“Raindrops on Roses”?

Maria (a.k.a. Julie Andrews) had obviously never been to Cairo when she was spouting on about “Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens. Bright copper kettles and warm woolen mittens.” Had she ever visited Cairo, “My Favorite Things” might have gone something like, “Bread bikes in traffic and physics-free zoning. Fur-covered dashboards and donkeys with propane.” Well, maybe.

Bread bikes still remain at the top of my always-amused-by list, but they are quickly followed by, what I have termed, “taxis with fur.” Now, admittedly this is not miya-miya (100%) correct, as there are a lot of personal vehicles that fall under this as well. But I first noticed the habit of decorating one’s dashboard with fake fur in the taxis. The fluffier and thicker the better.

Decorating doesn’t just stop there either, stick-on mirrors lining the windshield are popular (you could claim that they’re used for safety, but I think they’re used more for watching one’s passenger); beads and the big glass evil eye (said to protect one against harm) are commonly swinging from the factory-installed rear-view mirror; inevitably there’s at least one, if not 15, pinetree-shaped air fresheners attempting to mask the body odor of 40-years of sweating Egyptians (one driver had them hanging from all the handles above the doors, so I was constantly being smacked by it during my ride); some, typically the younger 20-something drivers, install neon lighting inside, which adds to the carnival-feel of a taxi ride at night in Cairo.

The reasoning behind these latter add-ons I believe falls under the “Egyptians love bright sparkley things. The more color and lights, the better.” However, while the fake fur might merely be decorative, I have seen one actual use – one driver stashed his cash under it. Otherwise, it could also be a way to cover up or protect the plastic dashboards from cracking and deteriorating under the intense sun. But ironically, for all of the Egyptians I have asked about it (although none were taxi drivers), no one could tell me why or what the fascination with fake fur was. So the mystery remains.

To marry my love of photography and delight at the “taxis with fur,” I have been attempting to amass photographic documentation. Which isn’t as easy as it sounds, because I’m often riding in a car next to them (not wanting to appear that I’m obviously taking a picture), or I’m in the cab and again, don’t want to appear obvious. So, to spread the joy of the “taxis with fur” (always fake) I share these with you:

Wife Antics

I guess it’s only fair that I confess my own antics while living alone. Ron has been gone for two weeks now on a business trip, slated to return tomorrow at 4:21 p.m. (but who’s counting?). I’m not quite sure why we each get into trouble when left alone, but maybe we rely on each other too much to catch us right before we do something particularly stupid and without the buffer, we do the stupid.

Regardless of the reason, I don’t think my antics are on par with Ron’s (I never had to call him in another country to find out where the papertowels were nor did I buy eight pounds of turmeric), but I did manage to have a few bumps along the way.

First was realizing that I didn’t know how to access my photos. Due to the exponential growth of my digital photo library, my brilliant IT-husband set me up with an external storage device, just for photos and iTunes. However, despite being able to physically connect with the thing, I still couldn’t access them. I finally remembered to mention it on the phone and his response of “Did you read the book?” filled me with waves of childhood annoyance at my step-father’s “Go look it up,” every time I asked how to spell a word. My response to Ron was something akin to, “Of course I didn’t read the book. Why would I read a computer book? That’s why I married you, dear.” But admittedly he was right, and after taking approximately 7 minutes, I found the answer. Stupid “Option” key.

The one thing Ron asked me to do while he was gone was run the car at least once. Since we basically only drive it on the weekends, Ron likes to make sure that at least once a week we drive it around a little to lube everything up (or something). So, heeding his request, I decided to drive to the commissary by myself last weekend. I figured if I went early on Friday morning, meaning before noon, the traffic would be practically nil. (Friday mornings are the best time for driving anywhere in Cairo. With the lack of traffic lights, and upwards of 10-feet between cars, you can practically weave your way to Maadi without ever using your brakes.)

