EnGulfed

Ramadan comes and Ramadan goes

2011-09-04T02:43:00.000-07:00

Every place has its own Ramadan traditions and customs. In Egypt, there was the lighting of the fanoos and here in Doha, there was the firing of the canon. Just before sunset, Landcruisers and SUVs of all shapes and sizes gathered in parks and squares in their respective neighbourhoods. We live near the corniche, right in front of the Tennis center and decided one night to go watch the signalling of iftaar in our 'hood. We pulled up to an empty lot in front of the commercial bank building where huge cars and SUVs were all circled around a centerpoint. Little kids were sitting on the hoods of cars and others standing, waist high from the sunroofs. Friendly soldiers lifted little boys and girls to take their turn to sit and have a photo taken on the tank. A few minutes before the sunset, each child was returned to their parents and by standers were asked to move away, the soldier loaded up the canon and fired it. Everyone cheered and then rushed to their cars to tear away in a frenzy back home to break their fast properly and enjoy the evening meal together.

We live in a tall apt tower by the sea, far from this little square. How would I know for sure what time to break my fast when every clock in our house tells a different time and our 25th floor windows do not open to recieve the evening call to prayer? I found myself turning on Qatar TV and sure enough, at magrib time there was a short clip of a soldier loading up a tank and firing the canon to signal the end of the daily fast.

Doha has been a great place to spend Ramadan. Days were short, working hours were reduced and the whole country was focused on getting the most out of this holy month. A British counterpart who was chasing up a contract asked me quite exasperatedly how I felt that the whole country ground to a halt for a month. In that moment, I didnt know what to say but upon reflection, I wish I had told him that I felt happy to be living and working in a place where they made it easy for those who want to practice to do so. I love that the rat race was meaningless for a month. I'm not that religious but I respected those who were and loved the gentle pace of just about everything. I miss it now and think how fast it all went!

Hope all of you had a wonderful Ramadan and a happy Eid -- we celebrated in Sri Lanka -- photos to follow.

Misr: Anna Maa'ek

2011-02-01T13:26:00.000-08:00

As events unfold in Egypt, I find it difficult to concentrate on anything else.

The country that was my home for over 3 years is erupting into a peoples' revolution. I watch with disbelief as tanks roll down streets we used to walk along and watch as buildings I know very well burn. The bridges into the city that were meeting places for lovers and friends are now flooded with people headed to Tahrir square to voice their discontent with the state of their country.

My heart is with you, Egypt. I feel helpless sitting here so far away, unable to do much more than watch the coverage and call when the lines open. I am proud of my friends who have been leading protests and who have been in the streets through the night protecting their families. I am proud of those who have been providing food and water and cleaning up the square.

I am so emotional and find myself on the brink of tears often as I watch. I am torn between my intense pride at their ferocious bravery and my selfish concern for their safety. Here is a link to a video of my dear friend, caught on YouTube. Of almost two million people in Tahrir, they found her:

http://youtu.be/RtLJpzUp2Z8

Now the President has come on TV saying he will die on Egyptian soil before he leaves. I fear for what might happen next.

What colour is your pee?

2011-01-13T08:52:00.000-08:00

Every time I walk into the bathroom at my work, I glance at a poster on the wall. It looks a bit like a giant paint chip: dark yellow rectangle at the top, slightly lighter, lighter, lighter til the last rectangle at the bottom is just a transparent box with the slightest hint of colour. At first, I didn't even register it as more than art. Something to brighten up the walls of the bathroom. How thoughtful of someone to think of it.

Today, as I was washing my hands, I looked over to see who the artist was. Oh. It's not art, actually. The health and safety department has developed a poster to show what colour your pee should be. Not as in: "it's company policy that your pee should be...(insert colour)" The poster demonstrates what colour your pee is when you are well hydrated, need to drink more water, critically dehydrated. Which, if you consider that temperatures go up to 50C in the summer and we're located in the desert, is fairly forward thinking of them. Pre-emptive urine analysis. How many organizations can count that as an employee benefit?

So now, in addition to making sure that my hair looks good, my make-up is on straight, I take a peek at the toilet bowl before I flush and match up the results with the handy guide on the wall. Yeah yeah, none of you wanted to hear what I do in the loo at work. But since I don't get a company car or an expense account, I'm taking advantage of all the perks I can get.

Disco 82 la la la

2010-12-05T08:48:00.001-08:00

It's a rainy night in chennai and we've just returned from a fabulous day trip south of the city. We got completely drenched, ate fish curry and fried rice, bought handicrafts. Got home late and decided to stay in and enjoy our hotel. We're staying at the Park, which used to be the site of a famous film studio and our favorite hotel chain in India. We just ordered room service and what's this on tv? "Amar, Akbar, Anthony" classic Amitab Bachan! What a perfect way to cap off a perfect day.

DTFF

2010-10-29T02:17:00.000-07:00

From October 26 to 30 the Doha Tribeca Film Festival lights up the city. I've been to a number of films so far but last night was my favorite. Not only because the film was compelling and well made: "The Two Escobars" but because the venue was spectacular. The festival erected a gigantic screen on the beach of the Four Seasons Hotel. We kicked our shoes off, sunk our toes in the sand and our butts in canvas sling chairs. The stars and the moon above were like twinkly lights and there was a gentle breeze coming in from off the water.

The opening gala took place on the main stage, Katara, which is a 2000-seat open air auditorium overlooking the water. The Festival opened with a film about the Algerian fight for Independence, "Hors du loi". We took a DTFF shuttle from the Grand Hyatt hotel (and ended up walking home afterwards...) Traffic was murder. Well, for Doha anyway. Once we arrived, getting in was a bit of a circus. "The perfomance is free but you need a ticket. And there are no more tickets." So much for an open-community-event. We eventually scammed our way in (and there were plenty of empty seats) but it was a hassle. As a result, I've resisted the main stage -- despite the fact that is is a beautiful setting -- and opted for movies in more accessible venues.

In one of the main city cinemas I saw "Bhutto" which was more a tribute film produced by one of Benazir Bhutto's best friends in the world than an objective documentary. Their access, research and archival footage was extensive, I'll give them that. And while it was a fairly comprehensive (if at points clearly re-written) precis of Pakistani history, the film makers had no business saying it was a balanced film. And they were quite miffed during the Q&A following the film when several people in the audience called them on it. Um, hello, when the Producer of the film is one of the main narrators and is crying in the movie, your credibility as an objective documentarian diminishes.

I've lived in other cities with film festivals but not since my university days have I been able to see so much so easily. Someone left an anonymous comment (anonymous? how lame are you. If you have a comment, state who you are and own it)on my last post suggesting that I don't write more because I live in Doha. I disagree. Doha gives me a quality of life I could never dream of in the crazy, fast paced, rat race cities of my past. I have space, I have time. I have access to so many international events. Small is beautiful, baby. Now lets see if I write.

Everyday I don't write the book

2010-10-25T06:00:00.000-07:00

I started this blog as a place to record my reflections on our life in the middle east. But I also wanted to use it as a vehicle to work my writing muscle. I wonder then, why -- when daily I am bombarded with new and notable experiences -- I don't write everyday. Is it laziness, lack of discipline, self censorship? I'm interested in finding out how people out there are keeping their momentum.

Talk to me.

Get your motor running

2010-10-17T04:22:00.001-07:00

What is there to do in Doha on the weekends, you might ask? This weekend was the Second Annual Qatar Bike Show.

I must admit that I was fairly disappointed when the bikers rolled up in leather chaps, boots and vests adorned with pins. Traditional Gulf headgear was replaced by Harley bandanas and helmuts decorated with skulls and demons. Half the reason I went was to see a few hiked up dishdashas and boots underneath.

Bikers rode in from a number of neighbouring GCC countries. The crowd was a sea of t-shirts and vests emblazened with "Desert Warriors", "Exile MC" and "Iron Camel Biker" replete with red and yellow flames licking the letters.

It turns out the biker scene is big here. But it is definitely its own hybrid. For all the global borders biker culture may transcend, there's no denying the stregnth of local influences.

In the outside exhibition area, Harley engines roared and bikes kept pouring in to take their place in the line up. The Costa Coffee shop was doing a booming business, overflowing with leather-clad bikers checking out the competition while sipping lattes and cappuccinos. Inside the hall, owners were proudly displaying their shiny bikes, some with glow in the dark paint, others with Louis Vuitton seats and mudflaps. Biker chicks were fully covered and standing respectfully beside the bikes, keeping a comfortable distance from the numerous young men coming up and asking if they could have a picture with them. Instead of lamb-chop side-burns many of the bikers had neatly trimmed beards. And even though the exhibition hall had a constant stream of loud house music, we saw one group of leather-clad bikers doing a traditional Saudi dance.

My favorite was the guy in a bright yellow linen suit, black shirt and dress shoes who seemed to be everywhere we were throughout the show. He made my evening when he let out a loud yelp as one of the bikers gave him a speedy lift to the end of the parking lot. Now that's a badass.

Cannot stop watching

2010-10-13T08:05:00.000-07:00

The Chilean miners' rescue. 14 rescued and counting.

Each reunion of miner with loved ones (wives/ children/ parents) live on TV chokes me up. Number 15 just rescued as I write this. What I would give to be the one editing their inevitable memoire. 69 days underground with your co-workers. No light, no food or water, scarce air and little hope of rescue. What would any of us do? I cannot even begin to imagine their joy today as they are reunited with family, friends and the world above ground. Just incredible.

Ok, gotta get back to the live coverage. Latest live-TV wow-factor: a capsule-cam showing the POV rising out of the rescue shaft. No reality TV in recent memory can hold a candle to the drama of the images and stories presented on my flatscreen today.

Unlikely contraband

2010-09-17T06:18:00.000-07:00

The other night, we went for dinner in the Souq, the fancy one designed for tourists/ upscales. Afterwards, we went walking BEHIND the souq to the alleys filled with Indian and Philipino shops, newsstands, kebab and chaat stands. Wandering through those back streets, my husband got a craving for paan -- something I was reminded of on our latest trip to London where he and our friend DRK ate paan BEFORE dinner. Hard core.

Anyway, back to Doha and our quest for paan here. We asked politely in one shop. Reply: "Er, no sir. Try.... Salman's paan shop, behind the next roundabout." So we trek to the next roundabout (bearing in mind that even tho it's night time, it is a sweltering 38C) but no Salman. We ask a tire repair guy, all the while speaking in Hindi and he looks around, a little nervously and says: "Maybe the next street. Ali's newstand. No paan here." It will come as no surprise that we go to the next street and there's no Ali's newstand just another lead towards the next street/ roundabout/ corner.

After a few dead ends and a LOT of wandering, my husband the journo decides to go into a corner shop and ask the guys in Hindi if paan is illegal. Bingo. Now, who would have thought such a harmless thing could be off limits? It's just a leaf filled with yumminess, is that so wrong? I did a little digging and it turns out the Qataris aren't the only ones that don't want us to have our after dinner treat. The Brits are not too keen on it either:

Paan ban in North West London. My favourite quote from the article: Councillor Gavin Sneddon, of Brent Council, said: "Paan staining is unsightly and contributes to a negative image that Wembley is dirty and rundown, which can lead to increased levels of crime and anti-social behaviour."

And here I thought it was a harmless digestif. Silly me.

Good thing we were staying with DRK in East London. Mmmmm. Paan. I'll have a sweet one please. And pass the spittoon.

Debits and Credits

2010-08-30T06:07:00.000-07:00

Another milestone in our settling here in happy Doha: a bank account. I don't have my papers yet (or an income to deposit) (yet!) so my husband sets up a joint banking account. Cool, right? Cool indeed. Husband sets up account with the Royal Bank of Qatar (I am sure that's what it is called) hands me my bank card and we go on our merry way.

La la la. We live our life. It's Ramadan and there's not a whole lot going on. It's 41C outside (52C if you factor in the humidity) so my options are limited. I live across the street from a mall. It has air conditioning and people to watch, so I often trundle over there and do a cruise through. Sometimes I'll buy a few things and wander around until the time difference does it's magic and it's early enough to call friends and family back home. And countless times through the day I, of course, call my loving husband at work. You know, just to say hi and touch base.

Husband: "Hey how's your day going?"

Holder of joint bank account card: "Great! I went to the mall to get a few things and I also withdrew some money from the atm."

Husband: "Yeah, I know."

HOJBAC: "What do you mean you 'know'?"

Husband: "I get a text message every time you use the card."

Er, excuse me? The bank TEXT MESSAGES my husband any time I use OUR money.

w.

t.

f.

Do I get a text message when HE uses the card? Uh, yeah. I didn't think so.

Like Miami...but without the fun

2010-08-22T03:17:00.000-07:00

We're back in Doha -- three months to the day. And surprisingly, I am happy to be back. Seriously. I had a great summer (back blog to come) and did a great deal. But there is something to be said about having your stuff around you and sleeping in your own bed. Could it be that I'm not an incurable gypsy after all? hmm....lets not get crasy. Gimme a week here and we'll talk. For now I'm just glad to be home.

Which brings me to the latest thrill in my life: our new home. My fabulous husband found us an amazing apartment while I was gone. I absolutely love it. It's bright and airy with a killer view. From our window the blue sky meets the turquoise waters of the Gulf, framed by a long stretch of sandy beach (that we cannot access cos it belongs to the embassies). The only major thing to get in the way of this view is a pretty attractive blue and white sky scraper which is completely empty (kind of the story of most of the new towers around here) and which ends up shielding us from the early morning sun and allowing us to sleep a little longer: so thanks for that. I can spend a lot of time just staring out our window at the twinkling blue waters that are only disrupted by occasional jet skiers and police boats. It's Ramadan so things are pretty quiet -- unlike Cairo, I often look out the window to see the roads completely empty in every direction. And as I mentioned, since the beach is off limits, we barely see any activity down there. So it's all surprisingly serene and oddly unspoiled. The water is beautiful and the combination of the clear blue sky and this sandy wisp of a sand dune/ island in the middle of it all makes it quite a sight. Who knows, maybe it's just my mad jet lag but I thought I would write this as I feel it now at the beginning of our life here in Doha. It's certainly not Miami by any stretch of the imagination but if I just stare at the sand and the sea, I can appreciate the natural beauty of the place and let my imagination take me where it will....

Major Tom to Ground Control

2010-05-23T07:00:00.000-07:00

Last night we had a dinner party at my best friend/ bride-to-be's place and one of the tasks was to enlist the guests' help in choosing a play list for the dj at the wedding. Dinner at 8.00, bring your iPod.

The groom-to-be conscientiously scrolled through his iTouch, selecting thoughtful and powerful music. Music that meant something to him and symbolised pivitol moments in his life and their relationship.

Meanwhile, me and the ladies were blasting Michael Jackson, the Go-GOs, Outcast and the Clash. Rock the Casbah, baby!

He, much like my own husband, is very serious about his music. And I could just see the palpable horror on his face when all the girls jumped up from their seats squealing for joy when I cranked the volume on "Gold digger" by Kanye West and Jamie Foxx.

I can totally understand that the music at your wedding is somewhat reflective of you and your taste. And clearly, he's cool guy. But we girls were just having a little fun. I explained that at weddings it is entertaining to appeal to the lowest common denominator. Some songs just instantly get folks on the dance floor. He didn't look convinced. I assured him that we would talk to the dj and include the groovy tunes he wanted as well as a few crowd pleasers. It would be a healthy mix, I promised. He look at me with deep skepticism but let it go. I was his fiance's best friend after all and until now, I had been displaying pretty sound judgment on most things. But you could tell that he was deeply disturbed by our choices in music. Is this the girl I am marrying? Why do her friends have such pedestrian taste in music? Will I have to listen to Eurotrash-pop for the rest of my life? Someone please help me.

I am continually amazed at how differently women and men approach, well, just about everything in life.

When I put on Abba, had we not had our little chat... I might have bounced my self right out of the bridal party. As things stand now, I'm running out to buy me some dancing shoes! "See that girl, watch that scene, digging the Dancing Queen - ooooh ah."

