hospital

Short holidays in a country rarely encompass much of an all-rounded experience of life there. So, I consider my living in Egypt for 15 months as providing me with a comprehensive set of experiences you cannot come across on a 2 week or even 3 month stay. Add to that comprehensive list this month: getting sick and having to go to hospital.
Forced to leave work early because of the immensity of the pain I was going through, I headed straight for the Emergency Room at Al-Salam Hospital (don’t worry, the situation wasn’t all that bad). There, the doctor saw me within 5 minutes of my arrival, gave me a bed, and put me on an IV drip to relieve me of my pain. For me, the event was epic; I cant remember ever having an IV drip being inserted in me (except of course, age 8 when I was put under total anesthesia for the simple procedure of removing two teeth — yes, full anesthesia — the idea of getting my teeth pulled out frightens me to no end). And really, I have discovered that the IV drip is a miraculous thing. Apparently, its purpose was to just wash out my organs and remove the toxins that were making me see stars and double up in pain. And it worked! Why don’t women have these things installed in their bedrooms during that time of the month?

Sokhna's got me izzmiling, (izzmiling)!

Thursday 6pm after work. Wondering what to do over the weekend. It's my last weekend before the magazine goes into production, and obviously, I would like to make the most of it. Mohammed Ali club for a day by the pool? Dinner at a restaurant by the Nile? I made a booking for that evening at Sequoia, so that was an option.

And then Fawzy calls and asks us if we want to go to Ain Sokhna for the weekend. Fawzy's family have a villa up there, and would we like to go spend 2 nights there, frolicking in the Red Sea?

HELL YES!

Cancel all plans for the weekend, and an hour later, we're in Fawzy's lovely jeep cruising down to Sokhna, which is a mere hour away from Cairo. Spend two nights there, lazying around, watching Satellite televison until 4am, eating KFC, sleeping in, wading around in the compound pool, and swimming in the BEAUTIFULLY warm waters of the Red Sea [which btw, is swarming with wildlife, we spotted a gazillion starfish, sand dollars and sea urchins without even venturing beyond knee deep water, and one of my friends also got stung by a sea urchin's needles, and had to be taken to hospital to get them razor-bladed out, a story for another time.....].

Egypt can drive you crazy, especially living in Cairo, and the frustrations can build up until breaking point. But only in Egypt can you also go on super-spontaneous weekend getaways on the Red Sea and forget you ever had to live in that dusty ole city named Cairo...

Theme song for trip: "What can I do my baby? For Joying (for joying), for dancing (for dancing), for szmiling(izzmiling!) Izzmiling (izzmiling!) Izzmiling (izzmiling!)"

London

Back from London yesterday. 10 days of epic eating, shit weather and one mini trip to Manchester. Two chance encounters with two of the most cherished people in my life when I least expected it. Kashfi was flying Dhaka-Paris-Toronto, and made a quick detour through London to see me. My lovely girl and I spent my first 2 days there together, before she jetted off to gay Pareee to catch her flight. On my last day, I managed to catch Minal who'd only flown in the day before from Mauritius, gave her a 2 minute hug before saying bye once again. Was pissed off that I didnt get to take any of my favourite walks through Central like I used to back in the day, but nevertheless came to a reality-biting type of realisation that when you lead a nomadic existence like mine, very very few people in the world end up really mattering to you. I envisioned a big hungama of meeting tons of friends and catching up, but really, after a day or two, I realised I didn't really care. That small handful of people you cherish the most are the ones you end up seeing on any short trip, on every trip, year after year.

nelly

On three separate occasions, Egyptians have told me I look like one of their actresses, Nelly Kareem.

The first time, within 3 days of arriving in Cairo, someone I met told me so.

Then, once on the metro, some girls poked me while I was engrossed in my iPod to ask me if I was an actress. I looked at them a little strangely, and just said no, meanwhile thinking, “If I was an actress, I would definitely not be riding this metro..."

Then, today, in Al-Omda, while ordering a sandwich, the guy behind the counter babbles some Arabic to me, and as usual I'm staring at him clueless, while he gestures towards my face, "Same, same..." then in the midst of the babble I catch "Nelly" and I finally get it. I aiwa'd myself outta there, go home, go online, and here's what I find:

I really don't think so.

.....Maybe its the big cheeks and way too much eye-liner?

cocktail

Now, how often do you get the above mix of people in one house?
[top to bottom, left to right: Venezuala, Singapore, Nigeria, USA]

byebye nomadlife

so the old address had to go. It's time to get rid of a blog that has my first name on it, and it was also time to change my template which I was getting really tired of. Although I'm not sure why i bothered, I don't seem to have any time to blog anymore these days.

Whatever the case, this is the new URL. Created in the name of my child in Egypt. Change your links.

~Image courtesy of my friend, Sagar Ghoting, from a trip in Siwa

scissors

I finally decided to get a haircut — my first in Cairo since I moved here 8 months ago. I’m very, very fussy about my hair and I cherish my tri-yearly visits to the stylist, where I relish in getting my long mane washed by someone else, feeling their fingers massage my skull, and then getting a bangin’ blowdry and walking out feeling like Beyonce. I think these experiences are worth the money I pay for them. In London, I had my salon. Biba’s on Marchmont street, the only place I ever trusted with my hair, in the entire 3 years of living in Russell Square.

So, I asked a colleague for a recommendation, and she pointed me to Villa 36 in Messaha Street, Dokki. She warned it would be expensive, but seriously, compared to 40 quid in England, what’s expensive here in Cairo?

I make the appointment, show up at 3pm and true to their name, it is a villa, a pink one at that. The place is decorated luxuriously, with dark rosewood tables and satin-cushioned chairs (not wheelies, actual solid wooden chairs). The washing room has a mere 3 basins, and is divided from the rest of the boutique by wooden Japanese translucent doors. I’m offered a lemon juice upon arrival, and a Marie Claire, and I immediately love them (I haven’t read a magazine in months!).

I get my hair cut by the head stylist, I presume the owner, a French-Lebanese dude who makes me stand up (now that’s never happened before) as he chops my tresses. The guy is a riot, as camp as a head stylist in Cairo should rightly be, and he beckons his employees with a curled index finger should they happen to slip up. He looks at my hair while cutting it, and asks me in his uber-french accent, “did yoo kolor your hair?”. I nod sheepishly. “At home?” I nod even more sheepishly. Everyone is dressed in plain crème-coloured uniforms, and the simplicity and taste is endearing. They even make me wear a matching crème jacket.

In the end, I am LE 250 poorer (70 for a protein conditioning, 160 for a haircut, 10 for the drink) — but the feeling of being pampered is priceless. And yes, I bounce out feeling like Beyonce, this time, every time.