I typically don’t mind driving in Cairo, despite the cartoonish insanity, but as I was tootling along down the Corniche Road last Friday I suddenly felt my car listing to the right for some reason. That “reason” was the ancient little white car on my left that was slowly side-swiping me and shoving me aside. Hello!! Big sand-colored Jeepy thing here! Apparently I was in one of those pockets where the physics-free-zone doesn’t apply, because usually when you’re side-swiped there’s no actual physical contact made. We both stopped, him in front of me, but I knew damn well I wasn’t getting out of the car. His hands were waving wildly, I’d like to think apologetically instead of accusingly, but I decided to just go around him and keep on driving. It could have been partially my fault as I was probably driving in a lane. Bad Julia. Upon inspection later, I saw that the large rubber bumpery things around the wheels took the brush-hit and I was able to just rub off the white paint. Why me?

This past week I opted to forego the driving adventures and instead arranged to go on the commissary-run shuttle on Thursday. There were only two of us from Zamalek, so after I was done shopping I just read and waited in the van for her. Once she was done and loaded in the driver told us we had to wait just a few more minutes for some special orders for Ambassador Scobey (the U.S. Ambassador to Cairo). She had ordered several cases of water and some crates of lettuce and fresh vegetables (maybe she’s having a rabbit party). They shoved everything in the van and we headed home. I was the first drop off, so the driver kindly helped me load up all my goodies on the cart. He handed me a bag but I noted that it wasn’t mine, so must have been the Ambassador’s. I thanked him and headed upstairs to unload the goods. As I came to the last two bags of vegetables I started to put them in the fridge but suddenly realized that I hadn’t bought any broccoli. These were the Ambassador’s! I quickly called down to the guards to get the name of the driver who had dropped me off. Then I called the embassy motorpool to try to explain that they needed to get in touch with the commissary driver for Zamalek, who hopefully wasn’t back at the embassy yet, to return to our place to get these bags. I needed the evidence out of my apartment, so I took the two bags down to the guards and explained to them what happened and that hopefully the driver would be returning soon and to just give them to him. When I left a few hours later that evening I noted that the bags were no longer on the table downstairs, so I could only hope that Ambassador Scobey got her veggies. I’d hate to get Ron’s career thrown in the gutter over innocently-stolen broccoli, but I also know that fingerprints can be lifted from grocery bags.

I did have other non-food shopping adventures, but I’ll share those separately. I saw a few movies, did some socializing, and attempted to address all the items on my “When Ron’s Away” list, but sadly found myself too busy for a lot of them. For all my concerns about being lonely or bored, they never really materialized. But I did come to one interesting realization. Growing up an only child, I always found comfort and solace in spending time alone. In fact, there were moments I craved it. Yes, I enjoy being around people too, particularly if I can choose them, but I was always quite happy living on my own and having my own life. But now, for the first time ever, when Ron’s away, I realize that I don’t want to be alone anymore. It’s not that we have to be sitting next to each other or reenacting the cake-feeding moment at the wedding all the time, but just hearing his clunkings and mutterings and huffings coming from the other room makes me know I’m home. So while his absence definitely keeps the house much tidier, it’s also too quiet and missing a heartbeat. As we continue on this marriage route, it’s nice having confirmations along the way that we made the right decision; providing I don’t have to read any more computer books.

Whether to Weather the Weather

The title is really nonsensical, but I had a Dr. Seuss-moment and went with it.

Typically the weather is Cairo is “warm and sunny” maybe with a touch of “hot and sunny” sometimes reaching to “Hades and sunny.” But you get the general drift. However, once in a while we get a spot of rain, which kindly washes the 9-month accumulation of dirt and dust from the trees down onto the sidewalks, roads and, if you’re unfortunate enough, your clothes (which then have to be binned as they are truly not salvageable). This results in a gooey slippery coating which merely adds a layer of fun to the already cartoonish driving conditions, not to mention walking conditions. Luckily, we’ve only had rain 4-5 times in 13 months.

The other weather phenomenon we have are sandstorms, or khamsins. They say these are most common in March and April, however I have experienced them periodically throughout any of the non-summer months. In Cairo the skies become almost dull yellow, there’s no sunlight beams peeking through, visibility drops to nil (which is marginally different from the pollution-related-nil-visibility) and you are suddenly getting a free sand rub-down on your face as the wind whips around you. I snapped this photo from a cab a few weeks ago when I suddenly realized, “Hey, I’m in a sandstorm.”

