Ramadan Pt. II

Oh yeah, one more thing I forgot to mention about Ramadan: during the entire holy month, all of the liquor stores are closed. As if it wasn’t tough enough already to get a drink in this town. Further complicating matters is the bar situation. While bars are still open, they actually have security working the doors to check passports.

Why? No Muslims and no Egyptians are allowed to enter bars during Ramadan. Remember, people: Egypt is not a free country, it’s a police state where armed guards sit on every corner and tenants in the city’s myriad apartment blocks are under constant surveillance from the Bawwab (door man), who ensures that no members of the opposite sex can enter one’s apartment.

For example, I went to visit some female participants in the YPI program (which is sponsoring my time here with a generous, monthly stipend) who live in my neighborhood, and we had to leave the door open the entire time, just to let the Bawwab and the neighbors know there was no hanky panky going on.

Crazy.

Anyways, back to Ramadan.

As the streets empty out during Iftar (literally, “break fast”) I took the chance to head out and go jogging on the deserted streets of Cairo. It was surreal jogging alongside the Nile while everyone was inside breaking their day long fasts with milk, dates, foole, etc.

In other news, my Sinbad-esque roommate is officially a giant baby. Though I’ve been getting along with him, he keeps loosing things (like a set of keys which I had to find for him) and he leaves his socks on the kitchen counter. Gross. Still, I think his laziness is rubbing off on me as my case of mild lethargy has grown into a chronic condition. It's like playing tennis with a horrible player: sooner or later, they drag you down to their level.

Ramadan

Ahhh, Ramadan. How I love thee.

Sure, the malnourished and nicotine-starved Caireans are bitchy during the morning and early afternoon, resulting in an above-normal level of honking and barking in an already boisterous, obnoxious place.

Sure, I feel bad about eating/drinking/smoking in front of Muslim co-workers.

Sure, it’s hard to connect with sources for interviews because nobody is around.

And, yes, sure, it’s hard to get anythiang done – especially looking for apartments or getting laundry done or buying food or getting a taxi…

So, okay, yes, Ramadan can be a bit of a pain in the neck, but damn, when Iftar drops and people finally get home to break their fasts with a glass of milk and a date, Ramadan is a beautiful thing.

The crowded, noisy, disgusting streets of Cairo clean out and the place is peaceful. The rhythm of the whole month really unites everyone here – regardless of whether they’re a lawyer driving an imported BMW or a street vendor living on two dollars a day.

A few other comments about Ramadan:

I was smoking in the staff lounge yesterday when my editor Amr came in looking worried, and said: “Jered, you really can’t smoke in here, because the smoke drifts into the office and breaks the fast for everybody else.” Man, I felt like Commodore Perry drifting into Japanese waters on that one; talk about cultural insensitivity.

Another neat thing is that tables are set on the empty streets and the rich feed the poor. Crazy. It’s like a city-wide, outdoor, soup kitchen.

Then, everybody heads out into the cool night air and chaos resumes.

Street Meat

Whoever it was who told me not to eat Egyptian street food, I owe you a massive apology. Thanks to some Cairean street meat I “ate” on Tuesday -- from a little hut nestled in a tiny parking lot near my work -- I've been battling a pretty rough bout of the stomach flu. After puking my guts out, I missed almost two days of work and slept for about 20 hours in a trance-like state. While most of the nausea has dissipated, I'm still making frequent trips to the bathroom.

Went to a Norwegian house party last night, where these Scandafarians did a weird little birthday dance with bows and curtsies. Odd. Cake was also served and several bottles went-a-crashin’ down to the street from the 9th floor festivities. I talked to this girl name TONE – pronounced TUUNA – who was from a town miles above the arctic circle.

Meanwhile, my roommates continue to ingest prodigious amounts of marijuana and hash -- supplied by the doorman -- with the Sinbad roommate proving daily that idiocy knows no bounds. He's obviously watched WAY too much Family Guy and is slowly turning into a live action version of the Family Guy -- as played by Sinbad, of course. Which would make me…um….Nicholas Cage as a brooding, repressed Chris? Does this make any sense?

Not that it's all doom and gloom. The Toronto Star finally ran a piece I did about mountain biking in Bolivia, meaning a nice little bit of cash and a reassuring piece of journalistic encouragement. Also, my $40 cellphone works quite nicely, and the 39 degree heat of last week has subsided to a much more comfortable 33…

AND -- despite my stay in the infirmary, I continue to file stories on an almost daily basis here in Egypt.

