A Downtown Tale | Cairo Diaries
As I sit in my Madrid room pondering; flashes of my favourite part of Cairo fly by in my visual memory, I see the squares that have heard my shouts, the same squares that I have cleaned, holding a pitiful trash bag in one hand and gathering rubbish with the other gloved one. The same squares and streets that I have grown so accustomed to seeing them at Midnight with my father when I was young, that I couldn't walk the same streets twice in the daylight without losing my ways three times, at least.
Me and my (ever changing) friends have seen lots of thing on those streets- done lots of things, I've seen a man screaming with a bleeding gash laying on the street once while surrounded by ragged men, he was stabbed. And it's not like I'm special, ask anyone who lives there, they've seen worse than me, probably lived through worse than me, if they truly grew up in those streets. But it's the city's centre, and if you're in your late teens and start of your twenties, where would you go if it's not the city centre?
Cairo's Downtown is ancient, it has seen writers come and go, poets, directors, movie stars, rebels, kings! All sorts of fools, we -the fools- all had a taste of the beer at Cafe Riche, munched a sandwich from L'Americaine, took at least one photo of J. Groppi, marvelled at Windsor's grandeur - and the equally impressive waiter-, got sun-struck at Talaat Harb's square and ate koshary at Abu Tarek. And if it happens that whoever is reading this is a resident from Cairo and have got no clue what I'm talking about: you're truly, and in the most unfortunate way, missing out.
So here's an ode to every shisha smoken in a ahwa balady, every coffee served and every tea - accidentally- spilled, every thirsty artist's drink and every cigarette burnt, every fight, every rendez-vous, every insult thrown. An ode to every step that was taken by a legendary director on his way to his office on the 35th, Shampilion Street, Downtown, Cairo, Egypt.
Downtown:
Me and my (ever changing) friends have seen lots of thing on those streets- done lots of things, I've seen a man screaming with a bleeding gash laying on the street once while surrounded by ragged men, he was stabbed. And it's not like I'm special, ask anyone who lives there, they've seen worse than me, probably lived through worse than me, if they truly grew up in those streets. But it's the city's centre, and if you're in your late teens and start of your twenties, where would you go if it's not the city centre?
Cairo's Downtown is ancient, it has seen writers come and go, poets, directors, movie stars, rebels, kings! All sorts of fools, we -the fools- all had a taste of the beer at Cafe Riche, munched a sandwich from L'Americaine, took at least one photo of J. Groppi, marvelled at Windsor's grandeur - and the equally impressive waiter-, got sun-struck at Talaat Harb's square and ate koshary at Abu Tarek. And if it happens that whoever is reading this is a resident from Cairo and have got no clue what I'm talking about: you're truly, and in the most unfortunate way, missing out.
So here's an ode to every shisha smoken in a ahwa balady, every coffee served and every tea - accidentally- spilled, every thirsty artist's drink and every cigarette burnt, every fight, every rendez-vous, every insult thrown. An ode to every step that was taken by a legendary director on his way to his office on the 35th, Shampilion Street, Downtown, Cairo, Egypt.
Downtown:
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| Source: Architecture of Egypt |
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| Source: Architecture of Egypt |
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| Source: Architecture of Egypt |
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| Source: Architecture of Egypt |
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| Source: Architecture of Egypt |
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| Source: Architecture of Egypt |
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| Source: Architecture of Egypt |
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| Source: Architecture of Egypt |
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| Source: Architecture of Egypt |
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| Photographer: Ahmed Waleed. |
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