Al Qahera

"How is the city, after Mubarak?" asks Deko's father in Arabic as we pull away from Cairo airport, beginning the slow rumble through a sea of people and baggage, under an orange sky.
The taxi driver shakes his head and says simply, "Thanks be to God."

We're spending two nights here in the capital before moving up to Alex; Deko's aunt and her six children, ages ranging from four to twenty-two, have an apartment on the outskirts of the city. As we draw into the city it becomes clear that Cairo is, on the whole, exactly as I imagined it; beautiful, semi-dilapidated blocks of flats with satellite dishes clustered like tiny, dark insects about the windows, some still featuring the original colonial decor and aside from the occasional Novotel all streaked, stained and the colour of sand. Without wishing to sound like a total moron I didn't realise just how many people live here. Polished minarets stand side-by-side with Coptic Christian churches under a perpetual haze of smoke and exhaust fumes.

The next morning, having gone to sleep at 5, woken up at 2pm Arab stylee, breakfasted on liver and Somali pancakes and established that the bed was in fact already broken (apparently, Pyramids aside, Egyptians are terrible at measurements), we drive into the centre of town to visit the Museum of Antiquities. A few hours in the museum is simply not enough; you could spend several days here just ogling scarabs. Items on display range from ornate beds to oil jars to chariots to towering noseless figures, and then of course the actual mummified remains of eight or nine Pharaohs and - somewhat creepily - their pets and holy animals. Nowhere in the world actually has the contents of the sarcophagi on display and the whole experience felt more than a little unnerving; a number of mummies still have their eyes and lips intact, doing nothing to reduce the overall impression that you are rudely watching several old men (and one woman) sleep. Having always found it difficult to understand why so much of the contents of the tombs was moved in the first place, the idea that you can buy a ticket to stare at the occupants themselves in their naked and unadorned state feels irreverent at best. That said, as Deko rightly pointed out, they had in the first place wanted to be immortalised. We agree that we'll have to come back in order to properly do the place justice.

Above: the torched government building on the edge of Tahrir Square, right next to the museum.
Below: Deko, god of luggage.

A large portion of Tahrir Square is fenced off for building work but it is still possible to walk the perimeter and visit the mosque on the edge. The square is peaceful as the sun sets, couples wandering down the paths and locals passed out on benches under the glow of the street lamps. The occasional new bit of graffiti, and the numerous riot police standing somewhat redundantly around a patch of grass (one yawns as we walk by, another waves for the camera) are the only remaining evidence for all that took place earlier this year and continues even tonight. Safe in the knowledge that no immediate harm can befall us the discussion turns to food, and like the seasoned adventurers we are, we opt for the Pizza Hut overlooking the square. Once I'm done cackling over the Arabic phonetically-spelled version of 'Cheesy Bites' we choose a table by the window from which you can see crowds gathering, as usual, on the grass, apparently with little in mind apart from making their presence felt and jeer at the riot police as they pile into vans to go elsewhere - I remember the taxi drive over to the museum that morning during which the driver had joked, "The people are the police".

Finally we spend around twenty minutes on a crammed, rickety boat that does a brief lap of a very small and busy section of the Nile, Arabic music blaring and neon lights streaking the water. I get fired up on the excitement of actually being here in Egypt and promptly nearly get run over. In Cairo at night, all you can hear is car horns. The smells, interestingly, change wherever you go; we both comment on the heavy, perfumed air just outside a fruit stall, then recoil in horror as the drains come rushing back.

All in all, Cairo is more or less exactly the sensory overload you will have come to expect from a brief scan of any guide book or indeed one of the many novels set in these raucous, bustling, sweat-drenched streets. Nonetheless I wish we'd had a bit longer here. We agree that now is probably the best time to be in Cairo - we've been lucky to have this brief glimpse into what is essentially the aftermath of a revolution, and the overall impression? The majority of citizens are very, very happy. Speaking of Mubarak and those who supported him, Deko's eldest cousin, who was here earlier this year and remembers the ongoing terror of the armed men out to rape and murder family members of those protesting, and comments darkly that there is a special kind of evil that, regardless of religion, seems to be more common among Egyptian people than anyone else in the Middle East; a tendency towards violence, and - particularly concerning for her family in the past few months - racism. She cannot elaborate further but only hopes that this perceived inherent ferociousness can be turned towards the 'right' kind of politics - and away from the personal.

As for us - we're leaving today for Alex, a few hours' drive away. I'm currently sat opposite Deko's aunt who ispeeling carrots in the front room because the kitchen is too hot. It being a Friday the sermon blasts from the radio and from the minarets outside; the television is off for the first time in three days. That's all for now because suddenly, in the presence of other people, I realise my own pressing need for a shower.