Istanbul OR the deminishing marginal utility of travel

Remembering the Orient Express Train, Paris to Constantinople

Istanbul reminded me of a class in my first undergrad microeconomics course explaining the law of deminishing marginal utility.It is that simple: when you eat your first Big Mac ever you are willing to sell your soul, when you do eat it you'd pay the real price for the second, and you go on eating but you wouldn't pay a penny for the fifth, and the sixth has to come with a happy meal gift for you to eat it (assuming you have the appetite for all that of course).

I recall that Freakonomics has applied the law or diminishing marginal utility to travel, I cannot recall if it was on the grounds that we can all sip the same coffee, buy the same shirt and watch the same movie anywhere in the world or its because the more you go places the less new things you see. The law cannot apply to some places, for I am still sure that Saint Basil's in Moscow and the Taj Mahal in Agra will take my breath away, and that the vibe of New York city will get to my head. Istanbul was a classical case for me.

Having seen parts of it before in:
Lisbon's Funiculars, its seven hills and the Rio Tejo...
Porto's sea side restaurants...
Portugal's ex-empire nostalgia (with flags everywhere)...
Granada's Alhambra, THAT is breathtaking beauty...
Cairo's Beit El Suheimi...
Andalucia and the houses of God which have accomodated many a faith, minarets on churches' domes or plaster splattered on saints' icons, it's all the same...
Cairo's Khan El Khalili and its sticky bazaar owners...
Tetouan's beggars...
The castles and palaces' outline at dusk in Prague from the Karlov bridge or from a boat in the Vtlava river...
Dinner in Studio Misr, delicious Egyptian cuisine, with a view of Saladin's Citadel an Ottoman jewel (add to this that my country was under the Ottoman Empire)...
Sabeel Mohamed Aly near Khayameya, Cairo...
Mohamed Aly Pasha's palace in shubra el khima...
Spice bazaars in Tangier...
Sleazy men who think that "oriental charm" is irresistible and that you'll faint from one look they throw in your direction (and those can be found anywhere in the region but Turks are truly worse than Arabs)...
Middle Eastern food and Mediterranean food traditions (food carts on the street and terrace cafes and restaurants)...
A main street that wants to resemble European cities' with all the shops and brands...

However, I have to give the city its true credit, for it is like a collage of all the above, even if it does not feel as authentic as any of the above. I also have to pay to Istanbul due respect, for it once was more than once the seat of great empires

It either clicks or it doesn't
It is quite confusing, I feel that Istanbul has got little authenticity which can be felt in a Middle Eastern or European city, yet the fact that all this could be brought together in one city is amusing. Also I confirm that it is this diversity and every corner a surprise which made Cairo and Madrid my favourite cities, even when I see more beautiful places. However I can say that I like authentic cities, I felt Istanbul was a very nice mix, a bit of the Middle East and Europe, a call to prayer and the clinking of wineglasses, but for some reasons I couldn't feel it. It is true that at first it seemed like a tempting place to live, the comfort of a quasi-European city filled with colorful Ramadans with people out till dawn (something I truly missed when I was not spending the holy month in Cairo).

I do believe that cities are like people, it either clicks or it doesn't, you cannot force the good vibes. With Istanbul it was like meeting a handsome guy and then realizing there's not much depth to him. I know some will hate me for this blog post and say: oh but the Turks are nice, it's just the language barrier, oh but it has got so much history. Just like you cannot fall in love with someone because they're nice, you cannot like a city because you have to be impressed like everyone else is.

However, I can say that it was a truly pleasant stay, a welcome change. For it is a truly picturesque city, the view from a boat in the Bosphorous at dusk, the view from a hill when night falls, the view from Galata tower, the outlines of mosques and palaces against a clear blue sky and their lights reflected on the surface of the water.

Sightseeing was ok, in a tick-it-off-your-list sort of way (just like the city was a cross-it-on-your-map visit). The one place which I truly bonded with was the Blue Mosque when we prayed Jum'a, it is just perfect in a way I cannot describe.

What made our stay enjoyable is the beautiful weather we have been blessed with, breeze and sunshine, just the right mix and an exquisite boutique hotel that felt like home, where we rested whenever Istanbul's traffic, its people or the long queues for historical sights wore us out.

My déformation professionelle:

-noticing that the European dream had made the city change its colors to appear more secular and modern, while tourism made the Turks over-exoticize their oriental side, and realizing that in both cases they somehow lost their identity in the process
-noticing that all Ex-Empires have flags everywhere and are a bit condescending and frustrated
-realizing that the tolerance of Istanbul that people were talking of was a tad over-rated, ok you see hijab clad girls and western clad girls, but do you see them walking or having lunch together? Go to down-town Cairo and you'll see those girls shopping together (ok we may need a few more bars and spots for music gigs in Cairo to equal that, I give you that)
-mapping the society, all the way from Bebek to Fatih and Mustafa Pasha, passing Taksim, I've seen everything from yachts and designer bags to developing nation kitsch on the car of the bride and groom, through middle class fashion and restaurants
-knowing that we should market Cairo better and wrecking my brain on how to do so

A few tips :

Guides:

-don't buy lonely planet if it's written by Virginia Maxwell, it's outdated and raises your expectations and has a western reader in mind (Middle Easterns will know what I mean)
-ask the locals (those who can speak English or Arabic or who are nice enough, we were lucky to meet some but you won't find them at every corner)
Sights:
-Blue Mosque
-Basilica Cistern, catch a concert there
-Train station museum, orient express memorabilia
-Galata tower
-Take a ferry in the Bosphorous
Sleep:
-stay at Lush Hotel, check the website and you'll know why

Eat:
-don't eat at Sultan Ahmet
-fruits on the street in Taksim, amazing
Move around:
-traffic is suffocating, so again be patient
-use the ferries, you'll appreciate the city's beauty, and get tea from the wandering vendor to feel more like a local, that was one of the high points of my trip
Evening and night:
-Nero in Bebek, get a coffee in the 4th floor terrace
-Four Seasons in Ortakoy
-Mado's ice cream corner in Ortakoy, if you choose your ice cream and add-ons in less than half an hour, you win
-Ulus 29 lovely club where you get a bird's eye view of the whole city, dress up please!
-if you need to feel something Turkish, go to a Meyhane, those are nice and have live music (which you can overdose on), but whoever compared it to a Tappas Bar (my guidebook lady) is offending all Spaniards

Buy:

-when you go to the Bazaars bargain and look at stuff from the corner of your eye, the shopkeepers are truly annoying
-walk the Spice Market (Egyptian Bazar) and taste all the Turkish Delights you can (then buy in Taksim)
When:
-don't go in the tourists' season (we went a few weeks before that and had to face the queues)
Piece of advice:
-be patient with the Turks, those who are overfriendly because they want to sell you something and those who are frowning because they can't understand any language but their own (they will yell at you in Turkish expecting you to understand their widely spoken language)
-If you haven't been to the Middle East, come to Cairo first, and to all Cairennes: Masr Om El Donia.