I ask you: HOW could anyone get married with out that?

I Heart New York

2010-05-22T03:37:00.000-07:00

I'm currently in NYC for my best friend's wedding. I always say that NYC is like a boyfriend I really loved, like from the bottom of my heart, in a crazy, unreasonable way -- and then he broke up with me. Baby, it is for your own good. This isn't the right time for us. It hurts now darling, but you'll thank me in a few years. It's not you, it's me.

For a very long time, I couldn't watch "Friends" or "Sex in the City" or read forwarded articles from the New York Times -- it was just too painful.

I've been back a few times since I moved. This time though, is the longest since I left. And this time, maybe I am more settled in my own life so I have a different perspective on the city. And it IS like an old love. A deep love. Of a place I know and that brings out something in me that no other city does. It's such a cliche to write about New York in this way and I always used to complain that living in New York was like being in a cult. Everyone had to be blindly on-board or the city wouldn't able to get away with all the things it does. "A studio apt with a view of a wall and only a hot plate for a kitchen for $2500. Hmmm. It's two blocks from the Park? Of COURSE I'll take it!"

Never mind my love affair with New York, it's been so good for me to be in North America. After all the moving and flux of the past few months, being here is the tonic I needed. I did not appreciate how much mental stress is alleviated when you speak the language, know the culture, money, subway system and vibe. Don't get me wrong, I would not give up our international expat lifestyle for the world -- it is just nice to take a break once in a while to recharge my batteries.

My best friend and I have been up and down Madison and 5th Avenue shopping for the perfect accessories for her big day and all the while musing about life. Now and then, we stop for coffee, a chat and some people watching. We ride the subway where all of the layers of the city are crammed in together and jostling for personal space. We walk endless city blocks, passing places that bring back memories and stories of our life here together. Half the time she and I are doubled over laughing and shrieking with glee when one remembers something the other has forgotten. And no one gives us a second look. There are so many crazy people on the street, why do we deserve any special attention? Her fabulous apt on the 31st floor has stunning floor to ceiling windows and a spectacular view of the city and the Hudson river. The energy of the city pours in just like the vibrant sunshine twinkling off the water.

We've been in wedding mode all day, every day and I basically told all my friends here that I am not available until after the wedding. But last night, we really needed a break from it all. We hit one of my all time favourite restaurants in NYC: Raoul's. I don't know what it is about that place but it's been my standard for over 10 years and it always delivers. Tuna tartare, scallops and lobster finished with a creme brulee and an accidental coconut creme caramel that our charming waiter just threw in for fun. "Oops! My bad, ladies. I got your order muddled, you're going to have to eat both."

I left the city last time exactly when I needed to. It was time to go. I had badmouthed the city and talked about all the negatives of living here. It's excessive and superficial, the traffic and pollution are out of control, people are self obsessed and egotistical. How else could I have left it? If I talked about how I am the best parts of myself when I am here, how every part of the city has a different character and feel, how the people are friendly and energetic and inspiring. If I talked about all of that, I would not have been able to let go or move on. Now that I am back, with all the life I have lived since I left, all of those protestations seem so meaningless. My fussy noises seem unnecessary and irrelevant. Now I see that New York and I can still be friends. Friends with benefits? Give me another week here and I'll let you know.

Reverse culture shock

2010-05-12T04:38:00.000-07:00

In my zeal to get a good ticket home for the summer, I searched by price not dates. As a result, I accidentally purchased a flight leaving one day after my visa expires. Oops.

Solutions:
1) change my flight and leave a day earlier. Unfortunately, the ticket prices had gone up $4000+
2) pay a fine of 500QR for over-staying and face possible heat upon departure
3) Go to the visa section today and get a visa extension for 100QR

Not only was number 3 the cheapest option, I had braved the Mogamma in Cairo how hard could this be?

I barely need to write about this. A far cry from the circus in Cairo, this visa section here was a well-oiled machine. There were still a few Pakistanis and Egyptians who didn't want to wait in the orderly and quiet line, but there were enough law-abiders to scold them when they tried jumping the queue.

We were in and out in less than 10 minutes. All the counters on the visa payment side were run by efficient Qatari women, all with hand held credit card swipers. I punched in my pin code, they deducted 100QR from my account and sent me to the other side of the room, where a neat little sticker was printed out (in the time it took me to cross the room. Impressive.) and placed in my passport. (The man who processed mine was Officer Adul Aziz Hideous. I swear to God.) So I am legal again. Phew. No fuss, no muss. A nice change from sweating it out in France or the insanity of Cairo. I almost found myself disappointed by the anti-climax.

Every time Brits and Aussies ask us how we are adjusting, I force myself to pause and think about my response. I know they'll think I am nuts if I say that I am in awe of the shiny new-ness of the place or the technology and organization. They want to commiserate about beening dumped in the desert where nothing works. They haven't come from the epi-centre of lively chaos and colourful insanity like I have. I have to remember that before I speak. So, not to disappoint, I just smile and say how beautiful the sea and the sand is and that it'll take a little while but I'm sure we'll get used to the place.

Keepin' it real

2010-05-09T05:45:00.000-07:00

Showing 1: "Hi there, just calling to confirm our 1.00 pm appointment -- give me a call when you arrive, I'll be waiting in front of the Ferrari dealership."

Showing 2: "I'm calling to confirm our appointment to see the 2 bedroom, 3 bathroom at 3.30pm. Lets meet in front of the Rolls Royce dealership. If you reach the Armani, you've gone too far."

uh. Yeah. One might argue the whole development has gone too far but that's just the middle class Canadian in me talking....

So that's our potential new neighbourhood: Missoni, Canali, Jimmy Choo, Armani, Hermes, Kenzo, Maze by Gordon Ramsay, Casa del Habana -- I could go on but I think you get the picture. Gorgeous, no doubt. And certainly plenty of inspiration to keep me from going out in flip flops and my favourite ripped cargos on a Saturday morning.

So after we saw the apartments, YK and I were strolling along the boardwalk to check out our potential new "hood". We were admiring the designer boutiques and 60 foot yachts moored in the private marina and - stop - what's this? Is that what I think it is? I am sure my eyes are playing tricks on me... In the middle of the most glamourous and exclusive real estate development in the Middle East: a COFFEE TIME. Only someone from Ontario can appreciate the hilarious irony of this. Coffee Time is the skeeviest coffee shop in Toronto. Seriously. Joe for crack addicts and winos. I've only been in one ONCE and that was because we were in the middle of nowhere and I really really really had to pee. And no, I did not sit down.

We were doubled over laughing and HAD to stop, buy a coffee and drink in the irony: the most upmarket area in the region enjoying a decidedly downmarket slice of Ontario.

Ahh, maybe all this designer lifestyle and sheeshy-fabulous is fine as long as we have Coffee Time to keep us grounded. This could be the place for us afterall.

House hunting begins

2010-04-27T08:10:00.000-07:00

Katrien is the very glam and charming property manager/ real estate agent we met this morning and she was the first person to show us around Doha. She is super fun, bubbly and young and really seemed to get us.

Flat one: 2 bed, 2 bath, with views of the sea and the biggest mall in Doha. Spitting distance from the W hotel and the soon to open Kempinski. It has everything; from a cleaning and laundry service to a spa on the ground floor.

Flat two: a 2 bed, 2 bath townhouse in the Pearl, Doha's most exclusive development. It's a little out of the way and I felt we were on a holiday resort but there was no denying it's luxury. From the livingroom and bedroom you can see the following: yacht club complete with 40 ft yachts and a promenade lined with restaurants, cafes and boutiques, including a huge Jimmy Choo. Visible front and center from the bedroom window. My credit card did a little backflip in my handbag. Downstairs, there's a shopping arcade that includes designer boutiques including Canali, Giorgio Armani and all sorts of uber chic european designers I have never even heard of. A little sheeshy for our blood but we're keeping our options and our minds open.

Then we saw a bunch of really cool flats a villa and a place in a compound that have blurred a bit into each other because we were seeing them in the heat of midday. Katrien was a super rock star and always had her car a/c blasting and tried to keep us as cool as possible.

I'm trying to embrace the process, as stressful as it can be. Certainly, Doha is an entertaining place to look for a place to live. Stay tuned for news on what we decide and please send good vibes!

Doha: Beachbums and Mall rats

2010-04-24T05:43:00.000-07:00

Day one: husband goes to office. I stay back (we were at a beachfront InterCon resort with it's own private lagoon, why would I leave?) When he returns, we order room service, pig out and head to the beach where we hang out and listen to the waves lap and watch the jet skis until well after sunset.

Day two: eat a huuuuuge brunch, take our tea/ coffee to the beach. Stare at the incredible turquoise waters. Talk crap about how we're going to finally get into diving and get fit. Check out of our 5 star la-la-land and move to our temporary company flat. Unpack a little and head to the mall. We sort of don't know what else there is to do in this town yet, so....the mall it is.

First mall: City Center. We spent waaaaaay too much time in there but I was blown away by the sheer choice and availability of -- everything! After years of living in Cairo where we desperately asked friends to bring cheese, conditioner, zip lock bags and sea salt. Where every trip to the grocery store was an adventure because you never knew what might or might not be there....I was overwhelmed by how very much there is to BUY here. Even Carrefour (which is the biggest nightmare in Cairo) was fairly civilised and offered produce the likes of which I haven't seen since we lived in London. And instead of the free-for-all it is in Cairo, this one had aisles and prices.

So we've eaten Pizza Express (halleluya! I don't ever need to go home) and we're looking for a place to get our visa photos taken (blue background, svp). We look down into the atrium and there's a huge skating rink. Yep. Men, women, children in short sleeves and helmets, gliding on ice. In a mall. In the desert. While it is 35C outside. Ok, ok, we get it: you are rich. But a skating rink in a mall, isn't that a bit excessive?

Heading to another mall today. This one has an indoor canal with Gondolas.

ps -- just returned from the Villagio mall. Very very very trippy place. As if the canal with Venetian gondolas wasn't enough, they too have a skating rink. In the middle of the food court. So that you can eat one million things and watch people skate by. We were in the mall for several hours but it's so huge that I am not sure we even saw a quarter of it. The ceilings have all been painted sky blue with clouds. Each section of the mall represents a different time of day, so you walk from early morning to afternoon to sunset and early evening. If it wasn't for the balloons that have floated up and stuck there, you would think you were walking in the open air....there was a sandstorm raging outside, of course, but I was willing to suspend my disbelief long enough to have some delicious chinese food with a Krispy Kream chaser. Mmm-mmm yummy comfort food (we would never touch this crap back home but here...)I'm sure there is a lot of culture out there (we can see the impressive Islamic museum and the old souq from our apt) but for the moment, I think we'll ease into this place eating junk food and indulging in a little retail therapy. When in the Gulf....

A new chapter

2010-04-24T04:58:00.000-07:00

So....to make a long story short: we've moved to Doha, Qatar. About 72 hours ago, to be precise. Our departure from Cairo was smooth and incident free. Though our shipment was hilariously moved from our apt to the moving van in and on a rickety black and white cairo taxi. Turns out Maadi doesn't allow big trucks into residential areas without a permit. Apparently our movers didn't have a permit. So they parked the moving van on the shoulder of the Ring Road and made multiple trips in a black and white cab, our belongings stuffed inside, on top and sometimes held outside with the workers' bare hands. But something worked because the shipment arrived safe and sound and ahead of us by several days. Mash'Allah.

I feel like that trip was a metaphor for all of Cairo: just barely hanging on with the tips of it's fingers but miraculously, getting it's shit done.

A special shout out and thanks to Madame Layla and her incredible crew of packers. I feel we could literally play football with all our belongings, they packed them so thoroughly and with such care. It means we have about 10 boxes more than we would if we had packed ourselves...but malesh, hopefully it means our stuff survives the journey to our new home. TBA.

I have LOVED Cairo. And was extremely happy there. I miss our flat and it's leafy view with birds chirping and my wonderful neighbours and friends who were like family to us. Cairo remains a place that holds a special and beloved place in my heart. Who knows, maybe one day in the future we'll live there again. Stranger things have been known to happen.

I will write more about our departure but I just wanted to let you know that this blog is relocating to Doha, Qatar. I think now that I will always remain a Cairomaniac, I'll just travel the world a little.

Awkward declarations of love

2010-03-18T05:05:00.001-07:00

1. On the phone:

Me: "Okay, so we'll have our next lesson on Monday?"
Teacher: "Perfect, Habibti. See you then. "
Me: "Ma salaama"
Teacher: "Bye bye! I love you!"
Me: "Um, yeah, ok, sure. See you Monday. Bye!"

2. At local hair salon:
Hair salon owner (middle aged Egyptian man): "You like your hair?" (smile)
Me: (enthusiastically swishing my new do around) "Yes! I love it!"
He looks down and then looks back up, raising his eyebrow: "And I love YOU." (meaningful pause) "Really."
Me: "Um (nervous laugh) yes well, thank you again. Bye!"

World famous

2010-03-08T04:43:00.000-08:00

Me, last night, in a cab, heading downtown along the Corniche:

Me: "Lau-samaht (Excuse me) could you please close the window?"
Taxi driver: "Eh?"
Me: "Min fadluck (please) can you close the window and turn on the air conditioning" (insert pantomime of me, rolling up window and pointing to the a/c button)
TD: "Eh?"
Me: "Takeef (air conditioning)"
TD: "Ahhhh -- takeef "(nodding, acknowledging that he understands what I am saying)
Me: "Moomkin, takeef ON?"
TD: "Why?"
I point to the many many many cars that surround us and plug my nose: "The air outside is not nice."
TD: "Not NICE?! (he takes his hands off the wheel and turns around to me gesturing wildly) People come from all over the world to drive here, on the banks of the Nile. (He sticks his head out the window and takes a deep breath) Ahh, nice! Nice nice air, Nile, nice."
I point to the distant banks of the river, barely visible that time of night: "Nile nice, yes. But look, hundreds of cars here. Nile far away. Cars and pollution close. See?"
He looks at me thoughtfully.
He rolls up my window and says: "Hmmm. No takeef. I don't have the electricity for takeef. I close your window. I keep mine open. But look, see? Nile, it is world famous."

And the crowd goes wild

2010-02-28T14:59:00.000-08:00

Canada just won Olympic gold in men's hockey, defeating Team USA 3-2 in overtime. I can practically smell that unmistakable mix of hockey rink aromas: hot chocolate, ice, metal, rubber -- and now VICTORY!

I almost never miss home (sorry home) but I cannot find words to express how much I wish I was in Canada at the moment celebrating this medal.

Here are the details:
We are the champions of the world Buuuuuyah

Does Fatafeat eat babies?

2010-01-24T01:27:00.000-08:00

I love Food TV. Be it the Food Network, BBC Lifestyle, or even the annoying Rachel Ray. If there's cooking on it, I'll watch it. I may be aging myself here but I think it all started with this low budget cooking show from my childhood called "Wok with Yan". I never have made anything he did (which can be said about most of the cooking shows I watch to this day) but the possibility was there that I could. If I followed the recipe and did what he said, I would be guaranteed success in a half hour. Mmm-mm, yummy food made with colourful ingredients under flattering studio lighting. What's not compelling about that?

As I grew up, it became obvious that I was a serious foodie and I've spent most of my disposable income on dining out and cooking ever since.

I lived in London when Conran brought dining as entertainment back into fashion and the phenomenon of Celebrity chefs gathered pace. I ate at places like Quaglinos, Meza, Cantina, and the Bluebird restaurant and then started stalking Chefs like Marco Pierre White. I wouldn't dream of spending £20 on clothes but I didn't once look at the bill when we went for dinner. It was food, afterall. It was experience and it was worth every penny.

