Egypt 1990 - Part I - Arrival

How I remember it, with some writer's licence. Photos mostly from a later trip.

- Duh’ee Duh’ee Duh’ee, repeated the Ministry of Tourism official into his phone insistently.

I wanted help to locate a hotel in Dokki, a western suburb of Cairo, where my friends were staying. He was being helpful, but something was being lost in communication. I wasn’t sure whether it was his pronunciation, mine, or the other end.

In the end he gave up asking, and I sat in the sun and waited for the bus. Flies found another part of my face to land on as soon as I’d brushed them away. That’s what happens in video films of refugee camps, I thought. It must be how things are in the Third World.

It was nearly midnight when I arrived at the bus station on the east side of Cairo. In the end I took a taxi. The driver knew exactly where to go and charged me fifty Egyptian pounds (ginyh) for it – about $15. He charged me another fifty for bringing back the small bag I left in his boot. The hotel cost fifty a night. That was a sixth of my savings from Eilat gone already. I was going to have to be more careful.

But it was so good to find my friends the next morning, still at the hotel after a more planned trip on the bus from Tel Aviv. The Bridge group were already making plans. Sleep under the pyramids tonight. First class to Aswan, to hire a felucca down the Nile. Lydia was insistent on a first class sleeper. Egypt was cheap. We could afford luxury.

Whereas I thought I’d had enough luxury to be going on with. A second class seat would be fine. We agreed separate arrangements and meeting at the pyramids that night. I found my way round the ticket offices at Ramses Square station, stood next to a desperate man thanking Allah profusely at the urinals, worked out how to get on and off packed buses which slowed down and never stopped, found the modern Metro, explored the Egyptian Museum.

- Excuse me sir, I don’t think you’re part of this tour group.

Egytians on the street were more friendly, and seemed to speak pidgin European.

- Shalom amigo, welcome to Cairo, Monsieur!

- Thank you!

- Shukran is thank you.

- Shukran!

A man named Nabil Ali gave me a lift on a motorbike and gave me his card, urging me to call him if I ever need anything. A stranger gave me a red drink I’d read about.

Cairo, one of the world’s great cities, was amazing, and nothing like anything I had seen, heard, felt or smelt before. Traffic lights and police gestured pointlessly at whizzing traffic. Bell boys stood in pyjamas. Men wore long flowing dresses (jellebiyahs) and held hands with each other.

The food was unfamiliar, delicious, cheap, and piled up behind counters. Koshary, kofte sandwiches, and fresh sugar cane juice were my favourites. I did not brave pigeon or fuul, not discovering how tastily spiced the brown beans are. I knew to avoid salad, and I could tell why by the smell of tomatoes. I knew to buy bottled water and not drink from taps. But I didn’t know enough.

Click for what happened next.

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