The Long Trip Home: Gold, Sequins and Cigarettes

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Gold, Sequins and Cigarettes
by Sarah Scroope

I hate souvenir shopping. When travelling I try to make it as easy and painless as possible by asking friends and family what they would like me to bring back for them. Before embarking on my trip to Cairo, my sister rattled off her list; clothes, jewelry, music, shoes, etc.. The list got longer and the requests got sillier, and she finished off the list by requesting a 'real' magic lamp; complete with genie or Aladdin (she was not fussed).

I flew into Cairo, spent the first few hours panicking and the first few days suffering an extreme case of culture shock. I decided that the best remedy for this sensory overload was getting out there to explore this amazing city. It was during these random outings and long, long walks that I came to love Cairo. I loved it for its distinct Arab feel, its African vibes and its hint of European style. It is a cosmopolitan city where ancient market places run parallel to the Nile Hilton shopping centre. It is a place where every mosque is lit by green neon lights and where donkeys and beat up old taxis battle for parking space outside. The streets are filled with women and children eating ice-cream and buying cakes. Meanwhile, men are on every corner, smoking cigarettes, drinking endless cups of tea and contemplating the fate of the world.

It was during these random outings and long, long walks that I came to love Cairo.

It was also during these initial adventures and random conversations with strangers that I began hearing about an old market place, a bazaar that had been operating since the 14th century called Khan al-Khalili. Fellow travellers spoke to me about it over coffee, taxi drivers begged to take me there and guide books detailed their pages with its attractions. I heard conflicting rumours. Some said it was a tourist trap and a pick-pocket's paradise. Others said it was a must-see bazaar not to be missed. Either way, my curiosity was sparked. I decided to walk through the Islamic section of town to Cairo's infamous bazaar and check it out for myself. My souvenir shopping list was in the back of my mind. I could only remember half of it, the silly half where my sister had listed a magic lamp.

I could tell that I had arrived at Khan al-Khalili before I saw it. I could smell it before I saw it. I could sense it before I saw it. The air was charged with an excited atmosphere. The people were pumped, bustling along the streets all with a sense of purposeful mystery. The air smelt like a cocktail of rose water, cigarettes, cumin, sweat, dust and falafels.

I escaped the masses and entered a side street. I was greeted by a magical sight. I had found Aladdin's cave. I was nearly blinded by the shining gold hanging in the windows of countless jewelry shops, the brass platters dangling from the ceilings and the richly embroidered gold banners praising Allah. Once my eyes adjusted, my hearing caught up and it was then that I heard different male voices coming from all directions shouting; "Welcome!" "Looking is free!" or "I have what you want!" Before my mind could catch up I was being whisked into the closest jewelry store.

After politely declining their cheap offers, I began to say no more forcefully until I realised that these guys were probably only being so pushy because they were bored. Day after day they go to the same shop and are surrounded by the same people, and have the same task; sell, sell, sell. When they were finally convinced that I did not want to buy anything, we began chatting. I was offered a cup of tea and before I knew it we were discussing the fate of the world. "Yes, Cairo is nice.No, I am not married. blah, blah blah. from Australia. blah blah blah George Bush.Americans...Muslims. Peace". Every now and then I would glance up at the gold dripping off the shelves and realize I had been squinting from the golden glare and sparkle of the diamonds. I truly was in a cave of gold. Oddly enough the situation did not feel that bizarre, so I kept sipping my sweet minty tea.

Leaving the shop empty handed was a mistake as I was immediately nabbed by the hustlers outside. They had somehow deduced that if I was not shopping for gold then I was shopping for a belly dancing costume. I was led through Khan al-Khalili's maze of narrow streets. Gold no longer adorned shop windows. Instead I was surrounded by bolts of sequined material, coin belts and finger cymbals.

I was beckoned into a narrow door way that opened up into a dark smoky room. The cigarette smoke overwhelmed my sense of smell, but my eyes lit up as I saw these skimpy, cut-out, sequined dance costumes. At the back two women were sitting by a sewing machine running up more designs and puffing on 'Cleopatra Gold' smokes. Using a mixture of random English words and my broken Arabic I managed to convince them that I definitely was not a dancer and would never disrespect this ancient art form by trying. She took no notice and showed me the modern lycra and stretch velvet creations.

When she realized I was more interested in the history of belly dancing than the purchase of an outfit, she took me upstairs to a room filled with boxes and cloth bags. Crouching down, she opened a bag and pulled out old coin scarves, dusty sequined patches and long jeweled skirts. This is what the 'real' belly dancers wore; there was to be no stretch lycra for the professionals. Over the next hour or so, surrounded by sequins and diamante belts, she told me about the real Cairo belly dancers and how Hollywood and western romantic notions of 'Exotic Arabia' had transformed the purpose and style of dance.

Thanking her, I emerged from the shop in a bit of a daze. I had had enough. It was too much. My senses were stunned and my mind was dizzy. Khan al-Khalili was full of tourists, hustlers, souvenir shops, carved wooden canes, concrete statues of Horus and backgammon boards. Yet it was magical at the same time--not so much for the goods but for the people. The shop owners themselves, their stories of traditional dance and modern day Middle Eastern politics make Khan al-Khalili a magical place.

Calling it a night I managed to find the exit to the maze and hit the main street looking for a taxi. As I hailed one, I turned and glanced into the closest souvenir shop which was crammed with plastic pyramids of every conceivable colour, Nefertiti statues and miniature Tutankhamen tombs. I also spotted a bucket of tiny oil lamps. I knew as I handed over the money for the lamp that it did not contain a genie, nor was it any more magical than the one next to it, but it would do the job. My sister would get her souvenir and I had experienced an amazing time at Cairo's most magical bazaar.