Coasting on the tides of the world

You would have thought you could count on Cairo being hot, but it was a cool 15 degrees. Cryptic murmur of Egyptian Arabic all round. Walking head down and accompanied front, side and back by the implicit mass of humanity - caps, beards, skirts, sleeves, shawls, feet, wheels, donkeys - all moving in the anticipation of twilight and reaching Khan al Khalili. Just the three syllables had your tongue thrilling against the palate. Vague excitement of knowing faint outlines of pyramids were on the dusky horizon, yet unseen.

In the orange light of street lamps, strong gusts sent long veils into wanton quivers. Outlines of domes and minarets glowing neon. An undulating piece of calligraphy smacking green. The evening call to prayer was scratched and thin, its haunting almost-melody stretching long into deepening light.

Bazaar and alley shops adopted more alluring fronts. On dark shadowy pavements, spills of russet-gold light. Crafts and trinkets beckoned with their special night-time sparkle – carpets looked thicker, richer - amulets shone more burnished silver - amber and turquoise came alive with added fire – fairy lights glowed in whimsical bottles, cradling perfume elixirs.

Sounds of glass, utensils, conversation - overflowing from fluorescent-lit cafes. Water bubbled gregariously in glass jars, diligently transporting smoke up faded hoses. The artificial sweet fruity smoke formed a grey-white screen where faces grew relaxed, hooded. Stares transfixed on charcoal embers, mosaic tiles, memories inside. Exhales travelled deep into the dark, the intoxicating scent a distinct weave in the Arabian night.

A hot sip of sweet black tea, a tentative look round the bustling café. Almost all faces of men. Pay a bit more attention to discern the ambiguous shapes of women. A baby girl with huge eyes staring from the next table, yet trying to disappear into the tent of her mother’s veil.