When I moved to New York, the food madness continued. My salary had increased and so had the number of restaurants from which to choose. I became less of a name-chaser and found my own favorite spots like Raouls on Prince street, Casimir in Alphabet City and old faithful, Calle Ocho on the Upper West. I still went to all the trendy places as they cropped up but my tastes matured and I ate at spots I loved regardless of what people were saying about them.

I joined my husband here in Cairo three months after he started his job. I arrived late at night and he had already left for work when I got up. I was a little disoriented and woke up wondering what the hell I'd done, crossing the world to live in a country I knew nothing about. There was a lovely breakfast set out for me on the dining table with the remote control and a note: "The Food Channel is number 8." Sigh. It was going to be alright afterall. As long as I had Giada, Jamie Oliver and the Chairman, I could face anything.

The channel is called: Fatafeat. And it is great. All my favorites are on there: Iron Chef, Everyday Italian, The Naked Chef, Barefoot Contessa and Nigella-I'm-too-sexy-for-this-show Lawson. I've even discovered a few new favorites: Andrew who makes Philly Cheese Steaks in Arabic and Dania who doesn't really cook but travels around the world translating as others do.

The only thing that disturbs me and leaves me quite puzzled is that all the promos are shots of little babies smiling into the camera, drooling, giggling, lying alone on a blanket and being bathed. Why are they featuring babies alone? Are they preparing them for something? If any of you out there have an in with Fatafeat, please let me know. I am prepared to go to their HQ and get to the bottom of this: are you showing us babies in your promos because you want us to eat them? It is the only conclusion I can reach. What else are babies doing on a Food channel? They can't cook, so they must be part of the menu....

Happy New Year - Part 1: Kerala without a Houseboat

2010-01-23T05:34:00.000-08:00

We just returned from a three-week trip to Southern India. We arrived in Fort Kochi, Kerala on New Year's day. We stayed in a great hotel by the ancient Chinese fishing nets, first installed on the coast by the grandson of Gengis Khan. It was hot. And it was humid. And the mosquitos were the size of small children. So, instead of cruising the backwaters on a houseboat as planned, we got into an Ambassador and travelled up the mountains to spend a few days in a guest house on the Madupatty tea estate in the Kanan Devan Hills Plantation. It was breathtaking. Rolling hills of sharp, bright green as far as the eye could see. The air was clean and crisp. The mist rolled around the mountain tops and the wild flowers that lined the roads were like vibrant firecrackers. The people were sweet and hospitable, without exception. We had Kerala breakfasts every morning (featuring all the coconut chutney I could eat. Yum!) and masala chai every afternoon.

We (ok: I) decided to go for an "authentic ayurvedic massage" - more like let me slather you in oil and ask you questions about your trip. My husband kept pointing out to me that there was nothing "authentic" about the place we were going. Notice, he pointed out, that there are no brown people on any of the adverts. There are no locals in the waiting room, just wide-eyed foriegners. It had all the hallmarks of a classic tourist trap. But I didn't care. When in Kerala, I insisted. My hair is still a little greasy and the smell of the ayurvedic "herbs" linger in my nostrils...I am sure that there is genuine ayurveda in Kerala. But where we went wasn't it...

Our trip up the mountain coincided with the morning bath of local temple elephants. We saw three: one 40-year-old female and two little 5 and 6 year olds. They were so close to us and completely tame, having lived in the temple all their lives. After watching fearless little kids approach them, I too gathered the courage to get close, touch their skin and say hello.

I've included this picture with the Uncle in the jaunty white suit and healthy moustache because he managed to get into every one of my elephant shots. That's the thing about India, if there is something interesting happening, there's little to no chance that you'll be experiencing it on your own. But then again, there is so much happening you don't mind sharing it. More to come on our trip - stay tuned.

Message to the lady at our hotel in Dahab

2009-12-16T10:51:00.000-08:00

Hey there lady.

Why did you take my photograph at breakfast?

I saw you do it.

Me:"Excuse me, did you just take my picture?"

I know you heard me. But you just looked at me sideways and then pretended to be busy with your toast.

So I asked you again. Maybe you didn't realise I was talking to you. There was no one else at breakfast. And there were only three tables, less than a foot apart. But I am Canadian, so I gave you the benefit of the doubt.

I cleared my throat and asked again: "Did you just take my picture?"

Weird French lady from Israel on vacation alone in Dahab: "Um. Yes."

Me: "Well, I would rather you didn't. Take my picture, that is."

WFLfIoVAiD: "Why?"

Me: "Because I don't know you."

You looked like this was new information that you could not understand. So I tried to elaborate: "And I don't know where that photo is going to go."

You looked confused.

WFLfIoViD: "But I want to keep it for my memories."

Which would have been fine if we had ever spoken. But we never did. Not even once.

Me: "Well, I think it is just common courtesy to ask before you take someone's photo."

You were right to put your camera into your bag and scurry off to your room. Could you see in my eyes that I was planning to grab it and erase my photo from your memory stick? In the process, the camera might have been knocked out of your hands. We would have watched helplessly as it smashed into a million pieces on the terracotta floor.

But you were too quick for me.

I wonder what you will say to your friends when you go back home and show them my photo. Will you say that we had breakfast together? Because that would be really sad. And untrue. I might feel sorry for you, weird French lady who now lives in Israel, but I'm still mad that you took my photo without asking me first. That was rude.

Stuff I would never see in Canada:

2009-12-01T10:28:00.000-08:00

1. One Petrified lizard. This morning I found a dead lizard, shrivelled and hardened by the sun, lying on our balcony. I buried it in the soil of our potted plant and observed a moment of silence. Rest in peace, little buddy.
2. Eggs wearing a feather boa. Making breakfast the other morning, I opened the egg carton and reached for one to crack open. I looked down and the egg of my choice was entirely enveloped by light brown feathers. Gross.

No sleep 'til Sudan

2009-11-14T12:13:00.000-08:00

Egypt just won a qualifying soccer match against Algeria.

The old and the young, the rich and the poor have all been waving flags and honking horns for two days without a break until 7.30pm this evening when the game began. Just before kick off, the streets were empty and you could hear a pin drop. Until Egypt scored its first goal and the roar of 20 million fans let loose into the streets. Then, as quickly as it had risen up, it was replaced with complete silence. Until they scored the second goal: pandemonium. As I write this, the whole city has gone absolutely nuts. There will be no sleeping tonight.

Beep-beep, beep-beep-beeeeep, beep-beep, beep-beep-beeeeeeep! Misr ya misr!

Reminds me of when they won the African Cup a few years ago: See my post Go Misr!

Egypt plays Algeria again in Sudan on Wednesday. Until then, the city's fans will no doubt run wild. And I say: go for it. Better soccer fanaticism than some other fundamentalism. All of Cairo is celebrating tonight: "We love soccer and we love our country." If a nation is to rally around something, I'm thrilled for it to be sport. Go Misr!

The latest reason I love it here

2009-10-11T05:53:00.000-07:00

Just when I thought the culture of delivery in this country couldn't get any better, I discover that even health care is made for our convenience.

I go to the clinic today to pick up a refill of my asthma medication (which, miraculously, I have all but given up since moving to Cairo) and tell the Doctor I've been feeling a little sluggish. She says, no problem, why don't we run a blood test to see if your iron is ok. Great. She writes out a referral and sends me to the receptionist to get the numbers of labs in our area.

Can I go to any lab, I ask?

The receptionist looks at me like: "Why is you foreigners so crazy?"

Turns out I just call a little 4 digit "hotline" and the clinic comes to your house, where a lovely (I like to assume) technician takes your blood. He/ she then returns to the lab and sends the results directly to my Doctor. When the receptionist tells me this, she leans in a little and says: "You might have to pay a delivery charge of 5LE (less than $1 US)" and looks at me apologetically, like she would waive the charge if she could. As if I am going to jump up with indignation and yell: "No way lady, I will not pay 80 cents for this service!" Uh, yeah.

I know what you are thinking: we are among a priviledged few who are lucky enough to have private insurance. It is true. But it is also true that all Egyptians have universal access to basic healthcare. There are many government hospitals and clinics all around the city and even the private hospitals perform a great number of pro bono cases. And (I'll have to make sure about this) blood test house calls are available to all who are referred to main labs.

Beat that, OHIP.

Same same but different

2009-10-03T03:55:00.000-07:00

When you travel, consistency can be a challenge. Sometimes you are disappointed because things aren't the way you remember them. But that can be a blessing in disguise because it forces you to discover new places and things to do. That's what happened this weekend in Dahab.

Stuff we loved that stayed the same:
1. The Dahab Coachhouse. Walking into the beautiful white and gold courtyard, we felt like we were returning to our very own beach house. "The bread is the same!" Nina exclaimed, as if reading my husband's mind. Besides the comfortable accommodation, every morning we were treated with a scrumptious breakfast -- home made bread, orange crepes, local cheese and fruits, including sweet figs and mangoes. (Nina and Mikkas send love to all our friends who stay there and are expecting you Voracious T to visit when you come to Egypt)

2. Dive Urge on the Lighthouse/ Eel Garden end of the beach. We spent the whole day watching the sea, enjoying the breeze and the shade of their gigantic umbrellas. We drank fresh watermelon juice and ate pizza and lamb shewarma. Basic but d-lish.

On the downside:
1. Dahab is over run with audacious wild dogs and cats. We went to Shams -- a beachfront cafe/ restaurant that we remembered for it's stellar dj. The tunes were still groovy but the constant shooing of aggressive cats (one sat on the chair beside my husband and stared at him with indifference as he waved his arms and shouted obscenities) and an annoying (if adorable) dog who stared at our plates, planning an imminent attack took away any enjoyment we might have derived from...um, what was it we ate? The dog was golden and the cat was black. Just in case you were wondering what I remember.

2. Nirvana. Ecstasy was nowhere in sight. In fact, Nirvana was kind of smelly. And therefore, quite unappetising. So we ordered a masala chai and called it a day.

Fabulous new discoveries:
1. Blue House Thai restaurant. YUM. Definitely worth a visit. The seating area is above the main drag so you can catch all the action below as you enjoy your green curry chicken.

2. The Indian restaurant past the bridge. I don't think it has a name. Just a sign that says: "Indian. Thai. Chinese." We had the chicken biryani and lamb korma, started with samosas and finished with gulab jaman.

3. Eel Garden Stars. Comfy seating and lovely staff who "Just want you to feel happy". Mijou was our host and just the coolest guy (ok, coolest after my husband ;-) Even the requisite wild cat (thankfully, there was only one) was pretty mellow and just hung out without bothering us. We sat for countless hours, drank tea and coffees (REAL filter coffee vs the ubiquitous nescafe - halleluya), ate mouthwatering moussaka, discovered that dill is brilliant in cucumber salad and.....

Best of all: I discovered snorkeling! Which is a fairly hilarious discovery when you consider that LITERALLY all my closest friends are divers (where have I been? I can hear Voracious T laughing at me) Anyway, I'm in love. And cannot wait for our next getaway to be a diving trip. I think there was no better place for the introduction: the shallow, warm waters of the Red Sea are filled to every inch with spectacular under water life. I could have stayed in the water all day.

Nirvana

2009-09-30T02:31:00.000-07:00

Eid was awesome and the city was quieter than I had ever seen it. Still, it was the city. And now that most people are back from their holidays and the roads are busy and smoggy again, it's time for a little escape.

We're off to Dahab in the South Sinai. Dahab is a little fishing village on the Red Sea and you can walk from one end of town to the other in less than 45 minutes (and that's taking your time). The water is shallow and warm, the village is quiet and laid back.

The main dive shop has a little Cafe on the water and (get this) a south Indian chef! Ah, Nirvana -- both the name of the Cafe and the state you reach when you are lounging on a comfy chaise, looking out onto the twinkly waters of the red sea, drinking a cool and fruity fresh juice and eating aloo parathas chased by a spicy masala chai.

Iftaar in Embaba

2009-09-16T07:04:00.000-07:00

I often feel that we, as expats, live in a cushy bubble removed from the reality of our surroundings. I feel this because it is true.

My first real Egyptian friend is our housekeeper, Mrs Khalifa. She, more than anyone else, has shown me what life is really like in Egypt. Without her, we may never have experienced half the things that have made me fall in love with this crazy place.

Every Ramadan, she invites us to her home. Either to share an Eid lunch or - like last Friday - join her and her family as they break their fasts deep in the heart of Embaba.

Embaba is like no other part of our life in Cairo. But it is a place I have been to many times before ever arriving in Egypt. The streets are narrow and unpaved and the asymmetrical buildings rise up to the sky. Rickshaws (from India, no less) motor through passageways that a car can barely navigate. And all of a sudden, it takes me back: to Paposh market in Nazimabad, Karachi; to the chaotic alleyways near Chandi Chowk in Old Delhi; to the side streets behind Anarchali in Lahore; to Laad Bazaar sprawling out at the foot of Charminar in the old city of Hyderabad.

Embaba pulsates with life. Especially during Ramadan. We arrive just before iftaar time and are greeted by a frenzy of activity: street vendors barely able to match the flow of fruits and vegetables to the outstretched hands of last minute shoppers; ladies in colourful galabayas holding a kid (sometimes two or three) with one hand and gesturing with a fist full of LE (Egyptian pounds) with the other. Aish baladi (local bread) flying out of ovens and onto cooling racks like mini UFOs and the sheesha guy putting out his little chairs and tables in anticipation of the post iftaar rush. Mrs Khalifa's son-in-law waves and smiles at every man on the street and they greet each other like family. Lights are strung from every balcony and window, creating a glowing canopy of red and golden bulbs and colourful fanooses (Ramadan lanterns) that practically block out the sky above us.

Everyone is rushing to get home before the Magrib (sunset) call to prayer. Slowly but surely, all activity grinds to a halt and the din fades as every resident of Embaba retreats home to break their fast. As the call to prayer begins, the streets are completely empty but for the sound of the muazin's voice.

Mrs Khalifa and her family have prepared a feast for us. Some of the best food we've eaten in Cairo has come from their kitchen. She tells me about how her father was a chef in Alexandria and taught her to cook when she was just a little girl. We talk and laugh and eat. And then, when I am sure our systems can take no more, we're offered a much needed chai. Ahh, heaven.

Eventually the neighbourhood below, like some kind of sleeping giant, begins to shake off the quiet and ramps up for a night of activity. Too bad I cannot get up from Mrs Khalifa's sofa. The juice guy says it's pomegranate season? hmm. One more cup of chai and we'll see...

How rude is it

2009-09-07T16:26:00.000-07:00

to ask the cab driver to turn down the Quran?

One of the things I love about living in Egypt is that I am surrounded by Islam in all it's living complexities and contradictions.

It's nice during Ramadan to not have to explain what Ramadan is. It's wonderful to hear the call to prayer, be invited to iftaars and celebrate the fun (don't tell the Ayatollah) in Islam. I love being in a place where my religion lives and breathes. Where traditions I thought were only within my family belong to a greater community.

Where I can hear beautiful verses of the Quran as I ride along in a cab... Um, If all the taxi drivers weren't half or completely deaf and playing the holy word of God at 250 decibels, maybe. But as things currently stand, my ears are assaulted by crackling speakers turned up so loud that no word or phrase is decipherable. It's all a garbled mess, blaring from souped-up woofers positioned only inches from either side of my head. But how can I ask a devoted worshipper to take the volume down a notch? Especially during Ramadan.

Me, I don't got that kind of schutzpa.

So I barrel down the corniche, windows open, unable to hear even the horns and traffic, counting the minutes until I can get out onto the Cairo streets and hear myself think again. This is a far cry from the soothing recitations that inspire spiritual enlightenment and peace. I am literally diving out of the cab to get away.

Only slightly more than 10 days left of Ramadan and then it's back to Egyptian dance music. THAT I can ask them to turn down with no problem at all. Whether or not my voice will be heard above "Habibi, ya albi, habibi habibi" is an entirely different story....