PS: this may seem overly nationalistic, but I considering I have Turkish blood I'm not anti-Ottoman or anything, I just didn't think Istanbul was "all that".

Breakfast on the Morning Tram

It is the seventh time I listen to Breakfast on the Morning Tram this week.

May be it is time to pack my bags and go; just me and myself on a train staring out the window enjoying the journey and not caring whether the destination turns out to be worth it or not.

Countless are the train journeys which I have taken with the excuse of getting somewhere, while all I really cared about was spending some time with myself. Pensive in a window seat enjoying a hearty breakfast and a decent café au lait just contemplating life and the view.

For someone like me, restless, claustrophobic, curious, yet yearning for recollection, contemplation and reflection, the train is the perfect place to be

One of my fondest memories is a trip across Central Europe, 2.323 KMs onboard of different trains, bonding with perfect strangers, watching the green, blue and white twist into the props for a fairytale, toying with my InterRail ticket to decide what my next stop would be.

Upon coming back I found that my route was somehow influenced by a movie I watched. In Before Sunrise and its sequel Before Sunset, two perfect strangers reflect on life, love and who they grew up to be, with Paris and Vienna as backdrops and the Journeys starting in Madrid and Eastern Europe. Here are a couple of lines from the movie:

Jesse: I've just been. I'm just traveling around, I've been riding the trains the past two, three weeks. [...] Yeah, I got one of those Eurail passes, is what I did.
Céline: That's great. So, has this trip, around Europe, been good for you?
Jesse: Yeah, sure, yeah, it's been, umm... it sucked. You know...
Céline: What?
Jesse: No, uh, it's had its, umm. Well, I'll tell ya, you know, sitting, you know, for weeks on end, looking out the window has actually been kind of great.
Céline: What do you mean?
Jesse: Well, you know, for instance, you have ideas that you ordinarily wouldn't have.

I also realized after that trip that I would've never made it without the encouragement, the backpack, lonely planet guide book and Buddhism book of a dear friend who said: yes you can do it, no you won't lose your sanity talking to yourself for 8 days, perhaps you might even find the way. In that particular trip I found peace to let go of a perfect year and welcome an unknown journey.

Photo, Renfe my favourite railways, it reads in Spanish: the train and you

The place where I belong

I stop at the pharmacy for insect repellant, sunblock, wet wipes and hydrating salts, the shop attendant asks: where are you traveling exactly? It is the night of Eid and many have already stopped for provisions to go on a week long vacation. I loved Eid festivities this year, the colored lights which would look tacky in any other time and place give Cairo a special feel, and Ramadan was just perfect, roaming old Cairo, decorating the house, having friends over for Iftar & Sohour, running to a thousand places to catch up with long lost friends. I beam at the colored lights and at the Earth's Eid gift to us, a lovely breeze which makes me forget all the heat I had to endure since God knows when; the lights bring back the memories of the winter before last and the same goofy expression on my face upon seeing the Christmas tree in the University yard and later on jumping up and down at the sight of gigantic snowflake-lights in the city's main square. Don't you just love festivities :) ? (ok that was too corny but I won't take it back).

"I'm heading to the desert" I say, I smile at the shop attendant's astonishment just like I do at my family's jokes at how me and my cousin -who was also bitten by the Sinai bug- are a pair of wackos.

I choose to leave civilization as we know it, Cairo with its super markets and neon lights, its streets where honking and screaming are the only languages spoken, to go back to life as it should be away from all the manipulating political talk, advertisements and societal pressure. I usually come back from Sinai with a sense of persepective that keeps me sane until the next visit.

Once again it's me and Sinai. One of my favourite spots is a camp near Nuweiba' previously known as Escape Land (nope I'm not disclosing the current name don't try to bribe me) with a décor as kitsch as it's name and a soul of its own. My friend sits with her tarot cards, reading into the future as the sun sets on another day. Our hosts are gracious, we feel like long-lost family members as we talk of love, existential questions and tahini.

As usual, the camp is where my journeys end, where my heart heals, and where I recharge my batteries. This time it'll be where I rest from an off-roading trip where I cross Sinai with the greatest bunch of pure hearted desert addicts.

I want to go hiking in the mountains soon, to tie a scarf around my head bedouin style and just take off while listening to Fairouz...I need to remember what life is all about and who I really am...

Photo: my hut in wadi-mahash

L'Auberge Espagnole

I think it was love at first sight, the minute I stepped out of the Callao metro to see calle preciados shaded by what looked like green and white kites, I felt it was my kind of town. Five years later I was getting out of that same metro station to stop for groceries on my way home.

Home was a lovely building in the old town with perfect balconies (you know how much those count for me) and a wood and wrought iron gate. In the house lived many crazy girls from all over the world, and in the kitchen you could see colored sheets of paper where in they have scribbled down the essential conversational lines in their native tongues -which by the time I put my Egyptian Dialect sheet had a couple of dozen sheets, and I would bet it doubled by now as more people come to live in. Those of you who have seen the movie will be instantly reminded of L'Auberge Espagnole (in French an Auberge Espagnole is a place where you should bring what you would need)

I quote Xavier, the main character of the movie, remembering how he arrived in Barcelona lost and unable to pronounce the name of the street where his house would be, that is exactly how I felt when tourists asked me for directions after Madrid started "belonging to me".

"Quand on arrive dans une ville, on voit des rues en perspective, des suites de bâtiments vides de sens. Tout est inconnu, vierge. Plus tard, on aura habité cette ville; on aura marché dans ses rues; on aurait été au bout des perspectives; on aura connu ses bâtiments; on aura vécu des histoires avec des gens. Quand on aura vécu dans cette ville, cette rue on l'aura prise dix, vingt, mille fois... Au bout d’un moment, tout ça vous appartient parce qu’on y a vécu. C’est ce qui allait m’arriver, et je le savais pas encore."

