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Umm id-dunya - the mother of the world

My goodness me, it has been the best part of a month since I last did one of these. I therefore have a lot to say, so go and make yourselves a nice cup of tea (or coffee if you prefer, we drink both in Cairo) and bring two biscuits (or a banana) to keep you fuelled for the ride.

22 February - the bomb in Khan El-Khalili. I'm sure most of you are aware that this happened. I actually very nearly went to Khan El-Khalili that day, but decided I was feeling too lazy. I didn't know it had happened until the next day, and we had a panic because we knew that a French person had died, but that was all we knew, and Jab hadn't been seen for over 24 hours. Luckily he was just busy. Since then, there has been much speculation about who is responsible for the bomb; some people were arrested at the time, but this was probably just so the police could look like they were doing something; there are theories that some of the many recently-arrived Palestinian refugees are to blame; an American has been stabbed in the face with a pen knife in pretty much exactly the same spot.

23 February - my birthday. And the day I found out about the bomb. Six of us had a nice lunch at a Mexican restaurant around the corner from Kalimat, I was given a lovely bunch of flowers by my Danish friends, and in the evening some of us went to a karaoke club in Maadi. I hasten to add that none of us sang. On the following Friday, Rikke and Jette and I threw a party at their flat which was joint my birthday / their housewarming, and everyone was invited. There were probably about 30 people in total. We put sofas and chairs and rugs and candles out on the roof, and it was amazing. Around midnight some of us decided to go out (partly so as to stop making noise and potentially annoying the people in the flat below) but we went in two or three groups, and managed to all end up in different places. I found myself with two couples and two other boys in a very noisy, smoky and crowded club/restaurant/bar on a boat on the Nile, and took a taxi home before very long, without spending any money. Hurrah.

Two weeks ago (is it really?) seven of us decided, at absolutely the last minute, to go to Hurghada for a long weekend. Hurghada is a resort on the Red Sea, and in Arabic it is Ghurdaqa (or maybe Ghurda'a, I'm not sure if the Q gets pronounced in all place names or only some). We took a public bus which left Cairo at 7pm and took the best part of 5 hours. This included 2 passport checkpoints, a comfort break at a very surreal middle-of-the-desert service station, and stopping for half an hour while the driver was done for speeding. It cost us each less than a tenner, was hideously uncomfortable, and I found myself right by the TV screen, which wouldn't have been a problem had they not decided to show two very bad Egyptian films, both on very bad quality (fuzzy picture with the picture moving around, think old videos that have been played too many times), very loudly. The bus station at Hurghada appeared to be a building site behind a half-completed building, which we had to climb through to get to the street. The taxi driver promised he knew where our hotel was (comically named the Hor Palace Resort), then proceeded to hover outside very hotel we passed on the resort strip, telling us we had arrived. We eventually walked through the door at 2.30am and were offered dinner. As it was included in the price of our rooms ($16 pppn) we accepted. Unsurprisingly we were the only people in the restaurant, but for some unknown reason the waiter appeared to have been there all along. He was still there at breakfast. I hope they paid him well. After spending the morning on the beach soaking up the sun, we decided to make the most of the resort (as there is absolutely nothing else to do in Hurghada, fact) and pay an extra $10 per night each to have all 3 meals included and free drinks of (almost) any kind at (almost) any time of the day or night from any one of the 3 bars in the place. We quickly made friends with the manager, who told us his name was Tiger, and one of the bar staff, whose name we never found out, but I am convinced he bleached his teeth. Most of the other guests were middle aged Russian women. You can imagine the rest. Apart from being incredibly lazy and sunbathing and sitting by the bar making the most of the free beer, we only made it out of the hotel complex twice - once to go into the centre of the town in search of some nightlife (this ended, bizarrely, in a gay club - not my idea) and once on the last night to go to a place with shisha just up the road (having discovered that Hard Rock would let girls in free but wanted 100EGP each from the boys) - the shisha was terrible and we sent it back and refused to pay. The waiter informed us that there was only once place in Hurghada where you could get real shisha , and that wasn't it. On our final day there, we went snorkelling/diving. Technically we didn't leave the hotel, because we went with the Hor Palace people. We got on a boat with 2 other guests and 3 or 4 staff, and sailed an hour out to sea. David and Jonas both have their diving certificates, so they went proper diving, the rest of us just snorkelled. Apart from Toby, who is scared of fishes, so only went in the water once, got out very quickly, and informed us he regretted going in because it was "disgusting". I was very brave (many of you will be aware of my terrible fear of deep water) and went in every time the others went in (I had to get pushed in by one of the staff the first time), and even looked under the water quite a lot. I was very scared at times, but controlled it and actually quite enjoyed the experience. I hesitate to say this, but I might even be tempted to go again. The coral was pretty cool, so were the fishes, and the coolest bit was swimming over the top of some divers, because it was very surreal. I tried not to look the other way, away from the coral, because I didn't like the look of all the deep water disappearing for ever. Call me a wimp if you like. Going home the next day, we decided to hire a private minibus, because it worked out pretty cheap, got us there quicker, and was much more comfortable. The whole weekend (transport both ways, accommodation and the 3 inclusive meals for 4 nights, going out, snorkelling trip, and the pair of sandals I bought from a sleazy man just after getting into an argument in Russian with the shopkeeper over the road) cost me less than £100. Only just less, but less. And it was amazing. Admittedly we did very little and were typical resort-troopers, but it was good to be out of Cairo - the first night there, I was very aware of how clean the air was in comparison to Cairo. Seriously, it tasted sweet.

