Local Heroes.....

After a week on the Nile we returned to our Cairo home. After the calm of the river and the less manic towns of Upper Egypt, Cairo felt like bedlam! The initial madness getting out of the airport was much eased by the wonderful Nader. He is a true gentleman and the calmest of drivers! He came highly recommended and husband had been chauffeured by him to and from the airport for his New York trip. He had formally been a sound technician to some Egyptian pop star and had travelled widely over the world. He clearly has a fantastic notion of good service. It’s hard to know his motive for becoming a chauffeur but we are very glad he has taken this route at this point in his life. He is to be trusted and highly reliable. We naturally want to adopt him!  That evening, he brought us home without fuss but as always these days, I entered the apartment with the usual level of trepidation! The lift was working, so, electricity ok. Water?!? Turning on a tap on entering the apartment, we discovered it as also fine – for now! However, all was not well within minutes. As I switched on the bathroom lights to wash my hands, I noticed what husband calls his ‘shaver’ lights, one of them was decidedly wonky...nay, and it was hanging off by its thin electric thread!!! The cable holding it up had snapped! It was one of a triptych. The other two were working, but clearly, something seriously amiss had happened. Within ten minutes, there was a call from husband in the kitchen! The tap was buggered and water was gushing out! Within another half hour, three bulbs from the main bathroom fused off! Ah, the comforting welcome home! So, the new super heroes of our lives ‘TG Services’ were summoned.  Not once but nearly half a dozen times in the week. Not only were there the aforementioned niggling problems but the shower hose snapped off (fabulous Egyptian quality again) and both the hot water heaters decided to play silly buggers!  The hot water supply in the apartment became as temperamental as British summer time. All is better, but not fixed! One has to tenderly adjust the hot tap for the shower or one will burn as the cold water pressure is not predictable. In the kitchen, the hot water tap has to be turned on and off three times for the oxygen flow to kick in! Neither system is broken, so no point getting anything replaced! That is the mantra here! If it ain’t broke, don’t expect it to work well, but for goodness sakes, don’t replace it! No guarantee of quality on the next one!

Last Monday saw me leaving school with Nader to find the Burmese/Myanmar Embassy in Zamalek. We had been told to go into the Embassy to apply for our visas. The trip was a mini nightmare! The quarter is rather charming with colonial buildings, shady roads, whiff of faded elegance coupled with cosmopolitan appeal. Nader seemed to know where he was going and found the building. However, we had overshot it, so had to get back on the sardine one way system of narrow warren like streets for him to deposit me outside the gate! Husband arrived half an hour before closing time and we both managed to fill in required forms. We dealt with only one lady diplomat in a longyi who was helpful and charming but impressed on us that she could not make the decision and we would need to wait to see if our application was successful. Nearly a week on, we are still awaiting the decision. I am hopeful but dare not be complacent. I have not returned to the country of my birth for 33 years and would dearly love to do so this year.

I have also had my first hair cut and colour in Cairo! After phoning around several recommended ladies, all of whom were booked up or busy, I settled for an American trained lady by the name of Sally Hassan! This morning, I was in her salon for over three hours. She reminded me a great deal of Bloody Mary from South Pacific! Her Bali Hai was clearly her Salon Vogue! And she happy talked me the entire time with her motherly sharp wit. An Egyptian by birth having grown up in Florida, she now lives in Cairo but makes frequent visits to California, to see her daughters I assume. She had two assistants who did all her bidding but she was very hands on and I delighted in her calling me Sweetie! The prices are UK prices, but since I only bother to do my hair twice a year, I paid up and left happy feeling thoroughly pretty!

Earlier this evening, I got a call. ‘Miss B?’ the lady asked. ‘Yes’ I replied. ‘This is TG Services. Is everything OK?’ My response, swinging my newly coiffed hair was, ‘At the moment, everything OK.’ Do I detect a wry smile dear reader?  Ah, how well you know my life now!!!

On either side the river lies....

Just the sheer mention of the Nile brings to mind enchanting and tranquil images. All I wanted was running water and electricity after my fretful five days of Apartment Wadi! I have never been more pleased to board a flight (a diminutive Egypt Air Express carrier) for the promise of my basic needs being fulfilled. We arrived early evening into Luxor and managed to avoid an exorbitant taxi fare although we were well aware we were paying far more than we would in Cairo for the same distance. But hey, the promise of water purring out of taps stopped us from shopping around.

The ride indeed took less than 15 minutes. Luxor traffic and roads were indeed provincial by comparison to the over bloated volumes and dubious quality of our ‘home’ city. Husband gasped as he noticed we were driving over the Avenue of Sphinxes. I was by this point too tired to take in the golden lit Luxor Temple. But, the frisson of excitement had been planted.

The alleged 5* Nile Palace Hotel was as expected. Not really 5 star but amply comfortable. We had a Patio View, which we knew were the cheaper rooms! We looked out onto balconies with bougainvillea plants and a courtyard with a fountain. It was great for people watching. A pleasure these days only topped by...the promise of a whole week of reliable water supply! As soon as bell boy had been tipped, I dashed into the bathroom and turned on the taps. The sound was music to my ears. I acknowledged by this point that I had developed a condition. I had become a ‘hydrophilic’! Dinner that evening was an Italian affair on the ground floor. The food astonishingly good for that calibre of resto in Egypt. We had a table overlooking the courtyard and were charged a small fee as we would be able to enjoy the evening show over dinner!? The thought did not fill me with great glee as I was in no mood for trashy tacky belly dancers. Sure enough it all began with a track from Aida as the bored looking ‘dancer’s entered in ancient Egyptian dress and pose and floated around a small performance area going through a rather dull choreographed routine. Predictable ‘mature’ tourists clicked their cameras and whipped out their camcorders. Husband and I looked at each other and thought, ‘well, hopes of quiet dinner gone!’ The tempo upped a bit and slightly faster twirls ensued followed by what looked like Egyptian Morris dancing! This I found amusing. BUT, all this was a warm up for Colonel Gay-daffi and his impressive hip motion! This man was a slender beautiful thing with a mop of raven hair and an Apostle’s beard. With a pair of Ray Bans, could have been a decoy for the ostentatious Libyan leader in his youth. I could barely take my eyes off how he made his hips pop with such ease. His female coterie looked cumbersome by comparison. His party piece was to use his feet to manoeuvre around the fountain on what looked like a small bongo drum! He did this to applause and gasps. I had to join in. Soon afterwards, he was followed by a singular Whirling Dervish in an outfit to make Joseph in his Technicolor coat envious. This man could have spun into outer space. He balanced discs, spun with a blind fold, and whirled his outfit around and above his head without missing a beat. I watched him in awe feeling slightly dizzy. His talent was remarkable and only whetted my appetite to see these mystical Sufi dancers back in Cairo. Shortly afterwards, we returned to our room. The ‘entertainment’ carried on till about 10pm by which point it seemed to have descended into the local dance school doing their week-end shows; all ending with what husband said looked like a gay Las Vegas wedding!

