Greetings from Cairo

After about a week in Cairo, my host, and by that point friend, Walid, asked me if the city matched my expectations. ‘It’s hard to say,’ I replied. ‘I didn’t really have a clear picture in my head before I arrived.’ Yes, I had skimmed through a travel book and looked a few things up, but I kept my overall research—and therefore the extent of my expectations—to a minimum.

 

This was somewhat intentional. Without many preconceptions, I could be more open-minded about my experience as it actually happened. Yet my lack of preparation was of course foolish, too. On my flight out, the ambitiousness—and naivety—of my decision to visit Cairo for a month, alone, dawned on me, particularly as this was my first time properly travelling solo. As my plane descended, the sheer scale and endlessness of the metropolis below became obvious, and one question rang through my mind: What the fuck am I doing?

 

I did my best to remain calm. After arriving at my apartment, I set aside 24 hours to get my bearings and acquire some essentials. Then I consulted my travel book (thoroughly this time), mapped out a course of action, and got on// with some sightseeing. In one day, I saw the Citadel of Saladin (below), Al-Azhar Park, Khan al-Khalili market, and most of Downtown Cairo, all punctuated by long periods of walking. Everywhere was hot, busy, intense, and all I could do was absorb the whole thing.

 

Undeniably, what I saw blew me away and impressed on me the need to see as much of the city as I possibly could. But the day also left me burnt out: I had been charging around during the hottest hours, without thinking to pause, and without drinking enough water. I spent the next day in bed—sick—reconsidering my decision to come to Egypt in the first place. My Arabic classes, which were the motivation for my trip, commenced the following week; until then, I was on my own. Stuck in the apartment, I began to feel homesick as well as out of place in this unknown megacity I found myself in.

 

The start of my Arabic course at the French Institute therefore came as a relief. As well as having something to do every weekday, I now had people I could talk to and explore the city with. When I told my classmates that I found Cairo overwhelming, I was met with nods of agreement and stories of similar experiences; everyone I met had fallen ill at least once. This sense of shared experience was comforting. I no longer felt an overbearing obligation to make the most of every spare moment and instead let myself rest between outings.

 

Still, having settled in, I continued my quest to see what Cairo had to offer—this time with a newfound sensibleness (packing lots of water, waking up early to avoid the heat, etc). First, I had to make some of the obligatory trips, starting with the Egyptian Museum. When this proved to be a disappointment—and given my new, more realistic expectations about how much I could do in the month—I decided to scrap all such remaining trips, including the pyramids.

 

This was a liberating decision. I spent the remaining time I had left in Cairo exploring restaurants by evening and cafes by morning and night. I still aspired to see as many mosques as I could, but my adventures hereon were confined to the customary and the lived-in, not ancient, grand sights.

I was more curious about how people in Cairo live, often overloading Walid with various questions on the topic. At the same time, I noticed in myself an inexplicable, perhaps irrational, desire to ‘fit in’—a sentiment I know many travellers share. While my motivations were well-intended, I remained conscious that such a mindset, contradictory as it is, coupled with the desire to understand an unfamiliar culture, could be prone to generating a kind of distorted, Orientalist perspective.

 

I was fundamentally hindered anyway, given my limited capacity to communicate with people (the Arabic I was studying, Modern Standard Arabic, is quite different from Egyptian dialect, although I got by). Likewise, any concern I had with fitting in was abruptly set aside by necessity. As a European, one attracts plenty of stares from people on the street. I had no choice but to be content with my foreignness. ‘The Tourist’ from OK Computer quickly became one of my most-played songs.

 

As my time in Cairo neared its end, I found myself tired and ready to go home, a combination of feelings I had experienced sporadically throughout the trip. But I made an effort to acknowledge the things I knew I would miss. After all, I had been fortunate: I lived in a beautiful neighbourhood, Garden City, with a lovely host; I met all sorts of interesting people at the French Institute; and I enjoyed various cafes and restaurants freely, given how affordable everything was.

 

The evening before I was due to fly home, I was sat out on the balcony enjoying the sun one last time. Walid came over and we got talking, and he asked me if I planned to return to Cairo. ‘Maybe in a year or two,’ I replied, after pausing. ‘Perhaps with somebody next time.’ If I do, I’ll know what to expect.