Change In Plans

Greetings from Cairo!

I left the Beaverkill yesterday afternoon, gone to Egypt for two days of meetings.  Aside from extreme heat, these two places have practically nothing in common.

This evening, about an hour before sunset, I go out to run a nine-kilometer loop that I like.  It is about 95 degrees Fahrenheit.  The dust and the exhaust hang in the air like a gauzy veil, thick enough to taste.

My hotel is on the east bank of the Nile.  I start by heading north along the river, and crossing over on an old railroad bridge.  A few couples court chastely on the relatively private pedestrian walkway: young men in tight t-shirts and young women in burqas.  

On the west bank of the river, the Giza District, the stairs from the bridge drop me on a  busy road that I have to cross immediately.  There are no pedestrian crossings or traffic lights or road lanes. The cars come at me in a slow, but continuous, multi-lane stream. I skip across and hope for the best.  Not sure how you would do this with kids.

Rather than running the direct route, southwest along the river,I duck into an old, medina-like part of the city called Berbera. i think it is very old. Narrow dirt streets and gray cement storefronts. Men playing dominoes and smoking sheesha water pipes outside of small shops, where meat is grilling over charcoal.  Sharing the streets with donkey carts, mopeds and soccer-playing kids.  It seems poor, but not desperately so.  Every minute or so I am glad to catch a glimpse of the river a few blocks away, down a cross street.  It would be easy to get completely lost in the darkening streets, with rows of identical, sand-colored apartment buildings above them.

Exiting the labyrinth, I run west along the Little Nile for a way, next to a row of big, ramshackle houseboats bobbing in the water.  One morning a few months ago, on this same run, I saw the American University crew team rowing along this stretch of river.  This evening, I only see a few tiny feral kittens, dirty and thin, and probably not long for this world.  Cars rush past me as I balance on the narrow sidewalk, hoping I don’t trip and sprawl into traffic.

Crossing the Little Nile again, I am on Zamalek, a big island in the middle of the river.  I sort of know where I am, and run due east toward the main channel of the Nile.  I run past an outdoor weight-lifting center, and a few dusty restaurants with seating next to the water.  Zamalek is a rich part of Cairo, and there are many trees (with dusty leaves). and few cars.  I turn right (south) near the river, and run through a neighborhood filled with private schools and embassies. 

All of the policemen in Cairo have switched into white uniforms for the summer.  It reminds me of Fleet Week in New York.  Outside the embassies, mustachioed policemen in white wave their old, wooden-stock AK-47s around lazily as they talk with their fellow guards.  Everyone seems hot and a little lethargic.  Many of the street-side parking spaces are being used as informal outdoor repair shops.

The guards outside the Iranian Embassy wear all-black uniforms, with patches reading “Special Forces” on their arms.  They have better machine guns too.  One black-clad guard has taken his boots off, and is kneeling on a mat, praying in what must be the direction of Mecca.  His automatic weapon is laid at the top of the mat - closest to Mecca, I guess - and one of the other guards stands watch while he prays.  He has huge holes in the heels and toes of his socks, which make him seem a little more friendly somehow.

I pass more embassies and the few boutique shops, and make a sharp left near a giant tree which is exploding with cheerful birdsong. I am running south along the river again, and then up onto the six-lane bridge that takes me back to the east bank of the Nile.  The bridge is jammed with cars, but has wide sidewalks and a cool breeze.  I stop to admire the Nile, most storied of rivers. Although it flows through the city with speed and power, the river is only about 200 meters wide: . I’m not sure what I expected the cradle of human civilization to look like, but I did expect it to be bigger. The sun is just setting now behind me: a fiery, dust-enhanced ball.

At the end of the bridge, I go down the rickety metal stairs, turn left and run north.  The road along the river is the scariest and most chaotic in Cairo.  There is a wide sidewalk between the road and the river for part of the way, but for several hundred meters, pedestrians (including me) share space with oncoming traffic.  Usually the traffic is not moving very fast.  I convince myself that if worse comes to worst, I can jump up and hang from the top of the plywood wall next to the road, like an ice- hockey ref avoiding a puck along the boards.  A few times, I nearly leap for it, but the cars miss me, sometimes with headlights flashing in aggravation. The diesel exhaust is choking.

Finally, I am across the busy road from the hotel.  Crossing is like playing the old video game, Frogger.  Cairenes just glare at oncoming traffic and march forward, but I am nowhere near that brave.  Instead, I have five minutes to cool down on the far sidewalk, before a break in traffic allows me to make a dash for the middle, then for the far side.

It’s dusk, and the temperature has dropped to about 85 degrees.  On my third visit, Cairo is growing on me.