To drive in Cairo you need one of two credentials – neither of which is a licence. It seems utmost bravery or severe suicidal tendencies are required to get behind the wheel of any vehicle in the Egyptian capital.
Whether the roads are heaving or not, everyone here drives at breakneck speeds to a continuous chorus of beeping horns. Traffic lights are simply used for decorative purposes and there is no such thing as giving way. It is literally every man for himself.
Under normal circumstances, I would get around using buses, trams or the metro, but Cairo is a difficult city to navigate and while their public transport system is a plausible option, it is testing at the very least. What’s more, if you are pushed for time, taxis are by far the best bet. By choosing to travel in the back of a cab, passengers are not shuttled around in air-conditioned luxury or sheltered away from the realities of daily life. In fact, it is a great way to really get a glimpse of this intense place and its animated inhabitants.
My driver for the day, Mohammed, was much like any other Egyptian – fiercely proud and extremely friendly. We set off from my guesthouse in the suburban area of Heliopolis and made our way through the dense and unforgiving traffic towards the Nile, which runs through the heart of Cairo.
Mohammad’s chariot was a black and white 1970’s Fiat, much like most of the other two millions cars in the city. Its rusting bodywork was full of dents and various panels of the interior were kept together with reels of sellotape.
The divide between rich and poor in Egypt is extreme. Very few people can afford a new car and even fewer can afford insurance. As a result, disputes over collisions are resolved at the roadside and generally involve lots of shouting and waving of arms.
I was quickly introduced to the Egyptian school of motoring. I responded to Mohammad’s attempts at conversation with some reluctance as he darted in between cars and hurtled towards a backlog of traffic, braking only at the last possible moment.
Without hesitation, he reached for the horn and joined the masses in their unified protest against this ungodly delay. Judging by the ferocious nature of their honking you would think everyone had been sat there for weeks instead of a matter of seconds.
Soon enough we were on the move again, like a bullet from a gun. Undeterred by an oncoming surge of vehicles, Mohammed swung the car around abruptly into a parallel road. The approaching cars got alarmingly close and still showed no sign of slowing down.
Just as I was about to adopt the emergency brace position and pray for my life, Mohammad chuckled. “Don’t worry, my friend. This is Egyptian driving.”
Speeding along a highway, with stunning Islamic minorettes and high-rised apartment blocks fading behind us, we headed towards Giza. Situated about 20km outside the city, where the frenzy of motors is replaced with weary donkeys pulling carts of watermelons, this sleepy town is home to the magnificent Pyramids. To stand at the foot of the Pyramid of Khufu, in particular, is an awe-inspiring moment.
Nearly two million blocks of solid stone weighing anything from two to fifteen tons each were used to make the ancient structure back in 2560 BC. It took 20 years to complete and stands at a height of 138 metres, making it the largest of the ‘Big Three’ that have come to be iconic symbols of this nation.
Most of my time was spent roaming the area and trying to avoid eye contact with the hoards of hawkers that sell everything from papyrus to camel rides. Be warned – showing even the slightest interest and you will have a friend for life!
Sweating under the intense midday sun, Mohammed and I headed back towards Cairo. The heat was stifling and my only option was nature’s air conditioning. I reached for the handle to wind the window down, but discovered it was missing.
Mohammed, sensing my confusion, rummaged through the junk on the passenger seat, leaned over and passed me the elusive handle. Quite why it had been removed was never explained but I soon had the wind in my hair and felt great for it. Stuck in the midst of another jam, a somewhat dishevelled lady stood by the window and tried to sell me a variety of knick-knacks. A pack of tissues was followed by a garland of sweet smelling jasmine.
I politely declined both and just when I thought she could not possibly top the jasmine, she pulled out a stash of comedy disguises! Surely every motorist needs a pair of fake glasses, a huge nose and bushy moustache in the glove compartment. I was dropped off at the Egyptian Museum, a grand terracotta building in central Cairo. Over 120,000 artefacts including the head of Nefertiti and the famous golden funeral mask of Tutankhamon are housed here, and unsurprisingly it can be a time consuming place.
Feeling contented following my cultural afternoon I headed to Khan el Khalili, the city’s most dynamic bazaar for a spot of nocturnal souvenir hunting.
Traditional Arabic music is blared at every corner as hundreds of locals and tourists alike converge on the cobbled streets. Egyptian men wearing beige galabayas are deep in conversation, smoking shisha and playing backgammon while other less fortunate souls sit by the kerb with a hand outstretched.
I browsed, haggled and browsed some more before venturing off the beaten track and into the maze of alleyways, where locals go to stock up on fabrics, cleaning supplies and other essentials. Deep down it is more than just a place to shop cheaply; it is an excuse to see friends and socialise. From across the road I watched a huge crowd who had gathered around a small stand.
A stereo was blaring the latest release from the Middle East’s equivalent of Beyonce. The atmosphere was electric and infectious – the dancing crowd jeering, clapping and singing along loudly. Joining the revellers, I queued to buy a copy of the tunes as a memento but the makeshift DJ informed me that the music playing was not actually on offer. “No, this not for sale. We play this one because it very popular. Here... buy this one."
On the way back to Heliopolis, Mohammad put his foot down in typical fashion. Until we hit another traffic jam. Suddenly, a load of flyers landed in my lap. I looked around to see a boy walking in between the lanes of stationary cars and throwing batches of leaflets into every open window. Now I know why Mohammed removed the handle!
Feeling exhilarated by my fast paced day yet relieved it was over, I settled in for the night to the sounds of cars beeping on the unapologetic roads outside. |
