Cairo and Aswan, Egypt

Saturday, May 21 to Sunday, May 22, 2005:

Saturday morning was spent running errands. After packing our bags and leaving them with the manager at the Berlin Hotel (who continuously asked about Mohamed and whether we wanted him to arrange any tours for us), KC and I went down to the Thomas Cook office where I was forced to take out money on my Citibank debit card because the replacement card I had received when my original card was stolen in South Africa did not have a functioning PIN number. Nobody I had called at Citibank could tell me why this was the case and so, while I could still use the card as a credit card and withdraw cash on it at foreign exchange offices at commissions of up to 3 or 4% of the total, I could not get any money out of an ATM with it. Thanks, Citibank.

Next we headed to the bookstore at the American University of Cairo because KC needed to pick up a Lonely Planet guide to the Middle East. I was still travelling around with two big plastic bags full of books, but figured I would go along to see what was on offer. It turned out that the AUC bookstore had the best selection of any place I had been to on the trip. It was stocked with textbooks and numerous pieces of Arabic literature (in Arabic and English), as well as a huge selection of English language classics and recent works. The AUC has a large contingent of US, British and other western students in attendance, many of them there to study Arabic. Because of this, its not uncommon to see numerous young Americans walking through downtown Cairo. Although I didn't need any more weight to lug around, I ultimately wound up walking out of the AUC bookstore with 3 more novels including I Claudius, by Robert Graves. My library in a bag was growing.

Cash and literature in hand, we walked down crowded streets toward the Ramses train station. We were planning to catch the overnight sleeper train some 700 miles south to Aswan, in the Nubian region of Egypt. KC hadn't been sure if she wanted to do this or not, given limited time in the country, but ultimately decided to do it quickly before heading back to Cairo to catch a flight to Jordan in a week.

Ramses station was a confusing mess, but people were fairly eager to help us find the office we needed and before long we had shelled out $52 each in cash (US currency accepted only) for bunks in a train leaving at 8 PM that night. The 12 hour ride would get us to Aswan first thing in the morning, assuming it actually ran on time. I was dubious. I have a tendency to be dubious about such things.

A short walk from the station we hailed a cab to take us to the old "Islamic" section of Cairo, the site of some of Cairo's most famous mosques and the Grand Bazaar. Islamic Cairo is no more or less Islamic than the rest of the city but is a crowded, nearly medieval maze of narrow and winding alleys and streets where day-to-day life goes on, in many ways, as it did hundreds of years ago. As for the Grand Bazaar, it was the one place in the city I wanted least to visit, in no small part due to the fact that a French woman had died in an attack there scarcely a month before. Also, I don't like buying touristy garbage, which is what I figured would be in heavy supply there.

But back to the hailing of the cab, the etiquette for which is as interesting as it is intimidating (at first) and confusing: I waved my hand and one of the numerous black and white taxis screeched and puttered to a halt within a flat second, smoking clouds of diesel from the tailpipe. Having read about the taxi system in my Lonely Planet book beforehand, I then told the old, grizzled (and non-English) speaking driver the name of our destination: Al-Hussein. He nodded almost imperceptibly and we got in. He veered hard to the right and stepped on the gas. Off we flew through the insanity. The taxi had no meter in it and the driver and I had never discussed the price. Ten minutes later, upon our arrival at a busy subway stop across from several towering mosques, we got out and I handed him five pounds. He nodded and sped off. The trick is, you are supposed to know in advance the proper rate for a taxi in Cairo. The driver may argue with you and insist on more, but if you know the standard rate, you simply walk away and the driver gives up. Fortunately the Lonely Planet guide, published in early 2004, gave a list of common destinations along with prices to get there from our area downtown. It stated that the prices were generous and above the rates locals would pay. Nevertheless, our two other cab rides that day would demonstrate how strange the experience can be to the uninitiated.

Although I had told KC that I didn't want to go to Khan al-Khalili, the Grand Bazaar, we quickly found ourselves in the thick of it. A maze of tight dirt streets ran off in every direction, some straight, many spiraling chaotically. Hundreds of people milled around, including busloads of tourists and eager shopkeepers trying to lure them into their stores. Many of the markets did sell tourist garbage, but a large number of them served the local Egyptian crowd, selling spices, clothing, and food. There were cobblers and car-part shops, even a place offering computer repair. We walked around in the heat and dust for about half an hour, all the while gazing at the spires of ancient mosques that towered above our heads and trying to avoid the pitches of salesmen.

"Hey my friend!"

"Here! Here! Here!"

And, quite a bit more clever and delivered with a wry smile:

"Yes! This is the place where you want to spend all of your money!"

When KC was satisfied that there wasn't a thing worth buying, we sat down at one of a cluster of outdoor cafes and ordered some drinks. A young Egyptian tour guide sat next to us, smoking a sheesha pipe and talking to a few of his older western clients. Nearby, just across the crowded square, stood the Mosque of Sayyidna al-Hussein, one of the most sacred Muslim sites in all of Egypt. Much of the building dates only from 1870 but parts date from the 14th century. It is said that the head of Al-Hussein, grandson of Mohammed, is buried on the site of the mosque and, for this reason, non-Muslims are not allowed to enter.

In the near distance stood the Mosque of Abu Dahab and the Al-Azhar Mosque. The latter was founded in 970 AD and was at one time a world-famous center of learning, drawing scholars from across Arabia and Europe. In fact, it lays claim to being the world's oldest surviving university (though classes are no longer taught inside but at a nearby campus). The sheikh of the mosque is the highest theological authority in Egypt.