"When you first arrive in a new city, nothing makes sense. everything's unknown, virgin... after you've lived here, walked these streets, you'll know them inside out. you'll know these people. once you've lived here, crossed this street 10, 20, 1000 times... it'll belong to you because you've lived there. that was about to happen to me, but I didn't know it yet." (source of the translation: someone who lived in Vienna for a year had it on their blog)

I don't know if I can do the touristic description of a city I have lived in, but all I can say that the Spaniards are not exagerating when they say "de Madrid al cielo" (from Madrid to Heaven). The vibe of the city can be felt in my previous post Mare Nostrum. I'll just post here the list I gave to a friend who was stopping by last week.

And please check the blog of this girl who's equally obsessed by Madrid

Photo: the feet of 3 friends from 3 different continents who spent a unique summer in Madrid, location: Sol, or the Km0, Spain's navel.

The Madrid essentials:

Nightlife:
Flamenco show, Café Chinitas
Flamenco bar a flamenco discotheque strangely enough (on Wednesdays gypsies dance there sometimes but double check), Cardamomo
Jazz gigs: Berlin Jazz Café
Rock concerts /Irish pub: Fontana de Oro


Sightseeing:
Cycling tour, It covers all the essential sights –even the Egyptian temple!- and goes at a lovely pace not like bus and walking (avoid others that are more expensive)
The Palacio Real and Opera path walk are nice by night, you can take ice cream from the Haagen Daaz around the corner for the walk.
Preciados and Plaza Mayor have nice street artists and buskers.
La Latina is quite picturesque and you can do the Spanish "Ir de Tapas" getting small portions of Tapas/Mezzah with drinks in the different bars and bistros.

Coffee, coffee:
After you contemplate Plaza de España cross to calle Princesa on the right there are the oldest most beautiful stairs that lead you up to a very nice village like neighborhood, there you'll find right in front of you what looks like a blue house, Jardin Secreto, the most enchanted coffee house on the planet
Juan Valdez, the best Colombian coffee is now open in front of the Almudena Cathedral by the Palacio real
Anywhere in Plaza dos de Mayo, it's just the ambience

For drinks:

Check out the Café Madrid on a Wednesday night, especially if you're travelling on your own, you'll meet a lots of people speaking in a zillion tongues.

Museums:
La Caixa Forum always has good free exhibits from around the world
Reina Sofia has good modern art
Prado renaissance painters (I find kind of boring)

Parks:
Retiro but only interesting on a Sunday, but the metro station is worth a stop, has drawings by Spanish cartoonist Mingote

Shopping:
Preciados has most shops (except Promod which is in Calle Princesa)
Cooler brands are in Chueca and Fuencarral (Chueca metro station by the same name, you take the lime green line from Callao-2 steps away from the hotel – Fuencarral hopp off Gran Via metro station on the same line and look up the street on the left side of the road)
More upscale brands are in Serrano (posh neighborhood and metro by same name, too bland neighborhood in my opinion)

Dinning (non touristic):
Chueca is the most young hip neighborhood -also the gay neighborhood- it has good restaus and less touristy places than downtown: Bazaar (international cuisine) and Barriga Llena (Mexican). From the metro station and Chueca square ask for Calle Libertad (taking two lefts after a Fruteria and De Bop Cafe) they're both there.
Lavapies is the alternative/hippie/emigrant neighborhood, by day it's beautiful and has ethnic food and shops, Indian, Moroccan, Senegalese, you name it.
Downtown there's a Cuban with good live music called La Negra Tomasa
If in Sol check out Los 100 Montaditos and Creperie Mimi for a light snack
There's a super market open all the time called Open 25 Horas near Opera metro station, you can just grab a bite and walk down the old city

Books, music, movies:
Fnac, Avoid the rest, more expensive, too Spanish not int'l enough.

Cinemas:
Yelmo Cineplex has new international movies that are not subtitled (beware of the dubbed cinemas)
Classics can be found at the Filomteca
International artsy at the Golem behind Plaza de España

Always keep a Guia del Ocio close by, it tells you what's happening everywhere. Costs 1 euro and can be found at any kiosk. It probably has the addresses and entry fees for most of the places mentioned above.

Off to other cities:

Trains: www.renfe.es

Buses: www.alsa.es

City glorious city victorious

"You love this town even if that doesn't ring true
You've been all over and it's been all over you"

U2- Beautiful Day

Finally, I'm writing about Cairo. What do I like about it you may ask? Many are complaining, they want to flee to places where life's easier even if that means it'd have a rather bland taste. I can't deny I was one of those at a point in time. A summer night in July made all the difference. Sitting at a side walk café in Shari' Al-Borsa (one of the scarce pedestrian areas preserved downtown) watching for the first time in Cairo a street busker swallowing fire -a woman may I add- my mind zooms back to a breezy summer evening, same exact weather, in another sidewalk cafe in Plaza 2 de Mayo in Madrid, watching another busker dancing with fire sticks moving in complete harmony with Yann Tiersen's La Dispute. The feeling connected me to a time when I truly in sync with the universe. Though I have for long stopped believing in signs, I still took the whole setting as my cue that I should head back to my adoptive city, on second thoughts, I took it as my cue to start enjoying my home city as much as before and even with a fresher perspective. I have gone back to Madrid and come back here, I love both cities and will live in a constant state of saudade knowing that wherever I am, not a year should pass before I'm reunited with both even if for a few days.

Where do I start, every time I'm driving down the streets of Cairo I'm inspired to shed light on one of its million faces. Like that night on my way back from the movies when I thought I should write ...

I find myself in Midan El Tahrir, the main square where all protests take place, whose buildings are crowned by ads of Coca Cola and Mc Donald's, a bit shabbier perhaps but not so different from any main square in a capital city in an era where the marginal utility of travel is seriously declining...I take a longer way home as I always do, for I would get stuck in this crazy traffic for hours on end just for a glimpse of the Nile -and the Lions- from Kasr El Nil Bridge. Everyday Cairo's faces take me by surprise, and everyday I look at each of them as overwhelmed as a child or a tourist. The beauty, the disgrace, the majesty, the mediocrity, a kind smile, an insolent harassing line, this is what makes my city unique the sharp contrasts. Nothing can replace the feeling that you are in several cities, liberal, conservative, posh, abandoned, simple, complex, oriental, westernized, this is how people will describe Cairo; as in the Hindu tale of the blind men and the elephant, each touches a different side a unique part and refuses to acknowledge the other parts that others see.

