A Cruise on the Nile

Saturday, January 1, 2011. 11PM

We had a great day today culminating in an amazing evening on the Nile. After getting our new camera we went via subway and the shank’s mare back to the Egyptian market and the Khan Al Khalili. There I confronted my watch salesman with his not-working-whatsoever watch and asked him if he would be true to his word by giving me my money back plus two free watches. This is a burly fellow in his early 20’s who is full of mischief and flirtation. “Oh lady,” he said, “I was just joking with you. I don’t have that money now. The owner of the store has taken it, but I will replace your watch.” He proceeded to lay on me a succession of watches that had various problems. Finally, tired of sparing with him I chose one and off we went. He continued joking with me and said, “I know you are a good woman. I know from your face. Don’t think I am a bad boy. I am a good boy.” I said to him that I didn’t think that he was a bad boy but that I thought he was a very naughty boy. He caught the drift and was very amused. The new watch works alright except that it loses one minute/hour. It gives approximate time – good enough until I get back to TO.

We decided to visit the mosque which abuts the souk. Taking off our shoes at the entrance we were about to go in when several men shooed us away. No, no. Women cannot come in here. Women go in the entrance on the other side.   Another couple were being given the same message right behind us. Mark and I and the other couple decided to split up for the visit as required. The woman looked at me and asked if I wanted to come with her. I did. She is from Turkey, the southern part along the Mediterranean, which she told me was hot and humid. We walked to the side entrance and once again doffing our shoes, entered a large rectangular room carpeted with soft rugs from wall to wall. Groups of women or individual women, sometimes with children were sitting on the carpets around the periphery. Some were praying, one or two on their knees, making a low bow to the floor that we often see pictures of men making. Some were just sitting quietly and others were visiting. It was a comfortable and easy scene. To the left was a smaller room which could be entered to the right or the left. Within was a richly decorated tomb, covered with ornate wood and gilded structures. Access to the sides of the tomb was possible from both the men’s and the women’s sides though one could not pass from one to the other. On our side a wooden railing stood about 4 or 5 feet above the floor, giving the women who stood there a place to rest their arms as they prayed to or about the body in the tomb.

My companion and I went through this smaller room from left to right, re-emerging into the larger. We sat on the carpet and talked quietly. She explained to me that this was the tomb of the grandson of Mohammed, greatly revered by this group of Shia or Shiite Muslims. In Turkey, she said, 90% of people are like me, meaning quite secular in their approach to living, but about 10% are more fundamentalist and into Islam more like the people in Egypt. She was referring, for example, to the fact that most women in Egypt wear a head covering, even if they do not wear a total body covering. Those who cover themselves most strictly wear also the veil and black gloves. We sat for some time talking. Two little girls came and sat near us and indicated to Nazan, my new friend, that she ought to cover her hair while in the mosque. They were taken by her and were shyly flirtatious in their advances. To humour them she removed the scarf about her neck and wrapped it around her head. They didn’t bother with me because I was wearing my summer wide-brimmed hat.

Just as we prepared to leave we heard the raised voice of one woman in the area of the tomb. Women around her were crying and praying as she spoke. Nazan said that was a particular expression of their piety: to speak of the one who was dead and to cry over his loss. When we reached the front entrance to look for our husbands, we saw a group of men carry a casket rather unceremoniously into the mosque. Some women all in full black dress were gathered off to one side. Nazan said that they could not attend the funeral rites of whoever had died. They would just sit outside and speak of his or her life and weep.

She had been telling me about the week-long holiday that she and her husband were taking in Cairo. Tonight they were to go on a dinner cruise. Mark and I had planned to take one but weren’t sure where or how to arrange it. She gave me the information and before long we were agreeing that we would get reservations and meet her and her husband at the boat at 8PM. We had taken to each other very quickly and wanted to see each other again. Mark was very pleased.

Mark had read about a cafe in the Khan al Khalili that has never been closed for the past 200 years, a storied place indeed. It had also been recommended to us by a friend so we set out to find it. After a long and circuitous route we eventually found ourselves back practically at the place where we had begun. The cafe is quite wonderful in its own way. Picture a long, narrow room with windows open to the alley along one side and with tables on either side of the room as well as outside in the alleyway. It is well decorated with mirrors the size of walls expanding its tiny dimensions. Waiters rush up and down taking orders, bringing drinks and sometimes food, taking money, and clearing round tables the size of large trays. Adding to this activity is the movement of continually coming and going patrons, as well as the peculiar feature of a continuous cycle of the purveyors of leather wallets, bracelets, hats with beads, and scarves, who would enter by one door, come down the aisle, leave by the other, solicit the customers outside, and then re-enter the cafe. Each item was placed under one’s nose in an insistent manner. Only by studiously ignoring both the item and the seller could one be left, if just momentarily, in peace. It was all hilarious. Moreover, our order for a coffee for Mark and orange juice for me was translated into a coffee, a bottle of water, and a pot of tea, all plunked down on our table as the waiter rushed on by. When I was able to gain his attention five minutes later, he simply picked up the pot of tea and the glass that came with it and placed them on another person’s table, no doubt in response to her request for apple juice. When my orange juice arrived it was fresh-squeezed and delicious. It was a lot of fun being there and seeing all of the activity carried out at high speed and with a great deal of shouting and general noise – but not at all a place in which to relax.

