If you’re ever brave enough to
drive in Cairo, Egypt, you'll need to do it like schools of fish do — fluidly,
dangerously close to other cars, trucks, vans, motorcycles, busses and Vespas;
on the shoulder of the road when possible, making certain to ignore the signals
and lines that have been laid out by the Egyptian government whenever possible.
Failing to do this is to fail to be a proper Egyptian driver, and Youssef, our
driver, was a proper Egyptian who could fish with the best of them.
He threaded his Toyota through
the mayhem of Cairo’s streets, boulevards and highways, never stopping, because
stopping is a cardinal sin. We circled immense roundabouts, skirted scores of
every kind travel conveyance known to man or woman — scooters, tuc-tucs,
leviathan tour buses, great clusters of microbuses the size of Volkswagen vans,
every one of them jammed to the teeth with humans, so crammed that you couldn’t
put a piece of paper between the people inside. Yet they seemed as comfortable
and calm as a litter of sleeping puppies.
The beeping and honking that
emits from the automobiles of Cairo never ends. It makes the horns of Manhattan
feel like a solitary walk through an English meadow. In the Egyptian driving world beeping is not
a sign of anger. It is a language, a code. Each sound carries its own subtle
meaning and all drivers understand the lingo. There are beeps that say, “I’m
here!” Beeps that mean move along, or get out of my way, or careful, or stop or
coming through. There are signals of frustration and every so often outright
anger, but that is rare. Everything is somehow understood. I never witnessed an
accident, although everything I saw on wheels was as battered and crumbled as a
tin can in an alley. Apparently when there is an accident most people just move
on unless serious damage has been done because most drivers don’t have
insurance. All of this noise, I
realized, serves the same purpose stop lights and stop signs and the lines on
roads and boulevards serve, which was why they were all ignored.
The ride from Cairo to Alexandria captures some of the sights and sounds common in Egyptian traffic.
Good thing, I thought, I was not
driving. it would have been a merry game of bumper cars and there wouldn’t have
been a driver safe from the chaos. No, it was best to leave the whole insane
business in the hands of Youssef, and sure enough 30 minutes after we departed
our hotel we broke out of the city unscathed onto broad ribbons of asphalt
thereto to gape at the three Great Pyramids of Giza looking as if they had been
dropped like giant blocks against the dense, sand-colored high-rise apartments
that have erupted on the other side of the Nile. How two things created 4600
years apart could be so physically near to one other, but so separated by time
dropped my jaw. We would visit them later, but for now, as the broad highway
took us North toward the Mediterranean, they quickly disappeared in the
rearview mirror.
Arriving in Cairo: Airports,
Customs & First Impressions
We were on our way to Alexandria
by car right now, but that hadn’t been our original plan. The day before, we
arrived at Cairo International Airport. Cyn and I rarely travel by air, but we
were forced to this time, from Athens to Cairo, because the ferry we thought we would take
from Crete was
shut down by the COVID epidemic. Navigating the customs process in Cairo was
easier than expected — thanks to a man named Osama.
A woman in white blouse and black
skirt frowns at the camera while surrounded by a large crowd all lined up
waiting and carrying bags.
So in we came the way most
outsiders do, through the crowded airport to gather our bags and bustle to
customs.
The moment we entered the customs
area, we found a man, or he found us, wearing a lanyard hung on his chest that
assured us he worked for the Egyptian government. He was all charm and cheer
with a thin head of hair, mustache and perfect teeth.
“Of course, of course,” says the
man. “You need to get to a hotel. Let me help you with that, but here, here …”
and in a heartbeat he had us at the counter exchanging money while he stood
obediently nearby. Once we had safely stowed our cash, the man said, “Now we
shall get you through customs.” He walked to the booth where custom agents
stood. We saw him nod at one of them and got in a very short line.
“What is your name,“ asked Cyndy.
The man beamed. “Osama, as in Ben Laden,” he grinned, and inclined his head, …
“but no relation.”
While waiting in the customs line, he asked about our plans in Egypt. We mentioned we planned to visit Alexandria four days and then return to Cairo to board a ship up the Nile.
“Very nice. Very nice,” said
Osama. Then he pulled out his phone and there was a rapid discussion in Arabic.
I was trying to figure out what this man’s angle was. It’s not that I don’t
trust most members of the human race, but when someone is this nice, and you
don’t personally know them, there’s usually some quid pro quo in the cards. Yet
he wasn’t asking for money or anything else for that matter.
Osama pocketed his phone and said
with great pride. “I have arranged a car for you. It is a perfectly reasonable
price.”
What was the price I asked?
“Only $20 American.”
That was high, I thought, but
based on how far away we were and knowing we would be dealing with the kind of
traffic 18 million people generates, it wasn’t worth debating.
