J.R. Johnson

Thursday

Cairo

Up a few steps and across a pedestrian overpass and we were in the market. The guidebooks warned that getting lost here was easy, and not to be surprised at the incredible number of small passages and alleys in this area. They were absolutely right, but I loved it. The market’s narrow winding paths, busy streets, men sitting outside shops, women herding children they could barely see through crowds, carts, stalled taxis, cats everywhere, and getting lost were all part of the fun. For the first time I felt I was in a true souk, a local market where tourists were not yet driving the economy. Sure, there were tchotchkes on the main streets, but there were also suitcases and socks and nightgowns and shirts. When we did get completely and unbelievably lost, a small boy appeared from nowhere. He led us back to our starting point, but his way out was nothing like our way in. I followed the boy’s slight figure down stairways just wide enough for one, around corners, into shops and out their backdoors, and finally out into the cool night air. We thanked him profusely, tipped him and everyone went home happy.

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