Department: Giza
Dinner in Egypt
Dinner in Egypt - that sounds promising. And decadent. And since I didn’t just go out for dinner, this is going to be a longer text.
Where to begin? At the beginning, for example. That seems like a good choice. So, like this:
“So then we’ll invite you to Cairo for dinner.” Something along those lines. Of course, there was some lead-up to that. A lively conversation about Egypt, ancient culture, the new museum in Cairo. And something about birthday presents that just sit in a corner and gather dust.
“Gathering dust” will come up again later.
So: dinner in Cairo. And the museum. And of course the pyramids. And Cairo itself. Or rather, Giza. That’s basically the left bank of Cairo. Left of the Nile, that is.
The first time I ever flew somewhere just to go out for dinner. There’s always a first time, right? A bit decadent, maybe.
Smog and Haggling
Arriving at Cairo airport. Two things immediately make an impression: smog and haggling. Both stick to your shoes - don’t ask.
Not even fully out of passport control and the first one is already in your ear: Taxi. Best price. My friend. Bargained down from 2500 pounds. To 2000. To 1500. To 1100. We climbed into the taxi with a bit of pride. Later we learned the normal price for that ride is around 200 pounds. Felt slightly taken for a ride.
At dusk everything looks mystical. Veiled. Lights glowing in the haze. Only gradually did it dawn on us: this isn’t mist or fog - it’s smog. A smog like I’ve never seen before. And it stays with you all day long, from waking up until late at night.
Your nose clogs up. Lips get rough and cracked. You feel like you have to chew the air. Cars, streets, tables, chairs - everything is coated in a fine layer of dust. I’m fairly sure this dust does not come from the desert.
Traffic
Interested in what cars your grandparents used to drive? Then don’t go to a museum - go stand on a street in Cairo. They’re all still there: Audis and VWs, seemingly indestructible. On some, you can still see the old German license plates. Egyptian plates are just slapped over them.
If the hippies of the 70s and 80s think they responsibly recycled their VW buses or sold them to collectors - think again. They’re all driving around Cairo now. Sometimes without doors. Sometimes furnished with kitchen chairs. But they drive. As shared taxis they’re everywhere, picking up passengers on the fly. Occasionally dropping them off in the middle of a four-lane ring road.
Did I say four lanes? Well, there are lane markings. You can see them. They just don’t interest anyone. Traffic rules exist and aren’t even that different from ours. They just don’t interest anyone either.
Traffic lights? Nonsense. Tail lights? Nonsense. No overtaking on the right? Nonsense. Seat belts? Nonsense.
Horns, though - horns matter. Not as warning signals, but for communication. You quickly learn the basic codes. A cheerful little tune means a two-wheeler is approaching and politely asking to be spared. A guttural foghorn means: jump aside, a truck is coming and braking is… uncertain. If two cars attempt to occupy the same physical space (which physics generally frowns upon), they negotiate priority via finely modulated honking. If they fail to agree, one simply nudges the other out of the way. Most cars look like they’ve seen full contact sports. Yet I didn’t witness a single accident. Somehow, it works.
In between: cyclists, donkey carts, camels. Pedestrians dart across six- or eight-lane urban highways because there are no safe crossings, weaving between cars going 100 km/h. Somehow, it works.
But enough of modern Cairo - let’s go back to antiquity.
The Museum
The ancient Egyptians left the modern Egyptians quite a legacy. Carefully stored in pyramids and desert tombs, these possessions were meant to accompany long-dead pharaohs into the afterlife. Grave robbers, adventurers, and self-appointed scholars decided the pharaohs didn’t deserve such comforts and pried open tomb after tomb, dragging everything into the light.
Over the years, all kinds of mischief followed. Gold melted down. Reliefs sanded away. Treasures stolen and scattered.
It took time, but Egypt eventually stood its ground and demanded the remaining treasures back. Since Egypt can’t return them to their rightful owners (the pharaohs) and doesn’t want to hide them in basements either, it built a museum. And what a museum it is. No half measures. A gigantic structure, worthy of the treasures pulled from the desert sand.