Like a chameleon I take the colors of Cairo's neighborhoods. On days I bask in the faded glory of Fatimid Cairo, taking my time admiring the carvings in a mosque, imagining I'm living in Beit El Suheimi, walking down Khayameya to the patchwork shop where I find my friend the calligrapher. On others I sit at a coffee house in Zamalek, try to focus on a document I'm working on before meeting friends in the nearby pizzeria Thomas, after buying books at the place where half my fortune goes; on breezy evenings I call a friend who calls the island his home to walk the streets which by night have very little traffic as the embassy employees pack and go. On weekend nights I'm tapping my foot to a great jazz gig at the Cairo Jazz Club refusing to leave my friends early enough to get enough sleep before the next morning, as in the next morning I meet my cycling pals on the other side of the road. Cycling on Fridays I inhale the air that has not been polluted yet by the noise and fumes of the sleepyheads, I try to store every little detail, the plants in the balconies, the boats near Zamalek, the smell of fresh bread, the sight of smiling citizens, I take snapshots to be able to keep on loving the city when on a working day I'm stuck in an agonizing traffic jam in the scorching heat.

Would I do Cairo justice, would I be able to give you a list of must sees like in cities which I have visited but where I have never lived? I guess not...

I guess Cairo has given me a beautiful gift, the ability to seek beauty in little corners, to mentally crop an image and dust off all undesired details, to block any unwanted noise out and install filters on your ears to only feel serenity. I have become quite the eclectic master.

This crazy collage has made me too accustomed to big cities, I fear shops closing, I don't feel secure when the night's too still, I frown upon homogeneous places. I maintain a love hate relationship with my city where I get extremely claustrophobic every 8th week and need to flee the buildings towering over me to the plains of Sinai; and that is a story I have yet to tell.

Photo: Cairo by night - photo by Karim

What's happening, what's in:

www.cairo360.com

and also for any addresses I missed or for descriptions

Sightseeing:

Al-Moe'z street near the market (Khan Al Khalili), go at sunset time and wait for the lights, here’s a list of the monuments there, you may want to stop for tea at Le Riad.

Beit El Suheimi
Kheyamya tent makers' district (ask for Ashraf Hashem and tell him you're my friend)
Fustat Market / Souq Al Fustat
Coptic Cairo
Zeinab Khatun house

Ibn Toulon mosque

Beit El Keretleya

(most guides and taxi drivers know how to get there)

Views of the city:
Cairo Tower
Azhar Park
Cairo by bike, Friday mornings with the Cairo Cycler's Club

Escaping the city:

Sakkara pyramid and nearby country club

Fagnoun

Andrea Maryouteya

(you need a car and driver to get there)

Coffee:

Cafe Greco (outside Sequoia restaurant), Address: 53 Abou El Feda St., Zamalek

Azhar Park

Tea & Juice:

Essam’s, near Beit Zeinab Khatoun & Beit El Harrawy (Oud music school)

Drinks:

Cairo Marriott Gardens

Fairmont Nile City

Rooftop, Nile Hotel Zamalek, Address: 21 El Maahad El Swiesri , Zamalek (the entrance to the hotel is dodgy, the rooftop view is worth it)

Music
Cairo Jazz Club, Address: 197 26th Of July St. , Mohandiseen

Art Galleries:
Cairo Atellier
Town House Gallery

Food
Koshari Abu Tarek, Address:16 Champollion Street , Downtown

Abu El Sid, Address: 157, 26th Of July St., Zamalek

Tabouleh, Address: 1 Latin America St. , Garden City

Café Riche (a taste of downtown Cairo in the good old days), Address: 17 Talaat Harb street, Downtown

Dinner with a view:

Oberoi's Mogul Room

Souvenirs:

Oum El Donia, 3 Talaat Harb, 1st Floor , Downtown

Gallery Zeinab Khatoun

More on Cairo:

Lonely Planet Introducing Cairo
A city where you can't hear yourself scream - New York Times
Travel Blog

The road to Macondo

A friend of mine is off again shooting documentaries all over the world, and I am always glad to get the customary email updates which he sends out. This time he is telling tales of Colombia, amazed at the similarities between Latin America and Africa (my Latin American pals and I can totally relate). He raves about the Caribbean coast, the scenery and the villages; and in one line dismisses talking about Bogotá saying he found it "to possess very little soul and character". I owe it to Bogotá and to the pot of Colombian coffee living in my kitchen to set the records straight.

My visit to Colombia was a quite pleasant surprise. In Madrid I had made friends with many Latin Americans, before that I was an avid reader of Marquez and other masters of magic realism from the continent. Naturally, I was dying to get to know many countries in Latin America and my friends the Middle East, so we made plans of visits to each other's homelands in a couple of years. When I came back to Cairo looking for a job, I fell upon one which sent me to attend a conference Colombia in my first week on the job (the memory has served as an anesthetic during many working weeks). My travel buddy and I have photos of this business trip labeled "what we went to do" (2 photos) and "what we ended up doing" (close to 40 photos); she still vows that this is the best business trip she ever went on.

From the minute we landed and took a cab to our hotel everything screamed Welcome to Colombia, the colorful buses and the lively music, the courteous people, the military presence and the chaotic traffic.

The view from my hotel room in the 14th floor was different from anything I had seen before; even though I had been warned about what I was about to see, the minute I pushed the curtains back I was speechless. My Colombian pal had reminisced about the view from downtown Bogotá on many occasions, but I had reverted that extraordinary portrait to extreme nostalgia; I shouldn't have... for nothing I have seen in my entire life looked as surreal as the view of Bogotá, skyscrapers and adobe buildings against really green mountains! Our conference was held in the Universidad de los Andes, therefore its logo was a graph depicting a curve on top of which symbols of a house and a cross were perched; that's the view you get from the university, the mountains, the Monserrat sanctuary and a statue of the Virgen de Guadalupe with arms wide spread.