After our drinks, KC and I approached the Al-Azhar Mosque to get a better look. A blend of different architectural styles, it has been enlarged and altered over the course of 1,000 years. Its three minarets date from the 14th, 15th and 16th centuries. The streets surrounding it are also filled with shops but there were few tourists there and very little crowding. The stores were aimed at the Egyptians living nearby: grocers, butchers, livestock for sale. Following our jaunt around the area we headed back to the highway to catch a cab. A group of hawkers followed us for a while, asking us where we were from ("Italy? Spain? Russia?") and we just nodded and pretended we didn't understand them.

"10 pounds" said the first cab driver we spoke to. We walked away and another driver, a young guy no older than 20 nodded when we mentioned our destination, Midan Talaat Harb. Traffic was light and we made good time. When we got out, I handed him 5 pounds, the same amount I had given the driver who took us there.

The driver looked at the bill as if considering a piece of used toilet paper. He shook his head back and forth and made hurt-puppy eyes at me.

"No, no, no, no... Is ten! Ten!" he said with a strong accent.

"Five," I said, "I know it is five."

He sighed and looked up at the sky as if pleading with God for his life.

"It is ten! Ten!" he repeated, continuing to shake his head sadly, desperately, painfully.

I didn't know what to do. (The answer? Walk away.) "Two more," I said. I handed the bills over. He shook his head reluctantly, took them, looked away. I headed off, glad to be done with it but sure I had been played as an ignorant tourist.

We had just enough time to get dinner before grabbing our bags and heading to the train station. Where did we settle on? Pizza Hut. It was easy to spot, just between the Hardee's and McDonald's on Midan Tahrir back by the American University. KC ordered a vegetarian pie. I got a meat-packed supreme, just to even things out (and as a form of semi-suicidal protest, I suppose).

We went back to the Berlin Hotel to get our bags. Tipping the manager 20 pounds for his help (he was truly helpful, aside from the heavy tour-package pitches), I asked if I could leave my two big plastic bags of books with him until I eventually made my way back up to Cairo. He shook his head regretfully. "Problem is, I might no longer be working here," he said. "This month, job, next month..." he trailed off. I wondered if relations with the Room Nazi were less than warm. Its not a difficult assumption to make.

Cab driver number three was about 32, smiled a lot, and spoke not a lick of English (not that he should have). He understood our request to head for the train station, then tried to see if we could understand any of his Arabic but smiled when he realized that apart from "please," "thank you," and (this one extremely important) "no thank you," we hadn't a clue. Once, in jammed white-knuckle traffic, a small boy came up to our window and begged for change. I fished around in my pocket and pulled out a note for 1 pound; KC did the same. When we handed the bills out the window, the boy snatched them and pretty much bolted away immediately. We both laughed and the driver, seeing it, laughed too. He leant out the window, yelled something, and the boy quickly ran back over. The driver said something else, still managing to smile all the while. "Shukran" [thank you] said the boy before heading off into the thick insanity of the manic 6-lane streets.

Because of the rush-hour traffic and a number of one-way streets in the area, the driver had to take a bit of a detour in order to finally get us to Ramses Station. Basically, he had to pass the station and drive about half a mile away in order to turn the car around again and head back. Because of this, and because I liked him --- and also because I didn't feel like using my last reserve of small bills (which I needed to pay bakhsheesh) --- I gave him a whopping 10 pounds (still less than $2) instead of the normal 5-6 a tourist would normally expect to pay. I gave him the money as he helped us retrieve our backpacks from the trunk. He took it with a bit of a surprised smile. But then, once he was back in the car, right before we walked off, he gestured for me to come over. Holding the bill in one hand, he said something in Arabic and made a gesture with his other hand. The gesture was that of the loop the car made --- he was trying to tell me that he should be paid extra for the detour he made, even though, of course, he was already compensated for then (and then some). This time around I was wary enough to look him squarely in the eye, shake my head back and forth aggressively, spin around and walk off. He shrugged and drove off without another word. I suppose that after a moment's thought he figured I might be completely ignorant and that he should try his luck. I really don't blame him, though I would have if he'd continued to try to push the argument further.

Inside the station we were quickly shown to a security checkpoint. The guards there took a glance at us and then waved us through to the tracks outside without a second thought. They thoroughly inspected the baggage of the Egyptian man who followed us, however. Generally speaking, this is a country where discriminatory profiling applies to the local populace rather than to the tourist --- the white, western tourist, at least.

Once out by the tracks, several Egyptian guards and ordinary citizens approached us to make sure we knew where to wait. It was only about 7:10, so we had a few minutes before the train would pull in to load up for the scheduled 8:00 departure. As I got ready to leave Cairo, I thought about how friendly the people there were, particularly since the city is huge, congested (16 - 20 million people), noisy and stressful. I didn't mention it earlier but for every friendly male stranger who approached us to make a suggestive or inappropriate remark to KC (actually to me about KC, assuming she was wife and that such remarks were actually welcome) there were two or three more who came up to say "welcome to Egypt!" or "how do you like Egypt," or "can I help you find something?" or simply "hello!" These weren't people trying to sell things or take advantage of us either (though there were a few guys trying desperately to sell us "papyrus"). Egypt depends on tourism (that's the number one source of income) but, unlike a number of other countries, its seem to genuinely appreciate them. There are always exceptions, but after the relative hassle of parts of South Africa and Zanzibar, I felt the travel fatigue I'd been developing starting to lessen in the face of the hospitality the vast majority of Egyptians extended to us. They have a good Pizza Hut too.