Following day involved a lie in and a late breakfast. From our table, I caught a glimpse of the date palms of the other side of the Nile on the West Bank. I suddenly felt, ‘we are here. After years of imaginings, now is the time....’ We did not rush to the sites as they would follow as part of the Cruise, but decided to walk to the local Souk.  As so often happens, we were accosted by a tenacious Calash /Horse and Carriage driver and taken for a spin! He was a gnarled, dark older character in an ash blue Galabaya and won us with his charm and astonishingly good level of English. Ibrahim was someone who had learned the language by driving around Luxor for 35 years refining his command of English from various tourists. I remain full of admiration for these enterprising linguists who understand the value of speaking another’s language. He took us around the locals’ market which was buzzing with chat and trade; showed us where houses had been bulldozed away for further excavations of Luxor Temple and to a couple of stores where we could shop. We worked out he would get a commission if we bought anything, but we were too taken by him to protest. We eventually did make some purchases but my bargaining skills have become so honed, that all Ibrahim managed to get was a cigarette! It did make us smile. That afternoon, he dropped us off at the King’s Head pub opposite our hotel as we fancied fish and chips, which we enjoyed too much!!

Second morning in Luxor, we awoke feeling slightly apprehensive. We had no idea where our boat was moored and feared being taken ‘for a ride’ by the local taxis! Sure enough, our fears were proved right! The hotel Concierge was a Chancer who had no idea where we should go! He tried to charge us three times what we finally agreed to pay and put us in a random taxi as the hotel car would take too long!!! The taxi driver in turn took us ten mins out of the city to a mooring for a completely different company. After husband and I made our displeasure clear, we got a tourist police to phone and find out where our boat was! After this, he smiled sheepishly and reversed up the road we had come down! Eventually, we drove back into Luxor and were deposited opposite the Winter Palace Hotel where Chateau de Lafayette was moored. As we unloaded and paid him the agreed fare at the hotel, he tried to argue it was too little. He was expecting us to pay for his mistake. By this point, I was prepared to slap him. In classic Ms Cassimer school tones, I told him, ‘You made the mistake. Your problem. We are now late. Your fault. Enough. Goodbye.’ My stare stunned him it seems. We left him standing with his head shaking.

On board, we presented our papers and checked in. Ostensibly, the boat seemed very smart. The description was ‘deluxe’. But really, it wasn’t. Our room which was meant to be a suite was just a comfortable sized room. The fixtures were faded and the whole feel was shabby, not even chic! But, there was running water and electricity! I was not going to complain. It was clean and we had all we needed. I’d also taken to our Chamber Boy, whom I decided to call Shrek. He was big, lumbering, gap toothed and looked slightly oafish but had an endearing manner and delighted us each day with his towel animals!

That afternoon, we had our first excursion to Karnak and Luxor temples. I thought we would be in a group, but as we booked independently, there was only a young family with us. An American couple with three children. Six year old Charlotte, three year old Christophe and one year old Isaac. Our first impressions were ‘OMG!’ I have always been slightly allergic to children outside school time and we had planned this trip thinking it would be child free!! However, our fears were soon allayed. The parents were prodigiously calm, well organised, and very considerate and their children were adorable and biddable. We admired them in the end for doing the trip and introducing their children to how they should behave when seeing sights. It can be done, but too few do it well.

Karnak Temple. I had seen pictures of it through the years, seen films, documentaries, but nothing prepares you for the scale of it. It is awesomely magnificent and still majestic. No amount of words or images will ever do justice to what the eyes see and what the soul feels. Luxor we saw after dusk. The place was still busy with visitors, but the honied lit stones gave the place a haunting ambiance. It became possible to imagine the place being lit by torchlight as the high priests carried out their ritualistic tasks. It’s astonishing to believe the longevity of this civilisation over three millennia, but when one sees the legacy they have left, it becomes plausible to believe how and why.

Our first evening on the boat saw us being introduced to Maria. The Maitre D, a dark affable man had asked us after lunch whether we would mind having a single lady join us at our table. We felt like saying ‘yes, we do actually’ but our natural response was ‘no, of course not.’ He told us she spoke English, French and probably Spanish and she did not want to be alone for her meals. We dreaded who this singular misfit might be! However, we had no need to worry. She was a beautiful glamorous lady in her early 70’s but looking decidedly ten years younger.  She was Portuguese and a widow. Her husband had died back in January. His name was Jimmy and he was a Brit. They had planned the trip together and she had decided to do it to celebrate her 74 birthday on the Cruise. We adored her immediately. She was a vibrant woman with an impish twinkle in her eye and a zest for life. We appreciated the trip would be difficult for her in moments, but there was nothing maudlin about her. In fact, she had a very youthful manner and a wicked sense of humour. Her description of the Maitre D as the ‘Last King of Scotland’ as portrayed by Forrest Whittaker of Iddy Amin endeared her to us hugely. She had had a fascinating young life being the daughter of a Portuguese plantation owner on Sao Tome, a Portuguese West African Island. She had gone to school at a boarding convent in Ireland and Jimmy was her second husband whom she met, it seems, in her late 40’s. I admired her immensely. She was a hoot! So much about her mannerisms reminded me of my own mother and her determination to do things on her own terms I could empathise with. It felt a privilege to celebrate her birthday with her on board. I hope she enjoyed the last set of ‘stones’ she wanted to see at Abu Simbel.

The wakeup call came at 5am for our trip to the Valley of the Kings. It was EARLY! I somehow made it out and once ‘out’ we were greeted by a hazy sunrise and balloons over the West Bank. It was magical. No photos are allowed in the Valley of the Kings, not even outside the tombs. And the tombs...I would never have imagined. The vibrant colours, the details of the carvings, the scale of these things, all astonishing. Once the sun rose, the temperature picked up with too much alacrity. I can understand why trips start early as by 10am, the sun feels burning, even in November. This was one place I could not imagine coming in the summer months. How Howard Carter lived on his desolate domed home on a hill top overlooking the valley is baffling. He must have been consumed by his quest. ‘Obsession is the passion that makes you prisoner....’ I enjoyed learning about the Ancient Egyptian cosmos, religion and mythology through these tomb paintings. What an outstanding testament for immortality.

Returning to the boat, we found out we were not sailing that day. No real explanation was given. We were miffed, but hey, we had running water! The General Manager, whom we named Saddam Hussein due to his remarkable resemblance to the late notorious despot, took pains to tell us that it would take no time to sail down to Aswan, so we could not leave too early! We must have looked incredulous as he tried to tell us this a few times. He was a curious character bordering on the smarmy. He also had this peculiar white patch of hair in a perfect circle shape at the back of his head...almost like a target. We did not see him often, but whenever we did, he seemed always to be hurrying away from somewhere.

That evening, we nearly missed dinner having over napped for nearly six hours! It must have been stress exhaustion from the week before and the heat exhaustion of the morning. We noticed the dining room was quite busy...and full of seriously ugly people. Husband observed they all looked like the missing link! They were thick set; tall and all looked like various villages over somewhere in Northern Europe were missing their idiots. I know all this sounds desperately unkind, but it’s true! There is no other way to put it. They made our towel sculptor Shrek look like an intelligent Nobel Laureate! We were with them for three nights on the boat and apart from being eyesores; they were not offensive in any other way. On the knees-up Galabaya night (which we did not join in!) they were the cheeriest we had seen them! Clearly dressing up dispelled their customary geriatric glumness. We discovered quickly that they were a Danish group! As husband said, they all had this medieval peasant look like they had never evolved! I’m sure they had a good time and will be back in the cold now, dreaming about set meals and sunshine!

