Stories about wonderful attractive places that will enrich your experience.

I will never forget the day in which I read a poem in one of the historic houses in old Cairo. That was the 4th day of an international festival of poetry and I was supposed to read one of my poems on the stage, in front of other participants. The way to that old house wasn't easy, and when I knew that it was in (Al Azhar) district, I realized that an adventure is waiting for me because of the ancientness of that district and its fearful alleys. When I reached (Al Azhar) mosque, I gazed at it for a while and contemplated its four grey minarets. My posture was suspicious to some of the unfriendly peddlers. One of them asked me with tough tone about my destination. I smiled to him to break the ice and told him that I was going to Mrs. Wasela house to which I was invited to read my poem. As if my smile turned him to another person, he looked so ready to help me till the end. He adjusted the collar of his shirt which had the color of (Al Azhar) minarets and ordered the teenager who works with him to accompany me to the house of Mrs. Wasela which is also named (Poetry House). During walking, he kept on demonstrating every thing concerning that district. He said that its name was derived from the name of the giant mosque which is in its entrance (Al Azhar) mosque, whose construction was completed in the 10th century. I followed him and was very admired by his tales. When we arrived at the house I thanked him for his respectable behavior. Under the fine rays of sunset onset that was floating on the old paving stones, I read the information that was on a board outside the house (El Set Wasela House. No: 445. A.H 1074-A.D 1664). Wow! It dates back to the 17th century! After entering, I felt surprised for the vastness of the old house and the charm of its decoration. I stopped for a minute opposite a large painting of Tagore. That is really a very suitable place for the assembly of poets. After about an hour, I was called to read my poem on the brown stage. I walked slowly because the enchantment of the place has affected me so much. I read a poem about the goddesses of Saudi Arabia in pre Islamic era and the participants were very satisfied with my poem. After finishing reading, I returned back to my seat and I was amazed when a poet from Czech Republic praised me although he didn't understand the Arabic words of my poem. He said that every language has a soul which can transport through sincere sensation. I smiled and began to think of souls of places.