The surreal mood was complimented bit by bit ...
meals of fried bananas,
people living in an eternal spring and going for summer holidays on weekends (a veranear they say),
colorful markets full of crafts which could be made by the Inca gods themselves,
a private tour of the Museo del oro where you enter a dark room and suddenly the floor lights up to reveal sunken golden treasures which have been rescued from the sea,
waiting for a bus to take you to the ceremony and finding a wooden chiva party bus instead (Egyptians can try to picture the bus equivalent of a felouka with all the electric lights and blasting music),
finding whistles on tables in a club,
asking the taxi driver to just go straight ahead and finding he's not surprised (seemed like a 40s movies saying: طوالي يا أسطى
drinking fresh berry-juice (that's surreal to me, I'm from the desert),
finding a Barrio Egipto in a city a zillion miles away,
seeing emeralds of all shapes sold in La Candelaria as if they were blue stone scarabs sold by the dozen in Khan El Khalili bazzars,
a Cali Carnival ensemble entering the room as red, yellow and blue balloons fall from the ceiling (how cool is it to have a flag with the three basic colors! you can get any other color by mixing those on a palette),
seeing a Lama and remembering how it spat on Captain Haddock in Tintin's adventures in South America (Prisoners of the Sun),
thinking you're in Bogota whenever you listen to El Negro Zumbon and dancing wherever you are.

It is in Montserrat where that I was tempted to take my only photo of the trip (the rest are stolen as you know), that of a whitewashed gate with a bell on top (see above) which in my mind's eye was the gate to Macondo. Macondo, a fragment of Gabo's imagination*, exemplifies for me any remote place which lives as if the world around it does not exist, it comes as no surprise that this town belongs in a land where people are cultured, happy, courteous and embracing life in the midst of meager safety, drug cartels and fierce inequality.

Colombia's people are as generous as its land, a land that bestows magical fruits, unique coffee, emeralds and narco. Colombia's music makes you forget how complicated life can be in other spots on planet earth (Salto del Ángel by Parque de la 93 is the ultimate Salsa club, highly recommended).Even the art in Bogotá goes in bolder brush strokes that do not fear to stand out (Botero fans can testify).

Weekends in Bogotá are also unique, whether you hit the student barrio of La Candelaria filled with cheap eats and music blasting from all cantinas from as early as 5pm on Friday evenings, or you rush of to the plains of the mountains to eat Ajiaco elaborately prepared from five different breeds of potato, or go visit uncle Andrés Carne de Res and dance the night away while noticing a new weird trinket hanging from the ceiling every 2 minutes, you are guaranteed to get a treat for your senses.

In all honesty, while in Bogota and even before going there safety was a major concern; it started before getting there, when my Colombian friend's idea of a joke was snatching my bag while I was getting cash from the ATM machine, and then grew with the sight of the military presence in the streets as we arrived to the hotel, for such a sight instead of reassuring me made me question the need for it. The feeling grew with everybody advising me to stay very alert after 9am and preferably not go anywhere on foot nor hail a cab from the street.

However, my curiosity and the contagious love of life that the city transmitted made me roam its different neighborhoods day and night, thinking I was safe as long as I can fake a Colombian accent (that much I thought was possible since the lady at the embassy back in Cairo insisted I was coming to issue a new passport not to get an entry visa).

I thank my friend who transmitted to me love for Colombia and familiarity with it before I got there. Before I got to Bogota, I had helped cook patacones, I had learned all the formules de politesse which exist only in Bogotano Spanish , I knew how to ask for a tinto instead of a café, got my verbal conjugation messed up, I knew better than to be surprised or offended when people shouted marica, was giving one kiss on the cheek instead of two, and felt almost like a local when I recognized the guava candy wrapped in leaves and packed in wooden boxes at the supermarket.

Bring back some coffee for me if you go, will you?

Notes:
*Gabriel Garcia Marquez's classic "A 100 years of solitude is set in the imaginary town of Macondo"
' recipe for patacones

Photos:
Menu at 80 sillas a Cevishes restaurant at Usaquen (trust Latin Americans to come up with unique names such as 80 chairs).
Gate and Bell tower at Monserrat, the sloppy photo is the one I took of course, and the neat one with blue skies in the background is from Travelog

Paris has two faces

"whether blue or gray be her skies, whether loud be her cheers or whether soft be her tears [...] I love Paris" Ella Fitzgerald, I love Paris

"I walked down your streets, alone and cold like a lost child, and then you took me in your arms" Enrico Macias, Paris tu m'as pris dans tes bras
"I walk down your streets which step on my feet" Souad Massi & Marc Lavoine, Paris Paris

"Oh but the sky of Paris cannot remain too cruel, it quickly seeks forgiveness by offering the island a rainbow" Edith Piaf, Sous le ciel de Paris

They all sang for Paris, a city that serenades visiting love birds while crushing resident vagabonds.

On my first visit I could not bring myself to like Paris! I could only feel the harshness of life in this place, the rush in the metro where people would give you the cold shoulder. Paris to me was like a person with perfect features but no warmth, plastic surgery beauty. I was impressed, that I cannot deny, I had a great time and the greatest host, I felt like I finally saw Paris which everyone was raving about. I concluded that maybe I preferred more imperfect yet lively beauties, same as I liked attractive guys with imperfect features. And so I went, telling my friends and my mom who adores Paris: yes beautiful city...but I'd never live there; insisting all the while that I definitely preferred the more chaotic cities of Spain (at the time I was spending winter in Alicante for work), I quote a dear friend saying "si, Madrid es más cutre pero nos gusta más" cutre is slang for low quality.

The second time I went to Paris I had to board a plane there after a long journey on the road, I thought I'd spend a day there, encouraged by a friend who absolutely loved the city -and by the colorful Paris in Ratatouille- to seek reconciliation with the city of lights.

Once again, I discover that our own mood and expectations as well as the weather set the scene for how we enjoy a place and how we remember it later on. In contrast to the cold wind scratching my skin in February, sunny mornings and breezy nights welcomed me in August (sorry Ella I tend to disagree, I love Paris only in the summer). Having been on the verge of a breakup in my first visit (luckily things worked out after that) and then simply enjoying my single student life in the second visit also made a difference.

