When I first arrived at the Hotel Flamenco, I was unable to check in as no room was yet available (It was still only about 7:30 a.m.) I sat around for a while in the lobby before deciding to take a walk around the neighborhood. It was quite a chilly, foggy morning; certainly much colder than summer in Swaziland. I wandered around the block to the road paralleling the river (the Nile!) then walked along admiring the view and enduring the stiff, chilly breeze blowing off the water. Finally, I moved back inland and into the neighborhood, where businesses were starting to open. I stopped in at a barber shop to see about getting a haircut, but the young man opening the shop told me he couldn’t. He seemed to be saying something was “illegal” but I couldn’t tell what – was it too early for the shop to open legally for business or was it illegal for a men’s barber to cut a woman’s hair? Never mind, I was just looking to pass the time (plus, I do seem to have a strange compulsion to get my hair cut at men’s barbershops in developing countries – my own brand of risk-taking, extreme-sport). I continued down the block, appreciating the view of daily morning life on Zamalek. Then I headed back toward the hotel. As I walked past the barbershop on the opposite side of the street, I heard a piercing “Psst” from across the way. There was the young barber, somewhat surreptitiously motioning me back to his shop. What the heck; in I went and got an adequate (meaning I wasn’t butchered) but overpriced (for a barbershop) haircut. Lesson #1: in Cairo, all prices should apparently be negotiated in advance. Or perhaps Lesson #1 was never look at photos on your cab driver’s cell phone, which would make this one Lesson #2... My final act before returning to the hotel was to stop at the McDonalds on the corner (which, as a photo shows, has a whole fleet of delivery mopeds – interesting). There, I bought only bottled water, absolutely nothing else, I swear.
Once back at the hotel, I was able to check into the tiny room that I would soon be sharing with Pamela from Burundi. It was now close to 11 am, so I went down to the restaurant for the end of the free breakfast, which I figured could serve as lunch. Then I returned to the room to try and nap for a few hours. I got up and finally left the room again around 4 pm, which unfortunately was too late to take in any tourist sites. I bought a map at the souvenir shop in the hotel (the front desk should have had some sort of free map, but didn’t) and the helpful girl there recommended I walk down to the opera house or Cairo Tower, both of which are at the opposite end of the island. After walking about half an hour, the rejuvenating effects of my nap had worn off, and I was nowhere near the opera house, so, I decided I would just head back. I also, insanely, decided to cross the street, which took more than a few minutes (several to psych myself up, a few more to find a large enough gap in the never-ending traffic, and a few heart-stopping seconds of tearing across the 6 or so lanes). Apparently I was being watched in this endeavour, as a young man immediately approached me on the other side and asked if I needed help. (Well, yeah, if he could have stopped the traffic, but only the traffic cops hold such powers). I told him I was fine and that I was just out for a walk. At this news, he seemed even more intent on helping me out. He introduced himself as Ahmed and then briskly led me through a nearby gate and into a park of sorts. The next thing I knew, I was being walked around a sandy track, getting in the way of numerous jogger-types in sweatsuits; Ahmed had understood my reference to a “walk” as meaning I wanted to go running (the exact opposite, of course, to what I really wanted to be doing, which was sleeping). We walked along together, attempting to converse in limited English (the only option, of course, as I am totally lacking in Arabic language skills). Ahmed kept trying to find someplace for me to leave my bag, so I would be free to run. I finally managed to convince him that I really did NOT wish to run, at least not on this particular day, as I was tired from travelling. After about 25 minutes on the track (during which time I did enjoy watching a man training a beautiful horse on a long lead – until Ahmed tried to get the fellow to hold my bag ...), we came to a spot where we could exit the park and go back to where Ahmed had left his car (and a patiently waiting passenger, poor guy). Although Ahmed seemed very sweet and helpful, I was still waiting for the sales pitch; surely, he would try to sell me a tour or a trip to his uncle’s carpet shop or SOMETHING. But no – he regretfully told me he had a job driving so he couldn’t take me around although he did tell me what a reasonable price would be to hire a cab out to the pyramids and back. He really was just a sweet young man who wanted to welcome a stranger to Cairo and practice his English a bit. My opinion of Cairo and its people began to rise from that initial low suffered at the hands of airport taxi hawkers.
I walked back to the hotel, largely in the dark, but I still felt safe. Zamalek(actually, all of downtown Cairo) is liberally patrolled by police with big machine-guns; also, there are just lots of people out walking and driving all the time. Not that most of them would necessarily have saved me from an attacking criminal, but crowds do make me feel safer. The view along the Nile at night is beautiful, too.
The attached photos include day and night views along the Nile, the barber who cut my hair and some street scenes. (Unfortunately, I didn't get a photo of Ahmed)
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