And we're back

2009-09-02T04:27:00.000-07:00

We've been back in Cairo for less than 48 hours and already seen five (count 'em: FIVE) car accidents. One replete with an eight car pile up and a street fight. Twenty guys duking it out on the main road in from the airport with two anemic policemen trying to break it up. Ramadan Karim, folks.

On the homefront, my plants are barely clinging to life but otherwise, our flat is as we left it. The bird in the window of our den is back and has laid another egg. Aiy ya ya, what is it with me and birds here in Cairo?! (see my post: Mafish Mushkilla) My good friend Villy says it's good luck. I'm not so sure. As long as they don't poop on my windowsill, we're good.

Our housekeeper has left our Iranian carpet upside down. No matter how many times we flip it the right way, it always ends up the way she wants it: face down on the tile floor, backside up.

Because we arrived in the middle of the night, we drove through the city instead of taking the autostrade. Homes and buildings were lit up by colourful lights and gaudy but gorgeous Ramadan Funoos (crazy lanterns that hang in doorways and balconies across the city every year to celebrate Ramadan. I'll try and get a photo and post it asap.) Around the corner from our place, there is a huge one with tassles and a fringe. Real classy.

When we pulled up to our building, the guards on our street greeted us (at 3 am) with enthusiastic salaams and good wishes for a happy ramadan ("kullu sana wa intu tayubbine": may you be well for the whole year) (My Arabic is still a little shaky....pl feel free to jump in and correct my translation)

No doubt this crazy, disorganized, chaotic, noisy, dusty place will infuriate me within a week....but at the moment, it is good to be home.

Back Blog: Istanbul - did I love it or not? I can't decide

2009-08-16T11:46:00.000-07:00

It feels like ages ago, but here are a few photos from our winter trip to Istanbul.

Every Muslim I know is obsessed with Turkey. I thought it was O-kay. Yup. Just ok. It didn't blow me away like Kenya or Andalusia or....Cairo for that matter. I personally find their identity crisis a bit of a bore. Are you Asian? Are you European? Are we going to get in to the EU if we do this? What about this?

The different elements of Turkey -- conservative, liberal, religious, secular, Eastern, Western -- coexist in relative discomfort. Like an elevator filled with people who all want to be in there -- just not with each other. All shuffling about and jabbing each other with their elbows. Such a weird atmosphere against the backdrop of magnificent architecture and monuments to a glorious past.

But I cannot poop on the whole trip because, as tourist experiences go, we had a superb time: transportation was easy, modern and efficient. We ate delicious food all the time. We cleansed a year's worth of...impurities...in a traditional Turkish Hammam, drank fresh pomegranate juice, Turkish coffee and apple tea. Shopped in the incredible Grand Bazaar, wandered the colourful streets of Sultan Ahmet and the alleys behind the Blue Mosque (where we heard the most beautiful call to prayer as the rain danced on the stone pavement and we shivered in the shelter of the ancient, ivy covered gate to the Arasta Bazaar), visited Topkapi Palace, Hagia Sophia, stopping often to enjoy the modern restaurants and cafes that dot the city.

My husband, of course, bought a carpet. I don't think they let you leave the country with out one. Ours is a stunning dowry piece from Konya, bought after hours of viewing luxurious colours and styles, storytelling, tea drinking, negotiating and wrangling. It was one of the best spent rainy afternoons in recent memory.

I wish I had taken photos of the carpets and pottery -- the Turkish aesthetic is incomparable. The colours and composition, attention to detail and dedication to beauty are out of this world.

Istanbul's monuments are spectacular, as are the many views of the brooding and romantic Bosphorous. If you go, go to enjoy the natural beauty and glory of it's past. I am not sure I am so convinced about the attraction of it's present. If I could figure out what that is, of course.

How we roll

2009-08-15T06:39:00.000-07:00

"Training wheels? That's so last year!"

I am happy to report that my nephew just learned to ride his big bike without training wheels! Watching the smile nearly bust off his face as he managed to teeter and totter on his bright black and yellow bike (with handbrakes, a couple of speeds and dirt bike wheels) was the most thrilling thing I've seen in ages.

When my nephew was born, my brother had a theory about celebrations. He said, why should I make a big deal about his birthday? "Hey little man, congratulations on living to see another year." My brother wanted to make a big deal out of the milestones his kids achieved. I can still picture my brother telling me this as he held my little new-born nephew in his hands. And I remember him specifically saying he was going to make a huge deal out of the day he learned to ride his bike. It seemed like such a far off concept but here we are today, with a video of the big event and a huge ice cream cake.

Way to go, kid.

Small town news

2009-07-30T08:46:00.000-07:00

Reading the local paper, I came across the following headlines:

Man urinated on City Hall

SAINT JOHN - Larry Christopher Buchanan, 47, pleaded guilty to urinating on City Hall and received five days in jail. He told Judge James McNamee that he was trying to reunite with his wife and children, but hasn't been successful. "I can probably say that your antics haven't helped either," McNamee said. (source: Telegraph Journal)

Man decided his boots weren't made for walkin'

Darryl Joseph Legacy of St. Stephen might have benefited from a twice daily walk across town. Instead, Legacy, 20, can practise pacing at the Saint John Regional Correction Centre, where he will serve a 14-day sentence for breaching a probation order to complete 20 hours of community service. Legacy did not show up at the scheduled times because..."It's a long walk," Legacy told the judge. (Source: Telegraph Journal)

But my favorite so far is the on-going Wafer-gate
scandal which took place at former Governor-General Romeo Leblanc's funeral:

'The story stated that a senior Roman Catholic priest in New Brunswick had demanded that the Prime Minister's Office explain what happened to the communion wafer which was handed to Prime Minister Harper during the celebration of communion at the funeral mass. The story also said that during the communion celebration, the Prime Minister "slipped the thin wafer that Catholics call 'the host' into his jacket pocket".

Perhaps he needed a snack for the long ride back to Ottawa?

Turns out the editor added unsubstantiated details after the reporters submitted the story. The editor and publisher have since been relieved of their duties. Read their front page apology below: http://telegraphjournal.canadaeast.com/front/article/742374

Maybe I should get out more

2009-07-28T07:09:00.000-07:00

My brother is a doctor and he calls this morning on his way to work to have a chat. I make small talk for a few minutes and then we have the following exchange:

Me: "Yeah, so I'm having this strange back pain."

I can just hear him rolling his eyes

Brother: "Uh huh..."

Me:"No really, it's in my lower back, it burns and it's weird and well...I think it's my kidneys."

My brother laughs out loud and puts on his best Arnold Schwartzeneggar accent: "Is it a tuuu-mah?"

Me: "Be serious! I could be having kidney failure!"

Brother: "You are not having kidney failure."

Me: "How do you know?"

Brother: "Tell me where you are having the pain."

So I tell him.

Brother: "Yeah, your kidneys are no where near there. You probably just pulled a muscle. Been lifting anything heavy, sleep funny?"

Jeez. What's the point in having a doctor in the family if he won't take me seriously? Pulled muscle - ha! It's my kidneys...I can feel it. Maybe mine are positioned lower in the body than other people. It's possible.

Top 10 things I love about being back in Canada

2009-07-27T11:25:00.000-07:00

10. Being close to family
9. Breathing clean air
8. Drinking water straight from the tap
7. Shoppers Drugmart and its aisles and aisles of beauty products under $5
6. Tim Horton's coffee and chocolate dip donuts (drive thru only) (I'm not getting out of the car)
5. Having a car
4. Access to delicious, affordable food from all over the world
3. Watching current seasons of Grey's Anatomy and Desperate Housewives (Don't judge me, you have some secrets too)
2. CBC radio. Particularly “Q” and "Arrivals" on C'est la Vie - not even the BBC can match the radio that is made in Canada
1. Universal health care (Admittedly, I've been out of the country too long to even use the system anymore but....it's not everyday Obama gives us a shout out so I felt it deserved to be on the list)

A world away from my world

2009-07-23T13:45:00.000-07:00

So I'm back in Canada, in the small town where I grew up, sleeping in my old room and visiting my old haunts. It's a beautiful part of the world: wild deer in the backyard, countless oceanfront beaches only minutes away and nothing but green trees, blue skies and the river to look at out the windows of our family home. That and the cherry blossoms and wild flowers that have taken over my parents' property.

I made one phone call to a childhood friend (we bonded on the first day of Jr High when we were the only two girls in class wearing new dresses -- her out of duress, me out of a love for clothes. At the time, I told her it was duress. The alternative felt too much like social suicide) and within minutes, I was caught up on a year's worth of developments: births, deaths, divorces, affairs, poisonings, daycare politics, contaminated poop, exchange students, work take-overs and lawsuits. Yep. One phone call and I got it all.

Dusty, noisy Cairo couldn't seem more like a distant dream.

Yikes! has it been that long?

2009-07-23T13:43:00.000-07:00

So, I've been receiving irritated messages from friends who say they've stopped reading my blog because I don't update.

That's a little harsh, I thought.

Until I went to the web and checked the last thing I posted. Umm. oops. Ok, I'll be more on the ball now, I promise!

Perception vs reality: Pakistan trip part 1

2009-04-01T07:21:00.000-07:00

So I just returned from a fabulous, three-week trip to Pakistan. Considering the latest political developments, I realise that it is a rare sentence these days that includes "fabulous" and "pakistan" in the same breath.

Staying with relatives in the suburbs I was oblivious to the many suicide bombings, depositions of provincial governments and exchanges of gunfire that took place during the short time I was there -- and that was just what was happening in Sind and Punjab, I haven't bothered to mention the mayhem ensuing in the north and west of the country. I was even in Punjab during the lawyer's Long March from Karachi to Islamabad. While chaos engulfed the streets of Lahore, my cousins and I drove along Canal Road in Faisalabad, digesting our samosa's with a cool almond kulfi....

I don't know what I remembered of Pakistan before I went to visit but my latest trip was calm and fun and could not have been further from the scenes of shooting and chaos I had watched on CNN and Al Jazeera before I left. Life on the ground, for people just trying to do their shopping and going to work was business as usual. The feeling of "we're all in this together" was alive and well. The forces currently playing themselves out in the country were largely felt to be external.

People there see Pakistan as a pawn in someone else's game. They are living their lives the best they can until it passes -- after the dust settles, they all know that they'll have to live with each other.

The day before my return home, my cousin and I were crossing town to fulfill my husband's most heartfelt request: Sugar free Rabri from Dilpasand (it's basically a really fatty, artery-clogging rich cream dessert). The sun was blazing, the temperature in Karachi was in the mid 30s (celsius) and our car radiator ran out of water. We stopped at the side of the road and within minutes, three rickshaw drivers, a taxi driver and numerous by-standers pulled over to help us out (we looked quite pitiful: water was sputtering out of our hood at least 2-3 meters into the air as we gingerly tried to fill the over-heated radiator with our stash of cold mineral water.)

"Baji (sister) please step back! Let us take care of this, please stand in the shade, don't let your clothes get dirty. Don't worry, we'll fix it for you." And my favorite: "Don't take tension." Their efforts to help us were effusive and genuine and they worked together to get our car running again and waited for us to re-start the engine.

I waited for the rub -- just how much was this going to cost? I slipped my hand into my purse and whispered to my cousin, "How much should we give them?" She shushed me and shoved my bag away quickly, "Put that away! If you suggest giving money, they'll be VERY offended!"

They waited for us to get into the car and drive away, saying nothing to my blubbering thanks. After we'd driven off, my cousin turned to me and said that no matter what else is happening in Pakistan, it is common practice to help one another. We're all in this together.

Look, I'm not so naive that I am blind to the very many things that are completely dysfunctional in the place. It was just a surprise - a pleasant surprise - to see that this one thing that had been drilled into me throughout my life was alive in well in the country my parents left behind. While Pakistan is immersed in instability and poverty, it gives me hope that there are still some core values that endure and have withstood the pressures of those challenges.

Is it love or capitalism?

2009-02-14T13:06:00.000-08:00

Valentine's Day in Cairo is celebrated much like all festivities in this crazy city: with gusto. Whole hog (halal hog, of course). Over the top. All the way.

Last year, we were at Al Azhar park (I cannot remember why...) and we were literally the ONLY couple not carrying a large gift bag with fancy writing saying some variation of: "I love you" "Be my sweetheart" "Love is Everything".

All the girls were dressed in red with matching hijabs as far as the eye could see. All the boys were looking gooey-eyed and adoringly at the objects of their affection. Some couples were holding hands and others walked two together, with a mindful sister/ brother/ unofficial (and ineffective) chaperon two steps behind. Boys were carrying multiple gift bags (obviously presented to their beloved only moments before) overflowing with gifts, red flowers and cheezy balloons that rustled and swished as they walked by.

A year later and here we are again on the day of lurv. Has the economic downturn put a damper on the festivities? Have people decided maybe they should take it easy this year and save their piasters for something more practical than heart and "XO" decals for their cars? Not a chance.

This afternoon I noticed a tree on Qasr-al-Aini (a super busy, 5+ lane road into central Cairo) wrapped in red polyester with hearts dangling from every available branch. The shopkeeper looked at me hopefully from inside his store when I stopped to admire his handiwork. I'm still not sure what he was selling but the tree in the red toga - while certainly eye-catching - did not inspire me to go in and empty my wallet.

Back in Maadi, Road 9 (the closest thing we have to a main drag) was mayhem. Traffic was backed up, people were honking their horns and crossing the road haphazardly, creating even more gridlock. And they all had this in common: red outfits, toting shiny red and gold gift bags with badly composed love-messages scrolled on them, holding ridiculously large stuffed animals and fistfuls of heart shaped balloons decorated with red ribbons.

All the restaurants were filled to overflowing and there was a definite (if absurd) buzz in the air. The shop across the road had an impressive 5 ft tall stuffed gorilla in red underpants on display.

I have to wonder what accounts for the zealous embrace of this particular holiday. Is it that Egyptians are innately passionate and have a lot of love to give? No doubt.

Or is it just globalization? A holiday invented by Hallmark to nudge the economy along through the post-Christmas lull.

Oh dear, that's not very romantic of me now is it? I need to make more of an effort to fit into the culture of my new home: Happy Valentines Wishes to one and all!

Now please excuse me while I rush off to see if that Gorilla in the window is still up for sale...

In the thick of it

2008-11-18T07:24:00.000-08:00

Every time I go downtown, I realize what a crazy place this is.

Yesterday I had a lunch downtown at Taboula (deeelicious lebanese food. My fave is their luscious kibbeh nayar) in Garden City. By the time lunch wrapped up, it was about 3.00 (what can I say, I seem to lunch the same way no matter where I live..."rush? who's in a rush, lets have a coffee and stay a while") and the start of afternoon traffic hell. I walked to Tahrir Square and considered getting into a yellow cab. Black cabs are open, smell of gas -- both human and petrol related - and you can chew the air from the open windows as you sail along while your driver chain smokes. Yellow cabs are hermetically sealed and have lovely, non-smoking, air conditioning -- unless you get the driver we had the other day: "It is winter now. No air conditioning". They are also hard to get, notoriously unreliable and cost more. But malesh, at least you can breathe.

But then I got distracted by the ever looming Mogamma. There is always something going on in front of that huge wall of a building.

Here's a little sample of what was happening yesterday: amid the usual smattering of lovers sitting closely together on benches, tea sellers minding their bubbling pots and little boys playing football or jumping on the hoses left out to water the lawns, a blond woman, handcuffed to a really young Egyptian man was unceremoniously escorted by two Policemen across the square to a shady tree just under the Mogamma.

Had I been in Canada or Europe, I would have thought: "Don't stare, it's rude." But this is Egypt where staring is considered a fundamental human right.

I unabashedly stood and watched the scene. Lots of smoking, fist waving (the handcuffed detainees) and calm down gestures (the policemen). I couldn't figure out what the hell was going on but the blond woman looked like she'd been drinking and the Egyptian kid looked like he wanted his Mom. I tried to get closer but the policemen gave me a look that told me it would be better if I just walked away. So I did. I'm Canadian, after all. It doesn't take much to get me to mind my own business.

