Egypt 1/1/2015
Cairo
The Lotus hotel on Talat Harb street near Tahrir Square, the scene of the 2011 uprising that saw Mubarak ousted, had said, they would have someone to meet me at the airport.
The plane from Heathrow was almost an hour late, on arrival no one was waiting to pick me up.
On the way over from Managua, a large part of the time was spent talking to an air hostess, who came to sit with me on the half full flight.
I had caught Chikungunya whilst in Tinidad and Tobago.
She had said on some flights there are numerous people who have had the mosquito contracted disease. Many were still suffering and just wanting to get back to the States.
Incidentally, she was was quite a character, the flight duration seemed very little.
This disease renders one almost unable to walk for a day or more, due to acute joint pain, accompanied by fever.
Luckily, my time in Tobago was spent with an African family. The elderly lady of the house gave me the liquid from boiled Papaya leaves, this was drunk, recovery from the severe joint pain followed swiftly. Half the island has had the disease.
Unfortunately, an annoying aching in my joints, still persists. A woman in Granada who had a friend with it remarked that she had joint pain for 4 months following the infection.
A 30 day visa for $25 was purchased at the money changing booths once through immigration. A vodaphone chip was also bought at the airport kiosk.
No problems were encountered travelling to Egypt on a one way ticket unlike some other countries visited. There are few travellers coming here at the moment. More on that later.
So, with some haggling it cost me $14 to get taken to the hotel. By the time we pulled up, it was 2.30 in the morning. The driver helped me get my bags into the lift area of the well known Egyptian hotel.
Loic, a cyclist from France, with whom time was spent riding in Argentina, had just completed Cairo to Cape Town in October last.
We have been in touch regularly up to this point. He has been a great source of current information. Thanks heaps Loic.
He also said, “Nigel, be prepared for a huge culture shock”.
Luckily, this shock was being administered slowly, firstly with the taxi driver’s persistence for more money and events leading up to me finally getting into my room.
Life in South America was so easy having some command of the language.
Once in the room at the 90 year old hotel, surrounded by furniture of the same age. The double bed offered such relief from being in airplane seats for 16 hours.
The room was cold, a quick search found heavy blankets in the wardrobe.
After lows of 23°C in Nicaragua, to what seemed like 8°C here, the need to be warm was paramount.
My time in Granada was spent volunteering at La Esperanza http://www.la-esperanza-granada.org/ and catching up with friends for Christmas. A well earned rest was also enjoyed. Nicaragua and its people always make for a relaxing time, especially Granada.
The next time of knowledge to my whereabouts was at 1200 the next day. A nine hour sleep had been enjoyed. I had missed the hot water, which only flowed between 0800 and 1200.
A shave was desperately needed. In Nic, the only shower water was unheated, even this was comfortable.
The water falling from the ancient shower arrangement produced a shiver as my hands tested its temperature.
No mucking about, saw me brave the chilly flow. My choices were few.
It was a hurried affair, but felt good afterwards.
Once out on the street, 7 floors down. Meat mixed with tomato and parsley from a kebab griller was enjoyed in a small bun from a busy establishment across the road. It was five pound, on the current Australian dollar exchange rate, this equates to about a dollar, excellent value.
Hanging about on the street, enjoying the spicy snack and just taking in the scene. A local started chatting in English, we exchanged names and chatted about things and in particular my need to get supplies, petrol and alcohol to prime my stove.
Omar was a super friendly, helpful guy. We caught a taxi to the Maadi shopping centre. A huge, very western generic place for consumers.
Once inside, a visit was made to the expansive Carrefour supermarket come everything store.
There were thousands of people in here, shopping trolleys were loaded with everything from flat screen TV,s, not just one, in some trolleys, to soda and western snack food.
There were so many people, to move amongst them, you just climbed in behind someone going your way and a gentle forceful walk in a line by all, saw progress made.
People were carving paths with shopping trolleys. It was reminiscent of entering the subway in Paris one new years eve.
Anything out of the ordinary would have caused a dangerous stampede, one that would have surely engulfed children and the elderly.
Once finally out of the mayhem, with my pack full of milk powder, pasta, sardines, tuna and other necessities. A call had to be made just to locate Omar.
Outside the complex, that had just risen from the desert, an eight lane expressway had to be negotiated to get across to the other side to get a cab back to the hotel.
To say it was dangerous was an understatement, speed and time both had to be calculated, with great accuracy before the gauntlet was entered. At times it required running, others a quick stop for further judgement.
Once committed, there was no return. Traffic was not just confined to the lanes provided.
Back in a cab. Time was taken to just take in the whole scene.
Sand was on the roadsides, as were people, older cars were parked two deep, there was no pattern or familiarity to anything except the direction the traffic was flowing and the blue sky.
The white taxis are metered here, so at least there was some idea what the fare was.
So many men smoke here, the 30 minute taxi ride to and from Maadi, saw me passively smoke maybe half a pack, as Omar and the taxi driver eagerly drew on their cigarettes in succession, not far short of chain smoking.
It was too cold to have the windows right down. I was not one to complain, having been an ex smoker.
Back in town, we went to a coffee shop, well more of a place in an alley with heaps of tables and plastic chairs, largely empty, though those occupied, were so, by middle aged men. Most with woollen jumpers and old suit tops and black shoes, some with beanies on and all wearing clothes with colours that never brightened beyond a shade of grey. Their faces revealed a life hardened by the dust and sun.
Here passive smoking was also the norm. Many men were sharing the large water pipes smoking sweetened tobacco. Shisha. Coffee and tea were being served, the coffee is like Turkish coffee, very short, black and a residue in the bottom of the small glass, very nice, but strong.
I spoke to Omar about getting some petrol for my stove. He told me that since the Revolution, gas stations can’t fill containers. Molatov cocktails were widely used during street protests. No amount of stories could persuade the attendants to fill my aluminium bottle.
