Day 16: Reurn to Cairo and Cooking School
Early is getting earlier. Today’s wake-up was at 4 a.m., which made us seriously question the wisdom of staying overnight in Aswan specifically to “experience” the Old Cataract. At that hour, the main thing I was experiencing was regret. I had barely established a relationship with the pillow, and already we were being forced to separate.
By 10 a.m., we were back in the hustle and bustle of Cairo. The drivers had not used our week away to improve their skills. Lane markings remain suggestions, and the direction of travel appears to be settled by whoever feels most strongly about it. Of all the places we’ve visited, Cairo wins the prize for the absolute worst driving. I would not volunteer to deliver the trophy.
From the airport, we stopped briefly at the Four Seasons to drop off our luggage and grab a cup of coffee. We’d hoped to check in early, but the only available rooms were smoking rooms. Yes, those still exist. Apparently, you can still pay for a luxury hotel room and have it come with its own tobacco history. Molly’s lungs and mine were already unhappy enough, so we decided to wait.
A short ride took us downtown to meet Nur, our cooking instructor for the morning. Nur was a lovely young woman whose English sounded thoroughly American. It turned out that her mother had married a Texan when Nur was very young, and Nur had also spent a couple of years in the States. Somehow, she had acquired the English without acquiring the drawl.
Our class, run by Bellies En Route, took place in the kitchen of a small local hotel. The team consisted of Nur; Mona, the head chef, who spoke no English; and a third helper whose name I’m not sure we ever got. In my defense, I had been up since 4 a.m. and was doing reasonably well to remember my own.
The class was very hands-on, which is a charming way of saying that if we wanted lunch, we were going to have to do some work.
We made stuffed eggplant, zucchini, and peppers; salad; squab—pigeon with better public relations—and Om Ali, an Egyptian bread pudding. There was enough chopping, stuffing, and cooking to give us the dangerous impression that we might be able to reproduce all of this at home.
By about 2:30, after a hard morning slaving away in the kitchen, we sat down to enjoy the results. Lunch was delicious, and there was enough to feed a small army, provided the army hadn’t already eaten breakfast. Since we’d been awake for ten and a half hours, our stomachs were perfectly willing to accept this as dinner.
Our 6:00 dinner reservation at the Four Seasons had clearly been made by earlier, more optimistic versions of ourselves.
With recipes for an Egyptian dinner at home in hand, we said goodbye to Nur and Mona and returned to the hotel for a bit of R&R. We now had everything we needed to recreate the meal, except Nur, Mona, the helper, and someone else’s kitchen.
Molly and Dave, meanwhile, had been resisting a particular urge since our arrival in Egypt. They had made it through temples, tombs, pyramids, and several thousand years of history with admirable restraint. But with only one day left, they could hold out no longer.
There, in the lobby of the finest hotel in Cairo, they "Walked Like an Egyptian."
Thousands of years of civilization, and this was our contribution.
Fortunately, we didn’t get thrown out.
Tomorrow we spend the final day of our trip with Sharif, visiting Coptic Cairo. I’m hoping the itinerary includes a wake-up time that qualifies as morning.
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