As we suddenly had a free unanticipated morning in Luxor, we decided a felucca trip to the West Bank would be a picturesque treat. As we walked off the boat, we were spotted as Felucca hunters in a nano second by an over observant local! He directed us to a young man who looked like he was in training to be the next Mr Universe. We bargained a price for an hour boat ride and headed out. He told us there was no wind for the felucca sails but he would get us on a motor boat, just us. We just wanted to be moving on water, so, we agreed. My Mr Universe observations were not amiss as his name was Ahmed, but he was known as Captain Muscles!! He certainly was the picture of muscular health! We chatted to him about what he did and the West Bank and he shared his anecdotes. Talking to him, we decided to make a trip to Banana Island where there was a plantation. He had family there it seems. Arriving, we noticed there were no tourists groups. The ole boys were smoking their shishas and all seemed right with the world. As we were walking around, a boy appeared ...about 12 years old. He soon took over the guided tour and we found ourselves impressed. His British English was excellent for someone who had taught himself with minimal help from his school. His accent, his grammar, far superior to some comprehensive scums I have had the displeasure of trying to teach! With Captain Muscles clearly as his mentor, he would soon overtake his master linguistically! The whole island had a languid contented feel. It was easy to understand why farmers on the Nile would wish for nothing more. No wonder mortal kings and sultans could not generate the workforce the demi god Pharaohs could and did....Allah had granted them all they wanted...On our way back, we climbed back precariously onto the boat. Suddenly, we heard Captain Muscles shriek! He had dropped his watch into the water! We could see it as it was quite shallow. With great agility, he removed his shoes, socks, rolled up his jeans and jumped in! The watch came back in two pieces! I’m guessing he prized his D&G fake specimen greatly! As distressed as he initially seemed, he cheered up quickly. He was a true entrepreneur with his toned limbs in many pies it seems. I wish him well with all his enterprises. He will impress...!

Afterwards, we wandered into a fabulous book and print shop in front of the Winter Palace Hotel. It was clearly an institution and still fabulously maintained. Purchases were made. We then headed to the Winter Palace gardens for coffee and a nosey. What an elegant and beautiful place it was. I felt quite at home. Husband and I have promised ourselves a garden view room before we leave here and dip in the pristine pool. I may invest in a 50’s style swimsuit for the occasion! Red with white polka dots? That would suit Madame!

Eventually, we were sailing down the famed river.  How wondrous that was. The pace was gentle, the scenery exquisitely sublime. The lush green vegetation contrasted beautifully with the baked sands of the hills beyond and the delicate blue of the Nile in moments turned sapphire with the changing light. We saw life happening as men and boys went about their business in boats; women by the waterside with children washing large silver pots; young men taking livestock to the water be it oxen or sheep. Occasionally, people waved and always I waved back. I was a guest in their world, and it was the least I could do. I took numerous photos in an attempt to capture the myriad moments of utter serene scenes. The images will never ever do justice to the actuality of witnessing it all with my own eyes.

Kom Ombo was our next Temple stop. A Greco –Roman beauty on the banks of the Nile. A picturesque location seen at happy hour when the light is warm and shadows deep. The whole place is more on a human scale but no less intricate in artistry and symbolism. Alexander the Great and his descendants remained respectful and faithful to the people they conquered and assimilated much of what had made the pharaohs great; including their building projects.

Finally, we arrived in Aswan, an affluent looking city with good roads and the strategic High Dam with Lake Nasser on the other side. There is a great deal of military presence, no doubt due to the dam’s strategic position. There is also some great Egyptlish as in ‘no photoes’ and ‘Cimetry’. There were others, but I could not take photoes! We moored with our room facing the West Bank, so I woke up to feluccas sailing past the windows. Again, another early rise to go an admire the engineering of the High Dam (which involved a great deal of Soviet help); the unfinished Obelisk which must have sent the quarry men to distraction when it cracked then to Philae Temple, one of the wonders of the UNESCO project which managed to salvage important sites which would have been permanently lost to the flooding for the Dam. I loved this place, on an island, looking like something out of a Greek myth. The Temple was for the worship of Isis. It was incredible to see what an outstanding achievement it was to have moved it. The carved pylons as you approached on the boat will stay in my mind’s eye for always. The dodgy guards who took us around Trajan’s Temple in an attempt to get baksheesh were rather pathetic, however!

Our last foray was to the Botanical Gardens or Kitchener’s Island on a Felucca. It was just the wee family and us. The wind was in our favour and we landed easily. There was some time to saunter around and admire the great variety of plants and trees from all over the world. It was a holiday week, so it was busy with Egyptian families and not too many western tourists. Nevertheless, it was not a cheap place to eat and drink, so many families had brought picnics. This sounds rather idyllic, but it was not as pipes with trickling water made the lawn areas soggy and rather unpleasant. We did not stay too long and soon made our way back to the boat. The journey would normally take about 20mins with fair winds, but since the wind was against us, it was nearly an hour and a half. To add to the jolly of this meandering felucca, as we neared the boat, the winds died, completely. We were stationary for nearly twenty minutes. The ole boy let out his sail and fiddled about greatly. The children were remarkably good keeping themselves occupied. Christophe spent the time tying rope around a bench with great methodology. However, this proved to be our undoing! Once the wind suddenly picked up, the boat raced towards two smaller motor boats and WHOP! We crashed in spectacular style! The ole boy raced from one side of the felucca to the other trying to untie Christophe’s rope! It got him nowhere as our vessel ploughed on out of control!  Various instructions were shouted to his grandson and to the man in the motor boat before we eventually came to a stop! It was a memorable ending to a stunning trip. The children were fairly oblivious to what had happened and the parents mortified their son had maybe caused it! We said our farewells to them once we were on terra firma and got our last lunch on the boat. We had arranged for a late departure, so managed to rest before bags had to be packed. Just before we left, I went onto the deck one last time to savour the view. As my eyes adjusted to the sun, I now noticed a fratilla of feluccas coming down the river. It was an amazing sight and a perfect view to end this Cruise as the sun gently started to set...

Water Water Everywhere.....

...but not a drop at the apartment!

Husband had flown to New York for a memorial service and I was looking forward to settling into three days of self indulgent food and downloaded Strictly. I had already watched one show and was about to make some dinner. Turning on the tap in the kitchen, nothing. Not a drop came out of the fake steel contraption. I sighed remembering how this had happened before and pottered about the flat. Half an hour later, no change. After two hours of this, I started to feel fretful. I phoned my new friend Linda the glamorous and outrageously funny South African on the floor above and she had the same issue. Clearly, this was now a whole building crisis and not an apartment problem! Cold comfort. Next, I called Alisha, my Arabic speaking American neighbour from floor 1. She also had no water and had ordered some but had no idea where to get any information. By now, I was getting to that tearful exasperated stage. How long was this going to last? Would it be back in the night? If not in the morning, how do I get ready for the morning? Somehow, I managed to make and eat some dinner with a few bottles of bottled water (well done husband for having stocked up on that!) and even washed up! For a girl who had always refused to go camping and ape being a refugee under canvas in the name of good outdoor fun, I astonished myself and realised why I had never gone camping!! I certainly would not be reconsidering at this stage in my life. By 9.30 pm I had called ‘Mrs Barrie’ and asked to stay over at her place if water was not back by 10pm. It was not. She in turn calls to say her fridge had packed up! She was going to take her freezer stock to another friend and colleague from school and would pick me up at the apartment on the way. Half an hour later, she changes her mind as her driver could not send a taxi until way past 11pm! I decided to grab a taxi from the end of my road and head out. Before departing, I decided to see if my Arabic speaking neighbours were any wiser as to what was happening. And they were! Two girls at a neighbouring apartment who spoke a competent level of English told me work had been in progress on the nearby metro and a major pipe had been ‘cut’! Very serious apparently. No water for FOUR DAYS! My look must have spoken volumes! They added, ‘you have water? We can give you bottles’. I graciously refused wanting to say, ‘not necessary. I am now finally leaving the country!’ But leave the apartment I did. I took my small suitcase packed for three days and marched up the road cursing the place. At the end of the road, there seemed to be a road block! There were police and cars were being stopped and questions asked. Amidst this chaos, a taxi pulled up. I hopped in and told him the street, pointing in the barred direction we had to go. He knowingly said, ‘no road, another way’...I nodded and off we went. After a short while, I thought, we’re not headed anywhere near where we need to go! I told him the roundabout we had to get to. His words were, ‘you know? I don’t know.’  My usual patience had evaporated by this point and I said, ‘you taxi driver. You know!’ He must have been taken aback by my bark and replied, ‘ok ok Madame’. After this, he stopped in the middle of a roundabout and asked another driver. We eventually got to the roundabout I needed and then I directed him to Mrs Barrie’s abode. As I wheeled my suitcase to the front of the building, I saw her give a bag to her Boab. She intercepted me and said there was no point in holding onto the goods as she had no idea when the fridge would get fixed. She’d also had a water scare earlier as her hot water supply seemed to have stopped at one point! We commiserated our states and sat down with a cup of tea. At this point, her eyes widened and she said,’ oh my God, I’ve given the bacon and the sausages to the Bohab!’ (Islamic) I remarked, he may notice and bring them back. Alternatively, he may mistake them for veal and eat them regardless! Either way, nothing came back over the next three days!! As we sat and shared our day’s toils on her balcony overlooking lovely trees, I envied her the outside space. It was truly relaxing. As we chattered, the Boab turned up with a man to fix the fridge. At least things got done when one does see the Boab! I hardly ever saw mine!

