Other people’s words about … Cairo
Sunlight was streaming through the shutters. I peered down into the street where a cat was sunbathing on a parked car. Friday morning was always the most peaceful time of the week in Istanbul Street. The doorman’s wife sat on the kerb watching her ragged child play in the clouds of pollen and dust. [My weekend away from Cairo] seemed a world away, a movie I watched last year. Cairo is so encompassing that when you are there all other realities seem to fade away. I thought of Hatton Garden and it seemed surreal that at that very moment crowds of London commuters were heading to work in the rain. It felt impossible that the two places could exist at the same time.
From ‘Playing Cards in Cairo: Mint Tea, Tarneeb and Tales of the City‘
by Hugh Miles
Many years ago, in another life, I spent about six months living in Cairo. I had happened there by chance, at the suggestion of my boyfriend at the time, who spoke a smattering of Arabic. We lived in the centre of the city, away from the ex-pat community, in a dusty fourth-floor apartment with faded red velvet sofas that gave off great puffs of dust whenever one of us sat down on them. At night, when we switched on the lights in the darkened bedroom, there was the sound of a thousand cockroaches scuttling out of view. The view from the rickety balcony was of life on the street below: the storekeeper of the small general store where we bought bottled water, washing down his front doorstep with water and a broom; the ta’ameya man at his food stand, stirring his big metal spoon through a great dented tin bowl of smoking hot oil.
I left Cairo as I came to it — by chance, at someone else’s bidding. I knew even then that I would never go back. For those few months in Cairo, I had not lived as a tourist, as most Westerner visitors do. Not exactly. Not quite. Cairo was in me, and on me, in a very physical, a very literal, sense: its grime lay in thick strips of black beneath my fingernails; its dust coated my skin. The city had, for those few months, as Hugh Miles so succinctly puts it, encompassed me.
And so I left, and I did not go back.
I found some old photos from that time recently, ones I took with an old camera, in those pre-digital years. I don’t have a scanner and so in order to reproduce them here, I actually used my camera to rephotograph those photographs. This accounts for their odd, slightly removed, unreal aspect — for, as well as Cairo in these pictures, you can see the glare from my window right here in Australia, the bend in the photographic paper.
I was going to apologise for this, originally. And then it occurred to me that in fact, this aspect of distance and remove is exactly right. In this context, it is right.
And so, no apologies today — just a glimpse into another world, a very long way away from here and from now.
4 thoughts on “Another world”
So many lives you have lived! Wonderful descriptions of another world far removed from our own.
I often think about traveling (before the window of possibility closes on that) and I’ve realized that no longer would I enjoy staying in a city. My interest would be to see the countryside and live the slower, quieter pace found there. Also no more touring, just find a place and stay put.
I feel the same as you, these days, Eliza. I’m glad I did all that travelling when I was younger. It wouldn’t work for me now. And there’s always Yorke Peninsula, which tops the list for me! x
Wow, the photographs have the perfect quality for your reminisces about living in Cairo. What serendipity. Their faded, mirage like look mirrors the way you describe the city and the way it “encompassed” you.
Thank you! It’s been a long time since I travelled as you do, but the memories are still very vivid, though the images (like the images on my post) are fading …