Directly in front of the main entrance to the Mogamma, an informal market had sprouted on the cool marble promenade. So I went and checked it out. Sunglasses 7.50 LE, watches 10 LE, an entire table with everything for 2.5 LE. Scarves, tops, cellphones, kitchen utensils -- you name it, they had it and it was all under 10 LE (about $2.00) And before you ask: OF COURSE I bought something. It would have been fairly retarded not to.

After I had my fill of the market and emptied my pockets of all remaining small bills, I looked at the gridlock, thought better of getting a taxi and made my way to the Metro.

I love the Metro. Riding it makes me feel part of the city. It allows me to observe life and the people with whom I share the city. And it's probably the most efficient, reliable, enviro-friendly (if that matters to you) way to get around Cairo.

This time, I was asked directions and - eureka - was able to give them. In Arabic, thank you very much. (God only knows what train the poor woman is on now...but I meant well.) The machine ate my ticket. Immediately, a uniformed Metro guy appeared and opened the machine to give me a look at the inner workings of the turnstiles before returning my ticket and shooing me into the stream of commuters heading to the platform. I pushed my way on to the women's car (much less crowded and infinitely better smelling) where little boys and women sporting new born babies hawked everything from safety pins to dress socks to dates stuffed with almonds. After about 20 hot but breezy minutes, I was back in Maadi. No chain smoking, no lead inhalation, no traffic-related near death experiences.

Of course, I must admit there's a charm in that type of journey as well. But I'll leave that for another post.

Choosing to embrace the hype

2008-11-08T14:14:00.000-08:00

One of my oldest friends and her boyfriend are currently visiting. They are New Yorkers and thrilled (and relieved) beyond words with the results of the recent election.

We've been playing tour guide and taking them to all the must-see spots in our beloved new home town. While taking photos at Coptic Cairo the other day, as usual, passersby who hear our guests' accents want to know:

"America?"

An enthusiastic Robert: "Yes! America!"

Little kid gives him a thumbs up: "Obama!"

And then Robert nearly does a jig for happiness and I think he's going to hug the kid. But instead, he gives a thumbs up: "Obama." He sighs a contented sigh. And gives the kid an even bigger smile. And then he proceeds to buy a handful of the papyrus book marks the kid was hawking for one crisp greenback.

My friend Stephanie just shakes her head and laughs: "You don't understand. This is the first time in years that we have traveled abroad and are proud to tell people we're American."

Since then, Robert has been greeting anyone who makes eye contact (and for those who know Cairo - that is no small number of people) with a peppy: "O-Bama" He's even developed hand gestures/ makeshift sign language to go with it. In case they don't get what he is trying to communicate. Normally, I would worry about my hulking 6 foot something American guest getting into peoples' faces but 9 times out of 10, he's met with an enthusiastic smile in return and a "yes yes, Obama -- Mabrook" (congratulations).

Seems the whole world has Obama fever. We even stayed up all night watching the coverage while the Canadian election came and went without us giving it a second glance. And I will admit that I could feel a little lump rising in my throat with every "Yes we can" in Obama's victory address.

But I also wrote political speeches by the dozen in my last job, so I am not drinking the whole jug of kool-aid...

There is, however, something catchy about the shift in mood, the optimism and the hope. And in honour of that, I am choosing to silence my inner cynic -- the one that questions how much a new American president is really going to change the state of the world -- and getting on board.

So to our American neighbours, I say: Mabrook! May your new president live up to the hype.

Disappointed but not surprised

2008-11-02T09:36:00.000-08:00

8 Egyptian bloggers were chosen by the AUC's Kamal Adham Center for Journalism Training & Research to take part in a program to go to America and blog their impressions of the US Elections. They went on two trips -- one in September to intern at the National Press Foundation, learn about the American Electoral system, spend a week with some of the top media sites in the country (The Washington Post, Time.com, the Huffington Post) and then be guests of some of the best journalism schools in the country.

The project was supposed to be an exercise in building bridges and fostering inter-cultural understanding and dialogue. Some of the bloggers had been educated in the American system and have had a keen interest in American society and politics. They were all excited to be going to the States to be part of one of the most exciting elections of our lives.

This week, they went back to the States for part 2 of the project: to be there on election day and blog from their host journalism schools. Two were detained and treated quite badly at the US border and others were selected for "further screening" on each connecting flight. All this despite the fact that their visas were issued by the State Department, despite the fact that they were sponsored by USAID and sent by the AMERICAN university in Cairo and had all the paperwork to prove it.

Can you say: The left hand doesn't know who the right hand is screwing over? While one part of the American government is spending a good chunk of change to try and build bridges with the rest of the world by showing them how great their democracy is, the other part of the American government is showing visitors that their detention centers are just as bad as the ones they left behind in their home countries.

The project has yielded so much thought-provoking debate and insight. Their hosts and regular Americans have been wonderful ambassadors for their country and the process. I'm disappointed that the first people most visitors meet when entering the States can undo it all in one fell swoop.

Read the translation of one of the bloggers' experience: Detained

What?

2008-10-20T15:41:00.000-07:00

We have discovered a really great Korean restaurant on the road just behind our place.

It's the kind of spot you know you can go for a good meal after a hard day at work when you don't want to cook. Or when you fancy something delicious and reliable and don't want to think too hard about where to go. It is close and it is cheap and we go there a lot. The beef bulgogi is to die for and I highly recommend the glass noodles with chicken. My husband is rather addicted to their seafood pancake. Mmmm mmm.

So when you find a place like this, you want to hold on to it, right? Don't want to mess it up. Avoid rocking the boat and just appreciate your good fortune. Maybe it's the Canadian in me, but when I have a good thing going I like to keep my head down and enjoy it.

Is that so wrong?

My husband, of course, doesn't always share my philosophy.

The other night, he wanted to know what the big deal would be if he wore this t-shirt to our beloved Korean restaurant:

I ask: Why can't we just enjoy the bibimbap and kimchee?

Political fundraising - Hezbollah style

2008-10-06T12:20:00.000-07:00

We just returned from a wonderful 4-day trip to Lebanon. Loved it. Stay tuned for photos and more detailed posts. In the meantime, I thought I would write about something I did NOT get a photo of.

We decided to take a day trip and head north east to see the roman ruins at Baalbek. The drive took us up the winding roads to the mountains, across the spectacular range, over bridges being rebuilt after Israeli air strikes during the 2006 war to the other side and down into the Bakaa Valley.

That's when we entered Hezbollah territory. How did we know? The road was decorated with party flags and photos of dead Hezbollah fighters. Young men's faces were framed with slogans like: "You are the men of God" "You are the victory of Islam". Walls painted with Nasrallah's smiling face stood side by side with huge billboards of Khamenei and the late Ayatolla Khomeini. Most notable shop name: "Supermarket of the Oppressed".

We slowed to go through a checkpoint. Once we cleared it, we saw that two men were flagging down cars and throwing glossy, colourful Hezbollah pamphlets into open windows. We grabbed one, thinking what a great souvenir. Doh. We did exactly what they had hoped we would. The men came to our driver's window, demanding money. Our driver gave the pamphlet back, saying they (us) don't want it.

"Give us 5000 LL." (less than $4)

"They are only tourists. They don't want it."

"What about you?" he took back the pamphlet and looked at the money in our driver's hand, "then give us 2000 LL."

"I am just a driver, I don't have any money..."

"Pull over." They pointed like air traffic controllers, trying to guide our car to the side of the road. Our driver just waved at them and kept going.

Suffice to say, no political contributions were made that day.

This little fund raising attempt was the closest we got to anything remotely political during our trip. The rest of the time was spent drinking wonderful coffee, eating delicious sea food and taking in spectacular views. Blissfully unaware of the hardships facing the locals or having the slightest inkling re: the political situation. Lebanon felt more like an upscale European resort than a country recovering from -- and some argue still teetering on the edge of -- civil war.

Elections happen next year. Lets see where this roadside fund raising gets the party of God and it's competitors.

Chand Raat

2008-09-30T11:15:00.000-07:00

Chand Raat -- aka: the "night of the moon". Chand raat is the last night of Ramadan and the eve of Eid-ul-Fitr. Tonight is chand raat (I'm sure no one in Cairo calls it that) and you can hear the traffic, fireworks and the buzz of the city getting ready for the celebration in the morning.

Growing up, chand raat was busy with preparations. Last minute cooking, ironing our new clothes (no kid of my mother's was going to show up to Eid prayers in already worn threads) and no matter how exhausted my mother was, she always made sure I had henna on my hands. Always. In the morning, we ate "savaiyah" (a sweet vermicelli dish) before dashing out the door to Eid prayers. The day that followed was a marathon blur of endless sweet and fatty food as we went from one Auntie's house to another.

We ate like were on a mission to avenge the month of fasting.

Today, I am in another country, thousands of miles away from my Mom. The traditional Eid sweet here is a cookie with a fig in the middle, dusted with sugar. We have some of those on the table but some things about Eid remain constant for me wherever in the world I go: "savaiyah" (aka: Sheer Korma) are bubbling away on the stove, I'm ironing my clothes for the morning and (much like my mother before me) trying to convince my husband to wear a traditional Pakistani suit tomorrow (he won't).

Tucked away in a little cup on my kitchen counter, some Egyptian henna waits my artistic inspiration (I'll post a photo but my prediction: a two year old child's art project gone wrong. On my hands for the next 4-6 weeks).

Tomorrow after Eid prayers, we're invited to breakfast at a new friend's place and then lunch and dinner with another. So I guess now we're the Aunties on the Eid day circuit...

Chaand Mubarak and Happy Eid to all

photo and text copyright cairomaniac 2008 and yes, that is my hand :-)

What is it EXACTLY that you love so much?

2008-09-29T06:33:00.000-07:00

I'm surprised (pleasantly surprised) that my "Everyone thinks we are Crazy" post has gotten so much attention. Many of my friends and family have since been asking: What is it EXACTLY about Cairo that you love so much.

What EXACTLY?

So many things. So many that I've decided that I'll just write them down as they come to me:

I used to have coffee at the Segafrado on the main road in Zamalek (July 26). I sat by the window and watched the streetlife and this same scene was repeated countless times: a bus barely slows at the stop. A passenger wanting to get on, reaches out his hand. From inside the bus, two hands pull him on to the bus while a passerby pushes him onto the bus. None of the people involved know each other and go their separate ways. So what? I love that people just automatically help each other. We're all in this together, it says.

The other day, YK and I were on the metro and a blind man got on. He was alone. Two groups of unrelated travelers were crammed on the metro on either side of him. Without a word, one man from the group on the left and one man from the group on the right offered their arms to the blind man and escorted him off the metro when his stop came. They asked if he needed anything more and went off in opposite directions to carry on their journeys.

I cannot count the conversations that have taken place as we barrel full speed ahead in Cairo traffic. Car to car, people will pass comments on a third car or a scene taking place in the next lane or by the side of the road. They'll share a joke as they cut each other off or change lanes. So many times, our cab driver has leaned out and given directions to the car driving beside us.

I love Cairo because everyone is interacting with the people around them. They are INVOLVED. I know there is no way a Cairene could walk past someone in distress without offering to help. A Cairene will give you advice and directions (granted: whether you ask for it or not) and will strike up a conversation wherever there is a sliver of a space for it. If a Cairene catches your eye, he/she cannot help but say "Salaam" and ask you how you are. It would be unnatural not to. Unheard of. Impossible.

That is just one of the things I love about Cairo.

My ironic laziness

2008-09-29T06:21:00.000-07:00

Here's the project that has taken over my life and become my excuse for not keeping up my writing, please check it out:

www.egyptblogsamerica.blogspot.com

The irony that a blogger project has kept me from blogging is not lost on me.

Stay tuned, I promise to write more soon.

Everyone thinks we're crazy

2008-08-21T10:26:00.000-07:00

We miss Cairo.

A lot.

So much so that we've changed our tickets (at some expense and inconvenience) to return 2 (count em: TWO) weeks early.

That's right. And I can't wait. Ah, to chew, er, I mean, breathe that air (ironically, my asthma is 10 times worse here in north america than it ever was in Cairo) and be in the middle of all the bustle and noise. I can't wait. To have my baker, butcher, vegetable guy greet me, ask me how I am and wish me a good day. To see the sun twinkling on the Nile, feel the intense sunshine and smell the lush Indian jasmine that grows in the roundabout in front of our flat.

I have loved being home and especially spending time with family, so it's obviously bitter sweet to be returning. But the great thing is this: I consider Cairo home at the moment and I love it. Even after visiting NYC, a city I absolutely love, I still want to go back to Cairo. Even after visiting London, a place I always imagined I would settle, I still want to go back to Cairo. Even after being spoiled by all of north america's conveniences like drive-through banks, modern plumbing and coffee choices and instant everything....I still want to go back to Cairo.

Maybe everyone is right. Maybe I am crazy.

Crazy like a fox.

A place to breathe

2008-05-04T09:21:00.000-07:00

Whenever we have guests and we drive around the city, they ask the same question: "Are those buildings half built or are they falling down?" It's funny what you notice and what you end up accepting as normal when you live in a place long enough.

I will be the first to admit that Cairo is by no means a beautiful city. And, I've had my recent issues with it (see previous posts about airport unpleasantries). I needed to get over my unhappiness with the corruption and get back to the city that I was growing to love. Showing the city to a guest seemed to do the trick.

Driving around, answering our guests questions, I realised that something had happened to my perspective. Instead of seeing crazy, haphazard chaos, I now saw peoples' ingenuity at work. Where there was space to build, people had done so. Where they could best spend their hard earned money they did. It seemed utterly pointless and frivolous to me actually, to waste money on the outside of a building considering the harsh climate and crazy sandstorms that seem to invade Cairo without warning. Those puzzle-piece, half-built basic buildings looked sensible and reasonable to me.

I can wholeheartedly admit to desperately needing a break from Cairo and that my relationship with the place is increasingly love/ hate (see my two previous, unhappy posts). We can afford to travel and get away from it when it gets too much. And it is that break that allows the love to come back. But what about the average Cairene? What sanctuary can they seek from the madness of the city?

Sitting on a hill, facing Salah-Din's Citadel is Al Azhar Park. It is a huge, multi-level, thoughtfully designed park that is an oasis in the middle of Cairo's chaos. There are flowing fountains everywhere, cafes, rolling green grass, flowers and colonnades of palm trees. A gift from the Aga Khan, it is a much needed escape from the urban sprawl. Sprawl that you can see extend to the horizon from every angle in the park.

Cairenes take full advantage of the space. Children play in the water, getting soaked. They roll down the grassy hills laughing their heads off. Families sit under the shade of trees to enjoy a picnic. Young lovers hold hands and talk closely on benches. Just before sunset, everyone seeks out a place on the grass to watch the sun dip into the horizon. And as the sun sets, all of Cairo, with its tightly packed homes, mosques on every corner, minarets popping through the cityscape and the din of 20 million people is drenched in gold light (remarkable what pollution can do to create breathtaking sunsets) Sure, the park is manicured and well-kept, but Cairo life abounds within it's groomed hedges. Cairenes LIVE in this city, where ever they are.

All photos and text copyright Sufia Lodhi 2008

It sucks to be back: Airport Rage continued

2008-05-02T03:06:00.000-07:00

Barely back from Kenya, I tagged along with my husband on his recent business trip to Doha.

Doha passport control was a polite breeze, accompanied by a friendly: "Welcome to Qatar, we hope you enjoy your stay."

Return to Cairo? Not so much.

We arrive at the same terminal where the baksheesh incident took place less than 4 days before. Once again, my passport sailed through and when they got to YK's, they asked what his nationality was. YK said Canadian and I (because I cannot control myself) said rather snidely: "That's why he has a Canadian passport." Duh.

The passport guy had already called on a gopher to come get YK's passport. It was deja vu. Except this time, they didn't have the element of surprise or intimidation because we already knew what they were after. And they weren't going to get it on my watch.