Early the following morning, Linda sent a text saying, ‘Good news, Mr Water is back!’ I sighed that I could go home later. That morning, I shared a taxi with Mrs Barrie and lovely ‘Bridget Jones’. She shared her lack of water stories, but none had gone on for anymore than two days. Just my luck! The drive to school was the usual traffic nightmare. At one point, we seemed to be driving through a flooded street! The taxi slowed right down. I thought, ‘no, not now!’ Mrs Barrie remarked there was something wrong with the car. The driver said he had washed his car that morning. I thought, ‘has he damaged the engine or something?’ At this point Bridget said, ‘oh, he doesn’t want to get his car dirty!’ That was exactly it!!! How he thought he could avoid the filthy splashing of the other cars was beyond me! What pride!

 That afternoon, heart in my mouth, I went back home after school to check if water was indeed back. The Site Supervisor said she had heard about the water problem on her TV. She anticipated all would be fixed the following day! I was reluctant to be so optimistic. She commented maybe water would be on briefly in the mornings to help the residents get ready, and then switched off again for repairs!! As I walked into the building, it was in darkness. No power. A woman was wondering around the foyer looking cross. I asked her if she had water. She said, ‘very little and now no electricity. Best to stay out!’ I agreed with a smile. I walked up the stairs, entered the apartment and went to the small bathroom to turn on the tap....indeed Apartment Wadi it still was! As advised, I left shortly after with a huge Mango which was beautifully ripening. That would be my comfort food for the evening. At the Barrie’s, they were flat hunting as their dodgy landlord Captain Hook, the greasy Pirate had practically told them to leave after they pointed out the lift to the building should be available for all tenants to go up and... down! He seemed to be under the impression the lift was for him and his tenants could go up but not down! There was even a notice on the lift saying, ‘For the privte use of landlord’ in his best Egyptlish! The Barries had been looking for a few days and were rather disheartened at the quantity of hovels they had been shown! That evening, Mrs Barrie had found a rather expensive place in a lovely quiet leafy area. The Embassy as she called it overlooked the Sudanese Residence’s garden. They shared some photos with me and I wished I could move in straight away if it had reliable water supply. Being in that area, they would not get the blasting from the mosque and water issues would get resolved quicker as there were diplomats’ residence involved!

Day three, returned to find no water in the apartment. Again, went back to the Barrie’s. Day four -returned after breakfast to find the front lawn sprinklers on! I practically sprinted to the apartment! Apartment Wadi no more!! In my moment of jubilation, I loaded the washing machine and switched it on to hear the swishing sound of water!! Husband returned from his NY trip later and showered!!  Joy! That evening, we enjoyed our dinner and looked forward to a lazy morning before heading off on our Nile Cruise....9pm that night; I sauntered into the bathroom, turned on the tap and no water!!!!! How were we going to get ready in the morning?!  With my head in my hands, I wanted to cry. Again, I headed off to bed in a state of stress....The following morning when I awoke, all seemed normal. However, by 9am, back to the fiasco. We had collected some water in buckets, so managed ablutions and washing up. Husband tried to ring the water company but both times, they hung up as they spoke no English. I then had the idea of asking an Arabic speaking TA from school to call the water board.   She did the job and was told, 12.00pm maximum.  She herself was not hopeful and advised us to do what we had to do with our buckets!  At noon, I switched on the taps and hallelujah... Water!!! By now, we were ready to go...to the Nile, where there would see constant water for 7 days and hopefully be supplied with it in our hotel and on our boat! The sheer thought of it cheered me along...Now I was finally in holiday mood!

Back to Cairo Normalacy

‘It is a truth universally acknowledged that as an adult, one day you WILL  be ripped off by a plumber!’ That day has come to me! It may have been a long time coming, but it has come! How did this happen in a land where I had come to trust the regular workmen on my black phone?! Well, case of seeping water in the bathroom....for about a week, there was this mysterious water seeping along the back of the bathroom wall, near the vicinity of the toilet. As this odd seeping stigmata seemed to dry up at certain points, I was advised by dear husband not to worry so long as the toilet still worked! I agreed...until the next day when the problem seemed to reoccur. After over a week of this, I decided to call erstwhile trusty Mahmoud who came to fix a broken pipe at Eid. As anticipated, he came the following day and at the allotted time! He seemed to take great pride in the fact that he was on time! So did we! He had a look at the seeping issue which was now the case in both the bathrooms (well, the other half bathroom!) He looked at it, said ‘no problem ‘ with a smile and got some tools out of his carrier bag! I’d noticed the last time he carried all tricks of the trade in a small elegant paper boutique bag! The problem he decided once he had taken the toilet apart was the tubing at the back of the toilet. He also took the cistern section apart. Both to me looked like recycled plastic taken from local strewn litter! He indicated the tubing taking the waste away was damaged and needed to be replaced. I was not going to argue. He was prepared to go and get the parts, come back and finish the job. He even said, he would bring back the receipt! What honesty! So, we handed over the money for him to go and get the parts and left him to it. He spent an hour or so fixing, twiddling and re-twiddling. He resealed the toilet edging and cleaned the bathroom floor. We were asked not to use the toilet over night so as to let the seal dry. Fair enough. He decided the seeping, however, was coming from the outside. There had to be some leakage from the apartment upstairs which was soaking the concrete on the outside bathroom wall! He got me looking at the central shaft from a lobby window with a torch. It was a revelation. The towers of dust covered ole pipes looked like they were all crumbling! It was hard to tell if any of them could cope with the daily activities of the tenants! I got him speaking to our caretaker about it and the right noises seemed to have been made to let ‘lady upstairs’ know about the problem. We paid him for his troubles and told him we would inform our esteemed landlord. He had our landlord’s number and offered to call him then and there! A chat ensued for about the next ten mins. He seemed to be explaining to our Captain the breakdown of the receipt and telling him about the seeping water in the bathrooms. The Captain then asked to speak to me and I confirmed all the problems. Then in mid conversation whilst we were arranging for him to come over to collect his rent, he apologised for having to go. He had just landed from Tokyo!!! I could not believe my ears! Was he flying the plane asking the plumber to justify the expenses whilst attempting to fly and land after a potentially ten hour flight?! I could picture him being most unhappy that his panicky tenant would not live with a bit of seeping water until he could come over again! I was determined to ask!