One of my friends, a Chilean girl called Monse who was in my aamiya class, has unfortunately caught some horrible unidentified illness, and has had to go home for treatment. It was all a bit last minute, but we at least have each other's email addresses.

One night last week there was a party in Heliopolis which some of us were invited to. It was my first venture to Heliopolis, and it is a strange place. Rikke and I were allowed to stay over in a spare room, and we were astounded at how much quieter it is than the rest of Cairo. We were actually both woken by the quietness. I would be tempted to move there, except that it's such a bloody long way away from anywhere. I am told that Heliopolis built up around a crazy palace that a crazy Belgian (or something) millionaire built in the 30s or so - he wanted an oriental palace in the middle of the desert, and Heliopolis grew around it, and is now a huge suburb of Cairo. I think it is Greek and means City of the Sun or something (sorry Greekists if I'm wrong, I have never studied Greek) but in Egyptian it's called Masr Gedida, which means New Cairo. The palace is still there, but is now abandoned and being left to fall apart. It looks like something out of a horror film. It's actually like a fairy tale Chinese (maybe Japanese? I'm not very good on my oriental styles) palace, a bit like what you would expect the witch's cottage to look like if Hansel and Gretel had been set in the Far East and she had had a palace instead of a cottage. And it now has a massive main road running past it and is pretty built up all around it. The road is the scariest road I have crossed to date. I hope never to have to cross it again.

Our Durham friend Will Carter came from Damascus to visit us for a week. He came to Heliopolis with us, he came to some classes at Kalimat, he entertained himself quite a lot while we were in the classes he didn't fancy going to, and we took him to Khan El-Khalili. Maybe 5 people is too big a group to have a successful shopping trip to Khan - I don't know - but none of us bought anything. We did, however, go to Fishawi's (the fabled coffee house there) where we had two shishas between us a sugary tea with mint. It was the first proper shisha I had ever had (I had some fake shisha in Russia once) and I enjoyed it a lot. Probably for the best it takes a while to get there, otherwise I would be going the whole time, and my teeth would rot from the sugary tea. We then crammed all five of us into a very small taxi (I'm sure it was smaller than most) and ploughed through the worst of the rush hour (complete with full bladders and travel sickness, and a street hawker trying to sell Julian a hairbrush through the window of the cab) back to Zamalek, where we went into a nice restaurant and all ran for the toilet at once. I contracted a loud and violent case of the hiccups, and had to face the humiliation of queuing five minutes for loo with the hiccups while an approximately 18-year-old waiter just stood by the door being polite right in front of me, with a very straight face. I was in fits on the inside, but had to keep an equally straight face and stare at the floor.

