Beach Bums

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

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:

t

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

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

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

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

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)

All Photos copyright Sufia Lodhi 2008

Go Misr!

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.