The following morning, I went into the bathroom all ready to use the newly fixed toilet...yes, there was a problem! The seeping issue was exactly the same AND the water rose to the near surface as I flushed AND not all  the waste got flushed away!!! There had been no problems with the toilet functioning before..There was now!!! Foaming at the mouth and not courtesy of toothpaste, I was determined to sort it with Mahmoud! I called him to come around again the very same night. There were at least five calls throughout the day to fix a time. In the end, he came earlier than anticipated whilst I was not home. Husband saw him and apparently, the water rising was not a big problem as it did drain away!!! I was not convinced. That same evening, dear Captain arrived too. He asked to see the windows and agreed a good job had been done. He asked to inspect the bathroom and began to question anything had to be done to the toilet. He, however refunded us for all our costs and asked us to follow up anything else with the lady upstairs. As a matter of curiosity, I had to ask if he was flying as he spoke to me the day before. He smiled and said, ‘No no. I was already in the airport’. I shall of course have to believe him. Before he left, he asked when we were flying out for our Christmas trip Far East. We shared the date. Again, with his charming smile he responded, ‘I might be flying you’..Well, at least he’ll not be dealing with his tenants’ plumbing issues. What of the dodgy toilet? Well, cannot use it now as it barely flushes. I have now decided never to call Mahmoud again and am on the next round of trying to get it fixed!!! Dear Readers, wish me the best of luck. For it now only with the help of divine intervention that it may ever get fixed! Inshallah..Inshallah...

There's a Hole in my Road.....

Dear Reader, dear Reader, there’s a hole in my road, dear Reader a Hole!  I jest not. Such frivolities are not necessary here in Maadi where the feel of ‘what?!’ is the norm! No warnings, no signs to indicate what is being constructed... but all of sudden, one morning I wake and I find that a ditch is being dug at the end of the road! The following morning this soon turns into a large semicircular ditch and traffic is cordoned off with these bright blue screens. This certainly helps the flow of traffic outside the apartment but it does mean I need to walk around the ditch to get to the taxi in the morning, adding precious time to my ‘late again’ morning starts! 

Thursday afternoon, I returned from work to have a pneumatic drill pummelling away digging up the tarmac on the road! This fortunately stops at sun down which is about 5.30pm at the moment. However, 8 o’clock the following morning as I am trying to enjoy my Friday morning lie in, the blasted thing is off again! There are four men circling the driller who has no protective gear (none of them do!), some watching, some collecting the drilled up tarmac and throwing it some distance away. Today, it looks like some peculiar corn circle without any corn in sight. We anticipate pipes may be laid, which could well mean our water supply buggered up in the very near future. Will these joys never cease? This noisy pleasure was heightened as we had our late breakfast yesterday with the freight train blasting it’s whistles and bells and then the tinny Mullah’s epistle which followed. So much for a quite morning! I made myself numerous cups of teas wondering, why don’t I just hit the Gin!? At times, I cannot but feel ‘someone’s got it in for me’!

Remember my wonderful taxi driver/Arabic teacher? Well, last Sunday, after I had sung his praises, he did not show up! I had a feeling something was amiss when I looked out of the living room windows and did not see him washing his prized vehicle.   I call Mohammed Ali who tried to reach him but to no avail. After ten minutes of panic, I jumped into a random taxi and prayed the driver was not illiterate as I showed him my school address in Arabic! The chap was cheerful and literate and got me to work....Thank Allah for that small mercy. I have a theory that the folk here are generally and consistently religious  because they really need to be. There do not live in a place where they can depend on much so when things go right, Allah is praised and thanked. It is very much a part of their everyday language and something I am beginning to appreciate.

Whilst many worship God, there are also those who worship Mammon.... There was a school event a few weeks ago at a venue in the desert..somewhere. We went at night, so I could not now for love or money tell you where this place is. All I know is that it took us nearly an hour to get to this school built in the desert somewhere. Our vehicle was a fabulous Limousine like people carrier! We travelled in style, even if we had to cross a ditch to get onto the right road at some point. The school looked like some hotel in Dubai. Apparently teachers were consulted as to the style wanted, but all was ignored as the ‘Egyptian benefactor’ had his own visions of vulgar grandeur. There was local wine served and fabulous canapés. Not having had anything to eat prior to the soiree, I indulged and was invited to circulate by a wonderful gregarious Australian. This proved fruitful as I met a wonderful colleague at a partner school who then invited me to a Felluca ride...a life long fantasy came true as I glided down the Nile on the vessel gently chatting to the company on board. Slowly and regally, the sun set and a sense of blissful calm descended. There is something magical about being on an ancient river in a boat the likes of which had sailed at the times of the Pharoahs.

Domestic life in the meantime stumbles along. There are now daily power cuts in the middle of the night which disrupts sleep; a major cupboard door has collapsed in the kitchen; odd bits of brick work has come off the wall outside the front door and the sloping cooker causes husband much stress! BUT, it’s our home! We can enjoy meals watching downloaded UK faves and look out of the windows to see the Cairo blue sky...il hamdu lillaah( thanks be to God)...

Slow Slow Quick Quick Slow.... Hesham reminds me on my weekly dance classes...The stately elegant Foxtrot is the ‘slow’ dance I am working on. My concentration at times baffles him as he tells me to ‘let the feet do the thinking’! He has worked out I am stressed when my fingers start typing on his palm! Apparently, that is when he knows I am no longer letting my feet do the work!!!  The classes are now much more demanding as he works on refining technique and posture. The business of controlling my ‘core’ perplexes me as I am convinced I do not have one. And having to breathe as one concentrates! That is a chore! However, when the turns are smooth and I am being taken across the floor to the tune of ‘Fly me to the Moon’, nothing else matters...There is music in my soul, dance in my feet and..the hole in my Road...Quick Quick Slow...

PS: Had our first foray to the British Embassy Thursday evening for a Round the World Quiz. Pretty secure entry procedure and decent imported wine! The evening passed well and our team won or I believe came second! I have to say at the risk of being biased, husband was the star of the evening! I’ve always known he’ll come in useful some day! He wasn’t the star of his Busman’s Holiday on national TV for nothing! His Bandsmen would have been proud of him!

....and Breathe....

Last week has felt deceptively quiet in that it seems to have passed smoothly, but in essence, it has not..not really, well partly it has. The week was also broken up by a public holiday for Armed Forces Day on Wednesday, so, maybe that's why the air of 'calm' pervades...