“Thank you,” I said. “How do we
find the car?”
Osama almost leapt with joy.
“Here is my card.” He scribbled a name on it and handed it to me. “This is
Youssef. He will be waiting for you outside and will take you to your hotel.”
Then he added, “He will also drive you to Alexandria tomorrow, if you like. $80
American. The same cost as a train, but the ride will be so much better.”
I wasn’t sure of that but we
hadn’t yet arranged train tickets and who knew what it would take to find the
ticketing booths at the Ramses Rail Station. I had never been to Cairo, and
suspected getting to the train depot and arranging ticketing there would
probably be bedlam … on steroids. (I had already discovered you can’t
effectively buy tickets in Egypt online). I said we’d look into it, but
secretly thought it might be a different way to travel through Egypt. We could then
take the train back from Alexandria and board the ship up the Nile in Cairo.
Soon we cleared customs and
walked outside. Youssef appeared as if out of nowhere. It was a warm day and we
were quickly surrounded. Youssef, however, a small man with buzz-cut hair,
smoothly guided us through the crowd. He was a serious young man. None of the
bluff and good humor of Osama. Once in the car, watching Youssef battle the
traffic, it finally came to me how all of Osama’s good humor and personalized
offers of help paid off for him. Being the clever man he was, he could never
chance losing his government job by asking for cash directly. Instead he would
have minions like Youssef available. He would shower us with kindness and help
to build a relationship and then arrange to provide a driver, a driver who
could take newbies like us all over the country, to every museum, every
restaurant or city we wanted. Youssef would (I guessed) be supplied a car, a
job with tips and maybe a cut of the car payment (but probably not). We would
get our ride at a high, but not outrageous rate and might become longer term
customers. Everybody wins, but mostly Osama because he would take the lion’s
share of the payments. I couldn’t be absolutely sure this was the deal, but if
it was, it was damned clever.
Once in the courtyard of the
hotel, Youssef asked when he should pick us up for our drive to Alexandria in
the morning. Eleven AM I suggested. “Yes. I will be there!”
Our road trip from Cairo to Alexandria began the next morning when Youssef pulled up on time, ready to battle the traffic once more. he was soon doing his best imitation of schooled fish. Traveling by car in Egypt offered a very different perspective than taking the train.
An immense bridge swept us east
across the great river and then bent us north. Once beyond the pyramids we
watched acres of high-rises, cranes and the apartment buildings pass us by, all
in various states of construction.
After nearly an hour, we could
still see the evidence of new development on the far edges of the city. Cairo
seemed to be outgrowing itself, like an adolescent outgrows its clothes. (The
population has grown 25% to 23M in just the last 10 years). Highways here were
ten lanes in each direction and often clogged. Yet Cairo was minuscule compared
to Mexico City or Tokyo. How big could
the world’s urban centers get, I wondered? How much growth could the world
handle? How much could any city? Over
half the world’s 8 billion people now lived in cities, and the trend was
accelerating.
Eventually, the thick parade of
vehicles thinned as the Toyota sped us on toward Alexander’s ancient
capital. The number of buildings thinned
out too. In their place we saw resorts, some of which had not succeeded,
clusters of homes and beyond that broad orchards brimming with date and olive
trees. The highway as four lanes wide and every so often a knot of people would
shoot from one side of the freeway to the other, as if they had apparated out
of the desert. Where they came from or
where they were going was unclear, but a microbus was usually involved. At
another point the Toyota zip passed an 18 wheeler that read “Love Jesus.“ In a
mostly Muslim country, didn’t expect that.
Meanwhile, Youssef, as bereft of
English as we were of Arabic, stayed to himself. In fact he seemed unaware of
our existence, treating us, whether we wanted it or not, to his favorite (and
loudest) music — Arab Rock would be the best way to put it — while smoking one
Egyptian cigarette after another. Now
and again he would assure us, “You like my driving? It’s good!!” Or sometimes,
“Water?” Otherwise we lounged in the back seat and felt the wind from our open
windows rush past like the days when I was a kid in the family car making our
way to Virginia Beach.
Exploring Alexandria, Egypt:
Food, Streets, and Local Life
A six lane road bends along the
coast of Egypt with cars strung end-to-end between blue water on one side and
parks and buildings on the other.
By 2 pm we were weaving our way along Alexandria’s marvelous corniche, one of the most scenic promenades in Egypt, a great strand of road that skirts the Mediterranean, lined with cafes, buses, and the energetic rhythm of local Egyptian culture. It soon took us to the Steigenberger, Cecil Hotel. When I began to pay Youssef in Egyptian pounds, he was very insistent that he not only be paid for the cost of the trip Osama had arranged, but be tipped —Baksheesh in Arabic lingo. I hadn’t yet developed my theory that Osama probably owned the car Youssef was driving. I figured he owned the car, was being well paid and didn't require a tip. He did not see it that way.