After a week of hopping on and off trains in Central Europe with my backpack as sole companion, traveling on a tight budget to cover the maximum ground, I arrive in Paris to enjoy French delicacies on sidewalk cafes with a good café au lait in the company of a unique character. My friend whom I met in Paris had a big gossip's tongue and an artist's eye, a combination guaranteed to make you laugh your heart out while appreciating the details of fashion and life in the beautiful city. A companion so filled with positive energy that you'd say yes to crepes in the morning before your flight and end up expectedly missing the flight (most expensive crepes I ate, 90 euros).

I had covered the Paris essentials in my previous trip (I owe that to my great host and his friend, who planned all the sightseeing to fit into my weekend away from work even better than the lonely planet folks). This trip I just strolled along the Seine warmed by the familiarity that one feels when he remembers a place. As I watch the movie Paris je t'aime later on that summer, I feel this is a city I remember vividly, even if it's still one I wouldn't live in.

One place I'll always miss and would really want to go back to just sitting to read the papers, have a quiche and then strawberry macarons, I'd sit there and smile back at passersby in the only cheerful district of town: Le Marais. The quartier is characterized by shops that look like wooden doll houses, extravagant fashion and the general air of creativity that gay neighborhoods sometimes have.

Another favorite is the Ile Saint Louis for whom Edith Piaf has sang, and which will always have in my mind the color of caramel and the flavor of crunchy pecan (the ice cream place there has a dark green facade you won't miss it, it's where the bridge ends, it'd be a sin not to make a stop there).

Another spot which I would love to go back to but only with a loved one is the Pont des Arts, a wooden bridge where young Parisiens and adoptive Parisiens picnic. It'd be a waste to go to such a romantic spot on my own again.

Watching the sun setting on Notre Dame from across the bridge is very picturesque, and even though I did not feel the church's warmth on my first visit (specially as I compared it with Sacré Coeur's peace and hushed lights), in my second visit I weaved endless tales around it. It occurs to me now that perhaps I particularly like Sacré Coeur perched up Montmartre, the highest point of the city, because I have come to feel more sanctity in places that isolate themselves from the vicious world below in order to reach out to the sky, maybe I like it for no other reason but my love for heights and the view they provide? Or, maybe as much as I deny it, it is somehow connected to the fact that I studied in one of the schools founded under the Sacred Heart Society. Who knows, all I know is that I would've liked to light a candle on my second visit and had no time to.

Even though I felt somehow morose when I first visited the Louvre and got lost in the vast ancient Egyptian pavilions (that day I discovered a sense of patriotism I didn't know I had), my second visit, which was merely a visit to the grounds of the Louvre was just magical. I felt like an 8 year old on the rented red bike, forming part of a giant snake of bicycles which twisted and turned around the lights on the ground, with the glass pyramid in the background and a still starry night enveloping us, I felt like part of a movie -perhaps E.T.- and expect the front wheel of my bike to point to the sky any minute.

I have admit, as cheesy as it sounds, that I do like it when the Tour Eiffel starts twinkling. Having bought fruits and cheese in a grocery store in the posh neighborhood behind the Tower, I sit on the grass contemplating it, and marvel at this heap of iron bars which managed to symbolize everything chic in our consumerist societies. I notice that I do not have the obligatory Paris photo with Eiffel in the background and dismiss the thought, as I remember I have a cooler photo, with a dear friend and I standing at the very top of the tower pointing to the flag of Egypt, according to which Cairo stood 3217 km away in that direction. Back then those miles brought sadness and perhaps guilt, as I had left behind at home a partner and had to spend the winter working in Spain. I now silently thank God for not worrying about anyone as I rush off to the Southern Hemisphere twice in alternate months; detachment is too appealing...

I leave without paying a second visit to the Quartier Latin, I prefer to keep the memory of going there with one of my best friends intact -I still burst out laughing when I remember how the waiter at the pizzeria -who was clearly not Italian- spoke French with an Italian accent.

I go back to Madrid with black and white postcards in my backpack, a Tour de France T-shirt, an inexplicable craving for macarons, and reconciliation in my heart, humming Paroles et Paroles on the way back (I sang this at the Dalida tribute museum Karaoke, and was happy to know that my R roulé was absolutely charming and not unrefined as commonly thought).

Photo: Gargoyle at Notre Dame watching the city change over the years - according to Disney his name is Hugo (Photo by Jason Vic)

Note:
Songs: Sous le ciel de Paris - Edith Piaf; Paris tu m'a pris dans tes bras - Enrico Macias; Paris Paris - Souad Massi and Marc Lavoine; I love Paris - Ella Fitzgerald
Movie: Paris je t'aime, a movie that starts with the Parisian snail map (basically the different sections or arrondissements), and then zooms in on each of them to give a short movie, touching stories weaved by great masters of European cinema

Read: the smell of the métro posted my friend on his blog

On my bike

All the illuminating thoughts solving my existential crises would fill my mind while I'm pedaling away against the wind...

There's no feeling that compares to beating one's own record of perseverance or finding the perfect pal for your route.

I long for my bike, for leading a healthier lifestyle, commuting without contaminating the environment nor contributing to the crazy traffic and noise.

I envy the inhabitants of cities with bike lanes and alert drivers, and women who can wander around on a bike without getting the attention of passersby, and anyone who can be in a street without the risk of damaging their lungs.

On a brighter note, I have a few traveling tips. Exploring a city by bike with a group or on your own, with a guide or without one, is enchanting. I have tried a few tours and guarantee they would be very enjoyable, especially if traveling on your own.

Paris somehow seems more magical on a bike, especially when you speed on bridges, just take the night tour (I apologize if the guide seems to be giving a biking for dummies course "when this guy turns green we cross, ok?"). In Berlin you get to cover more territory and see the contrast between East and West better. In Amsterdam you'll feel more like a local if you're riding, and your fear of the road will disappear in 5 minutes as you see people hositing shopping bags and toddlers on their bikes, riding with one hand on the handlebar and the other clasping the phone (drivers are quite respectful too). Madrid has a good tour on weekends, and also you can rent from my friends at by-bike. Barcelona's metro is synchronized with a great bike rental scheme, just make sure you get the card in advance -cause I didn't- and bike tours are also available . In pricey Geneva, you can rent a bike for free. The Vienna tour is great, the guides tell you a lot about the city, and in addition to gates and buildings you pass through beautiful parks. I didn't dare to wander in the streets of countries driving on the "wrong" side of the road (quite an open minded statement that is), but I remember London had guided tours and Brisbane bike rentals providing maps of the three main cycling routes. Bogota does its best by giving bicycles and skates car-free streets on Sundays in some areas downtown, in addition to a 120 km of bicycle paths, you may want to give it a try in the land of eternal spring.