Certainly, my school run seems to have smoothed out..inshallah. My cheerful young driver Hassan washes his black and white taxi on 'car wash' alley around from the apartment every morning. I saw him last Monday morning from the bedroom window as he fetched his pail of water from behind the garden centre . He must get there about 7am and I must be his first client of the day. That was a lovely morning, sunny without feeling blisteringly hot. I am surprised Mohamed Ali has designated Hassan to me for nearly two weeks. Maybe they are related and he knows Hassan will not poach me as a private client? One thing is for sure...Hassan is determined to teach me Arabic! I don't know what made him think I would be a willing student. He has yet to learn I am brain dead before 10am and two cups of coffee. He admirably runs through key phrases every morning, with me repeating dutifully in parrot fashion only to have forgotten the whole lot ten mins later when he decides on a plenary. I know it will be all to my benefit to pay attention, but without being able to make notes, my retention remains poor. Hassan will soon doubt his efforts are worthwhile and maybe I can return to my dosy ride to school gently taking in sights which make me smile. There was one a few days ago, which made me want to hope out and take a photo.. if  I had a camera. Driving past semi wasteland surrounded by high rise blocks was this oasis...almost literally. There was a square mud brick building,  a carpet awning and small squared windowless windows, with a palm tree at it's side. It looked like something out of a Medieval Knight's Tale in the Arabian Deserts. There was something magical about it. I could imagine an ole boy in white dusty robes refusing to sell his land and letting the corporates work their ugliness about him and not yield to the modern. If it is such a thing, how admirable. I shall never know.

Whilst my days have been relatively calm, husband has been getting his share of the phantasmagorical! On a ride out to view a school downtown with a deputy, the car he was in caught on fire outside the French Embassy. There were security guards, but they were not phased. Fellow motorists stopped and came running with extinguishers and boating restaurants nearby brought buckets of water to cool the engine. The driver shaken by the experience was sent home and the rest of the journey conducted in a taxi. As he said, imagine a similar scene in London? The burning car would have been surrounded by a SWOT like Squad in minutes with national news teams swarming within ten mins! Not in  the Big C. Eventually, a policeman sashayed over to check all was well, but no other action taken. I'm sure the French diplomats see burning cars daily and have become immune...remember my Moses theory?!  Poor husband was also the victim of an aggressive illiterate taxi driver on another school visit where he was made to feel getting out of the car and hitching on the Suez road would be a better option! He was then made to wait over three hours for a taxi to return to Maadi. He felt himself ageing! With such car hazards, he has opted to take on working at a local school where no taxis/cars need to be involved! I'm sure the walk to work will be anything but smooth...

Smooth transitions are something I have been working on for four weeks in my one to one dance lessons! Finally, I am living the Strictly dream! Well, in a manner of wishing. The classes are half an hour each and my dance tutor is an Egyptian with an Italian accent! I am sometimes tempted to call him Eugenio after my favourite Italian. Hesham, however, is determined that I should not 'fake it' and constantly reminds me to 'breathe'. I think he means not over think what I am doing as well as not add or make up steps, but actually follow what I am being taught! I can't be doing that badly as praise has been high and I have loved every moment of gliding around on my foxtrot and waltz; relishing my sharp turns on the Tango after the promenade and distributing my weight correctly on the rhumba! The hustle has taught me how to 'spot' and the samba has added a new rhythm to my life. Dancing is everything I hoped it would be and more. It takes me away from the small traumas that is daily life and returns my joie de vivre. So much so, that on the walks back home, I have begun to notice the curious and the beautiful..the old villas with the huge lamps, now faded in their glory, but nevertheless still glorious...Cha Cha Cha...

A Plague on All your Houses!

 The shipping has all arrived after 'arm, leg and head on silver platter' fees, most of which  were fabricated. Although 'British minded' Government Officer at school has decided to contest the big shipment fees, I am not holding out that any repayments will be made. For example 'Agricultural Fees'? I do not recall any livestock or farming products being unpacked or packed in Dundee!!! If there were any cows or chickens in our shipment, we certainly missed them!

The apartment is coming along and when Ramzi Goddot did make it last week, pictures went up and the large white spaces are filling up with artwork from both our households making the place look homely with that gallery air which has always felt 'home' to me. More have been framed at a fraction of UK prices and  delivered. One of the boys had pink nail varnish on him which was just fabulous! I wonder if he went to the same Nail Bar as I to have that extra treatment from Cleopatra's Boys?! I have more damaged frames to redo, so maybe I shall ask! Then again, maybe I shall not lest he takes offence and slashes my beloved RSC poster prints!

Mid week, we had our second round of powercuts. It only lasted ten mins, but this time, we had candles ready. There must have been another one in the night, as I woke up sweating with that overheated drowsiness which can only come from having to try to sleep in a stiflingly hot room. The life saving air con was switched back on and slumber was resumed..only to be shattered again by the dawn call to prayer from our neighbourly Mosque. I had enjoyed the Muezzin's call, but not since some 'third world' tin can sounding loud speakers had been installed! Maybe their wonderful sound system had died during a power cut! Now, I am rudely awaken daily at near 5am by the tinny banchee call to the Faithful! This Infidel has started cursing! Maybe I'll grow accustomed to it, but they maybe not! Time to look out for ear plugs!

Thursday evening saw us witnessing our first sand storm! Quite spectacular it was too in a biblical way! It was by no means a 'bad one' but it felt menacing enough. The winds rose first and the huge windows in the front section of the apartment started to rattle alarmingly. The howling grew and a black ball of dust could be seen approaching. Then the scent of wood burning filled the air inside. It was not unpleasant but it was not comfortable either. This was followed by the white net curtains billowing and flurries of faint golden clouds rushing into the apartment like some ancient  mythical  visitation from Zeus! Business as normal carried on outside with the car horns trumpeting; the usual 'face off' with drivers trying to go both ways on what should be one way roads with too many parked cars; delivery boys on bicycles on their casual miraculous runs. We even had our shopping delivered that evening, nearly three hours late, with the boy making two trips in the dust storm as he had forgotten our key water order! Not much seems to phase these wonderful resilient people, descendants of those who have survived Moses' great plagues.

Yesterday, we had our first early evening shopping trip buying Egyptian cotton sheets and bed covers . Now that the Princess mattress has been replaced, my feet can nearly touch the floor as I step out of bed and suitable sheets can be purchased. We took a taxi out to the recommended mecca for bedding. This was not a simple exercise as once dropped by the taxi, there is the nerve defying crossing of  a main road. The traffic is not set to stop at any point to let you cross, you just have to walk out into it! I am much more hedonistic about these things, but husband was an bag of nerves! We eventually got across and found ourselves before the godfather of Maadi bed linen! It was a true den of  delights! We settled for white 5* hotel sheets and quilt covers and managed to buy a valence sheet beautifully described as 'bed skirt'. Makes much more sense for it's purpose!..On our return to the apartment, we found the main vestibule flooded! We pressed for the lift and it came down. Opened the doors to enter and was met up a curtain of water. We foolishly got in the lift, before realising, water and electricity (!!??) and jumped out. As we climbed the five flights of steps, there was a flood on every single floor in the hall ways. Entering the apartment with the greatest of trepidation, we saw all seemed dry, including ceilings. Hard to say where this particular infliction came from as no notices were up in any language! About an hour later, lift seemed to be working again and the water swept away...

Sand storm, flood..pestilence was to follow!

There is an ant problem in the apartment, but not much of one to worry us too much. They appear and then seem to disappear without too much intrusion. However, yesterday, reaching for a new bag of sugar, I noticed  ants inside the bag!!! Surely the bag was sealed?! Well, not entirely. Quality control of packaging does not exist here! There was a tiny entry slot and the little mites found it and were enjoying a sugar fest! We were determined to salvage what we could, so strained the sugar and took out the ants...to drown them humanely in a bowl of water! I'm not sure how this affects my Kama, but at least I now have ant free sugar stored!

Late September should be 'lovely' weather according to the locals...but it's still blisteringly hot at 40 degrees C. Maybe Moses has arisen and found he did not make it to the Promised Land after all and  is not best pleased in a Sinai Cave... vowing vengence?!

Carry On Regardless...

That dear reader is my new maxim! It is a very necessary one living here in the Big C. Reliability and Dependability are aliens on this planet that is the 'here and now'.