However, when you’re not avoiding rain or khamsins, and it’s not the height of summer, Cairo weather is beautiful. It’s sunny and warm in the daytime, and cool and lovely at night. And luckily enough, this goes on for a good six+ months a year. I’d have to say that Spring is my favorite “season” (if you can call it that, it’s more of a 20 degree temperature shift). The sun is warm and bright, the breeze keeps you cool and flowering trees and bushes are in full bloom with exploding color around every corner.



There are occasional days that present with no khamsin and no pollution, just deep blue skies and big white fluffy clouds. However, these tend to be as rare as the khamsin days, hence the need to capture it photographically.

Regardless of the weather, the one constant I have found that is necessary despite any other factors is having big Elizabeth Taylor sunglasses. Foregoing any pretense at attempting to appear fashionable, I have come to accept the bigger the better in sunglasses. Khamsin or not, there are always clumpy particles and crud flying through the air here, so I find it’s best to go for eye protection one stop short of a welder’s mask. But maybe with a glittery butterfly or Chanel logo on the side.

Taxi Tales – Handholding Etiquette Tips

It’s been a while since I’ve posted any taxi tale collections. It’s not for want of taking taxis or gathering tales, but I think we’re becoming a little complacent about the ridiculousness of Cairo taxis. Sad really.

It’s not unusual for taxi drivers to holler at each other as they’re driving to ask for directions or a lighter or change. I’ve seen a lot of directional guidance, which must be done with a flurry of hand gestures, I’ve also seen money going back and forth between moving vehicles, but luckily I have yet to see a lit flame being passed (but I hold out hope).

Last month I was in a taxi heading to the embassy for class, and as we rounded a bend, the front passenger-side door flew open. Without really a second thought I leaned forward as we continued to fly along and managed to grab the swinging door and shut it. Must be a Tuesday.

Functioning latches and doorhandles are a luxury item here, so it’s a 50/50 gamble whether you’ll find functioning versus non-functioning. It’s not uncommon for a driver to have to either open the door from the inside to let you in because the outside handle doesn’t work, or even exit and open the door from the outside to let you out, because the inside handle is just missing. I did have one experience where I was struggling to get out of a cab and the road was too busy to let the driver easily get out, and a woman walking by just reached down and opened the door from the outside and kept going. It was like scratching an itch for her, second nature. Which I was grateful for.

Yesterday I hopped over to the Khan (market) to make a quick purchase after my class. My taxi there was actually one of these new Cairo cabs. They’re all white (I don’t even recognize them as cabs yet), brand new, with A/C and meters. I’ve taken two so far and the first one I never even looked to see the meter since we never use them. But the second one I did notice the pretty meter sitting on the dashboard, however it wasn’t operational. I’m sure they make more money without the meter, and now that I know what to pay for certain fares, I’m fine with not using one. But it’s good for tourists, as long as they request to use the meter up front. The one amusing thing about these cars was that they were both still covered with the factory plastic on all the seats and inside handles. We’ll see how long that lasts.

My return cab from the Khan was a typical battered black and white. The driver was a young guy, Ahmad, who was very chatty. I was nice and played along, practicing a little Arabic, letting him practice his English. At one point he reached back and shook my hand asking my name. I shook his hand, but then found that I had to wrench my hand out of his grip. He kept chatting and turning around to look at me as we drove (extra hazardous), at one point asked me to remove my sunglasses (which I didn’t), asked me if I had a phone (I said no, but my husband does), then proceeded to tell me that typical greetings in Egypt are two kisses to the cheek (this is correct, though only between friends), a kiss to the hand or holding hands for five minutes. (?!?)

We were within a 20-minute walk from home when I found myself wondering how best to tuck and roll when jumping out of a moving vehicle. It started with him saying he wanted to hold my hand for five minutes. I said no. He asked why. In Arabic I replied, “Mish ayza” (I don’t want to.) He laughed, and said, “Inti mish ayza. Ana aayiz.” (You don’t want to. I want to.) Ha, ha. Not funny. I wondered whether "La yanni la" would have the same impact as "No means no."