I'll update this post if I remember more tours or embark on new ones.

New York times compiles vacations on wheels

NEWS! some brave gang is hitting the streets of my crazy city, Cairooo here I come

Photo:
An old bike in Fatima - Portugal, photo taken with my favorite biking pal.

Goa, dancing queen

Where do I start? Let me say that on the whole India fitted everyone's description, a city of colors and scents so impacting, even for someone from Cairo, a place so exotic yet still vaguely familiar...

My first impression upon landing in Goa was: are you sure we're in India? The scenery and the villagers could've belonged anywhere. Except for a couple of statues of Shiva, the towns have pos-colonial houses painted in bright colors (for Goa was a Portuguese colony for 450 years) and are sprinkled with those tin shacks which characterize any former colony blessed by the curse of natural resources. For all I know, we could've been in Brazil. The greenery and the diversity of it is breathtaking, the effect magnified by the twists and turns of the road which alternate plains and hills continuously (in addition to the weird effect which driving on the left side of the road always has on me). Down the road locals on vespas speed past us and shops have elephants -and sometimes Lord Ganesh- painted on the facades. Ok, this feels more like India.

Arriving at the resort I feel that the seventies have passed here and stopped, literally stopped. The chalets are loyal to the era's upholstery and tiles, the neighbors wear dreads, and you hear the Abba everywhere you go. So far I don't really feel like I'm in India. The markets with shopkeepers chasing tourists could be in any country with a bit of poverty and a weak currency -so that's what tourists feel in Egypt? poor them. At night we head to the beach, watch fireworks, scream life is life, try to do the impossible twist on the sand and just go to sleep.

I go through the first day, happy to be back to the seventies, wishing I could just ditch everyone and summon my friends by means of apparition. Maybe I can wear those pink striped bell-bottoms which I saw in the old bazaar, get my hair braided once again, and then we all gather around the fire with one of us playing soft rock tunes; if someone wishes to smoke a joint they're welcome (just passive smoking for me, thank you very much).

I stay quite anxious though (as is always the case when I travel) and fear not seeing any sign of Hinduism in this Catholic town. Luckily I get to see the cows wandering knowing they own the road by and head to a Hindu temple and an indigenous Catholic Church (Jesus Christ and Angels look Indian and the decor very much so). I witness the Indian tolerance which I have for long read about, as the whole group lights incense and candles at both temple and church, you wouldn't distinguish worshipers from one another. I light a candle and wish for a year of serenity.

Whenever I travel I try to get a local feel of places, sometimes I manage, sometimes I don't. In 70s Goa I wore my most Hippie shawls and tops and sang Dancing Queen at the top of my lungs. I learned the basic hindi dance moves to Bhool Bhulaiyaa a hit in India then -inspired by an earlier hit titled Hare Rama Hare Krishna- from a colleague who will be the ultimate Bollywood star if he makes this wise move. I ate spicy food till I could feel curry in my toe and almost cried eating a chili (a friend's idea of a joke or dare), accepted friends offering of fruit salad sprinkled with chili sold on street carts outside the temple.

I still keep the fondest memories of this beautiful haven where time has stopped. I email my best friend when I go home (as Goa remained faithful to the 70s means of communication) and we both envision a meditation retreat in Goa before the end of the year.

Photo: mural in Goa resort

Links:
Holy Cow, a book which gave me great insight to the Indian culture and spirituality
Hare Krishna Hare Ram, the oldie version reminiscent of the hippie era
Sachs and Warner's article on the curse of natural resources
On Hindu gods, more on Shiva and Ganesh
The God of small things a story which describes the caste system
On keeping Indian traditions and transmitting them to your kids after migrating to new lands, watch The Namesake and read The Hindi Bindi club.

Berlin, a journey through a time machine

I got to know Berlin last spring break. Before my visit I had watched three good movies which set the mood for it; Goodbye Lenin, depicting the contrast between East Germany and West Germany, Downfall telling the story of der Führer's suicide, the Good German an homage to Casablanca filmed in post WWII Berlin. Also Das Leben der Anderen/The Lives of Others -which I watched later on- depicting the Stasi era. Also I went to Berlin via Amsterdam where I did my best to avoid visiting Anne Frank's house as her Diary is the most morose book I read as a child (which reminds me I ought to advise the school library to take it off the shelves, and that has nothing to do with my opinion of the whole Holocaust issue).

My days in Berlin felt like days aboard a time machine. Passing from Checkpoint Charlie and marveling at the means people devised to escape from Eastern Germany; wandering along the lines of the former Wall and feeling the energy of those who brought down the wall; trying not to notice the Holocaust memorial, attending Palm Sunday mass at the Berlin Cathedral that still carries traces of the Allies' bombing; collecting socialist memorabilia from a street market in Mitte (got a bargain for a Karl Marx medallion), I truly felt transported in time.

The contrast between Soviet “wedding cake” buildings and more modern buildings on the other side of the wall made me wonder how crossing the wall made people feel. I imagined East Berlin's supermarkets filled with the most basic products and run down apartments adorned with faded wallpaper, feeling like it's lightyears away from West Berlin with its modern cafés and shops filled with brightly packaged consumer goods (check out the devout socialist's reaction in Goodbye Lenin when a Coca Cola ad materializes on the building opposite hers in her East Berlin neighborhood. No more spoilers I promise!)

History aside, Berlin is very modern friendly city, full of gigs and street markets, offering good food (amazing variety of creative veggies), its lively atmosphere and cultural scene are quite remarkable . There's beauty everywhere in the city and some of the museums are good - I still can't understand why I had to pay 4 euros to see Nefertiti, well I've got only the Egyptian government to blame.

Berlin is a perfect city from all attributes. However, I don't think I can live there, aside from my my poor German which Goethe Institute couldn't' fix, I cannot live with such quiet people, I would drive them nuts. Chatting away in this coffee house in Alexanderplatz, my friend and I saw heads turning and disapproving looks shot, we were two Egyptian gals as Mediterranean as can be (my friend and I were living in Italy and Spain at the time) and were just expressing ourselves!

