2006 Egypt

20 December 2006, Wednesday; Union Hotel, Alexandria, LE85

We began our day with a koshari breakfast at a little place not far from our hotel. We wanted something local, but did not know what, so popped into this place already populated by locals. On the optimistic assumption that a popular place is a healthy place. We peered over one customer’s shoulder, liked what we saw, and ordered two. A sliver dish filled literally with all the carbohydrate groups: macaroni, rice, spaghetti, noodles, lentils, chickpeas, dried onions, tomato sauce and a hot sauce on the side. Delicious. All washed down with tea obligingly bought and brought by our host from a nearby tea shop.

We have a great view of the Alexandrian Corniche and the harbour and Fort Qaitbey from our hotel balcony. Except for the sea and the curve of the bay, the myriad flats remind me of Hillbrow – although these are even more dilapidated.

Like Cairo, there are no beggars here. “Beggars” sell tissues or offer other small services instead.

We taxied out to the train station from where buses leave for Rosetta (Rashid) about 65km east of Alexandria. (Rosetta, of course, is famed as the home of the Rosetta Stone which was discovered by Napoleon’s soldiers in 1799. The stone dated from the 2nd century BC and played a major role in the decipherment of hieroglyphs by Champollion.) Our bus driver often drove one-handed while he drank his tea or chatted on his cell phone. This despite a sign spotted by Charl that read: Driving requires two hands.

We were dropped where the road meets the railway line and there found a minibus bound for Rosetta. This deposited us in the heart of the small town in a bustling market place with the Ottoman houses we had come to see just there.

We wanted to draw money first to see us through our approaching few days in the oases. Because a) we had heard there were no banks in some of the oases, and b) we had been told we could only draw R1,000 from any one ATM. Needing a few R1,000, we aimed to draw from several machines during the course of the day. Unfortunately the ATM at our first bank was down, but we later found another bank and managed to draw all we needed from one ATM – so much for Nedbank’s information to us!

We went into one of the Ottoman-era (18th century) merchant houses (Ramadan House), and admired several others from the outside. All while strolling through this busy little town accompanied by an unwanted tourist policeman who had picked us up at our first stop. The houses are stunning. Built of two different-coloured bricks with lovely wooden screens (mashrabiyyas) instead of windows. It was behind these women would sit and watch the world go by without being observed by the world.

Our unwanted policeman did prove a little helpful in that he showed us around the local mosque – Charl’s first – with its 99 columns, each one different from the next. He was obviously chuffed when we pulled out my scarf and Charl’s crocheted cap to put on our heads before removing our shoes and tiptoeing around the large hall in which one or two people were at prayer. And directed us to the bank at which we managed to draw cash for the next few days. We then wanted to be left alone, but found it quite tough to be rid of him without being actively rude. We paid him LE10 baksheesh, with which he was not particularly pleased, but even then we had to insist that we now just wanted to stroll the market rather than visiting any other sights. Not sure if he felt he was obliged to protect us or if he thought he could get more money out of us. Confusing and a little irritating.

So we ambled along the muddled streets, following our noses and eventually wending our way back to the taxi rank. Past stores selling fast food Egyptian style (ate some super ta’amiyya), fruit (bought oranges and bananas), and artificial plants. And stopped to watch the local baker churn out dozens of puffed pita on an antiquated machine.

Everyone we met or encountered asked the same set of questions – probably the first they learn at school. “Hello. What is your name? Where are you from?” Both inane and sweet.

Back to Alexandria in a new minibus, to be dropped a long way from anything familiar. In our efforts to find out in which direction we should travel next we met Mohammed and his younger brother Mustafa. They walked us for several hundred metres and got into a minibus with us – for which Mohammed insisted on paying. He was incredibly helpful and kind and told us he is an accountant, and that “Egyptians don’t trust youth or anything new, only the old and established”. He also said that the new(ish) governor of Alexandria was responsible for a fancy new bridge over which we travelled and for the dredging of the bay to create a beach within the city limits.

We disembarked at the new library, quite impressive in the late-afternoon light, and said our thank yous and goodbyes. The library was opened in 2002 to replace the original, justly-famous, library founded in the 3rd century BC which reportedly held 500,000 texts. The new library is intended to hold 8,000,000 books, though this goal is a long long way from being achieved. The large grey discus shape represents the rising sun and is carved with letters, pictograms, hieroglyphs and symbols from every know alphabet.

From there in another share taxi to the harbour and its colourful boats and mosaics to stroll out to Fort Qaitbey, built on the site of, and with stone from, the Pharos Lighthouse – also one of the Seven Wonders.

Back then to our room for awhile and then out to stroll the streets in search of dinner. People seem to knock off work at about 15h00. And the early evenings are busy with shoppers, diners and tea-drinkers. And noisy. Everyone hoots all the time. A veritable cacophony. Many women, if not most, wear head scarves, but few are completely covered. Most wear coloured clothes rather than black. Most are conservatively dressed in, for example, long skirts and long-sleeved shirts. Some wear makeup. And women walk and travel on, for example, the Cairo Metro alone (the front two carriages are reserved for women, but you do find them in the other carriages too). So…conservative by Western measures, but liberal by Muslim standards.

We dined in a small place on a busy street, tracked down a supermarket (small and jam-packed with both local and exorbitantly-priced imported goods), and a sweet shop to buy supplies for our long bus ride tomorrow. And so back to our hotel to watch the news, pack our washed clothes and sleep.