This time, as he took the passport, I stopped him and said: "If you are taking this in the hopes of getting a baksheesh, you can give it back right now. We aren't going to pay you anything."

He looked at me blankly and walked towards the end of the wickets. I followed him, my blood boiling. He told YK to go back to the other side of immigration and something in my brain snapped. I held YK's arm and told him to stay put. I think all the protective Lionesses and Mama Elephants on safari had had an effect on me... all of a sudden, we were in "Mean Girls" re: how this would be settled in the animal world.

Insanely angry me: "There's nothing wrong with his passport or his visa. It has already been stamped and checked. He is not going anywhere except out of this airport and home. And you (insert culturally inappropriate finger point) are going to give his passport back right now."

I was, admittedly, blindly tired and reaching off the charts rage, which explains my clear lack of prudence. Rarely am I so ballsy -- especially around people in uniforms with the power to detain us or worse. Clearly, my exhaustion was getting in the way of my better judgement. But stay tuned, perhaps my insanity was the key to success in this country...

Passport gopher: "Hindia?"

Not this again.

Me: "NO. Canada -- see?" (waving passport manically in his face)

YK was trying to get me to calm down, but the scene had begun and there was no stopping me now. They were not going to get away with this two times in one week. I suddenly felt a real bond with Michael Douglas's character in "Falling down" in MacDonalds when he's had this terrible day and wants breakfast at 11:02 but they stop serving breakfast at 11:00.

Me: "This happened to us two days ago. There is NO reason for you to hold this passport or delay us. We are not going to give you a baksheesh, so give back the passport now."

Uniformed officer: "Please wait -- no English." Insipid smile.

Postal Me: "No English? Nice. (flash of obnoxious fake smile) Well, me: No Arabic. Give me back the passport now."

The uniformed officer held up his hands in a "calm down, don't shoot me" gesture, laughed a little and gave YK a look of pity, as if to say: You poor man having to live with such a crazy wife...
But he gave back the passport, no money changed hands and we went to baggage claim.

It's a few days later and I am STILL so mad. I hate that the only way to avoid this is to go back to having the University people take us through immigration and customs. So much for trying to transcend a stratified society. We should have stuck to our station instead of trying to be down with the people and clearing customs on our own. Lesson unpleasantly learned.

Way to take the shine off our welcome home

2008-04-27T08:56:00.000-07:00

We just got back from a glorious 8-day safari through Kenya. It was, quite literally, the trip of a lifetime. We're still dusty and tired and downloading photos (I took 285 and yk took 273 -- and this is AFTER diligent editing. Kenya is just spectacular and there is no end to the breathtaking photos one can take) we'll both update soon with tales of charging elephants, cheetahs on the hunt and leopards in trees, eating gazelles.

We arrived on the red-eye this morning, an hour and a half late. The customs hall was empty and we were third in line at passport control. Thanks to my pre-trip visit to the Mogamma, my Canadian passport sailed through, ka-chunk, ka-chunk -- entry stamps, done. Pass to the guy in back. He looks at me deadpan. I smile. He gives me back the passport and I go through.

YK's passport -- ka-chunk, ka-chunk. Pass to the guy in back. He passes it back to the guy in front but today, they did something different. This surprised me because YK has a much more legit and influential visa than yours truly. And they had already stamped and machine read his passport, so what was the holdup?

One white uniformed officer took the passport to one booth. We waited. Me on one side of immigration, YK on the other. Another uniformed officer took his passport and went to the left. Gave it to a guy who took it to the right. Back and forth, looking serious, for no apparent reason.

Finally, the officer called YK to the exit lane where I was waiting. He looked at me and said: "India?"
I held up my passport (the one he had just seen and stamped) and said, "No. Canada. What seems to be the delay?"
Officer to me again: "Hindia?"
Me to officer: "No Hindia. Canada. See?" flash passport once again.

YK passed through the barrier and the officer smiled at him broadly.
YK: "Is there a problem?"
Officer: "No, no problem at all."
YK reaches out for passport: "Great. Thank you, I'll just take that then."
Officer still holding on to the passport and smiling: "What about baksheesh?"

The penny dropped: So THAT is what this had all been about. We are such square Canadians that we don't even see the signs. But the thing is, we're such square Canadians that we don't pay bribes to get through international airports either. So we said, thanks buddy, but we don't think so. (Actually, YK's exact words were: "No baksheesh, you are a civil servant.") We grabbed the passport and went to baggage claim.

I've been in plenty of situations where extra money was requested or I was over charged. And in fact (see previous post: Malesh) I feel in some cases that me getting "taken for a ride" and paying extra during these hard times in Egypt is fine.

But today was not on. Officials using their position to intimidate us for money rattled me. And it left a really bad taste in my mouth. After returning from a holiday in Kenya where poverty is rampant but people are friendly, gentle and humble -- this was a jarring and unpleasant re-entry to life in Cairo.

As we pulled out of the airport, Cairo looked like an ugly hungry, beast. It was the first time in the six months I've been here that I felt that way.

Yes Saturday -- Revised Rant

2008-04-19T03:21:00.000-07:00

So it is Saturday. YK and I went to the Mogamma this morning to finish my visa business.

I want to make sure that I did not give the impression that the Mogamma is inefficient. Because it is remarkable really that they manage to get so much done. The sheer volume of traffic in and out is astounding. Most of the work is done by hand, with paper forms (ie: gasp! no computers) and somehow, they manage to keep track of everything.

When I went back today every person I had dealt with a few days ago remembered my face, smiled and bid me salaam and a good morning. I did get shunted to a few different windows, but it was painless and quick. After scribbling on all my documents, they politely asked us (yk came with me this morning to watch the show. I think he was disappointed that it wasn't more of a zoo) to come back in an hour. So we meandered over to the Nile Hilton, had a croissant and a coffee and did some shopping. Upon our return, the nice lady at counter 42 asked me to pay the stamping fee (a mere LE3 and 50piasters) and I emerged into the bright Saturday afternoon sunshine with my residency visa neatly pasted into my new passport.

Expenses in all:

5 photo copies-- LE2
2 turkish coffees -- LE5
1 new visa -- LE3.5

I know, I know, it's over done, but I cannot resist....

Experiencing the Mogamma: priceless

No Saturday

2008-04-17T14:05:00.000-07:00

We're planning to go to Kenya on safari over spring break. In order to enter Kenya, one needs a passport valid for six months. My passport was valid for five months and 15 days. So, I went to the Canadian embassy and got myself a shiny new passport valid until 2013.

Ready for our safari? Not quite. Cathy at the Canadian embassy: "You know you have to now go to the Mogamma and get your residency visa transferred from your old passport to your new one, right?" Gulp. The Mogamma? "Don't worry", Cathy assured me, "It's really straightforward: you just have to go there and wait."

The Mogamma is a gigantic semi-circle wall of a building that towers over Tahrir Square like the fiery eye in Lord of the Rings. It is the central government complex and we see it several times a day as it looms ominously over everything downtown. I always imagined that once people went in, they never came back out again. It seemed to me like a giant, hungry beast that fed on anything that passed in front of it.

I found out today that the inside of the Mogamma is part railway station, part open air market, part stock exchange and part major highway at rush hour.

It has all the provisions to make a long wait bearable: beyond the metal detectors (I went through so many, I lost count) in the long, grey corridor just before the service counters, a man had set up a shoe-shine stall, another was selling biscuits, fruit juices, sandwiches and water. A little further, there was a counter with a huge boiling pot of tea with steam shooting out of it, it's lid dancing gingerly on top. Around another corner, a tray of about 20 glasses were prepped with sugar at the bottom and Lipton yellow label tea bags placed carefully in each.

I could not estimate how many people were in that building. It felt like millions. From every nation around the world. Women, children, men and families. Sitting in the waiting area, standing in the corridor and walking from counter to counter, department to department. It had the same feel as a public hospital I once went to in Karachi.

The employees quite possibly outnumbered the people they were there to serve. The ladies at the visa section were gossiping and laughing so loudly and raucously their tea just barely missed spilling on my pristine passport. In the middle of my application, the lady serving me dropped my papers and went into an inner office where we could all see four women yelling at two very skinny men. One man was obviously the manager, the other some sort of offending party. A guy with a long beard, short pants, prayer beads and a Brooklyn accent in line beside me said: "This is Egypt -- get used to it."

I went from counter 2 to 12 to 38 to 42 and then back again. Twice. I got yelled at in arabic multiple times, got shoved out of my place in line and smiled at by a guard with a machine gun.

I had people offer to help me many times as well. Even though the section manager had asked me to come back on Saturday, the PR manager stopped me to ask if I had gotten everything I needed.

Me: "Aywa, shookrun (yes, thank you) I will come back on Saturday, insh'Allah."

Helpful PR manager: "Saturday? Why Saturday?"

Me: lame shrug of shoulder (bloody useless Arabic lessons....) I don't know Mister, this is your government, I'm going to do what the nice lady from counter 38 told me to do.

Helpful PR manager:"No Saturday. You get what you need now. Canada: very nice. Take this. "

He scribbled something (in arabic) on a piece of paper and sent me back into the fray. At this point, I was happy to just pay my money fresh at the airport and forget the whole thing. But noooo, satisfaction guaranteed seemed to be this man's motto. Admittedly, the piece of paper got me more respect this time around but several counters later, my visa was no closer to being affixed in my new passport.

I was starting to feel dizzy. And I think I might have cut in front of a family of Somali refugees (sorry, it's not me, it's the note) and a group of Palestinian students but still no new visa. I couldn't take it anymore, so I left the building (careful to avoid the helpful PR manager) with my business half done. Ever the Canadian, I was more than happy to just come back on Saturday.

Turns out the Mogamma does not eat people alive. It just chews on them a little.

Malesh

2008-04-14T07:44:00.000-07:00

I've started working part-time and that means I have started commuting part-time. I get stuck in the morning rush and try to grab coffee or dinner with friends at the end of the day to avoid participating in the evening rush. Sometimes I succeed. And sometimes, I sit in traffic, chewing on exhaust and trying to make conversation with my cab driver as gridlock eats us up for what seems like hours (most times it is hours...)

The standard cab fare from Zamalek - where we live - to the AUC campus - where we work -- is normally about 5LE (a little less than $1). When I first arrived, I made sure I knew just enough Arabic to make my way home and negotiate the appropriate fare. I constantly tried to find ways to get 5LE notes as change so that I could hoard cab fare. I was going to pay 5LE and not a piaster more.

The trick is to know how much is standard and how much you are prepared to pay, hand the money to the driver and walk away. If you turn back or hesitate, there's a long, loud, pointless negotiation for more money. And my Arabic just isn't strong enough for that.

Everytime I got in a cab, I would make sure the driver wasn't taking the scenic route to increase the fare. "Ya Mohammed, just because I'm going to the American University, does not mean I don't know how much this ride is going to cost". "No, no, turn left here -- it's shorter this way." "Why would you take July 26 at this time of day?" I was constantly on guard, lest someone tried to rip me off or take me for a "foreigner".

In recent weeks, I've begun to hear about rising food costs and shortages of daily staples. We work for an international institution, live in the most priviledged part of town and spend money like it's falling off a monopoly board. We are so far removed from the challenges of the average Egyptian, it is ridiculous, really. What we spend on a dinner with friends is often the monthly income of a local policeman or teacher.

Learning this has made me more philosophical in many ways. I no longer get angry at the cab driver or stress out if my ride is 30 minutes instead of 20. Malesh, we'll get there when we get there. Me sitting in the back of his cab squacking in my incomprehensible Arabic isn't going to clear the traffic. If we take the longer route, sometimes that means we move the whole time instead of taking the shorter route that literally soaks my every pore with lead and diesel exhaust. Sometimes it means we take the longer route and there's no upside, but there you go. At least I have the priviledge of being able to afford to be driven to and from my work.

Now, when the driver asks me for 10LE from campus to Zamalek, I don't argue. I just say ok and hop in their cab. And when I reach my destination, I do what I have always done: I get out, thank the driver, pay him and walk away.

I am probably not making an ounce of difference in the overall situation of the people around me. But I'm finding that my stress levels are lower. And that is worth the all the 5-10LEs notes I can find.

All photos and text copyright Sufia Lodhi 2008

Beach Bums

2008-03-19T01:21:00.000-07:00

When we planned to move to Cairo, everyone advised us to take frequent breaks from the city. It is a piece of advice we have followed very closely and with some discipline. We have been to the desert, a couple of oases, Upper Egypt and up the delta. It was time for something that wasn't at all cultural or adventurous. It was time to head to the beach.

I had already been to Sharm el Shiekh -- nice but very much a commercial resort town. We wanted something a little more chill. Friends suggested we spend the weekend in Dahab, a small coastal village just an hour's drive from Sharm el Sheikh on the Sinai penninsula. Sitting in the lap of incredible red and brown mountains and facing the dancing blue-green sea, it was breathtaking. Very relaxed and not historic or adventurous from any angle.

As a result, we didn't do much. Our days consisted of sitting on the beach, staring at the Red Sea (I personally could do it for hours), taking naps and pretending to read (I think I got through 5 pages the whole weekend).

The waterfront is dotted with restaurants, sheesha joints and cafes. All of whom don't seem to mind if you sit there all day. Attentive and charming waiters brought us Arabic coffee (masboot for me/ sa'ada for yk) and we drank endless glasses of freshly squeezed fruit juices.

One afternoon, I got ambitious and tried a new combo: guava, banana, strawberry. All that fresh fruit looked irresistable. It was incredibly delicious but impossible to drink! Have you ever tried sucking undiluted fruit puree through a 1/4 inch straw? aiy-ya ya. Another fave was sugar cane juice and lemon. My teeth hurt just thinking about it. And when we weren't trying to drink baby-food through a straw, we were getting our Indian food fix at this little place called Nirvana. And it was. We ate aloo-parahata and saag paneer at every opportunity. Mmmm-mmmm good. Y. even snuck out one morning before I woke up, just to have a masala chai on the beach before we left.

Past lighthouse point, the beach gets a little quieter. European holiday makers are replaced with local families. We saw a group of young kids playing at being fishermen...

In the evening, we hung out at the Shams Hotel lounge where we ate light meals of salad, mezze and grilled fish and enjoyed the groovy tunes played by the brilliant dj and our host, Ahmed. Our biggest challenge was trying not to fall asleep on their comfortable floor cushions. Ahhh. Talk about taking a break from reality. The next day, we would be fighting the filth, pollution and traffic of Cairo. But no need to think about that yet: Bukara, insh'Allah. For now, another chai, min fadluck.

All photos copyright Sufia Lodhi 2008

Canadian Content

2008-03-13T04:19:00.000-07:00

When you are far from home, national symbols or icons you didn't think about that often take on new meaning.

A few weeks ago, we took a trip into the Western Desert. Golden sand, blue sky and spectacular mountain ranges. Inspired by the vast and majestic space, my husband and our friend Dwight who was visiting from Toronto decided to mark our travels with a quintessentially Canadian symbol.

They decided to build an Inukshuk.

I was sitting comfortably on a rock nearby, sipping Bedouin tea and documenting "The Making of." Take a look:

All photos copyright Sufia Lodhi 2008

Wikipedia: "An inuksuk (plural inuksuit) is a stone landmark used as a milestone or directional marker by the Inuit of the Canadian Arctic...The Arctic Circle, dominated by permafrost, has few natural landmarks and thus the inuksuk was central to navigation across the barren tundra....

It is a symbol with deep roots in the Inuit culture, a directional marker that signifies safety, hope and friendship."

Mafish Mushkilla

2008-03-09T01:17:00.000-08:00

As a guest, living in another country, you constantly make decisions about what to be fussy about and what to let slide.

Do I worry about the fact that the man who cleans the floor and drain with his bare hands at the tameya (falafel) shop is often the same man who prepares my sandwich and graciously offers me tameya with those same hands?

Nope. I don't think too much about that. No one else around me is getting sick, why be a primadonna?

