Travel Log 4 - Marsa Mutrah to Cairo

21/01/08

Alexandria’s ancient layout was not well equipped for the hordes of ancient, garishly painted Lada taxis. We arrived in Alexandria en route to Cairo on the bus we took that morning.

The aged trams crept beneath the monstrous high rise housing and the sad, faded glory of the Colonial architecture. It was a sensory overload with most spivs, goldbricks and wheeler dealers having a strong enough command of the English to play their angle.

It was only when out on the sea front and with a bit of objectivity that we could really appreciate what a startling place it was – it looked as if it had and would be there for ever.

We only had a few hours to spend in Alexandria though before heading off to Cairo. Another four hours on the bus, this time sat next to a man relishing his own obesity with a melodramatic snore that kept me on edge for most of the journey.

The Arabic chant which was invariably put on over the bus speakers at top whack was at first irritating began to take on a new light when in the context of the more desert like landscape. The two are well suited.

Upon arrival in Cairo we decided to shirk the taxi drivers and make our way to a hostel on foot. Crossing eight lanes of traffic while feeling like poorly balanced tortoises with our cumbersome backpacks on, was a good way of waking up after the drowsiness of the bus.

22/01/08

We had a grand old room at the hostel with lofty ceilings and a balcony with palatial views of the up-market shopping district. That is not say that the streets were not a moral / social / physical slalom of cars, carts, amputees, guides, papyrus salesmen, mud and cats.

We paid an extortionate amount of money at the British Embassy for a letter of recommendation to take to the Sudanese in order to apply for a visa. We were on edge as we headed over to the Sudanese Embassy because of the tales about one month waits for a visa – apparently it all being down to the whim of the bureaucrat who processes your application.

We arrived in our smart shirts and grinned inanely at everyone we met. The bureaucrat responsible for the application form did not raise his gaze from his newspaper at any point in our conversation, just barked at others who told us what to do. On completion of the forms we were sent from bureaucrat to bureaucrat all over the embassy, upstairs and down stairs. When we finally reached the bureaucrat with his own office and it was decreed that our visas would be ready on Sunday, just five days. It would be nice to think our Arabic 'hellos' swayed him.

The evening was spent in the city's Islamic District which was clearly delineated between those areas within a few metre radius of where the coach tours stopped and everywhere else. Within the radius it was a manic and headache inducing melee of whining pleas to look at tat but as the sun began to set we lost ourselves in the crooked, medieval streets away from it all. Although it was a hive of activity it seemed far more honest and it therefore seemed more of a privilege to see this way of life in action. Just as the quantum mechanic alters the results of their experiment through observation, we changed what occurred around us by our presence in something more 'real' than what those on the coach tours saw. This is a pretentious fear as it is condescending to imagine that the individuals observed are not able to cope with change.

What we saw was steam and dust lit from the open fires of soot machines. Pigeons and canaries darting around in wicker cages. Brightly lit rooms displaying sacks bursting with cotton and giant cakes of soap. A smoking cooper hammering away exuberantly. During dusk we climbed the pitch black steps of the city's oldest mosque's tallest minaret and watched the city teem amongst the rubbish below the skyline of optimistic sky scrapers, half demolished buildings and grand colonial architecture, all shrouded in smog. The city's 'song' as a Cairoan later described the incessant yet strangely expressive hooting of car horns, was interrupted by the piercing call to prayer that jolted through the rickety speakers by our heads.

23/01/08 - 24/01/08

We got the standard pyramids and Sphinx over and done with. There seemed to be a wave of touristic hostility towards these sites with in the 'real' traveling fraternity who now consider them passé sites. However, the pyramids are the only remaining member of the Seven Wonders of the World club. Of course the coach parties were a distraction to the awesome and imposing nature of the structures but we were not pretentious enough to consider ourselves detached from them.

Almost more interesting than the pyramids was our guide Wasim and beside his knowledge of Ancient Egypt, the frank and honest picture he painted of modern life in Egypt was fascinating. Ranging from politics, religion and relationships it was a true insight.

In the evening we met Adam a secondary school Arabic Teacher on the street. We shared karkaday (hibiscus tea) with him – sweet and pungent, fitting preconceptions of a dark, mysterious and opulent Arabia. Before wandering the streets with him shaking hands with everyone we met followed by a gaggle of children. He took us to an empty mosque and we sat below its grand chandelier on garden furniture and marveled at its design. We followed him round a small leather jacket workshop still working strong late into the evening. We did end up paying quite a large amount for some sweets it was suggested we give to Sudanese people by way of thanking them for things. This may well have been his pay off - something, according to a man from the British Council we met later, indicative of the Egyptian mentality. We took it in good humor and we left with his phone number and address should we ever need anything in Cairo, having had a memorable night.


25/01/08 – 26/01/08
The Coptic Christian region of the city was not treated with a great deal of reverence. The churches and mausoleums were clearly of great religious significance and there were worshippers who could read the Arabic language written with the Greek alphabet, kissing the icons and rocking back and forth but cackling cameramen and women took centre stage. We got there by hopping on the city's metro system and it had to be a fast hop because the doors remained open for an unreasonable length of time so everyone scrambled like mad. It is a very British trait to demand order in these kinds of situations as it is to get uppity when people invariably push in front in queues, but watching the back of the head of an individual who has deemed themselves more important than you is infuriating.

We spent time wandering the streets of Cairo, observing the chasm of inequality that plagues the city. Just a few kilometers separated the grand houses and the 5 star hotels from people living inside a cemetery.

For some sorely needed escapism we headed for the music of After Eight where a DJ played Stevie Wonder and James Brown. It was a night put on by a man from the British Council, chatting with him at the beautiful old mirror and wood bar, waited on hand and foot by men wearing bow ties, it was good to play the Colonial part for a night.

27/01/08
It was time to head back to the Sudanese Embassy to see if we had got our promised visas. It turned out not to have been a problem and from the date on the visa it looked like it had actually been completed the same day we first applied. We gave our condolences to the Russian cyclists who were still waiting after a week and headed off to get a train to Luxor in the south. This proved a lot harder than anticipated as it seemed there were not going to be tickets for a week. This was not for a lack of service, but due to the sheer volume of tourists plying the route. We admitted defeat and retreated to the hostel and let the hostel manager and his 'commission' take over, getting tickets through contacts and under the table. We expected delays in our trip but in post-colonial Cairo it was a bit of a surprise.