While Will was here, we decided to go to a belly dancing club. None of us had seen real belly dancing. So we took advice from one of the staff at Kalimat about where was best to go, and were told to go to a hotel between my flat and the British Council. So the plan was made, and then Toby decided not to go there, and dragged us off to a place in Downtown instead. It was called Sheherazade (spelling, sorry) - does anyone familiar with Cairo know of it? We initially walked in at 10pm and asked for details, were told the show started at midnight, there was no entrance fee, and no minimum spend. So we went to a hotel around the corner and sat on their roof for two hours smoking shisha, drinking beer and eating chips and chick peas. The English menu had chips down as "boom freet", which was amazing, and we also had the option of ordering "Alex liver". Hmm. We never did discover what that was. Back to Sheherazade at 1am, and we were press ganged into paying a 10EGP entrance fee each. We told them it was ridiculous, we tried to bargain and say maybe we would pay for 2 of them between the 5 of us, they weren't having any of it. We decided to pay it anyway as we had spent so long waiting to go, but Julian had had enough and went home. The first dancer came on as soon as we had paid (at this point, there were 4 other people in the place). It was a large room, and reminded me of a Victorian over-decorated theatre, but it was cool. When it was new and buzzing, it must have been a really nice place. One of the waiters reminded me of an Oscar Wilde character - he was tall and skinny and wore an ill-fitting suit and had a funny bouncy walk and permanently had a haughty look on his face, never made eye contact with anyone, was very efficient, and when he was leaning close to hear what people were saying to him, there was always his hand on their shoulder or their waist. I wanted to give him an English name but couldn't think of an appropriate one. The first dancer, frankly, was rubbish. She came over to our table and tried, to no avail, to get the 4 of us to dance with her. We vaguely attempted but just couldn't do it, and probably annoyed her. Will tipped her though so the day was probably saved. While she was dancing (live band - three men playing drums, one on a keyboard, and one playing some stringed instrument I think, and sometimes a guy singing - there were two guys who took it in turns to sing, and the music was actually pretty good) about 20 or 30 middle aged to elderly men came in in dribs and drabs. The second dancer came on, and thank goodness she was not only good but also pretty. And had a nice costume. The third dancer was pretty, but had a horrible costume (she was wearing TROUSERS!!) and didn't actually dance much, just kept prissing around and flirting with people. Eurgh. The men kept throwing money at the girls, and there was a little man hose job it was to run around after them picking up the money. The money seemed to get them a semi-private dance at their table. A bit weird. At one point I noticed Rikke and I were the only girls in there… We decided to leave.

Continuing on the theme of belly dancing (bear with me here, I am going somewhere, you'll see), I have discovered that I am allowed to do my Arabic speaking exam in October in Egyptian. I was worried because my degree is technically in Standard Arabic, and had worked out that I am going to leave Cairo speaking Egyptian much better than standard, but have to do a speaking exam in October. But apparently the aim of the exam is communication, so as long as we can make ourselves understood in Arabic of some form, we're not penalised for speaking in dialect. This means that I will definitely keep going with Egyptian lessons - I had been considering giving them up and taking belly dancing classes instead. Or maybe piano lessons or something. But now I shall not. More belly dancing talk … one of the staff at Kalimat, a man called Mohammed Bakri (I shall refer to him as Bakri) used to be a professional dancer. Apparently a professional belly dancer. I didn't know men could be belly dancers too, but it seems they can. Well anyway. He is a very interesting man to talk to, and has a lot of stories. Some of them make me annoyed / angry / upset / feminist, but perhaps this is just because I don't know the full story. This particular story leaves me with little faith in Egyptian culture, but I have to tell myself not to stereotype, or pigeon-hole all Egyptians on the basis of this one story. When Bakri was a professional belly dancer (he gave up because his wife asked him to), he was often given a hard time by friends and family, colleagues, acquaintances, in short, everyone, because belly dancing for some reason is seen as "haram" (religiously forbidden / immoral / frowned upon). One day Bakri was talking to his sister's husband about his career teaching belly dancing, and the brother in law was trying to discourage him from continuing with it. He asked him how much money he made , and Bakri said 500EGP. The B.I.L. said that that was a very small amount of money not worth having, and anyway it was haram money so he should be ashamed. Bakri said "no no no, 500 pounds an hour. Every single hour." Now, Bakri was teaching several hours a day, I believe 6 days a week. When the B.I.L. heard this, he suddenly changed and said "if you ever need a room to teach in, you can use my living room in my flat. I will lock my wife and daughters in the bedroom so they don't get in your way. You don't even need to ask me. Just leave me 100 pounds when you leave." He also told us about a time when a friend of his had asked to borrow some money from him. He said "of course, but you must know, I have two kinds of money - I have good money, and I have haram money. If you borrow from the good money, you will need to pay me back, but if you borrow from the haram money, I do not want you to pay me back." The woman asked to borrow from the haram money. Some years later, after Bakri had given up dancing, the same friend asked to borrow money again. Bakri said "of course, but you must know, I no longer have haram money." Suddenly she didn't want to borrow money anymore.

