On Cairo

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Tomorrow we leave Egypt. On a Superjet bus that the hotel concierge tells us does not exist. No routes from Alexandria to Aquaba; No busses to Jordan. We must go back through Cairo. But it says in guidebook, we say. He looks confused; puckers his walnut face into a swarthy frown and shrugs. "I don't know. Maybe. Go to the station and ask." We insist that he tells us how much a taxi should cost and he rolls his eyes and near enough says: I don't care, find our yourself. He is the second concierge at the Nile Excelsior I've found intolerably rude and we arrived two hours ago. I do not recommend it to you.

Anyway, this is my first proper entry so i'll not fill it with the negative; although if I began with the extensive subject of Egyptian men then this would be easily done. They find us endlessly facinating. They stare at us like children stare at the disabled, only without an embarrassed mother to tell them it's inappropriate. Sitting on a coach yesterday in humidity comparable to a rainforest and pretend air conditioning blowing hot air pointlessly onto my face (I'll get to the nice bits I promise), a man across the aisle stared fixedly at me for the whole five hour trip. Not only stared, actually. He turned his entire body to sit sideways in the seat; thin legs dangling into the aisle and elbows balancing on the armrest. He looked like a gigantic baby sprawling in massive high chair, staring with cold brown eyes and dribbling. Except he had skin like an old boot, which creased like paper as he raised his eyesbrows in an unalluring fashion every few seconds to make sure I was aware of his beastly, persistant presence.

But no, I am getting carried away again. You will wonder why I have bothered to come away if all I can do is compain about this and that; the people, the service, the food. None of which could be good enough for this bleachwhite perfectionist. But this is not true. We have had a good time; a very good time, and I will take the time to tell you about the good bits. Today, because tomorrow we are leaving on a coach that doesn't exist.

We arrived in Cairo on Thursday - a week today - and it feels like a month ago already. Let me remember... Yes, we made our way from the airport in a taxi, feeling travel weary from a flight on which niether of us slept much. Our minds were filled with the American accents and ideals of the chickflick onslaught were were unable to refrain from. We were overaught; Ben Affleck had moved us both to tears (a career first, I expect) and we were strangely unexcited to arrive. All those last minute things to do, the five o'clock start, the journey, had left us a little unfeeling and we wanted only to get to the hostel quickly without fuss. We found a taxi easily and negotiated a price in English. It seemed fair. I can now remember very little about the man - the first Egyptian man we met - except thet he did not approve of our choice of hostel. He had not heard of it. He thought we should go to a different one, a better one. One he would show us. I was firm, and he took us where we wanted to go.

And the first glimpse of Cairo, from the back of a taxi, as always. One long, wide road lined with the ancient, the dilapidated, the half-built and the colonial pic'n'mix that fills the spaces between the vast carriageways. The driver talked non-stop; pointing to this mosque and this palace, until we reached Downtown Cairo, where we were staying - in the hostel he hadn't heard of that turned out to be remarkebly nice.

On our first day we wandered. To find our bearings and decide how we wanted to spend our time. We waded through packed streets of curious faces and made our first observations: The men stare but are so very helpful (if you don't mind being constantly told what's best for you, which of course I do). The women glare but smile if you smile first. The streets are seeped in a yellow glow; the stones are white or beige or light blue. Everything is light in colour but heavy in mood. Slow in progress but fast in pace. Words spoken in Arabic always sound urgent, but how can they be? What is everyone doing? The men move slowly from one ciggarette to another. Sitting in street cafes talking and staring, maybe working. Couples stand serene, together on the many bridges breaching the Nile. And there are lots of couples; lots of little romantic parks. It costs 60p to sit in one of the many sweet landscaped gardens, with watered tropical plants and quaintly placed garden furniture in white. Waiters bring you Cola and children bring you crisps.

If this does not sound like the Cairo you imagine then don't be pursuaded so quickly. There is, of course, the other face: The traffic jams, the rubbish, the street smells, the greasy bannisters on subway stairs, the ruins and the construction sites, the rubble piles, the unhygenic sticky patches on the sundried streets, the stray cats, the gaping holes in the pavements and the high rise blocks of flats housing a million poverty-stricken people, all of whom are drying their washing out of the window. The dirt and the dust and the grease. And the sand, of course. The Giza Pyramids and the Sphynx; we saw them both. The contents of the tomb of Tutan Karmen, known as Tut to the Egyptians. The mosques and the bizarres. There is a frustrating amount to tell and yet with so may words I have told you nothing much of our trip and it's time to go...

We are in Alexandria. We have been in the desert. It had it's ups and downs. More on this later.

xxxxx

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