The government will close down a gas station if they are caught .
Omar said he would get some from his friends car.
Later that night, I took a couple of his friends to a duty free store for them to buy cigarettes and vodka at favourable prices using my passport. It was still inside 24 hrs since my arrival.
This was no problem to me. Later after much asking, we found a little market stall that sold 90% alcohol that I use to prime my stove. This eliminates all the black soot produced, if it is primed with petrol. Two bottles were bought. This should last a few months or more.
That night we walked down the street to Tahrir Square past the American University, here some people were killed during the revolution. It is hard to come to terms with living in a country where your police may kill you for speaking out. There is no one to defend you, it is you against your rulers.
Contemplating this and having been bought up, and now living in free countries, brought tears to my eyes. From far away, a newspaper picture or some TV footage conveys very little, as we sit in our lounge chairs.
These people have friends and family too.
An almost sleepless night was endured, my body was still operating on Nic time, some 8 hours behind. Absorbing the day’s events did not help.
As arranged. Omar and I had coffee across the road with some mates of his. One who had a market stall in Adelaide selling Egyptians items, he was a regular traveller there.
From here were went to a mosque in another part of the city, it was a famous mosque here, named after Mohammed’s great granddaughter.
Here our shoes were removed, before entering this vast indoor place of worship.
Omar had prayers to attend to, placing my back against one of the many pillars inside, my gaze drifted around the proceedings before me. There were homeless people seeking refuge here. People were offering them bread.
Everyone was orientated towards Mecca, as were the closely woven prayer rectangles on the carpet that covered the huge area.
The Muezzin was calling the prayer. People were filing in as small groups, or as individuals, and would fall in alongside one another. A private prayer was initially offered, then, they joined the group.
The inside of the mosque was adorned with huge chandeliers and consecutive domed ceilings, it was an impressive structure.
It was an opportunity to see people of this religion, in communication with their god.
A funeral was being held in another area some 30m away.
A street person sleeping against a pillar near me, awoke and proceeded to cough what seemed like his insides out. It was a cough that rattled with phlegm and sadly poor health. The physical effort he displayed to produce such a cough, rendered its sound audible through much of the mosque.
For me, this was an important connection with life here in Egypt before leaving Cairo.
From here, we walked to another part of town. By now, we were in some back streets. The clothing and the bare feet of some people indicated an area of hardship.
Still the smell of exhaled cigarette smoke lingered
About to take a photo of a small camel tied up to an awning support in the street, a person told me to stop and called for a dollar.
There were some sheep tied up nearby, they were in a sad state, filthy long wool and standing around in moist dung, near a primitive feeding trough.
Omar said it was a butcher shop, if the dressed meat ran out, these animals were led from the street, into the building and slaughtered.
None of the animals looked distressed, they were obviously unaware of their impending fate. Their surroundings were little different from the crowded street where people were walking through rubbish, mud and any number of dangerous obstacles.
This was Cairo, the most densely populated city in the world. We met Omars friend, Ahmid at a coffee bar.
We sat outside with the other men who were smoking shisha from the water pipes, sipping coffee, inhaling cigarettes and chatting.
There were small old overcrowded buses weaving their way past us, small horses were pulling carts, a loader across the road was pushing up a heap of rubbish to make more room.
We then headed up a narrow lane with three story dilapidated dwellings, some clothing was hanging below windows, there was a pile of corn up against one wall.
Another place had collapsed, here people had thrown household waste onto the rubble, it was piled high and covered in cats. This was an unreal sight.
A man came walking along blowing a horn, over one was a long stick, on the end behind him were dozens of bags of candyfloss hanging above the ground. It was all like something out of Oliver Twist, minus the mud.
Deeper into this foreign but beckoning world, we soon got to one of the many dark doorways. Omar switched on his phone light.
We made our way up a narrow pitch black well worn, marble staircase, three flights.
A hundred years of providing access had left concaves each side of centre on the steps as we climbed. Fascinating must be the stories this passage could tell.
Once back in the light and walking alongside a wall for a couple of metres we came to Ahmids room.
This had been in his family for years. For him, it was like a guys shed, he said he came here to chill out from his wife and family.
There were photos of his mum and dad on the dust-laden walls. There was junk and old relics scattered everywhere, including his military sleeping bag and other memorabilia from his army days.
He was discharged, after losing a forefinger. We sat around and chatted.
Ahmid had been in the military and was 52, he fought in the Sinai.
He proudly showed me lots of photos of his war days partying and shots of his children and family. The photos were kept in an old half open cigar box, the dust on each bent and scratched photo, helped transport me back to the time depicted.
He took care to wash 3 glasses and boiled some coffee.
Meanwhile, Omar was preparing a huge joint with a block of Moroccan hashish and tobacco.
They offered me some. A few drags were taken, more out of sociableness and respect than anything else.
This is an activity I rarely participate in, as a rule. The exception was made, on this ocassion.
They said it takes away their aggression and that they don’t drink.
In our societies, so much money is spent, trying to stop people from smoking. Alcohol causes more problems than smoking ever could. It is socially acceptable and is manufactured by powerful companies.
People might get ill from smoking, but no one ever maimed or killed someone on the way home in an accident, or abuse and beat his wife after a smoking a packet of cigarettes!!
We sat around and talked at length. At times telling me about his life, Omar became very tearful.
This got me emotional. For me to be here with these two guys, two Egyptians that possibly typified the life of millions here in Cairo, but by no means the poorest, was indeed an experience always to be remembered.
Here, the three of us were sitting in this dust ridden little room, in the heart of Cairo. Ahmid was showing me how he was going to erect a wooden shower screen to segregate the shower and toilet.
Ahmid wanted to show us his car that he was doing up.
