Chaotic Cairo

We cycle out of the Sinai alongside the Gulf of Suez, with a flying storm in our backs. Twelve o´clock in the afternoon we´ve already cycled 85 kilometres. We follow the signs ´tunnel´ until we reach the Ahmed Hamdi-tunnel. The tunnel, that connects the Middle-east and Africa, is solely accessible for cars, that have to pay toll. The workers at the toll-station like the sight of us: two cyclists with a whole lot of luggage. We get a safe-conduct, the other traffic is being halted until we have reached the other end of the almost 1.700 metre tunnel. Service!

The next morning we wake up under a cloudless sky, while a soft breeze is blowing. It promises to become a beautiful day. Two hours later we fight against a stormy wind that almost makes it impossible to advance. The road to Cairo is very busy, narrow and littered with small stones and glass. There are no possibilities to pull out, the heavy trucks pass us very close. It´s madness to be cycling here. At seven kilometres per hour we ride in a sand- and dust-cloud that hinders sight and breath. This is no fun. Half past ten we stop at a restaurant at the side of the road to have a break and talk. The decision is reached very fast; it´s too dangerous to go on cycling, the suction of the trucks almost pulls us under them. We stick up our thumbs and a little while later we´re sitting in the cabin of Magdy Gooda´s pick-up truck. The bicycles are standing on the platform on the back. He takes us to his home in Cairo, the old quarter of Bassateen. It takes us an hour to get there. In Bassateen, an old farming village that has been swallowed by Cairo along time ago, we almost see no road-surfacing. What we do see is junk, everywhere, most houses are old and half-finished, thousands of old cars move between the people, horse and carriages, donkey-carts, vegetable-stalls and roaming sheep and geese. Cows are tied to houses, in the middle of the quarter there is a garbage-dump.

We accept Magdy´s invitation for a cup of tea. His wife, three daughters and two sons are pleasantly surprised to see us. Immediately tea is prepared and moments later we're sitting all together in the living room having mandarins, oranges, bananas and sjisja (waterpipe). We watch family-pictures, once in a while the tv-set is put on, the oldest son is sent away to do some shopping and a little while later Magdy and his wife insist we have our dinner with them. In their poor English and our even poorer Arab we talk endlessly. Five o´clock in the afternoon we really have to leave: in one hour time it gets dark and we would like to have found a hotel by then. We find out we´re in the most southern part of Cairo; it´s about twenty kilometres from the old town centre. In the dark we cycle the last kilometres.
The hotel we choose, Hotel Dahab, is situated ´Downtown´, the commercial heart of Cairo: shops, restaurants, cinemas, obscure offices. It´s always lively around here, a lot of businesses seem to be open 24 hours a day. In Hotel Dahab we meet Nigel for the fifth time, without arranging it or knowing where he would be. Elijah still is in Turkey and will return to Egypt in a week time.

Cairo is an overwhelming town. With her sixteen million inhabitants she´s called `Mother of the world` by the Egyptians. With almost the highest amount of people per square kilometre in the world the town is a bubbling and chaotic mix of people, buildings and traffic, where it's hard to find your way in the beginning. A map really is a must. The town unveils her secrets and treasures slowly but breathtaking. The contrasts are huge: donkey-carts next to luxurious cars, mini-cupboard shops next too exquisite perfume-shops, beggers next to strolling shoppers, luxurious new buildings next to delapideted ones out of the past.

North-east of the centre you find Islamic Cairo, called this way because of the enormous amount of minarets you see at the horizon. The quarter contains about 800 monuments and almost no signs. Walking there it´s clear nothing much has changed the last couple of centuries: narrow streets with lacking surfacing that wind in all directions. Sometimes they´re so narrow people can´t pass each other and the roofs on either side almost touch. Every road is filled with shops, workshops, factories, mosques, bath-houses, people, sheep, chicken and traffic. The traffic mainly consists of bicycles, donkey-carts, hand-carts and incidentally a tiny truck.

In Islamic Cairo one finds Cairo´s biggest bazaar: Khan El-Khalili, built in the forteenth century. We're walking through the narrow streets with Nigel and a French friend called Mathilde, when we discover that we've picked up a guide. By chance this turns out to be for the good, for once: he shows us many narrow streets, workshops and little factories where we can take pictures as much as we like, for free. At one moment he even defends us and takes a picture himself when someone refuses to let us take a picture. We see a charcoal-king, black as soot, a lamp-smith who makes the most beautiful lamps right out of the stories of the Thousand and One Nights, a foot-ironer, tiny kiosks and herds of sheep, ready to be slaughered for the coming sacrificial feast. As usual Nigel and Peter are surrounded by herds of small boys. This time there is no begging or selling: they have to play table-tennis with them.
Next the guide takes us to the El-Ghuri-mosque, where we get permission to climb the minaret. The views over Cairo by night are very appealing. A visit to Khan El-Khalili isn't complete without going to Fishawi's coffee-house, even though it's situated in the more expensive and touristic part of the quarter. Walking through the souq we enter a very narrow ally that's filled with tiny shops and stalls and find the coffee-house. Once there you can choose between sitting inside, where the walls are covered with mirrors, or on the terrace, where you sit in the middle of the hustle and bustle of the souq.

We're lucky: the place is full, but a table on the terrace just comes free as we arrive. We drink coffee and tea, smoke a sjisja and have a lot of fun with each other and the dozens of passing salesmen. Their trade: wallets, jewelry, flowers, mini-sjisja's, paper handkerchiefs, vases, fez with moustache, watches, etc. Even though we tell all of them we're not going to buy anything, most of them insist and push for a while. We try out everything and then try to sell our own and the coffee-shop's belongings to them and have a lot of fun this way. It never takes longer than ten seconds for a new salesman to arrive after one has left. In Istanbul we decided: "If you can't beat them, join them." This leads to a lot of pleasure for ourselves, the salesmen and people around us.