Sorted...

I’m sitting on my third-floor balcony in a leafy, affluent suburb in Cairo waiting for the ominous sound of the evening prayer call to echo through the crowded street below. A steady stream of beat up Peugeots and Ladas sputter below and the day’s 38 degree heat has barely subsided.

It’s been a crazy few days and the $250 laptop I bought at a gas station in North York seems to be holding up okay.

After two nights in a hostel, I busted my ass and found a place in Zamalek, which is a stylish borough nestled on the beautiful Gezira Island – which sits in the middle of the Nile and is a stone’s throw from downtown. It also boasts the American University in Cairo’s female dorms and at least two overpriced coffee shops formed in the image of Howard Shultz himself. North America doesn’t seem so far away here.

My roommates are a lanky Belgian fond of using superlatives like “beauuuutiful” and “purrrrfect,” and a Palestinian guy who looks -- and acts -- suspiciously like a young Sinbad.



Both are much younger than me and I feel like an old man.

I’ve put in a few days at The Daily Star Egypt (www.dailystaregypt.com) and I have complete freedom to come and go as I please, write whatever I please and generally “be my own boss.” As good as this sounds, being in a new city means that finding story ideas can be a bit of a challenge.

So far, I’ve done pieces on an UN-sponsored Nile River clean up, a tech-story on Cairo’s new airport terminal and a little piece on Kodak’s corporate restructuring in Egypt. While Bill Cosby couldn’t be reached for comment on that last one, doing the story did allow me to dine at the Citadel Restaurant, which overlooks one of Cairo’s few green spaces, as well as the towering mosques of old Islamic Cairo. It was an opulent affair and I ate my own weight in hummus.

Last night I smoked shisha, sipped beer and ate wine leaves at a spotless, Nile-side lounge/resto called Sequoia.

One more thing – some cool shit went down on the bus here yesterday. I was downtown at Midan Tahrir Square when I hopped onto a bus and passed a half pound bill to the driver. He turned around and passed it to the passenger sitting behind him, who then passed it over his shoulder to the person behind him…this continued until my fare reached the money collector at the back of the bus – which brings me to my next point: Cairo, for a city of nearly 20 million people has a remarkably low crime rate.

Allah Akbar.

C.A.I.R.O.

I'm in Egypt for a six month internship at a newspaper called The Daily Star Egypt. I was supposed to be in Beirut right now, but, well, after that little kidnapping/bombing/shock and awe/Chaka khan incident last summer, Beirut was cancelled and Cairo was offered as a second choice.

Ok, ok. Everybody and their boyfriend has a blog, but due to popular demand (i.e. I have just so many friends) I decided to start an online journal not only for my own edification and documentation, but also so my far flung peeps can keep up with what I'm up to without a constant barrage of group emails.Yes, it's fucking self-centered and egotistical and I've openly belittled bloggers in the past, but well, I caved.

Please join me for some Arabian nights...

Flying into Cairo was a trip.

After purchasing some cognac on the tarmac at Athens Int'l Airport (booze in Egypt is brewed locally and is thus horrible) I found myself sitting next to two of the friendliest (and gayest) men in Southern Europe.

We decided to split a cab into downtown Cairo, as I had made a reservation at some budget fleabag joint near Midan Tahrir -- aka, Cairo's bustling centre.

Speeding into Cairo's undulating suburbs at 4 a.m. on an elevated freeway was surreal. Mammoth mosques towered above the freeway.

Crumbling apartment buildings topped with satellite dishes and prickly antennas stretched outward into the city. It hit me that Cairo – at about 15 million people – is absolutely fucking massive.

And like other third world mega cities, it also has a mega heavy, mega apocalyptic vibe.

We crossed the Nile and Cairo's sprawling megalopolis opened into two great forks of black water bordered by massive, glowing skyscrapers.

Next thing I knew, I was splitting a room with my new friends: one guy had his PJ pants pulled down and was doing yoga poses on his bed. The other dude had his robe tucked into a pair of tighty whities and was going through his bags looking for whatever he was looking for.

They were both hilarious and generous – in fact, they fronted me the cash I need for my room...still, I really needed to find an apartment.