Don't worry, I am nearing the end. We're onto the shorter stories and cultural observations now. Time for another mug of tea? I'm going to get one anyway.

I have made friends with Jette and Rikke's bawab (bawab being an old man who sort of "guards" the building, runs errands for people, collects mail, etc etc), he says hello to me every morning when I walk past on my way to class, and sometimes asks me how I am I have also made friends with the lady I buy my bananas from. She sits on the pavement, with baskets of oranges and bananas (an now melons too) between the parked cars, and she's always there when I walk home. I now know enough Arabic to have a very (very) basic conversation with her, although when she was absent the other day and left her two daughters (I assume they're daughters, they're aged about 10 and 12) running the stall, we git tied in knots over some misunderstanding, and I think they were even more terrified by the language barrier than I was, We eventually sorted it out, and I passed Banana Lady herself a bit further down the street and she gave me a huge smile and asked me how I was. I feel guilty on the days when I don't need to buy anything from her, because she always asks me if I would like anything today. Last week Danielle and I bought two baskets from Basket Boy who is always on the corner with loads and loads of reed baskets. He's probably 15 at the most, and there never seems to be an adult with him. He is very nice though. After we had bought the baskets, we were walking home with them, and a man on a bike trailed us for a good couple of minutes asking questions (in a mixture of Arabic and English), and refused to take the point when we completely ignored him. Eventually I told him to go away, in my best Arabic. And off he went. When I walked past Basket Boy yesterday afternoon, he was just spreading out his prayer mat and starting to say his prayers, right there on the corner of the street. I don't know why I still find that surprising, it happens everywhere.

I have blisters on my hands from doing the laundry. Remember the semi-automatic washing machine? Well, I finally had no choice but to confront the dreaded Jeans And Towels wash the other day, followed by the dreaded Sheets Wash, and much wringing out was done. My hands are suffering. This is not helped by the addition of the necessity to clean much sand and dust out of my room with a bucket of soapy water and a sponge, and much scrubbing of the window frame. My feet, on the other hand, are much better. They have even just about recovered from the multitude of horrible horsefly bites I got in Hurghada.

Linguistic points: technically, there is no future tense in Arabic (there is a prefix which makes the present tense imply the future), I am told this is because the future only happens if God wants it to. There goes "in sha'allah" again… The word for "gambler" (I'm afraid I can't remember what it is) is related to the word for "moon" (I've forgotten that too) because gamblers are mad (think of "lunatic"). Makes sense, huh? By the way, that connection apparently comes about because mad people sit and gaze at the moon.

Apparently some women who wear the niqab (I think that's what it's called, I'm very sorry if I'm wrong - I mean the one which leaves a slit for the eyes) don't even take it off when they're in the company of other women, so that the other women can't go home and tell their husbands how beautiful this woman is, so that their husbands don't have fantasies about her. I can almost see the point, but I really think it is taking things a whole level too far to hide your face from you friends so that a man you'll probably never meet can't have sexual fantasies about you. I thought people wore it to protect their modesty? If you ask me, that's not very modest thinking.

That's finally it. You can finally go and get on with your busy lives. Many thanks to those of you who actually made it to the end. Some time soon there will be more pictures going up (including some of my friends). Until next time…