Sometime later, he took us to another backstreet, this one lined with old cars. There were men, hammering the bodywork of some vehicles, whilst others had their heads in the engine compartments. The streets were just bare sandy dirt.
A weasel was seen slinking around, trying to avoid the “alley cats”.
Ahmids car was on old Peugeot wagon. It had been panel beated and was ready for a bog and paint job.
He was proud of the old rig, the engine ran well. We pumped up one tyre.
People stopped me from photographing some buildings.
From here, we parted company, Omar and myself were heading to Giza and the pyramids.
A taxi was hailed.
It was a half hour trip out to Giza. Here, Omar took me to a friend and arranged a horse ride to see the sunset over the pyramids.
As we drove to Giza, the pyramids were often seen in the background. Urban sprawl is creeping ever closer. On the other side of them is the new city of 6 October.
By now it was absolutely freezing. A horse was chosen, my last experience on a camel saw me walking alongside it on the way back to the stables. It is an odd sensation, though the view is always better than a nag.
By the time I got back, it was dark and even colder.
We then went to Omars house for a dinner, where a Japenese guy was staying to try and clean his mind from years of computer work. Very interesting to say the least, he was very spaced out.
My passive smoking took on a new level here.
The room in which we ate, had little ventilation. Omars wife had a Bedouin charcoal BBQ burning inside, Omar and the Japanese guy were smoking and I was nearly suffocating!
I asked him to open a window. The meal was a delight, fried fish, salad and bread.
It was a new large concrete house, two stories, he told me he built it illegally and did so, very quick, as the government have fly overs with cameras to check on houses. Once completed they can’t do much.
We caught a cab back to the Lotus.
All the while, I was with Omar he was talking about doing this and doing that. He had also been talking to a couple of other tourists on the streets. We got on well, however at the end of the day his goal was to extract money from me by getting me to take other excursions. This became known as the days progressed.
We had enjoyed each others company, it had been one of symbiosis, my knowledge of Cairo had been enriched, he had made some money from my Giza trip. Added to this we both learnt more about each other’s respected countries.
That night in the hotel an Australian archaeologist was staying here, as luck would have it, he just happen to have a sleeping bag capable of handling temps around zero. A deal was made, it was bought thirty dollars.
It was nice to have the next day to myself, all morning was spent unpacking the bike and assembling it. The new front wheel had been buckled during transit, this was trued again, after some spoke adjustment.
All the cables were oiled and all nuts and bolts tightened. A small piece of plastic pipe with U shaped ends saved the forks from bent being. This I am sure of. It was transported on three flights and obviously handled roughly.
The afternoon was spent taking in the Nile just past Tahrir Square. Here on the bridge all before me was contemplated during a quiet time.
There is still barbed wire at the entrances to the square, these barriers are alongside the footpaths.
Taking a photo of a building patrolled by police, one officer asked to see all the shots on my camera. This is what it is like here. He asked if I was a journalist.
Today, it was decided to visit the boats down on the river to see if the guys could slip me some gas from their onboard portable generators. I left the motel at 0800 with my bottle in the backpack, there were police stationed along much of this road.
As expected along the busy road to Tahrir Square and on to the river. I was approached by people. One well dressed man, about my age began chatting.
They always have some experience to relate about Australia or NZ and have relatives there. Then they say would you like my business card. Once again, this guy seemed genuine, we were talking about many topics as we walked.
We walked to his shop, this is where the lines began, the coffee and tea was offered. Without hesitation, my arms were swung wide in a horizontal fashion. I told him, I was sick of this and wanted nothing and walked out.
I had given him the benefit of doubt. This time in Cairo has been a good place to sharpen my city street skills again.
After so much time spent in rural areas of South America with country people of a more genuine nature, my guard has become a bit lax.
On leaving the shop, I laughed to myself, just thinking of the genuine nature these people portray. They may have their audience with me, but the buck stops right there.
A couple of days ago, one of Omars friends who owned a shop selling papyruses and other Egyptian knick knacks, just wouldn’t let up.
I told him one day a visit maybe made on a different budget with a lady friend and with a suitcase to carry the stuff. Oh no!! he could post it.
Give me a break, please!!
Down at the boats, two young guys were just waking up on onboard a tour boat with seats along each side. With lots of sign language, they were happy to take the fuel line off the tank of a generator and fill my bottle.
It did cost twenty pound but who cares, we were all happy.
Walking back, it occurred to me, if the police stopped me for any reason, they probably had a good reason to arrest me or at least confiscate the bottle.
Either scenario would be a disaster.
I walked fast and looked none in the eye, and was relieved to be back in the room. Mission accomplished. I could cook again!
The next move was to head to the NZ embassy to pick up maps that had been sent there from Omni Maps in the US.
It was so good of them to allow me to do this.
Walking along the Corniche El Nile, which follows the Nile downstream, was as usual an obstacle course involving endless jay walking and weaving in amongst parked cars.
All the 5 star hotels are on this street overlooking the Nile.
The Embassy is in the Fairmont Nile Hotel building.
Whilst standing on a corner outside a hotel under construction, talking to a bread dealer, my life was nearly changed beyond imagination.
A ute entered the Corniche from a corner we were standing on, quite fast. He brushed me and one of his drop side lock handles caught my back pack.
One second I was talking to this bread man, and the next I was being dragged backwards alongside this vehicle.
It all happened so quick. For maybe two metres, I was hauled, then, losing my footing and falling, my backpack tore and let go under my weight. My back and elbow took the full impact, my head came second. A beany was being worn.
Instantly, I got up and off the dusty road, the ute never stopped and the bread dealer saw me get up and he walked off.
This was an unbelievable occurrence. Had my backpack been of solid construction, my journey hooked onto the ute could have been much longer. My little old lightweight backpack had saved me. It was almost torn in half by my weight as I fell to the road and in doing so, its destruction had allowed me to become free of the hook.