“No, no!" He rubbed his
thumb and index finger. "Tip. For airport, and here. I give you water. I
drive good! It's a big long drive." It was my ignorance I suppose. But the
way he demanded the money bothered me more than anything. His lack of English probably didn’t help. He
pushed hard and was almost panicked. I suppose I would have been upset too if I
had worked most of day, hadn’t made a dime and had to pay for the gas. Frankly
I was exasperated, but we agreed on 1000 Egyptian pounds, about $20 and then
Youssef, now smiling enthusiastically and shaking my hand, asked that we have
our pictures taken together. “I will take you back to Cairo. Take you all
around Alexandria!” I passed on the photo, and assured him that if we needed
any help, we would be in touch. But we really didn’t want to be chauffeured
around either city and the plan was to take the train back to Cairo. I never
saw him again.
Alexandria Dining Adventure:
Fish, Cash, and Cultural Confusion
My tete-a-tete with Youssef
wasn't my only financial misadventure of the day. Once settled in our sprawling
room at the Steigenberger Cecil Hotel, grand building on the Corniche seemingly
plucked directly from the 1930s, food became a priority.
We dropped by the front desk
where Cyndy asked if anyone could suggest a good local restaurant, a place
where we could find the sort of meal one of them might like to eat.
“Down the corniche, to the left,
perhaps a kilometer,” suggested a tall man with perfect hair. “Very good fish.
Many of our colleagues and patrons go there.”
We stepped outside. The sunlight
was golden with a warm, stiff breeze coming off the Mediterranean as we headed
down the uneven stone sidewalks that lined the inner walk of the strand.
Alexandria’s corniche rims the great sea that made so much of the ancient world
possible; a ten mile promenade of cobbled walks bounded by beautifully crafted
rock. It’s one of the world’s more arresting sites, and was a riot of activity. Alexandria always is. Hundreds of microbuses
wended their way along the great boulevard with 16 people jammed into every one
of the bus’ four rows. Local folks called the vans micro-bassats (mee-krow bah
sat), basset meaning local, and they are used by the millions throughout Egypt.
And why not? It costs $.05-$.10 to use one, and you pay in Egyptian pounds to
the driver when you get on. They dominated the road as we navigated the
sidewalks, and climbed its big curbs, working our way through the city’s
denizens. There were no tourist here, not one we saw; only Alexandrians – men
at battered cafes, smoking strong cigarettes and sipping stronger coffee;
street kids, mostly boys, maybe eight-years-old, wearing worn shoes and
tattered jeans; women, young and old, clad almost always their hijabs, often
arm-in-arm with another woman.
We weren’t finding many restaurants on our walk and as the sun dropped toward the sea and were beginning to wonder if we had somehow missed the place. We were about to turn around when we found it – Kadoura, it was called.
We walked inside to a wall of
recently living fish buried in great piles of ice that showed off a variety of
piscine delights. Four men faced us and quickly figured out we weren't local.
They explained the routine. We had our pick of sea bass, prawn, crab, lobster,
pretty much anything that could be
hauled out of the Mediterranean. All we had to do was choose the fish we
wanted. We would be charged by the kilo, about 350 Egyptian pounds each or
roughly $12 a pound. We ask the man to choose sea bass. He did and then gently
directed us upstairs to a dining area filled with local families. At the other
end was a large griddle and soon the fish was in front of us, grilled perfectly
along with bowls of brown rice, fish soup, hummus, tahini, pickled vegetables,
salad, and pita bread. It was all delicious, especially the sea bass, flash
grilled, crispy on the outside and moist on the inside. We picked it clean and
scooped up all the rest. The soup was made of crabmeat, milk and butter broth,
with small clams and shrimp thrown in. We wolfed it all down as we looked out
the big window and watched the constant passage of people below. Then it was
time to pay, and that was my second economic mishap of the day.
Egypt
Travel Tip: How I Almost Couldn't Pay for Dinner
When traveling I keep cash in my
right pocket. In cities where the exchange rate means you have great wads of
cash on hand because of the exchange rate, I keep smaller bills on the right
and the larger ones in a second left lower pocket of my Eddie Bauer Ascent
cargo pants which can be zipped shut. When I searched my right pocket, I
realized that after paying Youssef, I was short of Egyptian pounds. Certainly
not enough to pay for dinnner.
How am I going to pay for this
meal, I thought? I told Cyn the situation and then walked to the steps below to
find the very dark, handsome man, who had waited on us.
