Alexandria...

Woke early and took a look out from our balcony at early Alexandria: the great, long curve of the Mediterranean, grey this monring under a pale grey sky, the park below with its green lawns and palm trees, the Corniche almost empty of vehicles. Five-forty a.m.

Last night we took the bus to dinner at seven, following the Corniche west past a boardwalk filled with the familiar groups of men, walking together, talking, smoking… and the less familiar, more European sight of men and women togther, lovers, hand in hand, in at least one case a woman fully covered, head to toe and fingertip to fingertip, in her black burkha, strolling along casually with her boyfriend. An odd sight.

Alexandria does have a much more European feel than Cairo. You could have thought yourself in Marseilles—a bit more grungy than, say, Nice, but with that lighter, more open feel to it. The bus unloaded us eventually in a small back street, where we found our restaurant setting up a long, rough table on the sidewalk, with fish markets all around. Stalls amply stocked with all kinds of seafood, octopus, sole, red snapper. While we waited for our tables to be set, Fadel was busy in one of the markets negotiating the catch for our dinner, checking the gills for freshness, arguing quantity and price. Looking down the darkening street, we saw crumbling facades, a jumble of duty vehicles, laundry flapping in the evening breeze, and dozens of people going about their business.

A fish dinner in the street, then. Not my favorite, but the calamari was excellent, and the environment full of life and interest. Ellie and I rode the bus part-way back, then joined a small group of a half dozen of us who decided to walk the remainder of the way back to the hotel. A hazardous enterprise, given the habits of Egyptian drivers. No right of way for pedestrians, even at crosswalks. You take a deep breath, take your life in your hands, and plunge into the traffic hoping that someone will see you and brake for long enough for you to cross.

Even along the Corniche—which you’d expect to be the most renovated and spruced-up of streets—the buldings, once you glimpse inside, are for the most part in a dreadful state of disrepair: once elegant courtyards and marbled stairways now blackened with age and pollution, ill-lit, deserted. The cafes are crowded with men smoking their evening hookah, but their furnishings are dilapidated, their paint peeling, and the lighting only the most primitive and bare. A bleak glimpse behind the scenes.

Back at the hotel, we were attracted by the street activity just a block inland, and decided to take a walk around the area in search of ice cream. Amazing. First, a canyon of shoes—a whole back street lined with shoe stalls as far as you could see, shoes of all kinds, sneakers, pumps, slippers, oxfords… stacked house-high on the stalls. Further down the street, women’s underwear everywhere—another eye-opener: this stuff was worthy of Fredericks on Hollywood Boulevard, skimpy, lacy, see-through bra and panty sets, not what you would imagine beneath the modest, long robes of almost all the women here.

The sense of life is intense. Thousands of people jam the narrow streets, competing with a sea opf honking vehicles for pavement space. And everything imaginable for sale, in stores, or stalls, or draped on the arms of street vendors. An unbelievable surfiet of goods of all kinds, from “Rolexes” to pistachio nuts, from strings of beads to gold and diamonds. And noise everywhere, excited talk, cars, scraps of music and chant. A blind couple of old people, begging, chanting from the Koran. Voices, Voices of shoppers, voices of vendors, always importunate, never satisfied with “no”.

Quieter, darkened back streets on the way back to the hotel. Men sitting quiety in cafes, playing dominos, chattering, smoking, staring at the foreginers passing by. But all friendly, all of them ready with a “welcome” or a smile. No sense of danger in these streets. No sense of threat. Just an overwhelming sense of teeming, irrepressible life. A great experience. We never found our ice cream.

Left the hotel with a small group at 8:45 AM with the intention of visiting the local synagogue—apparently the only one still in use in Egypt. Arrived there to encounter heavy police guard at the entrance to the alley and, when we got to the gate, to find it chained and padlocked. An altercation between Fadel and the man who came to greet us revealed that the synagogue would remain closed all day, the staff on vacation. We could come back, if we wished, tomorrow, and hope for better luck.

At a loose end before the bus was due to leave at ten, we wandered the same streets as last night, now nearly deserted. Those out and about, however, all greeted us with a warm, “Good morning, welcome!” and we were struck once again with the friendliness of the Egyptians. These, too, had nothing to sell us. They were just being friendly. A gaggle of kids on a fourth floor balcony waved down to us and shouted, wanting to know our names. It was Keith who offered his, and their delighted voices followed us down the street: “Keith! Keith! Keith!”