So when we started hearing funny noises -- bird noises -- coming from our air conditioning unit, I decided to just suck it up. Afterall, birds need a place to live too, right? Mafish mushkilla -- no problem.

At first, it was just a little shuffling and scratching. No big deal. Then the scritch scratch of claws on the tin top of the air con woke us up earlier and earlier each day...

Stupid bird.

I started becoming obsessed with what was going on in there. Is it building a nest? Will it poop in there? Didn't I just read about several bird flu deaths in Egypt?

Every moment spent in our bedroom, was a moment spent plotting to get rid of the bird.

Our apt is on the 14th floor and the air conditioner hangs out of the wall making it virtually impossible to reach. The only option would involve pulling the unit into our bedroom and squishing the nest and all it's occupants. Result: dead bird babies on my bedroom floor.

I couldn't do it.

So I called the AUC housing dept. They asked my husband if he could kill the bird. He calmly replied that no, he could not. Please send someone over to deal with this right away. Click.

No one showed up. So we sent another email. Another week passed.

Still no housing people.

Last Monday, I woke up with a stuffed nose and a blinding headache. Could it be the pollution, change of weather or dust? No. I was convinced it was the bird living in our air conditioning unit. I called the housing dept and must have sounded a little hysterical because their head Engineer and his team showed up within the hour.

Turns out it was not some cute little bird starting a family. Turns out there was a small entrance above the unit that led to a large space in the wall that had room for dozens of birds. Dozens. Crows, pigeons -- God only knows what other kinds of flying rodents had been zipping in and out of there, just a few feet from our bed. I can't think about that too much. Too many flashbacks to Tippy Hedron in Alfred Hitchcock's "The Birds"....

The good news is that there was no nest. And thankfully, no poop. And surprisingly few feathers. The housing peeps did an incredible job. They sealed the opening, encased the unit with wood and built a one foot frame around it.

The head Eng said to our housekeeper: "You know, most people call us and say they have a big problem and then, it is nothing. Today, she (ie: me) said she had a small problem but this, this is a huge problem!"

We still see birds flying towards our air conditioning unit and then pulling up at the last minute. Yasir says it's like they went away for the weekend and someone changed their locks.

Sometimes I feel guilty (thank you Catholic school) for robbing them of their local hang out... but then it was me thinking of them that got us into this mess in the first place. Let the bastards find someone else to torment.

Artistic Expression

2008-02-26T23:38:00.000-08:00

I took my first painting class last night.

I suck.

The teacher said something about everyone else's painting but mine.

But I didn't care. The whole experience was thrilling. It was the absolute cliche I always imagined: easels forming a circle around a table with an arty still-life arrangement, teacher strolling around the class commenting on students art (well, most students...) brushes, paint, pallettes -- all I needed was a beret and a skylight and my fantasy would be complete.

The painting I made last night was, well, er...too....crap to post here. But stay tuned for future artistic genius. Insh'Allah...

Sabah al Khair

2008-02-26T04:48:00.001-08:00

My taxi cab arabic was limiting my Cairo experience. There's only so much you can really do when your vocabulary is restricted to: "take the next left" "turn right" and "here is fine"... So I've finally started my Arabic lessons. My tutor, the lovely Hala, comes to our place three days a week at (are you ready for this?) between 7.30 and 7.45 AM.

Haram anna, as they say: Poor me.

It's pretty safe to say that mornings are not my best time. I start functioning around 11.00am, after I've had a coffee and a carb. So what was I thinking, booking my tutorials so early in the day? Far from being my first choice, my tutor was only available at two times: crack o' dawn or after 6.00pm. Rather than cut into my evening socialising, I decided to bite the bullet and give the early morning lessons a shot.

To my absolute SHOCK -- it's the best thing I ever did for myself. I am learning the language much faster than I ever thought I would and (eureka) getting up so early means I have a head start on the day and remarkable clarity and energy that I was missing out on when I woke up late. (I can just see my mom laughing her head off when/ if she reads this...)

I am loving my lessons and have turned into a bit of a keener (another suprise, since I never was much of a student) I think a large part of that is that she understands my lifestyle and tailors our lessons accordingly.

Example? I have recently learned arabic for: "Waiter, can we have another bottle of water please?" to "Do you have black eyeliner?" to "Thank you, I've had enough coffee and would like the bill."

Ahhh, I can feel myself settling into life here. Al a tool, lao samhaat, al atool.

Weekend in the Western Desert

2008-02-24T04:31:00.000-08:00

This weekend, we drove 350 kms west of Cairo, to the Bahariya Oasis. We ate a hearty lunch at the Hotel Desert Safari Home while our host, Mr Badry worked with our guide and driver to load up our 4-wheel drive for the trip into the desert.

The desert landscape varied so dramatically. From sandy dunes to the volcanic rocks of the Black Desert to Agaba's rounded landscape to the Old White Desert and the New White Deserts that ignited our imaginations and made me think about what life might look like on Mars -- I was scared to blink, lest I miss something.

Below are the limestone rocks of the White Desert that form Dali-esque shapes in the light of the setting sun. This is how I imagine life (or lack thereof) on the moon...It is called the "New" White Desert because it is more remote than the Old White Desert. This was where we camped overnight (more on that later)

Go Misr!

2008-02-11T01:47:00.000-08:00

Everyone in Cairo is in a great mood this morning. And EVERYONE is talking football.

Last night, Egypt won the Africa Cup of Nations. It was the second time in a row and their sixth victory in total. The score was one nil and when the game ended, even the Egyptian announcers on the sports show I was watching (in Arabic, but it didn't matter, I knew exactly what was going on) lept out of their chairs and started dancing in their ill-fitting suits. Out of nowhere, an Egyptian band appeared, dressed in traditional costumes, singing and dancing in between the crappy chairs and faux coffee table of the show's set.

On the football pitch in Accra, Ghana, it was pandamonium. The Egyptian goalie climbed on top of the goal post and waved to adoring fans who were trying desperately to break through the barriers and run onto the field. Zidan tore off his shirt and ran towards the crowd with his arms reaching for the sky, mouthing the Arabic equivalent of "YES!"

When the match was called, the Egyptian coach and several players dropped to the ground, prostrated in thanks and kissed their Qurans' before proceeding to kiss eachother, the cameras, the referees and anyone within their reach. One player kept kissing his wedding ring, smiling and pointing into the camera. When the Cup was finally presented, it disappeared under a human dog pile, covered by frantically waving limbs and team Egypt jerseys. Eventually, the team captain emerged to hold it up for the crowd.

Back in Cairo, the city erupted. I could barely hear our tv over the roar of crowds that had left their homes to pour into the night and celebrate the win.

From our 14th story balcony, we had a clear view of the street below. It was a heaving sea of people dancing, cars honking and egyptian flags waving. The main drag that our balcony looks out onto is a street called July 26. It is a 4-lane thoroughfare that cuts across the island of Zamalek and is the corridor between downtown and the more residential area of Mohandessin. Usually, it takes commuters to and from downtown and is filled with cars, buses and the occassional delivery/ transport truck. Last night, jubilant fans were running through the traffic, wearing egyptian flags on their backs like capes, jumping on top of cars and trucks and dancing and singing for joy. They were, quite literally, bursting with pride.

And it was contagious. Even though we hadn't watched the whole series and admittedly, I had only caught the last 20 minutes of the game, that didn't stop us from heading down to the street to join the celebrating crowds.

At street level, people were hoisting eachother up on their shoulders. Everyone was singing and playing drums -- or plastic cans or anything they could get their hands on that would make a loud noise. Even the security guards at the Lebanese Embassy (obviously local Egyptians) had overturned the stools at their stations, transforming them into drums they played while smiling ear to ear. Young men were lighting fire to aerosol cans, releasing long ribbons of fire into the sky as a row of hapless policemen watched on. Even the policemen seemed more interested in enjoying the show than putting a stop to any of it.

Firecrackers went off like gunfire. Okay, so maybe it was actual gunfire...I'd rather not think about it since it was all happening only steps from our home.

Hijab-wearing aunties, uber-stylish beautiful people, young kids and men and women of all ages had painted their faces with the colours of the Egyptian flag. Car after car overflowed with girls and guys yelling: "MISR!". Pedestrians were smiling and high five-ing eachother in the street. Motorists offered outstretched hands from their car windows as they inched by in thick traffic.

Egyptians are proud of their country at the best of times. Last night, Egyptian pride was on overdrive. The horns honked and the crowds "olaaay-olay-olay-olaaay"-ed till well into the early hours.

I was lucky enough to be in Paris when the French won the world cup in 1998, in NYC when the Yankees won the world series in 1999 and in Toronto when (unbelievably) the Toronto Maple Leafs won the Stanley Cup. Every one of those victories resulted in a spontaneous street party and outpouring of national pride.

In the streets last night, the music and celebration joyfully eclipsed -at least for one night - the drugery and struggle of the every day. Last night, every Egyptian was a champion.

Tried to make me go to Rehab

2008-02-05T08:21:00.000-08:00

And the consensus is: No no no

Rehab is a gated community about 4kms down the road from AUC's new campus and a million miles away from our current life in Cairo.

Beautiful, clean and orderly. It is everything downtown Cairo is not. Even our idyllic Zamalek seemed utterly chaotic compared to Rehab. The wire fence and entrance gates are designed to keep out the riff raff (we only got in because we were on an AUC bus...) and as we drove around, I half-expected to hear classical music wafting through the air as the soundtrack to this carefully planned la la land. It reminded me a little of Sharjah -- convenient strip malls, concrete curbs and orderly sidewalks, grassy knolls and clear blue fountains.

"Breathing the air in Cairo is like smoking 40 cigarettes a day"

"One year of breathing Cairo's air can lead to cancer"

"Constant noise pollution causes depression"

"Did you know that all the traffic cops are impotent due to the high levels of lead in the air?"

Hmmm. Compelling reasons to move out into the 'burbs, no doubt. But I think to myself: if clean air was our only priority, surely we would have stayed in Canada, no?

And not to paint a completely negative picture of Rehab: I will admit that the clear sky, fresh air and subsequent ability to take deep breaths and open our windows are all appealling.... the palm trees (both natural and artificial) were pretty. And if I ever craved "Gauchos Argentina Grill", it would only be moments away.

After spending the day in Rehab, I felt a renewed love for Cairo stirring in my heart. Returning to the city, I found myself embracing the buzz of Cairo traffic, admiring it for still functioning despite the madness. I was proud of the four fully grown men ducking and diving through rush hour traffic on one small motorcycle. I gave props to the woman with six large boxes on her head, crossing a 10 lane motor way. In the wrong direction. While holding hands with several small children. I found that I was (could it be?) happy to once again be stuck in the middle of Cairo gridlock.

It may be chaotic and it may not always make sense. But Cairo is full of life, in your face and a constant source of entertainment, insight and inspiration. I would much rather live a life of thought-provoking frustration than a carefully planned, pristine life of certainty.

I guess it that same philosphy that has drawn me to live in the middle of some of the great cities of the world -- London not Richmond, Paris not Nieully, Manhattan not Larchmont, Toronto not Oakville.

No point in breaking the pattern now that we live in one of the most living, breathing, spitting, seathing cities in the world.

Movin' on up

2008-02-01T08:40:00.003-08:00

The AUC campus is moving to New Cairo. If we stay where we live now, Yasir will face a 2 hour commute in insane cross-Cairo traffic. Tomorrow morning, we're taking a faculty services day trip to check out (ugh) the suburbs. We both hate the suburbs and (no disrespect to anyone who lives there) have always strongly fought against any such move, preferring to pay whatever premium it took to stay in our urban, downtown hood.

The gated community we're seeing tomorrow is called "Rehab" (Insert Amy Winehouse crooning "no no no")

One of my uncles recently pointed out: "Life is filled with compromises."

Indeed.

Unless we want Yasir to lose his mind in gridlock every day, our urban existence could be coming to an end very soon. Granted, our life in Cairo is ultra-urban. Some greenery and an escape from the heavy lead and particulate matter in the air might not be such a bad thing.

Another option is el Maadi. It is also a suburb, but one that is linked to Cairo via metro and only about a 20-25LE cab ride away from downtown and my favorite cafe (I think we've established how important that is to me -- see entry entitled: No ordinary love). It is green and residential and if we can get enough of our friends to move there....it could work. Lets see.

Dinner and a Movie

2008-02-01T07:47:00.000-08:00

One of the things Yasir and I most like to do is go to the movies. It had been months since we had seen a film, so the other night we jumped in a cab and headed over to the Nile City Mall to catch a flick.

Cairo is filled with surprises. There are so many different worlds and my expectations of what I'll find around any given corner never cease to be challenged.

When we arrived at the cinema, I was surprised to see a brand new Starbucks selling lattes, machiatos and various snacks to take into your movie with you. And unlike the chaos of other things in Cairo, each film had it's own line up and ticket counter. The concession stand was a zoo -- thank God, I mean, I needed SOMETHING to remind me that we were still in Cairo....

We decided to see American Gangster (loved it) and the cinema reminded me of the Manulife VIP (which I've only be in thanks to Ameena and her Mom) -- small and modern, with gigantic, comfy seats. Tickets were cheap - 25LE (less than $5) and popcorn was a mere 6LE (about $1.25)

I recently heard that a new cinema has opened up in the City Stars Mall across town and get this: all the seats in the cinema are Lazy-boys! Each has it's own adjustable, reclining seat. And the pampering doesn't stop there: you can order food from the Intercontinental hotel and it will be delivered to your seat....

Delivery, by the way, is a big thing here. Groceries, fast food -- anything you want can and will be delivered to your door. I knew that Yasir was getting into this a little too much the other day when he called in a delivery of a pack of cigarettes and a diet coke....

No ordinary love

2008-02-01T06:53:00.000-08:00

Life is good: latte in hand, Sade belting out one of my faves from the '80s, I am sitting in a comfy chair with a view of the sun setting on the Nile and unlimited internet access. I am in one of my favorite spots in all of Cairo: The Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf (sigh) I get filled with love just writing it's name.

I don't know what I expected when I came to Cairo but it sure wasn't this. I would be hard pressed to find a comparable cafe in Toronto (maybe Far Coast on Bloor, MAYbe). It is on a sunny corner, overlooking the corniche/ Nile river with an imposing statue of Umm Kulthum marking the square. It is modern, chic and filled with Zamalek's beautiful people. The service is good (not too much blah blah, they just make my coffee without fuss) and I can literally sit here for HOURS without the suggestion that perhaps I should move my butt to make room for new customers or that I should buy something more than the latte I have been nursing for the last decade.

If ever I wonder what's in fashion, all I have to do is come here and people watch. The women are so stylish and of the moment, I cannot even tell you. Today, for example, it's sunny and the terrace is a SCENE. Gucci, Dolce, Prada -- the women are immaculately dressed, looking like: "This old thing? Oh, it's just something I threw on." And even the guys are sporting all the designer accessories du jour. But somehow, it's not obnoxious -- it just is. This is their reality and no one is trying hard -- they just are stylish and beautiful. It's a fact of life. I normally find this scene unbearable in other cities but...I think the grit of Cairo makes me crave some beauty and connection to "what's hip"...

This cafe has literally saved my sanity. Whenever I wonder what the hell I am doing in Cairo, I throw on my coat, sunglasses, grab my handbag and head across Zamalek to my beloved Coffee Bean. There are dozens of other cafes within walking distance of our place. But each of them has something wrong with it....Beanos -- is tucked away between somewhere between the Sri Lankan embassy and the Dutch embassy. I can never find it and always (without fail) end up at the gates of the All Saint's Cathedral (I suspect there is a message in there for me somewhere)....Cilantro -- watery coffee, snotty servers, it's dark and they clean up after you the second you put your cup down (the only good thing about Cilantro is the mini brownie they give you with your coffee - yum)....Barista -- the air is grey with smoke and the light in the bathroom never works... I have passed some really interesting Egyptian coffee places but I only see old and young men and the odd blonde obviously foreign woman in there sticking out like a sore thumb... so uh, no thanks. There is an Italian place on the main drag (the Illy coffee sign beacons me) -- but the problem with that is that it's on the main drag and I don't find it relaxing to chew diesel or listen to the deafening sound of car horns. But that's just me.

