Travelling Like a Local

I found myself standing at the entrance of a dirt street, standing among the debris of the horse- drawn carts passing me by. The air was pungent; the scent of death, decay and sweat wafted past me in the ever-so-slight breeze. The map did not show this street, the area was blanked off the map. I’d come to Egypt to explore the lesser-known areas; this was my chance to do just that.

Slightly apprehensive I walked into the unknown, ignoring the rancid smells, instead focusing on whether I would be welcome here. People began to stare, puzzled at the foreigner walking through their street, camera in hand. I wondered if this was such a good idea …. The buildings on either side disappeared behind bamboo scaffolding with rugs of some sort stretched horizontally across them; where on earth was I? I stepped closer and it became apparent, this was a camel-skin tanning area.

My curiosity overwhelmed my fear of intrusion and as I smiled in friendship, each face smiled back at me showing what few teeth they had left. Seemingly excited, the men began to explain the process to me. Thankfully, as I speak no Arabic, eloquent hand gestures accompanied their words. Some busily dyed the skins, others tightened skins across the scaffolding, some loaded and unloaded skins from rickety wooden carts.

Stepping into the darkness of the building, my eyes adjusted to the lack of light as I swatted flies from my face. Stacked to the roof, camel skins filled the room, some yet to be tanned and dyed, while others displayed a myriad of colours.

Further along the street was a mobile falafel stand, surrounded by older men seated on decrepit chairs at rusted tables. In Arabic and with hand gestures I was beckoned forwards to taste some food. The oldest man in the group ripped a pita in half and thrust falafel, gherkin, aubergine and hummus toward me. Each mouthful was so incredible, I ordered some more for myself. We sat talking, smiling politely at one another as we had no clue what the other was saying.

Settling my bill I was fully expecting to pay a ‘tourist’ price, but heart-warmingly it merely came to one Egyptian Pound. For dessert we settled down for a shisha, taking it in turns to puff. Suddenly the young cook from the falafel stand pulled the pipe from my hands, shouting at the older guy. It turns out you should check first that the shisha only has molasses in it ……