One mishap to note. Passing an ATM machine on a narrow street, I remembered that we were short of cash and went to make a withdrawal. Dismissing Ellie’s warnings that this was not a good location, I slid the card into the slot—and never got it out again. Instead, a small receipt slip that said, Sorry, your card has been retained. Hurried back to the hotel and were happy to find that Ellie had brought her identical card, and called the toll free international number on the back to alert our bank to the loss. No harm done, then. Just an irritation. A double irritation for me, to have Ellie proven right!

Out at ten on board the bus for a ride through the very hazy streets to our first stop, at the Kom El-Shukafa Mounments, which seemed, at first sight, quite unpromising: just a few desultory sarcophagi and bits ot statuary around a dust courtyard. Soon, however, Fadel led us down a circular stairway, following a great limestone shaft, and we found ourselves deep in a 3rd century AD Roman-era catacomb. Hundreds of burial alcoves carved into the rock, and interesting carvings (and poorly preserved wall paintings) revealing the merger of Roman and ancient Egyptian cultures. Interesting to observe the far less skilled quality of the crafstmanship in the later age. The Roman stylization of images and portraits seemed far less imaginative than their forbears, and far less precise in execution.

Onward, through now much busier streets, with markets and stalls beginning to open everywhere, to our next stop: the famous Pompey’s Pillar, a huge column surrounded by a few sphinxes, imported from other sites, and a number of Roman remains, including baths and residences. A photo op here, since this is the familiar picture that Alexandria exports: the column and one of the adjacent sphinxes. And a pleasant walk back through the gardens to the bus, and on to another more recent site, the Roman Theater and the ruins of the earlier Greek city. A grand amphitheater, now used by the local opera company. And a splendid villa, whose hightlights included some beautiful, colorful mosaics, in particular a group of six with images of birds. Hence the name of the site, the Villa of the Birds.

The last stop before lunch was the spot where the original lighthouse once stood—a site since occupied by a well-preserved medieval fortress. Located at the end of the pier, the area was crowded with a lively scene of locals celebrating their Friday “Sunday”, fishing from the pier, swimming off the narrow beach, or simply strolling comfortably along the boardwalk. A good moment for pictures, too, especially of women in their long robes and hearwear, since one could easily pretend to be taking pictures of the ocean or of the fortress behind them.

Fadel came up with another great lunch spot, this time at Muhammed Ahmed’s restaurant, on the back streets not far from our hotel. A feast of felafal, fava beans, lentil soup, and several of the familiar Middle Eastern appetizers. Then off to a local coffee shop for Turkish coffee on the sidewalk and biscotti generously contributed by our friend and fellow-traveler Gary. And, for Ellie and myself, a stop in the patisserie to sample and buy some chocolates, and a longer meander through the streets before returning to the hotel for a quick rest.

On the bus again at five, for a drive up the long Corniche to King Farouk’s old palace. The grounds are now an evidently popular park, given the number of people strolling there. A photo stop at a pier leading out into the Mediterranean, crowded with families and groups of friends. Windy and quite cold, getting on toward sunset. Back on the bus, Linda (by the Winda) was dragged off by a girl who had somehow taken a fancy to her, insisting on a photograph. The girl’s group of friends materialized from nowhere, and suddenly they were beckoning us off the bus with smiles and giggles, wanting more pictures with the Americans. A few of us happily obliged, and we all parted in jovial good spirits.

A drive past the old palace, now under extensive renovation, to another of Fadel’s wonderful surprises—this time for a sunset photograph at the seashore house that once belonged to Sadat, and where he had visited the late president, as I understood it, during his lifetime. A great piece of architecture, clinging to the side of a low cliff, with warm sandstone walls and pillars, and what remained of an elegant swimming pool. Sadly, the whole place was now already in ruins, leaving us to wonder why no one had bothered to protect or restore it.

Back down the Corniche for a brief stop at our hotel, then on to the Tikki restaurant for a fine dinner at tables overlooking the ocean, Fadel in fine fettle for what he had billed as our farewell meal (tomorrow night, back in Cairo, we’ll be left to our own devices because of the ultra early start for the airport Sunday. Fadel was properly toasted and thanked, as was Islam, when he joined us from his logistical activities. Then a drive back to the hotel, with Ellie opting for another walk with Todd and Linda, and myself opting for a few quiet minutes in our room to put the finishing touches on the entry for today.