No, the Coffee Bean is perfect. It's my escape. I think all you really need is one place that is your sanctuary, somewhere you can go, recharge and chill out. If you have that one place, I think you can face whatever the city throws at you.

Not so intrepid tomb raiders

2008-02-01T06:24:00.000-08:00

I realise I have been a collossal slacker on the blogger front.

In my defence, we have been travelling a lot (more on that later) and I got Ramses Revenge. Praytell, what is that, you ask? Every one of our friends who went on a Nile Cruise went to the Valley of the Kings and visited the tomb of Ramses II and all came back with debilitating viruses. Could we blame the extreme temperature fluctuations (23-25C during the day and 1-3C at night) or the fact that the cruises were very busy (up at 6.00am and entertained til well past midnight) or that we were all tired from travelling to Upper Egypt and back with coughing hacking masses from all over the world. Nooooo -- the consistent theory among our friends is that we have all picked up a pre-historic bug, contracted deep in the heart of the tombs we visited...

I guess it makes a better story than "we caught it from snotty kids and coughing old people." Whatever it was, it was BRUTAL. Fever, chills, coughing -- just hellish. I cannot remember the last time I was so sick. Luckily, we have cable and a million (I am not kidding) channels. I installed myself on our sofa with a fuzzy blanket, the remote control and a steady supply of hot drinks (supplied by my lovely husband. Maybe he was sick as well because we were having a lot of delirious conversations... Me to Yasir: "I'm feeling better, I think you cured me." Yasir: "Caribbean?")

We have downloaded all our photos, I'll sift through them and write more about our trips over the holidays (holidays that are only ending for Yasir next week). Here are the Coles notes: we spent new years in a desert oasis close to the Libyan border. Then, we returned, played tourist in Cairo, visited Islamic Cairo, Sayeda Zeineb (the granddaughter of Prophet Mohammed)'s grave and then decided last minute to book a cruise from Luxor to Aswan and all points in between. We even splashed out and spent a night in the Old Cataract Hotel in Aswan (over the top colonial hotel overlooking the Nile).

Presidents and Supermodels, oh my

2007-12-27T07:01:00.000-08:00

French President Nicolas Sarkozy decided to take his new girlfriend and nine of their "closest friends and family" to Luxor this Christmas.

Friends had told us Luxor and Aswan would be teaming with tourists at this time and next to impossible to see the sites. So we decided to put a Nile cruise on hold.

Turns out that we made the right decision.

It has been the perfect time to play tourist in Cairo. The city is uncharacteristically quiet and many tourist attractions are virtually empty. All eyes are on the hourly newscasts showing Sarkozy and his girlfriend canoodling on the banks of the River Nile. Their 26-car motorcade visited the temples of Karnak the other day.

Boy, am I glad we dodged that circus.

After a tiring day of site seeing around Cairo, it's been fun coming back to our beautiful flat in Zamalek to watch eurotrash, heads of state and celebrities alike flying into our backyard on the evening news. I think after Sarkozy leaves, Tony Blair is flying in. Wonder who is going to be next?

The photo to is courtesy of the Luxor Information Office and AFP. Click here for the Yahoo story and more photos.

Al Fustat 640-868 AD

2007-12-24T13:51:00.000-08:00

Just as I knew little or nothing about Jesus in Egypt, I knew even less about how Islam came to the region. Amr Ibn Al'As was a companion of the Prophet and the leader who conquered Egypt. Al-Fustat was the name of the new capital, located in an area now referred to as Old Cairo. Considering how much history occurred there well before Christianity or Islam arrived... it was probably referred to as Old Somewhere back then as well.

He built a mosque, of course. The first in Egypt, and by extension, Africa. It is an elegant structure that has been destroyed, rebuilt, restored, extended and ultimately functions as a busy place of worship, thousands of years after its first stones were laid.

We stumbled upon the Mosque of Amr Ibn Al-'As as we were leaving Coptic Cairo. We arrived just after Isha (the final prayer of the day) and I think they were preparing for a wedding, so we didn't go in. I did sneak a peak at the ladies all dolled up in the reception hall and a few men (also dolled up) smoking cigarettes outside, waiting for the wedding procession to arrive.

The grounds surrounding the mosque are extensive, so we took a stroll. The lighting showed off the beautiful carving, lattice work and lamps. And unlike some of the other mosques we've visited, this one - though beautiful - was obviously very functional, buzzing with activity and not only for show.

All the guide books say that Cairo is the city of a thousand minarets. I can testify that you are never more than a few footsteps away from a mosque. Some are humble holes in the wall, while others are grand beyond imagination.

Praying is just a normal part of life here. While breezing by in crazy mid-afternoon traffic, I have often seen spontaneous lines of worshipers on the grassy traffic median or sidewalk, praying for a few minutes and then carrying on to their destination or resuming their work. Because there are mosques everywhere (literally), I have often wondered: is there a spiritual difference between praying in a cool, clean, airy mosque rather than chewing the exhaust and pollution of the hard Cairo street? Part of me really likes the grittiness of the latter. (having said that, you are not likely to catch me kneeling on broken cardboard on the main drag at rush hour any time soon...)

Just a few days ago, we visited the mosque of Ibn Tulun (the oldest existing mosque in Egypt - you can check out Yasir's blog for fabulous photos and more info. Archive: August or early September). Not the least bit gritty -- Ibn Tulun was peaceful and beautiful. Stepping through the giant front doors and into the main courtyard, it was hard to believe that we were still in Cairo. The stillness felt more like the middle of the desert. We arrived in the late afternoon, just as the sun was setting. The light was spectacular. Hanging alabaster lamps, perfect symmetry and the most extraordinary minaret with a spiral staircase. The mimber (pulpit) was decorated in ornate wooden carvings and gold tiles. I only wish I had remembered to bring a camera. Our friends Greg and Anna promised us copies of their photos, so I'll post them as soon as I get them.

'Twas the night before Christmas

2007-12-24T12:02:00.000-08:00

And even though we know that Coptic Christians celebrate Christmas in January and that the real birthdate of Christ is up for debate....we decided to take a Christmas eve trip to Coptic Cairo. Rather than sitting on Santa's knee at the Diwan Bookstore in Zamalek (honestly, I was tempted...) wouldn't it be more meaningful to walk where Jesus had walked and see where he had been while he was in Cairo?

We had a late start to our day and the ferry we had planned to take down the Nile had already made it's last run. So we opted for the Metro. The first time I took Cairo's subway, I went alone. That meant I had the priviledge of sitting in the orderly and spacious women's car. Today, I was with Yasir. And I was about to get my first taste of co-ed Metro travel. I had braced myself for the worst. I am happy to report that our journey passed without incident. It was a little crowded and hot but people were respectful and there was minimal shoving. In fact, when Yasir piped up with a loud "excuse me/ lao samaht" as we approached our station, numerous men tsk-tsked and gave him looks of: "Ok buddy, keep your pants on. We'll get out of your way in a moment." I was reminded of Jon Lovitz from Saturday Night Live: "You don't have to yell...."

The train spit us out at Mar Girgis (the Coptic Cairo Metro stop) in under 15 minutes. A few steps from the station, we passed through the huge and heavy door into Coptic Cairo. It was almost 4.00 pm and everyone was closing up shop. Still, we were free to wander the old walled city and thrilled that the streets were deserted.

We turned a corner and the air was filled with the scent of fresh oranges. A little girl ran out of a doorway, looked at us and said: "Orange." Not offering it to us, just showing us that she knew how to say orange, I guess. Thanks kid.

Women and children were gathered in a square, eating oranges, talking and mingling. No one said anything to us but we felt like we were intruding so we quietly turned around and left.

I don't know if the oranges were part of some pre-Christmas ritual or not but I do know that oranges from Sinai are in season and we've developed a bit of a habit. I must confess: we've been eating a kilo (or two) of them every couple of days...mmmm mmm. They are like the little oranges we call "kinn-oos" in Pakistan. The skins peel off without any effort and they are tart and fresh. But I digress...

One of the highlights of the visit was seeing the place where baby Jesus, Mary and Joseph took shelter when they fled Palestine. I realised I knew next to nothing about the early life of Jesus. My knowledge skipped from his birth to adult life. But nothing in between. I wanted to know more. So I googled it and here's an interesting article tracing his family's journey through the region: http://www.arabicnews.com/ansub/Daily/Day/011225/2001122537.html

Our second wonder of the world, together

2007-12-24T03:11:00.000-08:00

On the third day of Eid, we decided to head to the Pyramids. Cairo is quiet and mellow over the holidays so our timing couldn't have been better. The streets were quiet (it is still the largest city in Africa so "quiet" is a fairly relative assessment) and getting a taxi was a breeze.

We zoomed through the city. As we hit the main drag in Giza, the driver pointed out the window: the top of a pyramid peeked through the tall buildings and played hide and seek through the sprawl of Cairo's endless apts and office towers. I wondered what the Pharaohs would think about the competition their monuments now fought with the modern skyline.

When we got close, numerous checkpoints dotted the way to the entrance. Guns, policemen and demands for our passports (they don't even look inside, flashing Canada was enough to earn us a smile and a gracious "welcome") prevented us from seeing the pyramids. This turned out to be just as well: bars and barriers were everywhere, ruining any possibility of a clear view. As we reached our drop off point, the hustle of the hustlers hit a fever pitch. So much so that I don't remember what my first impressions were.

"hello -- need a guide?"

"welcome in egypt -- need a camel?"

"I give you two horses -- want to know how much? I give you best price."

Yasir talked his way around them and somehow we made it to the ticket office where he negotiated the Egyptian resident ticket price. It was much like our visit to the Taj Mahal a few years ago -- the advantage back then was that I at least spoke the language.

However, I have learned that Egyptians are friendly and helpful and they won't steal from you or watch idly as you get ripped off. Our taxi driver had given us safety tips the whole ride and advised us "as your driver, it is my duty" how to bargain and gave us a guage of fair prices. Here, a man approached us and from behind him we could see the Tourist Police shaking his head and wagging his finger, warning us not to get conned. With a quick nod of thanks to the Policeman, we ducked around this latest tout and slid past the barriers into the grounds of the pyramids.

Only then did we have a moment to look up and absorb the first pyramid.

I tried to imagine what it would look like without vendors selling wooden Anubis statues and plastic pyramid snow globes and tourists crawling all over the base taking photos: "hey frank! take a picture of me holding up the pyramid"....it was hard.

Suddenly, we heard the friday call to prayer -- the cacophony of sounds drew us to the edge of the landing that overlooks the city. We stood there, listening to the mingling voices floating up like a cloud. After a moment, we turned to look back at the Pyramid. Only then, at a distance, far from the circus at the base, were we given a better vantage point. They were magnificent.

Many of the entrances to the tombs were closed so we walked into the ones we could and marvelled at the perfectly preserved artifacts in the Solar Boat Museum (4000 year old straw and rope that looked like it was just woven).

The desert sand and the colours of the Pyramids against the bright blue winter sky were the elements that impressed me most. I tried to imagine how breathtaking it must have been to trek through the vast desert and have stumbled upon this for the first time.

No one talks about downloading until it's too late

2007-12-22T08:10:00.000-08:00

Sun, sea, palm trees and relaxation. That's what my friends promised when they invited me to join them at the Grand Rotana resort in Sharm el Sheikh. I was still getting over my jet lag and all my senses were assaulted by Cairo's pollution and chaos. The lure of sunny blue skies and pool side cabanas were just too much for me to resist.

I flew into Sharm (the bone rattling turbulence is par for the course in winter, reassured the kind man sitting in the seat next to me) and paid far too much for a super short taxi ride to the resort. I tried explaining (in english: my first mistake) that I lived in Cairo and that his prices were out of control. He looked at me, deadpan and said in equally perfect english: "You are in Sharm now."

The hotel was ridiculous (in a good way). Gorgeous, luxurious and filled with...Russians? Everywhere I looked, beautiful women with blue eyes and perfect figures were arm in arm with men whose figures weren't, shall we say, as perfect. While the women were sporting tasteful, if skimpy bikinis, all the men were kitted out in ill-fitting speedos. What must they have been thinking? Not one to ponder such deep mysteries while on vacation, I was content to enjoy the sea air, palm trees and hammocks.

Ah, the hammocks. There was a beautiful row of them, strung along a line of palm trees, their leaves creating a rustling green canopy. Equally beautiful during the day as they were by moonlight. I took pictures. On my phone. The phone I lost...the phone that had all my photos of the last three years. The birth of my nephew, my best friends kids, anniversaries, travels..it was a sickening loss. "Didn't you download them?!" everyone asks. Um, if I did, I wouldn't be so sad about losing my phone... So I bought a new one. Which explains the photo of my new phone on this post rather than pictures of sand and sea....

When we left Canada, good friends told us to plan escapes from Cairo often. They also told us to embrace the bubble of expat luxury. I felt a little guilty about running off to a 5-star resort so soon into my stay here -- but my guilt was soon washed away by a tall, cool glass of pomegranate juice and the fresh Red Sea breeze.

Eid Mubarak

2007-12-22T05:44:00.000-08:00

All my life, Eid has been a joy-filled celebration. I wanted the same on my first Eid in Cairo.

We invited friends over the night before Eid for a "chand raat" party. And I wasn't going to have a chand raat without henna. Thankfully, our life here is blessed with the wonderful Mrs Khalifa. Her family transformed our Eid. From finding the Sudanese henna lady for our party to inviting us to their place in Imbaba for a traditional Egyptian Eid day lunch, they made this Eid-ul-Adha unforgettable.

When I was a kid, the night before Eid my mother would put henna on my hands and my father would confer with the community to spot the moon and then arrange the morning prayers. The day of Eid, my mom would be up at the crack of dawn (even tho she was the last to sleep) making sure our brand new Eid clothes were pressed and ready. She would shoo us down to a traditional sweet breakfast before heading out the door to Eid prayers. We'd go to prayers, meet everyone and spend the day visiting family and friends (stuffing our faces at every stop...) On Eid-ul-Adha, my father would go to a nearby farm (in sussex) and sort out the meat and it's distribution (split in equal thirds: charity/ friends and family/ personal use). All this in a small town in eastern Canada where I was the only Muslim kid in my school until my brother started grade one. I always knew the meaning of Eid and looked forward to it. I thought all these were traditions unique to my family -- but as I grew up and celebrated Eid in my various travels around the globe, I realised that what my parents had done for us was repeated in households across the Muslim world.

photo taken by yasir khan, composed by sufia lodhi :-) 2007

Time to learn Arabic

2007-12-22T03:48:00.000-08:00

I've been procrastinating on arranging arabic lessons. I have been happily getting by on my very limited taxi-cab arabic (al-atool, shemel, yamine, hina kwais -- straight ahead, left, right, here is fine), my ability to buy simple items (wahad chocolate croissant, min fadlek) and acting like I can speak arabic when approached by vendors on the street (la, mish dilwati, shookrun). Until last week when we stopped for a mid-afternoon snack just across from the Khan-al-Khalili market.

"Lao samaht - feen al hammam?" I asked: where is the bathroom?

The waiter pointed me towards a set of wooden, swinging-saloon-type doors. I pushed open the doors to find a sink in the middle and two signs pointing left and right, indicating the mens and ladies...in arabic. I was at a crossroads in more ways than one.

So, I took my chances, chose a door and resolved to call an arabic tutor as soon as I got home.

"The Khan" can be overwhelming in its clutter, noise, stray cats and ceaseless hawkers vying for your attention. But every time I visit, beauty flashes around a corner or is caught as you look up for a moment. Here are some of the lanterns that caught my eye on our last trip to Khan-al-Khalili.