....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...