Cabs..yes, those wonderful black and white numbers which should have died with the Dodo are whizzing around here competing with the 'metered' white new creations which somehow manage to stay white in this heat and dust.  The drivers of the ole boys are like their vehicles, leathery, dark and somehow quite mishapen. The White Cab drivers are slightly more polished and well groomed, but not necessarily any more competent. I know this from randomly hopping into one or the other after my initial s'chool run' driver let me down. There is no forwarning when this happens. One just has to take the intiative and carry on regardless...As it happened, he had not woken up that morning, having observed Ramadan for well over three weeks and existing on two/three hours of sleep a night. I forgave him, but decided to take a chance with my random taxi boys instead. I had various levels of luck with them being able to read the school address in Arabic, or asking four or five pals along the way where this school was that I taught at. No 'knowledge' test  had been conducted for them. After a week of this daily stress even before my teaching day had begun, I called a taxi 'dealer' recommended by a colleague at school. A certain Mohammed Ali. I have no idea whether he floats like a butterfly or stings like a bee, but I wanted to see if a certain level of realiability could apply to anyone connected with taxis in this enthralling city! Well...it started off promisingly. Then, one morning, no show! So, I called Mr Ali. He actually answered and said that morning's driver had gone to the wrong address. OK..one must go with the benefit of doubt. However, after twenty more minutes of no show..it was time to hop into another random taxi! This one got me to school in the horrendous first day traffic of young Egyptians going back to school! All these hopes of their country in fabulous green ginham shirts and colourful polo tops, all loitering, waiting for their school pick up buses or hurrying into parents' cars in already clogged up main streets...Meanwhile, I manage to contact Mr Ali who apologises. His driver would be ready and on time tomorrow. And..he was! I have even seen some of them twice. Mr Ali has a policy of his clients not getting too attached to a single driver lest they set up a private deal without him!! One has to be dependent on him. If that produces a iota of reliability, that is fine by me! So, thank you Mostafa, Abdul and Hassan...and anymore I'm likely to meet in the daily morning adventure that is the school run!

Shipping...a very sore point indeed. A subject that has given me migraine attacks! It was daylight robbery getting our big shipment with most of our goods, but infinately worse treatment  was to follow for 11 boxes! One was commanded to pay as much in Taxes/Duties/Bond fees (?)..all spelling 'ripping you off big time' for 11 boxes as one was for an entire house shipment. Law, Logic, Reason...more alien candidates for this planet. And there was no simple delivery system..'here is my address, deliver it please, I have paid for it' means nothing. Over three days, there was the game of the Goddot shipment! Was I ever going to see it? Eventually, boxes were delivered to the school, proverbial arm and leg fee paid and wonderful handy man from school brought it all over. Said handyman was also going to come to 'Trump Towers', our abode to do some odd jobs yesterday; but alas did not show up. He was ill. I would still be waiting for Ramzi Goddot if I had not called him. There is no procedure of forwarning.  I know he is a good man and I must trust his way is not my way. And Hobson is my new best friend!

As with all things, there are the odd exceptions to the Rule! Our dear Landlord follows up with calls and checks things have been done. He clearly has been influenced by his travels! Apparently, the 'perverse' mattress will be replaced very soon..maybe even this very week...Inshallah...

There is also an organisation called Otlob which must have been established by an Egyptian Swiss. Otlob means 'order' and is an internet food order site. We have used it very successfuly four times now and everytimethe reliability rate has been outstanding! One places an order and an e mail is received. If the order is going to be longer than 45 mins to deliver, one receives a phone call and is given the option of cancelling the order..which is followed up with an email acknowledgement. The quality of the food has been far superior to any 'take out' in the UK and the prices very reasonable.

With Otlob, the Egyptians do it better! OTLOB for President!

The Case of offending Nails

For a country where women seem to cover up for reasons of religion and modesty, getting a pedicure seems a curious exception to the rule!

I was invited to go get 'nails' done which I accepted with alarming alacrity given the state of my slutty toe nails given that my meagre kit of nail varnishes have yet to arrive. And I add, I really have no kit as such, simply a couple of varnish colours. So, it was with excitment that I walked out of school on Thurs, aiming to hop onto a school bus and be deposited in the mecca of all things to be found ,Road 9 in Maadi, However, the school bus was driving away, clearly after a prodigously full exodus of staff. A kind colleague offered to take me into Maadi after which I had to take a taxi to the busy said street. Cash was required before my long awaited appointed, so, that was a case of having to ask to find an ATM. Not much is made obvious but it is to all who know. Then, the moment came. We walked down steps to Tarek's salubrious establishment, to be greeted by a collection of white coated young men! Yes, young men..in their twenties. Ther were a few girls but predominantly, men. We were seated with foot spas ready and large barber like massage chairs. I opted out of having finger nails done having clipped them rather short a few days earlier. Once seated the  slightly unnerving massage machine wriggling across my back, a girl started with the procedure. My remnant toe nail colour was removed, then the 'threading'  began! Clearly, my feet were beginning to ressemble a hobbit's in their hirsuiteness. She gently massaged the foot and then walked away. She was replaced by the young man, who then dealt with my offending nails and toes for the next near hour. I watched with apprehension as he emptied a packet of instruments which clearly looked surgical! My toes were clearly going to need mammoth care on this occasion. He began by filing , then there were various stages of dead skin removal which I could not bare to watch. Each foot took approximately 20 mins each. My boy was much into his work and did not attempt chat as my friends' boys did. He did not even look up. Eventually, he said, 'you cut your own?' How could I deny it? His reply was, 'too short' and my feet reclaimed his attention. It was quite some time again before he allowed me to choose a colour which came in the form of dark or light baskets! I went for dark and deep red. His handy work had to be shown off! He applied colour, then left. The girl returned to massage my calves and the soles of my feet and added the top coat. Perfect! As we got ready to leave, the whole place started filling up with local women. They were ushered to the thrones of care and had their sandles removed for them as they talked on their mobiles or filed their nails. It felt utterly decadent watching these women and the young men at their command. The Spirit of Cleopatra is alive amongst these!

Friday morning, husband and I decided it was time to start hanging up some of our gallery of pictures . We found our trusty hammer and a nail and went to  task, only to have the nail bend out of shape at the first bang! Another nail was tried and same result! Our conclusion? The walls are painted concrete!! Nails will bounce off them! We are now going to have to get help from a man with a drill and screws to put up our beloved pictures. Permission has been asked from the Captain and he has granted it. He has yet to discover how 'swiss cheese' like his walls are about to become!

With the case of the mattress, he has conceded I have a point and will order another once he is back from his trip to Tokyo!  Inshallah...In the meantime, sliding off the bed each morning is the order of the day!

Oh, considering there are about 25 plug points in the apartment, only about 15 work. The splendid workmanship means the plugs slide out of  the others! Yet again, help must be summoned for this task. Inshallah...

Simple things are not simple...shopping at Carrefour means, if a price label is not on your goods, you can't buy it! No one will be sent to look for the price so sale can be made. You will be told with a smile, 'no price'. And what does one do? Return the smile... find a taxi, bargain the price, and be driven out into the moonscape and building sites that leads back to the leafy streets and Trump Towers where picutures have yet to be hung but sandles can be removed to fully reveal beautifully buffed and painted nails. Joy!

PlumbingToil and Mattress Trouble...

