One Month in Cairo

The first night I was in Cairo, panicked and tired, right before I fell asleep I thought to myself: Give it a month.

Today is that day. I’ve now, according to actual numerical order, lived in Cairo for a month. I’m not going back home (as tough as it is sometimes, I don’t want to bail).

This morning, even more tired, I walked out of breakfast in Zamalek and into Friday prayer. A usually busy street on the island had been shut to traffic as about 100 men stood and prayed on carpets in the street. I walked around as best I could but it was still awkward, serene, but awkward.

What else have I done in one month in Egypt? Went to Alexandria, got lost, got sick, read a lot, swam to the Meditterean, had coffee in Khan el-Khallily, drove in a lot of taxis, ate Pizza Hut one too many times, ate foul one too many times, did not go the pyramids (although I have seen them from afar. Twice.), attempted to stay up to watch american tv live, already found my favorite Lebanese pop singer, learned the Egyptian dialect word for crazy, and now, walked through prayer service.

Tommorow or Sunday is Ramadan (they don’t decide until the very last moment), everybody tells me it will just be “different” or “amazing”, without any details, shaking their heads like it defies explanation. We’ll see what this “different” is all about.