Islamic Cairo

By the time I arrived at Midan Ahmed Maher to visit the Islamic Art Museum, I was already in a bad mood. I had gotten in yet another taxi-fight. This time, by proving once and for all that non-Egyptians really should pre-negotiate the fare for any journey of significant length. I followed all the ex-pat's advice, and will say only that it did not go smoothly. I miss the efficient, inexpensive, metered cabs of Morocco (or New York for that matter - not London though, who can afford a cab in London?). My mood didn't improve when I learned that the museum had been closed for renovations since 2002.

My guidebook mentioned this possibility and suggested that I call to confirm the museum's status before going. That wasn't going to happen because I don't make phone calls, especially when I have no confidence in my language skills. Luckily for shut-ins like me, there is the internet. The museum's website seemed a little unsophisticated, but official websites in Egypt are rarely user-friendly, so I didn't think much of it. I saw later that it hadn't been updated since 2003, which still doesn't explain why it failed to mention that the museum was closed. It's strange that Egypt's tourist interface is sometimes so bad, since tourism is the country's largest source of revenue. The programming skills are certainly there: three or four times a week I rely on an awesome site where I can order delivery from one of about forty restaurants in the neighborhood. It's a little concerning (but also wonderful beyond measure) that so much of Egypt's modernization efforts appear to have centered on making it easier for me to effortlessly order fast food.

When plans go off the track, Cairo usually offers alternatives. I decided to take advantage of the great weather and walk through "Islamic Cairo," so called because of the large number of religious buildings in the district. The Bab Zwayla, which is as impressive a city gate as you're likely to see in your life, is a great starting point for any of a half-dozen walking itineraries in the area. Between the Bab Zwayla and the Northern Gates, you can enjoy an embarrassment of architectural riches. Palaces, mosques, wikalas and madrassas hem in the narrow market streets of the Khan el-Khalili; the old bazaar of Cairo. In terms of sheer density of religious architecture, I don't know if there's an equivalent anywhere else in the world. Even Rome gives it churches room to breathe.

I wasn't sure what to see. I had my guidebook, but didn't feel like flipping through the pages for recommendations. I found it much better to just visit whatever building happened to catch my eye as I wandered past. While it's sometimes a great way to get kicked out of a building, I've found that it's also a great way to discover hidden treasures and that you're much less likely to have to share them. At the newly restored Mausoleum of Al-Ghuri, for example, I was the only visitor. The lonely custodian was happy to let me climb up to the dome for some great views of the markets below. He was also happy to let me visit the cistern, where I almost got stuck because the stairs were so worn I couldn't climb back up them. The contrast between the silence of a mosque and the insanity of the street makes each more enjoyable to visit.

I found that in Rabat, visiting the souq isn't that different from visiting a shopping mall at home. I mean, there are some differences: in Rabat, you still might see a donkey packing out a new 40-inch flat screen on its back, but the thing is, in the Rabat souq, you could buy a 40-inch flat screen. Khan el-Khalili isn't anything like that. Other than Coca Cola, there is very little for sale that you couldn't have bought two hundred years ago. And while it's true that plenty of the shops trade in kitsch --ankhs, pyramids, busts of Nefertiti, charms to ward off the evil eye, sheesha pipes, genie lamps, etc.-- many others run serious businesses. In the Goldsmiths Bazaar running along the Sharia al-Muizz, little of the gold and silver jewelry (which is mostly sold by weight), is intended for tourists, who probably aren't carrying around that kind of cash.

Not having much interest in jewelry, I walked the opposite direction down the Sharia al-Muizz, through the covered Tentmakers Bazaar (who sell exactly what you'd expect), and on towards the Citadel. The streets in this part of town are most definitely not tourist oriented. You can buy crates of live rabbits, chickens, ducks or pigeons (I tried to take a picture of the rabbits but the shop-keeper's eight-year-old son wasn't having it). I saw shops that traded exclusively in offal, with racks of lungs, brains, hearts and livers for sale. I was sorry to reflect that in the last three months, I've eaten all of these things. The raw organs looked better than the fish, however, which after suffering the indignity of spending their lives in the filthy Nile, now had to gasp their last breaths from under a layer of flies so thick I can't promise you that they actually were fish. It was a world apart from the seafood stands in Essaouira.

The only time to be thankful for Cairo's horrible pollution is during sunsets and when taking photos. The haze lends added drama to the ranks of minarets and domes receding in the distance. Every photo comes out in warm sepia tones that make it look like someone's been tinkering around in photoshop. I actually came back from my walk with a warm sepia tone myself, so much so that one of my roommates who had previously noted my pastiness, commented on how much sun I got. Sadly, my nice color came from a combination of dust, car exhaust and charcoal smoke. I came out of the shower looking as sickly as ever, which makes it that much less likely that I'll ever get a reasonable deal on a taxi.