...not a city to be free of any trouble! However, miracles do happen. Our shipping got delivered to the apartment on time after numerous facile charges had to be paid to get it cleared at Customs etc etc etc! I am now considering which organs to sell to avoid having to remortgage my home back in Blighty!  Most of it was in tact but some much loved crockery did not make it including a dear gift from my Faerie Queen of a tea set bought at Bebingtons in Rome. That did make me sigh with sadness. Considering the journey made, all items proved resilient. The last four days have been spent leisurely unpacking, rediscovering items not seen for a while and many of which brought back memories in that Proust like fashion of incandescent nostalgia. The most remarkable was a 1950's coffee set purchased at the age of 19. The art deco-esque black and white design, still stylish today without the retro glare, was a Czech design and until I unpacked it to admire it again, I had never noticed that the motif for the design was called Nefertiti. Maybe being here is destiny...

After a day of unpacking, an Angel girl invited us to dinner at the Intercontinental hotel downtown. We were delighted to 'go out' properly. The venue was indeed five Star sumptuos without being gaudy. We made our way to the terrace to have predinner drinks and looked out over the Nile and the subtly lit metropolis. Cairo by night is oddly romantic as the ugly cannot be seen! The meal was good but the service was not! The interminable waiting between courses was only eased by the pleasure of chat amongst new friends. It is always fascinating to observe those with the gift for conversation as many lack it. Fatema with all your wit and charm; Lynne with your wickipedic knowlege of living here and Helen with your gentle manner, thank you all for some sanity amdist the malestrom of moving and mayhem!!

The following day was to be Eid, the Islamic Christmas after the holy month of Ramadan. We got home in a taxi driven by a Formula 1 wannabe. Within half an hour, husband cries out from the kitchen..'there's a flood'..the hot water pipe had simply broken!! I was in a short nightie and unable to find any sort of  stop tap to turn it all off. Trying to call our elusive Bowab (caretaker type) proved futile as I ended up speaking to another man who was as fluent in English as I was in Arabic. By this stage,  hysterical panic had set in. I threw on a T shirt over the nightie and knocked like a woman possessed on neighbours' doors. There was no answer in one but fortune of fortunes, the other answered. A timid girl called her mother to the door who quickly whipped on her Niquab (head scarf) and came into the apartment. She looked as puzzled to see husband directing the water from the pipe into buckets. Moments later,  her own husband in near pyjamas rush in and help and turn the offending tap off! Noises of sympathy were made and it was impressed on us that nothing could be done that night as it was Eid the following day and a holiday after that. They took pains to make it clear that should we need anything in the next few days, to call them.  Once again, we were heartened by their willingness to help.

The following day, the lady's brother knocks on our door offering more sympathy and immediate help. By this point, I had contacted our trusty plumber who said he would come the following day. As I had learned, I was not holding my breath. But, although two hours late and it being Eid day, he came and dear Mahmoud fixed the problem for near enough ten pounds. Our aviator Captain landlord rang later to be told all had been fixed.  I am sue, he considers me a sure jinx in this life ...and I'm not about to make it easier for him..This Princess has had enough of the 'perverse' mattress! Climbing on and absailing off has not been helped  by the fact that the dastard thing is too heavy to lift to change sheets and tuck corners in! It will go, even if one has to order and pay for a reasonable creation oneself! Looking forward to that particular conversation with our Captain! It's time for the 'matelas' wars!

Highlight of the week has to be the lovely dinner soiree with the 'Barries', a dear couple who choose their social company with care. They had cleaned up their grubby abode to an unrecognisable level after agreeing to rent it from a bombastic Pirate character!! It was lovely to share our new arrival stories and take cold comfort in the fact that we had won the trials of the week prize..again!!!

And so it continues...our neighbours are true Samaritans and in times of trouble, the Egyptians have not failed us in their magnanimity. Imagine having delicious  Eid biscuits brought round by the young daughter of the family after you had troubled them from their Chritmas Eve celebrations with the words, 'We would like to share our celebrations with you. Please accept..'  And we did....with great humility.

There may be trouble ahead....

....but whilst there is the Muezzin with his melliflous pray chants, the helpful Egyptians with their impeccable courtesy and sunshine smiles, beautiful sundrenched dawns and balmy evening breeze, it's hard not to feel radiant somehow. BUT, the Urggghhhhh moment is never far and will pounce with featherlight warning, if any at all!!!  Living in Cairo is a game of three halves...can't say that? Try living here on a maiden voyage to North Africa.

The Good aspects are sublime. Help is never too far away. Since moving into our overpriced apartment (so, we keep getting told), we have had no hot water, then no working shower as the hose was badly faulty and so killed off any shower pressure, blocked sink and bedroom air con dying in the middle of the night!!! All this in the space of a week. Every day, the trails and tribulations have felt like purgatory. But, help came in the form of school site staff, landlord's boy, caring neighbours  and jovial taxi drivers..who, although pretty clueless about their 'local' streets, got us home. Many 'scenic' routes have been taken on ten minute journeys...

The Bad...well, not much is designed to work well! One soon learns the language of 'maybe this'll work, maybe not'. For someone Swiss minded, this has been more than teeth grittingly infuriating. Not the most tolerant or patient of women, silent screaming has become the norm!

The Ugly...not the best country for an Aesthete. Pavements are high and rarely continuous, there is 'selected' rubbish strewn nearly everywhere, roads lack tarmac and there are frequent sand pits to walk through!! High rise buildings are pocked with air con vents, numerous building sites  look abandoned and then there is the omnipresent hooting of car horns.

Flat hunting amongst all this proved exhausting. Wonderful school representative did her best and soon worked out we did not want to live with a symphony of air cons at full blast! To be able to open a bedroom window without the howl of these machines seemed impossible. Our flat allowance, meant to be the highest in the city for a school, seemed to get us at best a near hovel. Places where Miss Havisham would have run away from... screaming! Even that Dickensian old buzzard would have insisted on better. Hence our arrival at our pad of choice and price. Light and airy, modern air cons, white tiled floors and modern furniture, not withstanding the romaneque bedroom fixture and fittings!! Oh, an extra high mattress for this Princess. Yes, it's nearly 'perverse'! When it's all working, it feels blissful, but one learns not to count on such things here in the Big C. Oh, there is a lift, which works three out of 5 tries. We are on the 5th floor with a view of a mosque, a distant Wadi (rubble looking desert!)  and quite a lot of trees in one direction. Look carefully and there is Beauty....

Our esteemed Landlord is an Egyptair pilot. A Captain no less. Good looking in a film starry way with all the charm of Omar Sharif. Jury was out as to his dependability, but he has proved himself to be a gentleman and philosopher. Well meaning and fond of lights and gadgets! The place has at least fifteen different light circuits..yes, runway fetish indeed. He has lived in Morroco and Zaire, son of a diplomat, married to a French Algerian. His English is good, his French impeccable. He thinks deeply, talks easily and is aware of  his countries shortcomings and corruption but remains a son of Egypt. Faith and loyalty are strong traits amongst people here.

Work is a dream compared to Latrine High. Beautiful well mannered children who have an innate repect for each other and other cultures. Not all are perfect but many are perfect enough to make going to work a pleasure and a joy.  I shall not forget my first set of spontaneous cuddles from  year 4 last week. I think that smile I felt is still there.


We have been here for most of the holy month of Ramadan, when the faithful fast from sunrise to sunset. Life staggers on in the heat and nothing much seems to happen anytime soon. After Iftar when the fast is  broken, commercial life ambles on til 1am! But don't count on it being reliable! Yes, remember where I am!...

Tomorrow, our long held shipment in Alexandria is due to arrive..Inshallah....Inshallah...