I walked on trying to come to terms with what had just occurred, my mind was in a surreal space.
At the NZ embassy, after a number of security measures. Another world was entered, that of polished marble walls, swish cafes and modern lifts.
Once up on the 8th floor, again with more security measures. I was greeted by Dana, the Egyptian staff member spoken to on the phone and Tara, a kiwi.
I couldn’t thank them enough for allowing me to send the maps there. We laughed, and all agreed many other embassies would not allow third party packages to be delivered. For fear of explosives within.
I told them about the accident. I took of my beany, which exposed a very bloody head wound, my arm was also cut up.
Tara got swabs and bandages from the first aid kit and the wounds were bathed and dressed.
She thought concussion could be an issue.
Some time was spent here talking about Egypt, its politics, the present situation and the roads ahead.
Things are not at all good here. The Western Desert road is closed to tourists, as there is a group of kidnappers from Libya who are aligned with IS presently causing havoc out there. They have already murdered two Americans.
She also told me some small bombs have been set off in the subways here, though to date with no injury. The same group have claimed responsibility. Her colleague still uses it, but she won’t.
A trip was to be made to Alexandria by train, the need has now arisen to focus on things to the south.
The British and Canadian Embassies are presently closed, due to rumours of a possible impending car bomb attack. As she said, the Kiwis are nicely placed under the radar.
My travel intentions, with both the Australian and NZ consulates will be registered. Dana also provided me with letters of introduction to the Sudanese and Ethiopian Immigration officials.
Coincidently, I had already decided not to take the western desert route, firstly after feeling the cold winds at the pyramids and secondly the long daily rides needed.
My fitness levels are not as they should be and I have no idea how my aching knees and other joints will cope with the riding. The effects of Chikungunya are still with me.
Another factor deterring me, was reading a blog that noted the occurrence of strong head winds in the south before reaching Luxor.
I hope to ride up the Nile valley to Luxor, police escort or not.
Tara said there are few tourists here at the moment, also a kiwi cyclist got turned back in the north of Egypt. Almost all stay in luxury hotels, take organised tours and would probably would not hang around in coffee joints with dirty old plastic chairs in alleys.
They had been so good to me at the embassy. It was so nice to be out of the world that prevailed on the streets below.
The afternoon was spent wandering back to the hotel in back streets, here a huge market was chanced upon. Also in amongst a heap of heavy metal shops, a brilliant lunch of spicy eggplant, salad and chicken was enjoyed.
It was an amazing 3 hour walk home past everything from food, shoes, clothing, and all else that city dwellers need to survive and others goods on sale just to make themselves feel special.
The people here for the most part are really friendly, fun was had in one trading place when trying to tell them I wanted some tiny screws. They are helpful, but many just find it beyond themselves to communicate due to our language differences.
Some guys were building boxes from Eucalypt in an area dedicated to timber work.
Bending down and taking a big sniff of the handy work. I motioned as to my memories of Australia, we all cracked up, it was a nice brief moment where life from two cultures met. They were more than happy for me to record their activities.
Cairo is a city where everyone must etch out a living just to eat, it really is a crazy but enjoyable city.
Instinctively, after bumping someone, an apology is always offered to those impacted, here people don’t even look for an apology, unless they knocked to the ground, such is the crowding in many places visited.
With some many people always around it makes one realise just how insignificant and fragile we really all are. No one is going to look after you, just you. That rang home following the backpack incident.
It is like an ants nest, only, that no one is working for the good of all. It is pure survival on the back streets here.
Things are incredibly cheap, a new phone battery was $6, supposedly Samsung, knowingly well copied. The street food is great though much offal is consumed.
Really, I have no idea what lies ahead for me. Though, it has the essence of a good adventure, other than a safe passage, good health, enjoyment and favourable winds with few flat tyres, little is asked for. Maybe this is asking too much??
Just the ride to Giza, some 15 km in heavy traffic will be a challenge. A challenge, that will require some serious concentration, and a bit of luck sprinkled along the journey. These Egyptian drivers are crazy.
Waking up this morning, I have finally synched with time here. My neck is a bit painful as my head was jolted to the ground during yesterdays mishap.
The hot tap was turned on full at 0800 to get the best of the hot water. The wounds needed a good wash. Tara said infection can be a problem. She also told me to buy a good drug for diarrhea here, the name I can’t recall right now, it is packed at the bottom of a pannier.
My bed sheets and pillow are now polka dotted with a light shade of red.
The Cairo museum was visited this morning. There was so much to see. Most interesting were the cloth wrapped mummies and of course Tutenkamons belongingsand in particular his head mask. The iconic photo on the cover of an early Nat Geo.
The desert had come to town today with an ochre dust all through the city.
Cairo
The Lotus hotel on Talat Harb street near Tahrir Square, the scene of the 2011 uprising that saw Mubarak ousted, had said, they would have someone to meet me at the airport.
The plane from Heathrow was almost an hour late, on arrival no one was waiting to pick me up.
On the way over from Managua, a large part of the time was spent talking to an air hostess, who came to sit with me on the half full flight.
I had caught Chikungunya whilst in Tinidad and Tobago.
She had said on some flights there are numerous people who have had the mosquito contracted disease. Many were still suffering and just wanting to get back to the States.
Incidentally, she was was quite a character, the flight duration seemed very little.
This disease renders one almost unable to walk for a day or more, due to acute joint pain, accompanied by fever.
Luckily, my time in Tobago was spent with an African family. The elderly lady of the house gave me the liquid from boiled Papaya leaves, this was drunk, recovery from the severe joint pain followed swiftly. Half the island has had the disease.
Unfortunately, an annoying aching in my joints, still persists. A woman in Granada who had a friend with it remarked that she had joint pain for 4 months following the infection.
