Museum

I planned getting up just in time for the end of breakfast at ten. But my watch is still on Amsterdam time. And I rise 30 minutes too late. Damn.

The upside, is that I can stay in bed longer. Which I do. A couple more hours, as I’m feeling well knacked.

We were supposed to be meeting some of Andrew’s university mates at the National Museum of Egyptian Civilization at noon. But it keeps getting delayed. Meaning we can stay longer in bed. We finally meet up at 2 PM.

The ride over there is, er, interesting. Many of the roads are three lanes wide. But there’s no lane discipline. Cars, motorbikes, buses and all weave in and out of each other. It’s a wonder that there aren’t loads of collisions. Then again, seeing how many cars have dented and scratched bodywork, missing bits and parts held on with duct tape, it’s clear that there are loads of bumps.

Every driver apparently fears, should they ever stop, they’ll never get moving again. Even when, apparently, totally blocked in. I can’t understand how it works without total carnage.

Exterior of the National Museum of Egyptian Civilization.

We have to pass through a metal detector at the entrance to the museum. Which seems pretty standard here. It’s the same at the hotel. Though there the armed guard does nothing when it beeps as a guest enters.

“Racial profiling, Dad. That’s the reason.”

“Probably. When it advantages you, it doesn’t seem quite as despicable.”

The museum has artifacts from the stone age almost up to the present day. We go around in revers chronological order. Which I suppose is the opposite of what you’re supposed to do.

Old pottery in the museum.

Downstairs is the mummy room. There are a couple of dozen of them. Mostly pharaohs from various periods.

“Have you noticed something, Dad?”

“What?”

“They’re all short arses.”

“True. Though almost everyone is compared to you. Other than Lexie.”

Museuming done, the plan is to have some drinks and then food. Sounds good to me. We take a few cabs over to Cairo Cellar. It’s a pretty upmarket wine bar in the basement of a posh hotel.

We’re warned on entry that we’ll have to leave before 8 PM as some of us are wearing shorts. Including me. As soon as the thermometer hits 20 C, I ditch long kegs. Being old and sweaty, my lower regions need all the ventilation I can get.

It’s very dark inside. I can barely read the menu. What to drink? A local rum, I think. As usual, Andrew plumps for a Stella, as usual.

Rum and coke.

The group keeps getting larger. And less manageable. After a few drinks, and just before the 8 PM deadline, it’s time to pay up and move on to the restaurant.

It’s a bit of a cab ride away. A rather scary one. Is it worse or better at night when you can’t see the other traffic as easily. I’d call it a draw. On a three-lane road, with pretty fast traffic, a horse and cart passes us. Coming in the wrong direction in the outside lane.

Just before we get to the restaurant, we pass a fish market. Stalls loaded with ice topped by fans of fish. I’ve never seen a market, let alone a fish market, open this late.

Our destination is Sobhy Kaber. A place serving traditional Egyptian food which sprawls of several large rooms and three floors. Simply put: it’s massive.

Sobhy Kaber butcher.

On the ground floor, opposite the entrance, is a butchers, with slaps of meat dangling from hooks. Waiters scurry about, holding high wooden trays of small, round flat bread. It’s all pretty chaotic. And full.

One of the rooms in Sobhy Kaber.

We’re ushered to a spot next to the bakery to wait for our private room to be ready. I watch as hundreds of flat breads are churned out and then whisked away.

“It must be fun working there in the summer, I remark to Andrew.”

“I can imagine.”

Sobhy Kaber bakery.

We’re led off to a private room. And soon plates of stuff begin to appear. We each get one of salad and some sort of coriander dip. Then fruit appears. Because, this place being very traditional, it serves no alcohol. Just as well I got a good few rums down earlier.

Meat and vegetable dishes are placed on the table. Spicy lamb sausages, pigeon stuffed with rice, tender slices of spicy beef served in tin foil, a baked dish of rice and meat. All sorts of exotic things, almost none of which I recognise.

Sobhy Kaber food.

And there’s bread. Thin, flat bread, around the size of a hand towel, folded into a cone. And the small, round puffed-up ones that I’ve seen being made, transported and consumed all over the place.

It truly is an Egyptian feast. I just wish I was hungrier and could appreciate it better.

Sobhy Kaber baked rice.

It’s about 11 PM when we tip out onto the pavement. Lots of diners are still just arriving. Many with quite small children in tow.

“Have you noticed all the little kids still coming out to eat?”

“It is the Mediterranean, Dad. People do just the same on the European side of the sea.”

“I suppose they do.”

We’re lucky and get an Uber pretty much straight away. The most difficult thing is spotting the right car. The numberplates being all in Arabic script. Including the numbers/ We mostly go by the colour and make of car.

As we duck and dodge along the crowded roads, I notice a brightly-lit shop called Drinkies. Is that what I think it is? I spot what looks like a shelf packed with bottles of wine. What a great name for an offie. I’m surprised it’s still open, as it’s getting on for midnight. I make a mental note of the name for later.

Back at the hotel, Andrew asks: “Do you fancy a quick drink in the bar?”

“Sure.”

Flamenco hotel bar.

Andrew must be gasping for a pint after all that time in the restaurant. And we’ve run out of duty free. It’s surprising how quickly two litres of spirits can disappear. When you lock two pissheads in a hotel room.

The tables are all occupied and we grab a couple of stools at the bar. Andrew, once again, opts for Stella. I think I know why, now. It’s 4.5% ABV. While Sakara, the other major brand, is just 4%. I get an Egyptian whisky.

The drinks come with a bowl of what looks like cottage cheese, sticks of carrot and cucumber, as well as bread sticks. It remains untouched. Neither of us is ready for more food after the feast.

Hotel bar malt whisky.

They still allow smoking indoors. Everyone is chain smoking. And it’s quite a small room. Not very well ventilated. It’s been so long since I experienced one, I’d forgotten just how unpleasant a smoke-filled room is. Soon my throat is starting to ache.

“It reminds me of my last job in London. I was in a small room with two smokers. I had a permanent throat ache.”

“The good old days, eh?”

“Don’t take the piss.”

“Didn’t the smoke take everyone’s minds off the rickets and TB?”

“I’m not that fucking old.”

The bloke sitting next to me is puffing away, drinking Stella. And occasionally pouring himself a shot from a bottle of vodka. Looking around, I see a table of four has a bottle of Jack Daniels. A full litre.

We have a few more drinks. Quite a few more, as all the duty free is gone. Did I mention that earlier? We leave at 2 AM. Which is throwing out time.

Back in our room. We go straight to bed. As all the duty free is gone



Cairo Cellar
22 Taha Hussein,
Abu Al Feda,
Zamalek,
Cairo Governorate 4271150


Sobhy Kaber
151 Ebeid,
As Sahel,
Rod El Farag,
Cairo Governorate 4350021


Flamenco Cairo Hotel
02 El Gezira El Wosta,
Abu Al Feda,
Zamalek,
Cairo Governorate 11211