Tuti
Tutankhamun has been delighting us with gold and trinkets since 1922 - once as a traveling exhibition, now permanently housed.
And that golden death mask really is a feast for the eyes.
What I hadn’t remembered: Tutankhamun’s mummy wasn’t just placed inside several sarcophagi. Those sarcophagi were themselves enclosed within multiple shrines.
I was told the entrance to the burial chamber is actually too small to fit the shrines through. Which raises the question: were the shrines built first and the pyramid constructed around them? Or was the pyramid already there and the shrines painstakingly assembled inside? I prefer the first option, because space - and thus freedom of movement - inside a pyramid is rather limited.
Which probably means it was exactly the other way around. Shrine inside shrine, built inside the pyramid. What an effort.
Development - and Not
Today, artists are expected to show development over the course of their careers. Few whose late work resembles their early work.
Ancient Egypt was different. Not only did individual artists resist change - entire cultures did so over many… many generations. Statues from the 1st Dynasty resemble those from the 31st. That’s roughly three and a half millennia. Don’t believe it? See for yourself.
Between the statues of Neferhotep and Tjenteti with the priest at his side, and Nesmin, lie almost 2000 years.
Beer
The ancient Egyptians brewed beer. The modern Egyptians banned it. My sympathies lie with the ancient Egyptians. For reasons.
Imagine sending a pharaoh off to the afterlife with a crate of well-filled beer amphorae, only for him to pop the corks with Osiris and Anubis - and thick sludge pours out. I suspect the people arranging the burial didn’t like the pharaoh very much and played a final prank on him.
These spouted cups are also said to have been used for beer drinking. Supposedly, the spout allowed drinkers to sip from below, avoiding the floating sludge on top. Any experienced brewer knows: if there’s sludge in beer, it settles at the bottom. So I find that explanation a bit questionable. Unfortunately, none of the stories surrounding these cups can be verified.
Even though modern Egypt rejects alcohol - beer included - Egyptian beer does exist. Not easy to get, but if a can or bottle of Sakara, Stella, or Meister appears on the table, you’re in for a pleasant surprise.
Iconoclasts
Skilled historians, art historians, and forensic artists can assign sculptures to dynasties and names to faces. I’m far removed from such disciplines - to me, one statue looks much like another. It’s enough for me that they have faces. Faces are nice. Faces tell stories.
Unfortunately, some people see this very differently. They see faces as images of God - and their God decreed that humans shall not make such images. So they roam city and countryside, hammer and chisel always at hand, removing divine likenesses wherever they can. It doesn’t bother them that these faces come from a time when their angry god didn’t yet exist. Nor that the faces might depict entirely different gods.
The Pyramids and the Sphinx
Somehow I had fixed the idea in my head that the pyramids must be at least a day’s march south of Cairo. They’re not. They’re hemmed in on three sides by Greater Cairo - golf courses, McDonald’s, hotels, restaurants, and slums.
A hotel without a pyramid view isn’t a hotel - it’s a ruin. A restaurant without a pyramid view…
“I wanted to get into the pyramid quickly because it’s cool inside.” It isn’t. Inside a pyramid it’s properly warm - hot, even. And the deeper you go into the monuments, the hotter and stuffier it gets. Not much fun for tourists, priests, or grave robbers alike.
Dinner
Yes - and in the end, we did go out for dinner. Hamam Mahshi and Shorba Ads. A poem.
You don’t know what Hamam Mahshi and Shorba Ads are? That’s fine - neither did I before. Shorba Ads is a puréed lentil soup. Always works. Starter, main course, afternoon, evening. Many restaurants have it. Hamam Mahshi, though, is more of a special-occasion dish. Stuffed pigeon. Filled with rice and things.
One should, of course, avoid conjuring mental images of filthy flying rats. I much prefer thinking of colorful peacocks and proud wood pigeons.
A photo? Hey - I’m not doing food porn here.