“I’m so sorry,” I explained. “Is
there an ATM nearby.”
“Of course,” he says. “Down the
street.” He pointed down the street.
Off I went into the twilight,
weaving through the crowd. In a couple of blocks I found the ATM. Not far away
a woman was sitting with her son, wailing about something she was unhappy about
and giving the boy, about nine-years-old a pretty hard time. She hit him once
and he shrunk back. I felt badly for him. I wanted to tell him, “Come on, you
can hang out with us. But what would that accomplish and he’d think I was nuts
anyhow. I couldn’t tell if the mother was simply having a bad day or might have
suffered from some mental or emotional disability. It’s a big world, I thought,
much of it is filled with pain, and I felt powerless to make it go away. I
waited for the man at the ATM in front of me. He was there for a long time.
Finally he turned and looked at me. The machine was out of order. I tried it
any way. He was right.
Now what? I stood in the
Alexandrian darkness, marinating in the beeps and crowds and the distant sound
of the Mediterranean’s pounding surf. I began to walk back to the Kadoura
wondering what I would tell the people who ran the place. I had no solution
really. Leave something behind as collateral until I returned with payment,
wash dishes, clean the toilets, haul fish (I had once done something like this
in London when I was stuck without and needed a place to sleep)? And then a
light bulb! I felt for my left lower left cargo pant pocket, the one with the
zipper. Yes!! That was where I had stashed the larger bills we had exchange at
the airport with Osama at my elbow, the back-up, “fat” cash I did not keep
handy in my right pocket. How stupid! But what relief! I could pay the bill!
And I wouldn’t have to haul fish heads out of the brine all night to pay off
the meal.
I walked back to hotel infinitely
lighter on my feet and when I strolled in I saw Cyndy sitting on the steps,
wide eyed. My God, I had walked off to work things out with the waiter and left
the restaurant without letting her know I was in search of cash! The look on
her face clearly said, “And you have been where?”
“I’m so sorry, honey” I said,
with the waiter probably wondering what the big deal was. He didn’t know we had
only been in Egypt for 24 hours and might have been hauled away by the
authorities or worse. Too many movies where the bad guys are Arab.
I paid the man and Cyn and I
sauntered back to the Cecil. She forgave me and not long afterwards we settled
into out beds. I fell asleep thinking of great fish swimming all around me in
the Mediterranean Sea with one continually coming back to me and saying,
“Where’s my money?”
FAQ
Q1:
Can tourists drive from Cairo to Alexandria?
A: Yes, although driving in Egypt
— especially in Cairo — can be overwhelming for foreign visitors. It’s often
easier to arrange a private car service from Cairo to Alexandria, sometimes
right at the airport with help from a government staffer. Drivers are usually
skilled and courteous, though English is not guaranteed. The trip takes about
2.5 to 3 hours depending on traffic.
Q2:
How much does it cost to use a car service?
A: Prices vary, but expect something
comparable to Egypt’s train fares for this route — often higher than buses, but
with far more convenience. We paid $80 for two passengers, which was fair for a
private ride with door-to-door service. A tip is expected — 20–25% is generous
and appropriate.
Q3:
What is the Steigenberger Cecil hotel in Alexandria like?
A: Built in 1929, the
Steigenberger Cecil Hotel still feels like a grand, romantic Alexandria hotel
from that era. Overlooking Saad Zaghloul Square along the vibrant Corniche,
it’s hosted everyone from Winston Churchill to Al Capone. Rooms lean toward
black, white, and bronze decor. The staff is welcoming, and the breakfast
buffet is legendary — eggs, fresh pastries, hummus, baba ghanoush, fruit,
cereal, and more. Just don’t expect decaf coffee.
Q4:
What can we expect from the Alexandria Corniche?
A: The Alexandria Corniche is a
sweeping waterfront promenade bounded by the Mediterranean Sea on one side and
city parks and buildings on the other. It’s loud, energetic, and distinctly
local — you won’t find many tourists here, or many restaurants though there is
no shortage of street food. What you
will find are unbeatable views of the sea and skyline, especially near the
distant Citadel of Qaitbay, built where the Lighthouse of Alexandria once
stood.
This is Dispatch XXXVIII in a
series about a Vagabond’s Adventures - journalist and National Geographic
Explorer Chip Walter and his wife Cyndy’s effort to capture their experience
exploring all seven continents, all seven seas and 100+ countries, never
traveling by jet.
If you’ve enjoyed this dispatch,
please take a look at Chip’s other adventures (and misadventures) … and don’t forget to check the
Vagabond Journal and our Travel Recommendations to help you plan YOUR next
adventure.
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Resource: https://vagabond-adventure.com/library/cairo-to-alexandria-travel-story
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