A 30 day visa for $25 was purchased at the money changing booths once through immigration. A vodaphone chip was also bought at the airport kiosk.
No problems were encountered travelling to Egypt on a one way ticket unlike some other countries visited. There are few travellers coming here at the moment. More on that later.
So, with some haggling it cost me $14 to get taken to the hotel. By the time we pulled up, it was 2.30 in the morning. The driver helped me get my bags into the lift area of the well known Egyptian hotel.
Loic, a cyclist from France, with whom time was spent riding in Argentina, had just completed Cairo to Cape Town in October last.
We have been in touch regularly up to this point. He has been a great source of current information. Thanks heaps Loic.
He also said, “Nigel, be prepared for a huge culture shock”.
Luckily, this shock was being administered slowly, firstly with the taxi driver’s persistence for more money and events leading up to me finally getting into my room.
Life in South America was so easy having some command of the language.
Once in the room at the 90 year old hotel, surrounded by furniture of the same age. The double bed offered such relief from being in airplane seats for 16 hours.
The room was cold, a quick search found heavy blankets in the wardrobe.
After lows of 23°C in Nicaragua, to what seemed like 8°C here, the need to be warm was paramount.
My time in Granada was spent volunteering at La Esperanza http://www.la-esperanza-granada.org/ and catching up with friends for Christmas. A well earned rest was also enjoyed. Nicaragua and its people always make for a relaxing time, especially Granada.
The next time of knowledge to my whereabouts was at 1200 the next day. A nine hour sleep had been enjoyed. I had missed the hot water, which only flowed between 0800 and 1200.
A shave was desperately needed. In Nic, the only shower water was unheated, even this was comfortable.
The water falling from the ancient shower arrangement produced a shiver as my hands tested its temperature.
No mucking about, saw me brave the chilly flow. My choices were few.
It was a hurried affair, but felt good afterwards.
Once out on the street, 7 floors down. Meat mixed with tomato and parsley from a kebab griller was enjoyed in a small bun from a busy establishment across the road. It was five pound, on the current Australian dollar exchange rate, this equates to about a dollar, excellent value.
Hanging about on the street, enjoying the spicy snack and just taking in the scene. A local started chatting in English, we exchanged names and chatted about things and in particular my need to get supplies, petrol and alcohol to prime my stove.
Omar was a super friendly, helpful guy. We caught a taxi to the Maadi shopping centre. A huge, very western generic place for consumers.
Once inside, a visit was made to the expansive Carrefour supermarket come everything store.
There were thousands of people in here, shopping trolleys were loaded with everything from flat screen TV,s, not just one, in some trolleys, to soda and western snack food.
There were so many people, to move amongst them, you just climbed in behind someone going your way and a gentle forceful walk in a line by all, saw progress made.
People were carving paths with shopping trolleys. It was reminiscent of entering the subway in Paris one new years eve.
Anything out of the ordinary would have caused a dangerous stampede, one that would have surely engulfed children and the elderly.
Once finally out of the mayhem, with my pack full of milk powder, pasta, sardines, tuna and other necessities. A call had to be made just to locate Omar.
Outside the complex, that had just risen from the desert, an eight lane expressway had to be negotiated to get across to the other side to get a cab back to the hotel.
To say it was dangerous was an understatement, speed and time both had to be calculated, with great accuracy before the gauntlet was entered. At times it required running, others a quick stop for further judgement.
Once committed, there was no return. Traffic was not just confined to the lanes provided.
Back in a cab. Time was taken to just take in the whole scene.
Sand was on the roadsides, as were people, older cars were parked two deep, there was no pattern or familiarity to anything except the direction the traffic was flowing and the blue sky.
The white taxis are metered here, so at least there was some idea what the fare was.
So many men smoke here, the 30 minute taxi ride to and from Maadi, saw me passively smoke maybe half a pack, as Omar and the taxi driver eagerly drew on their cigarettes in succession, not far short of chain smoking.
It was too cold to have the windows right down. I was not one to complain, having been an ex smoker.
Back in town, we went to a coffee shop, well more of a place in an alley with heaps of tables and plastic chairs, largely empty, though those occupied, were so, by middle aged men. Most with woollen jumpers and old suit tops and black shoes, some with beanies on and all wearing clothes with colours that never brightened beyond a shade of grey. Their faces revealed a life hardened by the dust and sun.
Here passive smoking was also the norm. Many men were sharing the large water pipes smoking sweetened tobacco. Shisha. Coffee and tea were being served, the coffee is like Turkish coffee, very short, black and a residue in the bottom of the small glass, very nice, but strong.
I spoke to Omar about getting some petrol for my stove. He told me that since the Revolution, gas stations can’t fill containers. Molatov cocktails were widely used during street protests. No amount of stories could persuade the attendants to fill my aluminium bottle.
The government will close down a gas station if they are caught .
Omar said he would get some from his friends car.
Later that night, I took a couple of his friends to a duty free store for them to buy cigarettes and vodka at favourable prices using my passport. It was still inside 24 hrs since my arrival.
This was no problem to me. Later after much asking, we found a little market stall that sold 90% alcohol that I use to prime my stove. This eliminates all the black soot produced, if it is primed with petrol. Two bottles were bought. This should last a few months or more.
That night we walked down the street to Tahrir Square past the American University, here some people were killed during the revolution. It is hard to come to terms with living in a country where your police may kill you for speaking out. There is no one to defend you, it is you against your rulers.
Contemplating this and having been bought up, and now living in free countries, brought tears to my eyes. From far away, a newspaper picture or some TV footage conveys very little, as we sit in our lounge chairs.
These people have friends and family too.
An almost sleepless night was endured, my body was still operating on Nic time, some 8 hours behind. Absorbing the day’s events did not help.
As arranged. Omar and I had coffee across the road with some mates of his. One who had a market stall in Adelaide selling Egyptians items, he was a regular traveller there.
