Forgoing breakfast at the hotel, we settled our bill for the previous evening and then asked about luggage storage for the day. The manager stared blearily at us from heavy eyes. He looked at us, then our bags, then back to us. "Okay, sure. Leave it over there," he nodded just across the way from the front desk. We agreed.
We set out for the small convenience store again to buy water for the day (after I returned to the hotel, having forgotten my money in my bag), and then took a cab to the metro station. The cab driver understood us after we said "Metro Opera" in a heavy Egyptian accent.
Riding the metro had quickly become passe; we bought our passes, and headed for the metro stop Ghamra. Once there, we exited into the madding crowd. A complicated set of overpasses met us and we walked a bit away from the chaotic crowd of buses, going down further the street where we hoped we could catch a taxi. We waited - to no avail. Finally, we turned back toward the metro station and took the stairs down to the street below us. We finally got a cab - and a metered one at that - and told him to take us to Al-Azhar mosque, which is one of the oldest mosques in Egypt and one of the oldest "universities" in the world. Driving through the streets lined by pollution-stained houses, we and the hefty taxi driver quickly ran through the required conversation: who, where from, why in Egypt, and why the hijab, which he was quick to compliment with the now familiar terms of "gameela, giddan gameela". Dropped off in a slightly confusing mass of wrought iron fences, buildings, and people, we managed to find our way pass the line of waiting taxis to an underground pedestrian tunnel.
We walked boldly into Al-Azhar - and were quickly instructed to remove our shoes in the entry. There were two men manning the shoe station, who told us a bit about the mosque and asked if we wanted a guide or to tour alone. We went in alone, crossing the large and silent open courtyard into one of the paneled rooms to the side. We explored around a bit, coming back to the entrance; the two men asked if we had seen the library. We went over to see the library; the men at the desk with the sign-in sheet pointed out another room that we hadn't seen. We went back to collect our shoes (5LE baksheesh, and an offer to see from the top of the minaret for 20LE) and then to try to find our way to Khan al-Khalili bazaar.
Certain of the direction, we decided to set off in the opposite direction because there were some buildings in that way that interested us. Passing outdoor restaurants with their tables and chairs jammed against each other, we passed into an alley of what looked like a small bazaar. Few people were out and about, which made sense considering that it was before noon. We exited, and walked around the grassy square between two other mosques and the pushy restaurateurs, finally deciding that we had found ourselves in Khan al-Khalili. Taking narrow street and narrow street, we wound among the rabbit warrens that constitute the bazaar. At first, there were few people pushing their way between the narrow building and under the lowering awnings; the metal screens were just being rolled past the shops and salesmen coming out to shout, "Egyptian! Egyptian! You look-a like Egyptian!" to us.
We meandered, trying to find a particular tea place called Fishawi's, highly recommended by my guide book. We asked a policeman and at least three different shop owners, going only a few hundred meters of so before asking directions again. Finally we found it, and sat down. A mix of locals and several tourists were already sitting outside. We ordered our pots of tea (oh, so good! I had two pots) and sat to watch the people.
The old, fat, white tourists laughed loudly and talked among themselves; they got henna from one of the sellers pushing their way around the diners. As we sat, the sellers hawked their watches and beats and shoe-shines and sunglasses and shawls and henna and scarves and anything you wanted, hardly taking no (in two languages and three dialects) for an answer.
One of the most pathetic sights I had seen was just down the alley right beside us. Fishawi's, recommended by a tour-book, was filled with laughing people. Just beside us was another tea and coffee (shai and ahwa) shop, with, I am sure, just as good tea and coffee and just as pleasant atmosphere and tables. But no one sat in the booths and its owner sat outside, looking glumly over at his neighbor's success.
Following Fishawi's and our combined three pots of tea, we went to take advantage (or be taken advantage of, the same difference) all the bazaar had to offer. We meandered through the stalls and my friend purchased her souvenirs. I only wanted to purchase a pair of sandals since mine had broken. I found one place and inquired the price; he said thirty and, as I immediately forgot the word for fifteen, I made noncommittal grunting noises and allowed my friend to go ahead and purchase a pair for herself.