Carrying a bit of the wall in a bookmark -and nothing makes me happy like a new bookmark and nothing upsets me like loosing a bookmark- I head back to Madrid. I still smile when I see my photo resting from a long walk in Museumsinsle in the relaxed sunshine in a barist outside Hackescher Markt station.

Photo: part of the Berlin wall at the entrance to Checkpoint Charlie museum

Links:
Checkpoint Charlie museum
Museumsinsle
Check out Berlin Wall graffiti art and chronology
Walk down Unter den Linden
Stay at A&O hostels
Go to Quasimodo jazz bar, the neighborhood itself is very nice

Buenos Aires, a portrait in sepia

Before going to Argentina, I expected to see a rather homogeneous culture and too much Tango. The impression I left Argentina with was very different from what I expected.

Buenos Aires felt somehow familiar, after a first glimpse one realizes it is a collage of all European architectural gems. Buildings of Madrid and Barcelona along wide avenues of Paris sprinkled with some Italian piazzas and a couple of Dutch houses, with a tower from London. The city is quite elegant and speaks of a prosperous past, but halas, when crises hit, nothing can be done.

Not only do the city's buildings feel imported, but so are its inhabitants. Porteños, I was told, feel they still belong to their lands of origin. As most immigrants had fled the first world war and could never return, they fed homesickness to their offspring. If you walk down calle Florida and stop at one of the kiosks there, you'll find in addition to newspapers and postcards a zillion pins on the stands; in addition to icons like El Che and the rival football teams, the pins feature flags of Argentina coupled each with a different flag, Italian, Portuguese, Lebanese, marking a sense of belonging to the land of origin.

As for the people, they are quite sociable people who wine and dine on weekdays, sometimes at 10 pm. Elegantly decorated with admirable attention to detail, most restaurants inhabit the Palermo neighborhood, a typical Spanish colonial town, and the various Sohos that have a more alternative flavor.

Pleasant and good humored, most Argentineans can share a joke about their own kind. This is probably the reason why, from Quino's sarcastic idealism to Maitena's burlesque feminism one thing is evident, Argentine comics are the best.

The only neighborhood that fitted my colorful Latin America cliché, is Boca. Even though the streets have nothing but communal tin houses, the inhabitants have painted their tin houses with paint leftovers from the neighboring port on the Río de la Plata, the result is magnificent. Red, blue, green and yellow houses adorned with papier maché statues of the local idols, Maradona, Evita and Gardel. In spite of being the working class neighborhood in one of the world's most elegant cities, Boca was the only neighborhood that tempted me to take out my camera.

To contribute to the joyful air, Coca Cola ads in Buenos Aires are also unique, joyful and somehow frivolous (observing ads to get a feel of the country´s socioeconomics and culture is by now a hobby of mine).

The soundtrack to my visit was exactly what I expected it to be, Carlos Gardel's eternal Mi Buenos Aires Querido which I was humming as if Buenos Aires were my own town which I longed to go back to.

Photo: Coca Cola Ad, bar at Caminito-Boca

Links:
About the City's architecture: Buenos Aires: City of Faded Elegance
Palermo restaurants:
Quino's page
Maitena's page
Recommended restaurants in Palermo, I vote for La Cabrera (you may want to split the giant steak with a friend)
Gardel's Mi Buenos Aires Querido with photos of the city by night

Lisbon's nostalgia

In my mind's eye Portugal is crafted tiles, exquisite street lamps, and an architectural style that speaks of nostalgia for the sea.

The aura of most Portuguese cities is one of a former empire. Walking the streets of Lisbon, you feel the city is looking out to the sea with this nostalgia to conquered land (although the city itself overlooks a river). Upon seeing the Monument to the Discoveries built in honor of the nation's explorers, one feels that one day the people of Lisbon have knelt and prayed while anxiously awaiting the explorers' return home.

In spite of the melancholy, the city has a sort of nonchalant air going at the pace of its trams and funiculars. Sometimes the mood is even festive instead of rain washed and lonely, but that's only on occasions. In Christmas, Europe's tallest Christmas tree fills Praça do Comércio - the city's main square- with people singing along to jingle bells and and savouring roasted chestnuts. On sunny days, you can enjoy eating delicious fresh fish in any of the restaurants flanking the Tejo river.

I remember a friend saying that if you want to know a city like a local you have to feel its subway, I'd add that some of them are indeed works of art. One thing I'll always remember about Lisbon is its metro, whose lines are labeled with a seagull, a boat and a compass. One particular station, Parque, makes passersby think that they are passing through an empire, portraying on its navy blue tiles a white globe where Portugal is connected to its former colonies through dotted lines. As for the people who travel the subway they seemed warm without being as sociable as their Mediterranean neighbors. The dog-obsessed should be warned that they might end up broke in a matter of stations, as the Lisbon equivalent to street artists are young boys playing the accordion with sad puppies perched on their shoulders while holding small buckets where commuters should drop a few coins.

To really be touched by the beauty of the city, go up the Elevador de Santa Justa which is by itself a work of art. This neo-gothic creation twists iron into lace, providing very inspiring shadows and patterns for talented photographers (it's a shame I'm not one of those*). Once up the elevator, if not too dizzy from the altitude you can absorb the scenery and see from above the city on seven hills. Inspired by the view, I recall running out to the Baixa Chiado shopping area to buy pastel crayons, I bought only 4 crayons, silver to paint Santa Justa, blue gray to paint the river, adobe to paint the rooftops and yellow to fill my painting with trams.

Come night hit Alfama's bars, where jazzy music replaces the mournful Fado that haunts you downtown throughout the morning. Onda Jazz is where I listened to Cape Verde's barefoot diva Cesária Évora for the first time. It's strange how contagious Portugal's nostalgia is, for the former colony's blues are still filled with nostalgia in spite of their African beat .

If you're in the mood for a day trip, head to Sintra, it's the closest thing to a fairy tale, with enchanted forests and castles, its beauty is beyond what I can describe. In Sintra buy hand crafted ceramics to remind you of this magical city and eat queijadas to munch on the way back into town.

Photo: Elevador de Santa justa (*I'm thankful I have friends who are good photograhers, this one is borrowed from Francisco Fuentes)
Links:
Lisbon metro and its parque station homage to the discoverers
Monument to the discoveries
Onda Jazz Bar
More on Cesária Évora and a song of hers
Sintra UNESCO World Heritage Site
Recipe for Queijadas