From here were went to a mosque in another part of the city, it was a famous mosque here, named after Mohammed’s great granddaughter.
Here our shoes were removed, before entering this vast indoor place of worship.
Omar had prayers to attend to, placing my back against one of the many pillars inside, my gaze drifted around the proceedings before me. There were homeless people seeking refuge here. People were offering them bread.
Everyone was orientated towards Mecca, as were the closely woven prayer rectangles on the carpet that covered the huge area.
The Muezzin was calling the prayer. People were filing in as small groups, or as individuals, and would fall in alongside one another. A private prayer was initially offered, then, they joined the group.
The inside of the mosque was adorned with huge chandeliers and consecutive domed ceilings, it was an impressive structure.
It was an opportunity to see people of this religion, in communication with their god.
A funeral was being held in another area some 30m away.
A street person sleeping against a pillar near me, awoke and proceeded to cough what seemed like his insides out. It was a cough that rattled with phlegm and sadly poor health. The physical effort he displayed to produce such a cough, rendered its sound audible through much of the mosque.
For me, this was an important connection with life here in Egypt before leaving Cairo.
From here, we walked to another part of town. By now, we were in some back streets. The clothing and the bare feet of some people indicated an area of hardship.
Still the smell of exhaled cigarette smoke lingered
About to take a photo of a small camel tied up to an awning support in the street, a person told me to stop and called for a dollar.
There were some sheep tied up nearby, they were in a sad state, filthy long wool and standing around in moist dung, near a primitive feeding trough.
Omar said it was a butcher shop, if the dressed meat ran out, these animals were led from the street, into the building and slaughtered.
None of the animals looked distressed, they were obviously unaware of their impending fate. Their surroundings were little different from the crowded street where people were walking through rubbish, mud and any number of dangerous obstacles.
This was Cairo, the most densely populated city in the world. We met Omars friend, Ahmid at a coffee bar.
We sat outside with the other men who were smoking shisha from the water pipes, sipping coffee, inhaling cigarettes and chatting.
There were small old overcrowded buses weaving their way past us, small horses were pulling carts, a loader across the road was pushing up a heap of rubbish to make more room.
We then headed up a narrow lane with three story dilapidated dwellings, some clothing was hanging below windows, there was a pile of corn up against one wall.
Another place had collapsed, here people had thrown household waste onto the rubble, it was piled high and covered in cats. This was an unreal sight.
A man came walking along blowing a horn, over one was a long stick, on the end behind him were dozens of bags of candyfloss hanging above the ground. It was all like something out of Oliver Twist, minus the mud.
Deeper into this foreign but beckoning world, we soon got to one of the many dark doorways. Omar switched on his phone light.
We made our way up a narrow pitch black well worn, marble staircase, three flights.
A hundred years of providing access had left concaves each side of centre on the steps as we climbed. Fascinating must be the stories this passage could tell.
Once back in the light and walking alongside a wall for a couple of metres we came to Ahmids room.
This had been in his family for years. For him, it was like a guys shed, he said he came here to chill out from his wife and family.
There were photos of his mum and dad on the dust-laden walls. There was junk and old relics scattered everywhere, including his military sleeping bag and other memorabilia from his army days.
He was discharged, after losing a forefinger. We sat around and chatted.
Ahmid had been in the military and was 52, he fought in the Sinai.
He proudly showed me lots of photos of his war days partying and shots of his children and family. The photos were kept in an old half open cigar box, the dust on each bent and scratched photo, helped transport me back to the time depicted.
He took care to wash 3 glasses and boiled some coffee.
Meanwhile, Omar was preparing a huge joint with a block of Moroccan hashish and tobacco.
They offered me some. A few drags were taken, more out of sociableness and respect than anything else.
This is an activity I rarely participate in, as a rule. The exception was made, on this ocassion.
They said it takes away their aggression and that they don’t drink.
In our societies, so much money is spent, trying to stop people from smoking. Alcohol causes more problems than smoking ever could. It is socially acceptable and is manufactured by powerful companies.
People might get ill from smoking, but no one ever maimed or killed someone on the way home in an accident, or abuse and beat his wife after a smoking a packet of cigarettes!!
We sat around and talked at length. At times telling me about his life, Omar became very tearful.
This got me emotional. For me to be here with these two guys, two Egyptians that possibly typified the life of millions here in Cairo, but by no means the poorest, was indeed an experience always to be remembered.
Here, the three of us were sitting in this dust ridden little room, in the heart of Cairo. Ahmid was showing me how he was going to erect a wooden shower screen to segregate the shower and toilet.
Ahmid wanted to show us his car that he was doing up.
Sometime later, he took us to another backstreet, this one lined with old cars. There were men, hammering the bodywork of some vehicles, whilst others had their heads in the engine compartments. The streets were just bare sandy dirt.
A weasel was seen slinking around, trying to avoid the “alley cats”.
Ahmids car was on old Peugeot wagon. It had been panel beated and was ready for a bog and paint job.
He was proud of the old rig, the engine ran well. We pumped up one tyre.
People stopped me from photographing some buildings.
From here, we parted company, Omar and myself were heading to Giza and the pyramids.
A taxi was hailed.
It was a half hour trip out to Giza. Here, Omar took me to a friend and arranged a horse ride to see the sunset over the pyramids.
As we drove to Giza, the pyramids were often seen in the background. Urban sprawl is creeping ever closer. On the other side of them is the new city of 6 October.
By now it was absolutely freezing. A horse was chosen, my last experience on a camel saw me walking alongside it on the way back to the stables. It is an odd sensation, though the view is always better than a nag.
By the time I got back, it was dark and even colder.
We then went to Omars house for a dinner, where a Japenese guy was staying to try and clean his mind from years of computer work. Very interesting to say the least, he was very spaced out.
