Old Cairo Bazaar underneath the labyrinthine alleys of the Coptic Christian neighborhood took me by surprise.
Down a small path far below the ground, I walked past hundreds of black and white photographs of Egypt throughout the years. A gaggle of Egyptian tourists were listening to a guide explain Coptic history before a large storefront. Two enormous doors opened to inky blackness.
Lights erupted as I entered: quadrants of halogen bulbs blinked to life exposing piece by piece the immensity before me. Stretched like the mythical cave of Ali Baba, lay a chamber stuffed with modern treasures.
Or, tourist shwack. The stuff, according to Max Rodenbeck’s Cairo: the city victorious, Egypt has always sold, and probably always will, at outrageous prices. According to the book, so fleeced was the King of Mali when he stopped on a hajj pilgrimage to Mecca, that calling anything Egyptian or referring to the Cairo-based kingdom would for generations bring disdain. When the French and British khawagaat ruled here following the first World War, shopkeepers apparently charged according to language: English cost the most.
But by they did, Rodenbeck said, and with it, brought countless words into the English language:
“The city’s Arabic trading terms accompanied them, and so helped refine the rough, earhty English of Chaucer. There was fustian, the rough blend of cotton – from the Arabic qutn 0 and linen made by Fustat. There was the dimity of Damietta, the damask of Damascus, the gauze of Gaza, the muslin of Mosul and the watered silk of Baghdad’s Atabi quarter, known as tabby cloth. There was soft mohair and delicate chiffon; and the camisole, the ream, the sash, the sequin, the mattress and the sofa. A shipment leaving Fustat might comprise jars of camphor or syrup or sherbet; sugar, candy and spices like cinnabar, caraway, carob, cumin and sesame seeds, enough to fill a magazine or arsenal, and certainly to require payment of a hefty tariff. An admiral of the highest calibre might command the vessel. Having consulted his almanac and imbibed a carafe brimming with an elixir of attar of jasmine when the sun reached its zenith, he would have himself massaged with a gentle drubbing before the mizzen mast, to the accompaniment of a lute.”
What I perused was bronze swords in leather scabbards, double-necked oud, wooden statues of Anubis and Osirus, the bare breasts of ivory Isis with wings outstretched, countless boxes of polish wood and ivory inlays, stone pyramids of every color, wooden ankh, clay scarabs, bottle openers, letter openers, gem-studded globes, faux Pharaohnic tapestries, prayer beads, books of hieroglyphs, obelisks of amber, animal statues, and boards of backgammon and chess galore.
A red-headed Egyptian shopkeeper named Sara helped me “find out” how much items were, and after a bit of haggling, I left for the Egyptian Copt Museum laden with scant treasures. Sorry, dear community: it’s too cheap to be worthy of you.
And I’m living out of a backpack until August 5th.