More walking ensued. By this time, the bazaar was in full swing and we pushed our way through the people. At the outer edges of the bazaar near the square tour buses full of the old German came in to experience the day. Cats roamed the side streets, and trash piled up everywhere. We found the main thoroughfare of the bazaar, and shoved through the crowd. The men called out "Welcome! Egyptian? Turkish? Welcome! Good price!" and one or two came up with creative approaches "How can I take your money? Ah, funny, right - I like your smile!" I found a shoe place and inquired as to the price in Arabic. One of the men took my friend into his perfume shop and she left me to my haggling. We had a little bit of difficulty before we established that the shoes, although men's shoes, were actually for me; this was compounded by my not knowing my shoe size in European mens'. (It is, by the way, a whopping 42.) Finding a pair that looked like they would work, we set to agreeing on a price. He started at 120LE - a very good price, he said, look at the quality. Oh, yes, I replied. The quality is good, I can tell. Very nice. But, you see, I am a student - 120 is just too much. Ah, well, for you, he said, we are speaking Arabic - 90LE only. I responded and he replied again. Back and forth. I told him that I only had 20LE to spend, really. That was it. Was there anything there I could get with just 20LE? He looked doubtful. I shrugged sorrowfully and went to join my friend. Oh wait, the man said. These sandals (that we had been haggling over) - I can let them go for fifty. I looked more hopeful. Well, fifty is better - but I don't have that much money. Fifty, he stated. I sighed. Let me look in my purse. I pulled out the twenty, and made a show of scrounging about for more. Like a rookie, I pulled out another twenty. We settled on 45LE - more than I would have paid if I really were the Egyptian the sellers called out (in English) that I must be - but much less than the originally quoted 120LE. Not wanting to jinx my luck, my friend and I hustled away.
We got another cab to the Metro station, but by now the people were awake and we were treated to another real Cairo experience: traffic. Our car went through the narrow streets, barely scraping by houses. We got caught up in a main thoroughfare: all the cars had been driving down the street as though it were a one-way street and then suddenly there were cars coming from the other direction. It went from a one to two way to three way street as the vehicles going one way split into a V formation to allow the cars going the other to come through. The snarl of fume-spewing metal lumbered slowly along, barely at a crawl. Once in sight of some train tracks raised on the bridge, we hopped out. Now in physical pain from the two pots of tea and the 1.5 liters of water I had drank that morning, I hustled toward the track - only to find that an actual metro station was not in sight. We went down one direction of road, walking along and between nearly parked cars in the traffic jam, only to realize we were heading in the wrong direction. Turning around, I finally broke into a run - probably much to the amusement of all the onlookers, as I doubt that a distinctly Caucasian looking person in jelbab and hijab running with a bright blue plastic sack is a very common sight. I made my way into the metro station and then passed a rather painful few moments looking for a sign of any sort. The best I could do was find a sign for an "office" of some type, filled with men laughing and smoking. Swallowing my pride, and trusting my jelbab to protect me from looking like an impudent American, I approached and coughed politely. "Where is the bathroom?" I asked in my politest Arabic. One of the men came over and was very explicit and thorough in his instructions - so voluminous, in fact, were his words, that I only caught two of them: below and to the left. This being all I really needed to know, however, I said thank you and grabbed my ticket from my friend and passed through the turn gate. This did not satisfy him; he trailed after me, and enlisted a female train agent to assist. She, however, did not understand what I wanted and so, assuming that I wanted to go somewhere on the train, tried to tell me which direction I wanted. Following her directions, I went down and to the right - no luck. Dashing upstairs and then across the platform to the other side of the tracks, I finally found the bathrooms. However, they do not put signs outside. I can read Arabic, really, and know at least four ways that are used to indicate "women's" and there were no distinction between men's and women's. I promise. I went in and was pleased to find them in better condition that UJ's (which isn't saying much) and then exited. As I opened the door, however, I think I surprised the group of men that were just ready to walk in.