My passive smoking took on a new level here.
The room in which we ate, had little ventilation. Omars wife had a Bedouin charcoal BBQ burning inside, Omar and the Japanese guy were smoking and I was nearly suffocating!
I asked him to open a window. The meal was a delight, fried fish, salad and bread.
It was a new large concrete house, two stories, he told me he built it illegally and did so, very quick, as the government have fly overs with cameras to check on houses. Once completed they can’t do much.
We caught a cab back to the Lotus.
All the while, I was with Omar he was talking about doing this and doing that. He had also been talking to a couple of other tourists on the streets. We got on well, however at the end of the day his goal was to extract money from me by getting me to take other excursions. This became known as the days progressed.
We had enjoyed each others company, it had been one of symbiosis, my knowledge of Cairo had been enriched, he had made some money from my Giza trip. Added to this we both learnt more about each other’s respected countries.
That night in the hotel an Australian archaeologist was staying here, as luck would have it, he just happen to have a sleeping bag capable of handling temps around zero. A deal was made, it was bought thirty dollars.
It was nice to have the next day to myself, all morning was spent unpacking the bike and assembling it. The new front wheel had been buckled during transit, this was trued again, after some spoke adjustment.
All the cables were oiled and all nuts and bolts tightened. A small piece of plastic pipe with U shaped ends saved the forks from bent being. This I am sure of. It was transported on three flights and obviously handled roughly.
The afternoon was spent taking in the Nile just past Tahrir Square. Here on the bridge all before me was contemplated during a quiet time.
There is still barbed wire at the entrances to the square, these barriers are alongside the footpaths.
Taking a photo of a building patrolled by police, one officer asked to see all the shots on my camera. This is what it is like here. He asked if I was a journalist.
Today, it was decided to visit the boats down on the river to see if the guys could slip me some gas from their onboard portable generators. I left the motel at 0800 with my bottle in the backpack, there were police stationed along much of this road.
As expected along the busy road to Tahrir Square and on to the river. I was approached by people. One well dressed man, about my age began chatting.
They always have some experience to relate about Australia or NZ and have relatives there. Then they say would you like my business card. Once again, this guy seemed genuine, we were talking about many topics as we walked.
We walked to his shop, this is where the lines began, the coffee and tea was offered. Without hesitation, my arms were swung wide in a horizontal fashion. I told him, I was sick of this and wanted nothing and walked out.
I had given him the benefit of doubt. This time in Cairo has been a good place to sharpen my city street skills again.
After so much time spent in rural areas of South America with country people of a more genuine nature, my guard has become a bit lax.
On leaving the shop, I laughed to myself, just thinking of the genuine nature these people portray. They may have their audience with me, but the buck stops right there.
A couple of days ago, one of Omars friends who owned a shop selling papyruses and other Egyptian knick knacks, just wouldn’t let up.
I told him one day a visit maybe made on a different budget with a lady friend and with a suitcase to carry the stuff. Oh no!! he could post it.
Give me a break, please!!
Down at the boats, two young guys were just waking up on onboard a tour boat with seats along each side. With lots of sign language, they were happy to take the fuel line off the tank of a generator and fill my bottle.
It did cost twenty pound but who cares, we were all happy.
Walking back, it occurred to me, if the police stopped me for any reason, they probably had a good reason to arrest me or at least confiscate the bottle.
Either scenario would be a disaster.
I walked fast and looked none in the eye, and was relieved to be back in the room. Mission accomplished. I could cook again!
The next move was to head to the NZ embassy to pick up maps that had been sent there from Omni Maps in the US.
It was so good of them to allow me to do this.
Walking along the Corniche El Nile, which follows the Nile downstream, was as usual an obstacle course involving endless jay walking and weaving in amongst parked cars.
All the 5 star hotels are on this street overlooking the Nile.
The Embassy is in the Fairmont Nile Hotel building.
Whilst standing on a corner outside a hotel under construction, talking to a bread dealer, my life was nearly changed beyond imagination.
A ute entered the Corniche from a corner we were standing on, quite fast. He brushed me and one of his drop side lock handles caught my back pack.
One second I was talking to this bread man, and the next I was being dragged backwards alongside this vehicle.
It all happened so quick. For maybe two metres, I was hauled, then, losing my footing and falling, my backpack tore and let go under my weight. My back and elbow took the full impact, my head came second. A beany was being worn.
Instantly, I got up and off the dusty road, the ute never stopped and the bread dealer saw me get up and he walked off.
This was an unbelievable occurrence. Had my backpack been of solid construction, my journey hooked onto the ute could have been much longer. My little old lightweight backpack had saved me. It was almost torn in half by my weight as I fell to the road and in doing so, its destruction had allowed me to become free of the hook.
I walked on trying to come to terms with what had just occurred, my mind was in a surreal space.
At the NZ embassy, after a number of security measures. Another world was entered, that of polished marble walls, swish cafes and modern lifts.
Once up on the 8th floor, again with more security measures. I was greeted by Dana, the Egyptian staff member spoken to on the phone and Tara, a kiwi.
I couldn’t thank them enough for allowing me to send the maps there. We laughed, and all agreed many other embassies would not allow third party packages to be delivered. For fear of explosives within.
I told them about the accident. I took of my beany, which exposed a very bloody head wound, my arm was also cut up.
Tara got swabs and bandages from the first aid kit and the wounds were bathed and dressed.
She thought concussion could be an issue.
Some time was spent here talking about Egypt, its politics, the present situation and the roads ahead.
Things are not at all good here. The Western Desert road is closed to tourists, as there is a group of kidnappers from Libya who are aligned with IS presently causing havoc out there. They have already murdered two Americans.
She also told me some small bombs have been set off in the subways here, though to date with no injury. The same group have claimed responsibility. Her colleague still uses it, but she won’t.
