I really should be writing here more for many reasons, not the least of which are 1) that writing helps me process my experiences and make sense of them in a way that is unique to the activity of writing alone (as does conversation, but that too produces a unique set of results), and 2) because I told many of you I'd keep you posted through my blog, and so it has become a commitment to honoring my relationships with you all too. I've had many things to say, and I've started so many half posts to date. I plan on finishing them and posting weekly.
Yesterday, I had my most frustrating day yet in Cairo. It was a day characterized by that crazy-making feeling, you know, the one wherein someone/something makes you so angry that you feel like YOU'RE the crazy one? That despite the illogic of everyone's behavior, it makes you question your own sanity?-- yes, that feeling.
After having a very relaxed morning with Alex's cousin Suzanne, noshing on some pretty deliciously super-yeasty doughnuts, ful, yogurt, cucumbers, cauliflower, and other sundry items, we headed out to Nasr City, in the northeast-ish quadrant of Cairo. Generally, peoples' reportage of Nasr City somewhat differs based on who's speaking and what part of it they live in (I guess this is true of most places/things, but for example, Wikipedia makes it seem much hipper than anyone else's reportage of it.) BUT, our business in being there was to go to Bikya Book Cafe, a used bookstore / cafe that opened soon after the Revolution in January, and has apparently since then been a thriving hub of lively conversation, music, young people, (probably the equivalent of Egyptian hipsters, whatever the heck those would be). I was definitely excited to go there, not only because those qualities inandof themselves made it sound awesome, but also because in reading about this place, I had come to crave someone else's craving for shaay bi-laban (tea with milk) from Bikya. Yes, I know, probably that is the ultimate in hipsterdom-- to crave someone else's craving.
At any rate, we set out to Bikya and got about 90% of the way there, and that's when the trouble started. We had taken a microbus from Maadi to a depot-stop, called Sikka, in the middle of the freeway. From here, we were fairly certain of our directions, and needed to either grab another microbus or a taxi. So, we hailed a taxi--one of the old school black fiats that look like if you crumpled a hat a bit, gave it an engine, and cut out a window for the driver to occasionally look out and yell at other drivers. This driver, hungrily eating his falafel sandwich, convinced us that he knew the way, despite the fact of his way entirely contradicting the way we were planning on taking. So, he dropped us off in the middle of a set of train tracks in a fairly major road in Nasr City. No, actually, the middle of the train tracks. I thought there were limits to where Cairene drivers were willing to stop. There were no trains in sight, so it didn't prove to be immediately dangerous, but I was nevertheless dumbfounded (tell me if I'm being unreasonable here) that of all the places one could choose to park to let passengers out, that one could actively neglect hundreds of feet of sidewalk all around you and choose to stop right smack-dab in the middle of the train tracks. Very precise work, all in all. The real kicker though was the policeman stationed there, looking on from the side of the road, where presumably he was inspecting some ants or some dust twirling in the wind, or other very important matters that prevented him from acknowledging any wrongdoing on the part of our scofflaw of a driver. That was how it began.
We asked the negligent policeman to tell us the name of the street we were on, and if he could tell us the name of the street parallel to the one we were on. But, it was thus revealed that we had too high of expectations, as he did not know the names of either of the two streets we asked about, despite the fact that his very livelihood consists on standing at between the two and "supervising" traffic. So, he told us to walk on and ask a taxi driver at the end of the road. And the taxi driver in turn told us to talk to a shopkeeper down the road, after having told us some other bogus directions.
We asked the negligent policeman to tell us the name of the street we were on, and if he could tell us the name of the street parallel to the one we were on. But, it was thus revealed that we had too high of expectations, as he did not know the names of either of the two streets we asked about, despite the fact that his very livelihood consists on standing at between the two and "supervising" traffic. So, he told us to walk on and ask a taxi driver at the end of the road. And the taxi driver in turn told us to talk to a shopkeeper down the road, after having told us some other bogus directions.
Over the next three hours, we talked to upwards of twenty-four people, asking them if they knew where the streets "Anwar al-Mufti" and "Zaki Hasan" were, or Bikya Cafe, or anything that could in anyway jog their memories as to how to get to this place, considering they LIVE in the area.
The following are some of the responses we received:
- Oh, you mean Zakir Hussain? Yes, take a taxi to the left of this road and turn at the first right (not true).
- No, there's no such thing as Zaki Hasan. If you want Zakir Hussain, take a taxi up this road and take a left (not true).
- I don't know, but ask that guy; he knows everything.
(Upon asking the guy who "knows everything,") - No, I've never heard of these roads. Where are you trying to go? Oh, to the roads you just said? Take a left up here; those are the roads you want (not true).
- Well, this road behind us is Nasr Road, so the one in front must be al-Tairan, otherwise known as Zaki Hasan (no part of this is true).
- I don't know that road, but there's a nice cafe on this road. Why don't you go there?
- Hold on, let me go ask that guy. Meanwhile, talk to this guy on the phone. Where are you from? America? -- HEY! THEY'RE FROM AMERICA.
- Turn right at the mosque (not true).
- Turn left at the mosque (not true).
- Go somewhere in that direction (makes a semi-circle with his arm).
So, following all this advice and more, our fateful missteps are marked in red arrows below, whereas the path we were planning on taking at the outset and should have taken is marked in green arrows:
Except. That these are grown people, and instead of giving you a snack in which you are in any way nourished, you are just lost in a strange part of town with other people all of whom REFUSE TO GIVE YOU BROCCOLI. I mean. The right directions.
And, eventually, we did get to the cafe, which was on the street called Zaki Hasan, which does exist, contrary to many peoples' reportage. I did get to enjoy a delicious shaay bi-laban and a brownie (a local specialty! Didn't you know?), played (and won, I might add!) a game of Battleship, relaxed in the lamplit, college coffee shop-esque atmosphere amidst young people doing their homework, illustrating cartoons, smoking moodily, drinking non-alcoholic mixed drinks, such as the Mr. Darcy, or the Polyjuice Potion, and other pop-literarily evocative libations. And for next time, we know exactly how to get there.
Moral of the story as it applies to navigating Cairo:
- Always bring your own maps / computers / map-enabled devices.
- Avoid giving into the assumption that locals must know best when it comes to navigating the city.
- Often you can trust Egyptian women (the only helpful directions we received were from the women we asked).
- Always bring snacks, so that you can moodily eat them, if you are hungered by aimless wanderings everywhere.
Moral of the story as it applies to navigating Cairo:
- Always bring your own maps / computers / map-enabled devices.
- Avoid giving into the assumption that locals must know best when it comes to navigating the city.
- Often you can trust Egyptian women (the only helpful directions we received were from the women we asked).
- Always bring snacks, so that you can moodily eat them, if you are hungered by aimless wanderings everywhere.
I wish it weren't true my frustration has pushed me to post sooner than the joys and other observations I've wanted to share, but I needed to write about the this experience in order for me to be able to laugh about it and get over the cranger (crazy anger) I felt at the time. Probably as you've read this, it doesn't strike you as being so angry-making, which is good. I'd rather leave you bemusedly shaking your head, as I have come to do, a kind of sad acceptance of the unfortunate and upsetting truth that most people here know not a thing about the place they live in and insist on dragging you down with them instead of admitting their ignorance. I guess this is the unfortunate truth to be reckoned with everywhere, albeit in varying degrees.
By the evening I was definitely laughing about the experience, due in large part to Alex's levelheadedness and willingness to hear out all my exclamations of what illegal things I'd do to whom, but perhaps moreso because on the way home we ate koshary. Which is just so, so delicious.