I joined my friend on the platform, and we entered the women's section of the train and made our way to Mar Ghirgis, the station stop for Coptic Cairo. One of the nice things about the metro - besides the fact that it is clean, cheap, fast, and efficient - is that there are several cars throughout reserved just for women. The only men that get on are those that sell small knicknacks in between stations, and occasionally a young boy or a husband travelling with his wife and family.
Mar Ghirghis metro stop was, to our pleasant surprise, just beside the Hanging Church, the Coptic Museum, and St. George's church. We went to the Hanging Church first and marveled at the beautiful architecture and the tourists in revealing clothes. I tried getting some good pictures (of the church!), but it was too dark and I couldn't turn on my camera-flash of course. Following the Hanging Church, we saw the gorgeous church of St. George (Greek Orthodox) and wandered about the burial grounds. Some of the tombs were badly damaged and you could see the remains within. Another quick visit to what was, I think, a church of St. Anne's (??), and I think I had the attendant really wondering as I explained the story in the icons to my friend. Not every day you get a local Muslim taking an American tourist around to visit the churches and then explain the religious significance to her, but hey, that's the way I roll.
A quick meal at the St. George's restaurant (and a friendly waiter), and then back to the metro, and to Zamalek to collect our bags that were still in the lobby, exactly as we had left them. Another metro ride and we arrived at 6pm at Giza train station whence we were to depart after having purchased tickets for the sleeper train. Now, I had checked on three websites as reputable as I could find and had my guide-book, all of which said nothing about reservations being required for this sleeper car. While I did have the phone number of the place, we had decided not to call earlier, figuring that there probably weren't hordes of tourists demanding to take the sleeper from Cairo to Aswan. Unfortunately, there apparently were. The ticket station at Giza informed us that the tickets for the sleeper train were all sold out. So, we hopped back on the metro and traveled to metro Ramses where we got out and found our way to the train station nearby. This was fun and involved our map, compass, a few police officers, crossing Cairo streets in the dark and wending our way among the plethora of street vendors. I thought it was awesome, but my friend was a little stressed - and understandably so. She was also carrying a giant pink gymbag that was an unwieldy burden. To compound matters, Ramses train station is undergoing construction (it has been since at least 2008, which is why my guidebook told us to go to Giza station): this meant finding our way through a maze of hastily erected awnings and plywood sidings to get to some sort of office. I merely followed a local.
We found some ticket windows, and I approached to ask where we might buy two seat tickets on the train to Aswan. "Fein," I started and immediately stopped. You see, 'where' in FusHa is "I-eena" and in Amiyya, it's "Wayn," but in Masry, it's "Fein." After the mental exertion required to remember which "where" I needed, my mind drew a blank. I smiled stupidly at the near-toothless old man behind the window. He grinned back at me. Gathering my wits, I tried again slowly. "Fein bnishtara al-bitaqa ila Aswan fi al qataar al-masaa? Nureed kursayn." Where do we buy a ticket to Aswan on the train this evening? We need two seats, I told the man. He grinned again and chuckled. Slowly, carefully, he spoke in English. "Platform 8. Window three." I repeated it. He nodded. "Thank you!" And off Becky and I trudged.
We went down the tunnel, and I followed my disgruntled friend to the platform. We found ourselves in another office and, after going to one or two windows, finally found the one we should be at. (Although it was really amusing: One agent told me to go to "Shobak two" I stared stupidly at him until he said "Window itnayn.") Purchasing a ticket was relatively painless, although figuring out which platform, train, seat, and time we needed required another trip to scrutinize the yellowed and minute manifest that hadn't been changed since, oh, 1643, and another little visit with the poor, tired ticket-agent.
With two hours to go, we settled ourself on a stone bench to guard our belongings and wait for the train, enjoying the people-watching.
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