A trip was to be made to Alexandria by train, the need has now arisen to focus on things to the south.
The British and Canadian Embassies are presently closed, due to rumours of a possible impending car bomb attack. As she said, the Kiwis are nicely placed under the radar.
My travel intentions, with both the Australian and NZ consulates will be registered. Dana also provided me with letters of introduction to the Sudanese and Ethiopian Immigration officials.
Coincidently, I had already decided not to take the western desert route, firstly after feeling the cold winds at the pyramids and secondly the long daily rides needed.
My fitness levels are not as they should be and I have no idea how my aching knees and other joints will cope with the riding. The effects of Chikungunya are still with me.
Another factor deterring me, was reading a blog that noted the occurrence of strong head winds in the south before reaching Luxor.
I hope to ride up the Nile valley to Luxor, police escort or not.
Tara said there are few tourists here at the moment, also a kiwi cyclist got turned back in the north of Egypt. Almost all stay in luxury hotels, take organised tours and would probably would not hang around in coffee joints with dirty old plastic chairs in alleys.
They had been so good to me at the embassy. It was so nice to be out of the world that prevailed on the streets below.
The afternoon was spent wandering back to the hotel in back streets, here a huge market was chanced upon. Also in amongst a heap of heavy metal shops, a brilliant lunch of spicy eggplant, salad and chicken was enjoyed.
It was an amazing 3 hour walk home past everything from food, shoes, clothing, and all else that city dwellers need to survive and others goods on sale just to make themselves feel special.
The people here for the most part are really friendly, fun was had in one trading place when trying to tell them I wanted some tiny screws. They are helpful, but many just find it beyond themselves to communicate due to our language differences.
Some guys were building boxes from Eucalypt in an area dedicated to timber work.
Bending down and taking a big sniff of the handy work. I motioned as to my memories of Australia, we all cracked up, it was a nice brief moment where life from two cultures met. They were more than happy for me to record their activities.
Cairo is a city where everyone must etch out a living just to eat, it really is a crazy but enjoyable city.
Instinctively, after bumping someone, an apology is always offered to those impacted, here people don’t even look for an apology, unless they knocked to the ground, such is the crowding in many places visited.
With some many people always around it makes one realise just how insignificant and fragile we really all are. No one is going to look after you, just you. That rang home following the backpack incident.
It is like an ants nest, only, that no one is working for the good of all. It is pure survival on the back streets here.
Things are incredibly cheap, a new phone battery was $6, supposedly Samsung, knowingly well copied. The street food is great though much offal is consumed.
Really, I have no idea what lies ahead for me. Though, it has the essence of a good adventure, other than a safe passage, good health, enjoyment and favourable winds with few flat tyres, little is asked for. Maybe this is asking too much??
Just the ride to Giza, some 15 km in heavy traffic will be a challenge. A challenge, that will require some serious concentration, and a bit of luck sprinkled along the journey. These Egyptian drivers are crazy.
Waking up this morning, I have finally synched with time here. My neck is a bit painful as my head was jolted to the ground during yesterdays mishap.
The hot tap was turned on full at 0800 to get the best of the hot water. The wounds needed a good wash. Tara said infection can be a problem. She also told me to buy a good drug for diarrhea here, the name I can’t recall right now, it is packed at the bottom of a pannier.
My bed sheets and pillow are now polka dotted with a light shade of red.
The Cairo museum was visited this morning. There was so much to see. Most interesting were the cloth wrapped mummies and of course Tutenkamons belongingsand in particular his head mask. The iconic photo on the cover of an early Nat Geo.
The desert had come to town today with an ochre dust all through the city.
Ready to leave Nic, with all the gear needed for a year minus my sleeping bag. Looking a little apprehensive about arriving in Cairo. Time will see to these feelings.
It was extremely cold out here near sunset
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Cairo is creeping closer.
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Mohammed's great grand daughter is buried in this mosque bearing her name.
From the window in Ahmids room. There is literally another layer of debris across Cairo on roof tops, this is typical
Heading to Ahmids pad
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Ahmid on the end of a shisha, he lost his forefinger on his right hand in the Sinai war.
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The local butcher shop with extraordinarily fresh meat
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An interesting time was had here with Omar and Ahmid. His military sleeping bag is on the chair.
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The Nile looking down stream, the Corniche El Nile is on the right side of the river. The guys on the river boat here provided me with fuel for the stove.
Nasty little cut, Luck was with me. Shame about the bald patch! Being cared for in the NZ embassy.
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Still here at El Tahrir Square from the 2011 Revolution
The smell of Eucalypt.
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Milk of the mother!!
Waiting for their next job in the heavy hardware area.
Proudly Egyptian. Sadly, with no tourists, most boats were idle and dozens of tour company shops were closed in the downtown.
Typical street scene. if you're a single girl here your choices are many, it would appear!
Cats rule the streets. "True Alley versions exist here!!"
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Cheese
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The lotus Hotel. Highly recommended, it is very central, $23 a night. Great if you are on a budget. Circa 1930.
The desert came to town riding on a sou wester. On my last day
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Hopefully, the bottom right hand map will be open and sitting in the map holder on my bar bag near the end of this year.
Outside the Cairo museum, the civil police were nearby with barbwire covered vehicles also with machine guns roof mounted.
Things are really not all well here. The government policy has not changed to much since the revolution.
back into life on the road, dinner before leaving Cairo tomorrow for Giza. Though I am sure a trip across the road for a kebab will be made later
This $1 bag of super fresh cut up veges from a street lady was such a treat, it included fresh peas.
Cooked, courtesy of ill gotten petrol!
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An easy way to fill in a bit of time, build one of these without machinery!! Their perfect symmetry was in stark contrast to the city to the east and its 12 million inhabitants.
Pains in my joints are still a problems 6 weeks after contracting this in Tobago.
