One hand can't clap

We whizzed down the freeway from Cairo Airport to Zamelek. Whizzing was possible only because it was 3 in the morning. Otherwise, getting from one part of the city to another would have required long conversations in stand-still traffic, which we experienced as well tonight. F. drove us past the posh neighborhood lined with Cairo's large library and black-windowed buildings, and Mubarak's house which was heavily guarded by a large lit-up gate. Then it was the October 6 bridge...do you see that mosque? yes, the one with the green "Allah"?...and look at that mosque...and did you notice the Nile?

In fact, I had NOT noticed it. Whether the dark or whether the water was surrounded by tall buildings which invariably took me back to Times Square, I was taken by surprise that the body of water we were driving over was THE Nile River. It looked like a concrete-made bank I usually drove besides through central valley California, except that it was wider. I would be lying if I didn't say I was a bit disappointed - the lights, and the buildings, and the boats polluting the Nile. It was naivetet on my par, and perhaps mixed with a bit of exotification, too. The river was fully situated in Cairo, home to 10 million people. Of course it made sense to keep the river, I mean to use it and abuse it, and to make it part of the city.

One hand can't clap alone, today an elder woman from one of the neighborhoods in Cairo told us. Which made me think: enough with the comparisons. It's not New York or San Francisco, it's not Beirut or London. It's Cairo, my dear. Give a hand back.

Khan El-Khalili market is buzzing as ever. The bombing last month hasn't dissuaded people from coming, and store owners opened their markets just a day after the incident. There's nothing to show what had been destroyed, which is just as well. Otherwise, I would have been distracted from watching some friends bargain heatedly with store-owners on my behalf. After two hours of walking about a quarter mile square of the market, it was back in the car, without any whizzing until we got to Zamelek. Slowly, slowly we make our way back to our street, passing by the Argentinian embassy laden with protest signs. Otherwise the street was dark, quiet, and showing no sign that the rest of Cairo was still up and buzzing.