This type of stuff happens to 99.9% of expat women here at one point or another (the 00.1% who manage to avoid it never leave the house). And I’ve heard it’s as high as 80-90% for Egyptian women as well. At no point did I actually feel threatened by Ahmad, but my annoyance threshold had long been reached. So Ahmad the lecherous taxi driver can join the obnoxious “guide” from the Fish Garden and a few other taxi drivers in my list of applicants for lobotomy studies. I think the world’s going to need more lobotomists.

The Nile-o-what?

In the posting about Joe's visit, I mentioned that we visited the Nileometer and would post the accompanying article later. Here's later:
*****
Have you been plagued by that age-old question: Just how did they used to measure the annual flood of the Nile? Are you kept awake by the infinite possibilities? Do you find yourself wandering aimlessly, drawn to an answer that remains just out of reach?
Well plague-be-gone! Hop in a taxi, or drive if you’re extra-adventurous, and ask to go to the Nileometer on Roda Island. Or even better, ask to go to the “miqyas al-Nil,” on Roda Island, which is next to the Umm Kulthum Museum and both are on the grounds of the Palace of Hasan Pasha al-Munastirli. With those landmarks, he should be able to ask enough people to find it eventually (our cabbie did).

This is not an all-day outing for which you need to plan weeks in advance. If you just want to check out the Nileometer, and leave the palace grounds and Umm Kulthum Museum for another time, the time it takes to get there will most likely be longer than the time actually spent there. But it’s worth it. And be sure to let the ticket-taker know that you’re there to see the Nileometer, so the man with the key to unlock the door (and all the secrets) will accompany you.

It is said that the Nileometer on Roda is the oldest monument in Cairo that still bears its original form. There is evidence that a nileometer existed on this location dating back to Pharaonic times, however, the current structure dates from 861 A.D. Still impressive.

This structure has undergone a few restorations, first by Ibn Tulun in 873 and again in 1092 by the Fatimid Caliph al-Mustansir. The wooden conical roof was replaced in the early 1800s by what is seen today and it is believed that this Nileometer was in use for over 1,100 years, up until the last flood in 1970, following the construction of the Aswan Dam.



The exterior shape is reminiscent of a little cottage on the banks of the Nile, however the small interior is cool stone, lit by a ring of windows around the roof, the interior of which is painted in lush golds and greens and spans a stone-lined pit. As you look at the pit, from above, below or somewhere in the middle, you can see that the basic idea is relatively straightforward. The pit is rectangular and wider at the top, and circular and narrower at the bottom. A stone staircase lines the pit walls, there are four inset arches, three eastward-facing tunnels at varying heights that, prior to 1970, allowed the Nile waters in, and a center stone column topped by a wooden beam. The stone column is marked off in cubits (approximately half a meter) and measures a depth of just over nine meters. Your guide will inevitably offer you the chance to clamber down the steps to see what it feels like to be standing below the Nile. The steps are wide but the lack of a handrail can be a bit vertigo-inducing, so tread carefully.


The use of the Nileometer to predict water levels for the coming harvest was vital to Egyptians throughout the centuries. Measurements were taken during the annual August/September floods. If the waters reached the 16th mark, a good harvest year was predicted. If they reached the 19th mark, a devastating flood would follow, and if they failed to reach the 16th mark, famine and drought were expected. Pharaonic records indicate that one in five floods caused either severe droughts or flooding. Annual festivals were celebrated throughout Egypt following a flood mark of 16 or higher. Anything less than 16, however, and the celebrations were canceled and replaced with prayer and fasting.

Cairo’s Nileometer is a little-known gem that most tourists don’t bother with. But on a beautiful day, it’s a great stop for a bit of history, some engineering ingenuity, and a little stair-climbing fun. Be sure to enjoy the view of the Nile from this southern-most point on Roda as well, and as always, don’t forget to tip your guide.