyptian style fast food.

 

The Unexpected Acquisition

Not exclusively Egyptian, as I had found a Kebab shop that took my fancy. The difference being, these kebabs looked to be made from proper lamb as opposed to bright red, genetically modified, conically shaped, rat. The bread is better too. I have nothing against pitta bread, but the Egyptian equivalent is definitely tastier. So a few cubes of nicely charbroiled lamb, plus some nicely spiced donner, some fierce onions, juicy tomato and a savage, hot chilli sauce and an instant kebab for around 50p.

It was wonderful, even if the hot sauce took at least a layer of skin of my throat. I have Strepsils, so who cares. Breaking with tradition, I didn’t even spill anything as the Egyptian bread is round and hollow as opposed to being pitta shaped and hollow. It’s also more substantial than some pitta’s I’ve had, so it didn’t go soggy and disintegrate. Don’t know why, but round bread is definitely easier to eat and keep the kebab contents inside that is the flattened oval pitta bread.

Suitably refreshed and not wanting to miss my Polar bear program, I wandered back to the hotel, pausing only to look in the window of some curio shops. And that was when I made my second mistake of the night. I had of course forgotten the golden rule of window shopping. Never make eye contact with the proprietor. And rule 2, If you do make eye contact, immediately walk off and never ever smile.

I simply wasn’t quick enough and as I made to wander off, I was caught and ushered inside the black hole that was this shop. Keeping up a constant running commentary of how happy I was going to be, the owner presented me with an endless collection of tourist tat. All of which could be mine for the equivalent of a years salary for a local doctor or even possibly, a brain surgeon.

At first, I was strong, but after several attempts at escape were foiled, I gave in. Money changed hands and I finally got out of the shop clutching my new and highly prized purchase.

I don’t know if you’ve ever walked down a crowded street clutching a 6ft 6inch tall wooden giraffe, but if you haven’t, you’d be surprised at how difficult it is to appear casual. Moreover, and this may not come as a surprise, people stare at you. It’s true. Perhaps they all wished they had a 6 ft wooden giraffe? I would have been more than willing to give them mine had they asked. But they didn’t, they just watched as Jeff and I, (well he looked like a Jeff Giraffe to me ), walked past, until we were out of site and back in the hotel.

Today, I will find out what the houseboy thinks of 6 ft giraffe’s in the bedroom. Maybe he is used to it, especially if other Brits have wandered past the Egyptian equivalent of Auntie Wainwrights shop. The locals do seem quite unflappable.

I may polish Jeff this evening or at least try to peel off his sticky label. I dont think I willbe taking him on any more walks. More likely, Jeff and I will have a quiet night watching the discovery channel. You can have too many adventures. I wonder if he likes toasted cheese sandwiches?