Egyptian Street Walking Skills

We have yet to see any traffic lights in downtown Cairo. It is the end of our first day here. Pedestrians walk into streets teeming with traffic and cars either brake or don’t brake; people on foot, like my husband and our friend, find themselves somewhere in between the cars and fortuitously make it to the other side of the street as if completing a maze.

Wes, our friend, picks it up immediately and is an instant pro. Yesterday the 3 of us traveled here from the apartment we’ve shared intermittently (between Wes’s traveling and Mat’s former 3 month stints between France and the US) for almost 3 years in Brooklyn, NY. We are the best of friends, me being the newest in the bunch. Mat and I have been married a little more than a year. This trip is our last hurrah as roommates. Wes will return to NY before us and find his own apartment. Mat and I will continue to travel across Africa for 6 months.

After an uneventful 11 hour flight to Cairo, our first mode of business at the airport after purchasing Egyptian visas and making it through customs, was to find a clinic in the airport to administer us yellow fever, and possibly meningitis, vaccinations. These shots cost upward of $100 a pop in the US, but here in Cairo we get them for less $10 or for free. Finding said clinic took some patience. After asking several airport personnel who had no idea what we were talking about, I began to doubt whether this place actually existed. Then we were told to take a bus to another terminal, which we did. More people who had no idea what we were talking about. Finally, we were pointed to a small area at the end of a hall where a friendly and efficient staff administered our yellow fever shots in less than 20 minutes along with providing pills for meningitis, instructions on taking them, and advice on getting to our next destination. We could get to our destination for 60-80 Egyptian pounds, we were told.

No cab driver would do it for less than 100. We found one driver who was a particularly good barterer. Our bartering team was led by Mat, who ended up being remarkably good at saying, “No. Too much” and calmly walking away. Each time we walked away, the driver would unfailingly return within 5 minutes to lower his original asking price of 120. We got him down to 90 and hopped in his old Toyota Camry.

Ahmet is 50-60 years old. He moves fast and has a charming intensity. He swings into heavy traffic not wearing a seat belt. Soon we begin conversing about his life and ours. When did he start work that morning, how many children he has, if he is from Cairo, what should we do in the city…He coaches us on Egyptian Arabic, helps with our pronunciation, gives us some new words. Soon I am asleep in the backseat. The heat, the jet lag, the sensory overload (there are 20 million people in Cairo), have overtaken me. My head hangs low on my chest and I am gone.

When I awake we are pulled off to the side of another busy street, in some sort of incomplete parallel parking job by Ahmet; the car’s nose is in the middle of traffic. People honk at us. I don’t know what is the matter. Ahmet gets out followed by Wes. Mat tells me this is the street our hostel is on but he doesn’t see the number. Soon Ahmet and Wes return. We have to call the hostel. We can’t find it. We get a woman on the line and are told that our hostel is closed for renovations. She isn’t taking anyone anymore. She recommends a hotel. The only problem is we’ve already paid a deposit and we’re having a hard time understanding her. Ahmet is yelling at her (or speaking emphatically?); the phone has passed between all 4 of us; cars are honking at us, and pedestrians, blended as they are in traffic, give us strange looks. Ahmet says repeatedly that she is a bad woman. Finally Ahmet takes us to another hotel. According to him, it is one of the best.

The 4 of us enter a large old building that is down an alley way and go up an old fashioned elevator. As we step off the elevator, I see, in front of us at the end of the hall, a kind faced man sitting at a wooden desk with a wall of golden tagged keys behind him. The place, Pension Roma hotel, is clean and tastefully decorated. Ahmet, who has greeted everyone at the hotel familiarly, tells our story. We get Dina (the other hostel owner) on the phone. There is more shouting (or emphatic speaking?). Ahmet tells us over and over again that Dina is a bad woman. He thinks we have been scammed. The hotel worker says as a refrain, “Everybody is good until you squeeze them or push them a little.” He has a smile on his face and a jovial, but professional nature.

The good news is that there are rooms available to us here at the Pension Roma. But before he will give us the rooms, the concierge would like Dina to come to the hotel to settle things with us. He wants to make it clear that he is not affiliated with Dina and that we know that paying her is not the same as paying him. He asks that we put it online so that other tourists will know. Dina has done this before, apparently. We are shown our rooms and Dina comes within an hour. Things are settled.

After settling in a bit (another short nap for me), we hit the town. It is mesmerizing to take in the people, the sounds, the smells. Everywhere, there are beautiful women in hijab, men walking arm in arm (I tell Wes and Mat that I want them to walk like that. Highly unlikely.), and unending crowds of people. It feels late at night to us but it isn’t even 7pm. We eat street foods (shawarma from one place and a popular macaroni dish from another) and have ice cream. Gangs of skinny stray cats tear through trash scavenging for food. At the shawarma place a cat hangs around under our table to see what she can get. Several people offer us little packages of kleenex to buy. Soon the guys are crashing because of the jet lag. And though I still have energy, there are no other women alone on the street, so I must return to the hotel with them.

We walk the streets trying to find our way back and I practice my Egyptian street crossing skills.