When we came back to the hotel, I had the man at the reception desk call the boat restaurant that Nazan told us about. There were no reservations available. We were disappointed but decided to go over to the boat at 8 o’clock anyway, just to let them know what had happened. The boat docks in the Zamalek area and we planned after seeing them to walk around and get something to eat. We took a cab but the driver was confused about the name of the boat and drove us all over the island, getting us there late and with only 10 minutes to spare before the boat was to sail. We ran down to the boat, explaining to the person at the entrance that we wanted to see our friends who were within – go ahead, was his response. We went onto the boat, a long, luxuriously appointed vessel and started down one side of the large room looking for Nazan and her husband. She spotted us and called out. We told her about the difficulty and she went immediately to the head waiter and explained that we didn’t have reservations but would like to stay to eat with them. He was very accommodating, moving all of us to a circular table right beside the dance floor, really, the best seats in the place. We were all very delighted with this turn of affairs.

It was a lot of fun. We went to a huge salad bar for a plate of quite varied delicacies, then placed an order for a particular entree, each differently priced but inclusive of the salads and dessert. Musicians were playing contemporary music and two young women sang  standards and pieces like Tina Turner’s I Will Survive – very well done. A whirling dervish in colourful costume took over to music played by another group of more traditional middle-eastern musicians. It was quite a show – after many turns and some acrobatics with six large plate-like discs, the overheads dimmed and his entire costume lit up with a multitude of variously coloured lights. As he turned he gradually removed various pieces of his costume, throwing the smaller pieces at one of the musicians who seemed to love the attention. After his performance we were treated to the highlight of the evening – the belly dancer. She came out in what must be a kind of harem outfit and shimmied and shook like a bowl full of jelly, as they say in The Night Before Christmas. She was quite beautifully put together and she enjoyed a great response from the audience. An amazing amount of energy went into her spot which lasted about 15-20 minutes and entailed one change of costume. Toward the end of her performance the lead drummer came onto the floor and interacted with her in a hilarious fashion, even to getting down on all fours on the floor at her feet, all the while playing a fascinating rhythm on his drum. All well worth the price of admission!

Nazan and her husband had to leave right after the show as they go back to Turkey this morning, but we exchanged email addresses and promised to keep in touch. They have invited us to visit them in Turkey and we returned the invitation, of course. They are both engineers, studying the effects of environmental changes on farm production. They are associated with the university in their city – I’m not certain yet which it is but know that it is on the southern coast of Turkey, on the Mediterranean. Nazan’s English is somewhat limited but much better than her husband’s. She told me that he would have to go soon to an English-speaking country for a couple of months to become more familiar with it. I assume that it has become quite a necessity in their work. Like Mark and I theirs is a second marriage for both. He has two children from his first marriage; they are 5 and 16; she has a 12 year old son from hers.

After all this excitement we decided to walk around Zamalek a bit before returning to the hotel. By chance then we almost had too much excitement. Crossing the street from the boat I stepped into a rather large deposit from a local doggie, slipped and slid and nearly went down into it! I maintained my balance, however – thanks the gods for Curves! – and we spent a bit of time cleaning off my soiled footwear – leaves, sand, and a puddle of water did the trick. Speaking of animals, I have been struck by the number of feral cats one sees about. I don’t know if cats are house pets in some families. All the ones that we have seen on the streets and in the bazaar are thin and dirty. They seem to survive by the same techniques that most animals have used from time immemorial. I would imagine that they are important for keeping rodent populations at bay. We have only seen dogs with owners in Zamalek, that paradise (relative) for the wealthy and the foreign (wealthy). Other dogs looked more like the feral cats that I mentioned. We see very few insects of any kind -- flies excepted. It is so arid here that most would not survive.

Well, so much for the zoological report. Mark has gone across the bridge to visit the Modern Art Museum. When he returns we plan another attempt to see the Citadel. A full report will follow.  I will attempt now to upload some of the pictures from our night of fun. Take care and keep in touch . Brenda.