The cab driver weaves in and out of traffic accelerating and decelerating in a matter of seconds. I reach over the driver seat and point to the small piece of paper the receptionist gave us at the hostel. “This is our address,” I repeat for the second time, accenting my voice ever so slightly, as if imitating the Egyptian accent would help him better understand me. He nods his head again and smiles at my persistence. I resign myself to my seat, further digging my fingernails into the cushion each time he brakes suddenly. The city is chaotic, there is no doubt. Goats sprint down the road that runs parallel to the Nile River, along with men on bicycles holding large crates full of fresh bread. There is a car to our left filled to the brim with people, speeding along at our same pace. If I wanted, I could reach out and touch the hand of the man sitting in the driver’s seat. I am tempted to try but decide not to test my luck.
On a quest for something truly Egyptian, we make our way to the souk, the famous street market. No matter our efforts to dodge the crowd, we end up bumping into every person walking by. You learn quickly that there are two currencies in Egypt, the tourist price and the Egyptian price. Lesson number one, you will always pay the tourist price, unless accompanied at all times by an amicable Egyptian friend. Lesson number two, you shop at your own risk.
Photo © Elena Vazquez
The vendors are extremely anxious to get us to spend our money. “Hello! Hola! Bonjour!” they shout from their stands. Immediately one vendor jumps up and takes matters into his own hands. He rushes over with a handful of shawls and dutifully places one over my head. “I give you good price,” he says with a smile. I politely decline seeing as I already bought one from another vendor; but he is insistent. He showers me with compliments and occasionally he throws in a habibi, the Arabic equivalent to darling or sweetheart. Finally I agree to buy another shawl. Did he charm me into buying something I don’t need? No I convince myself; after all I could always use an extra shawl.
As the sun begins to set, we hear the familiar chanting we’ve heard each day this week. It is Ramadan, the Islamic month of fasting. Muslims around the world fast from sunrise to sunset as a gesture of self-restraint and piety. The crackling of intercoms echoes throughout the city as a reminder to everyone that they must go home to pray.
Photo © Elena Vazquez
Photo © Elena Vazquez
Photo © Elena Vazquez
After prayer, Egyptians get together at cafés to talk, play cards, and smoke hookah (a water pipe used to smoke flavored tobacco covered in molasses). Going by a tip from one of our friends, we go in search of a particular floating restaurant along the Nile, a favorite amongst Egyptians themselves. We find ourselves in a huge space, filled with unfamiliar sights and smells. Brightly colored fabrics hang from the ceiling so low you could jump up and pull them down if you ever got cold. Arabic words murmur throughout the crowd as Egyptian pop music plays in the background. A group of men sing and laugh at the table next to us. One of them takes in so much smoke from his hookah, it seems virtually impossible to fit in his lungs without him bursting at the seams. But then again he has had lots of practice. They get together to tell stories, laugh, smoke almost every night. After what seems like an eternity he blows out every last puff of smoke contributing to the sugar, fruit, and jasmine scented cloud hovering above our heads.
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