The glorious past
Maybe it's the lack of speaking Icelandic but to my surprise I feel like writing this in English.
I guess there's no harm in doing it once in a while, so that other people besides my Icelandic friends and family can understand my experiences here in Egypt.
Yesterday I went to (one of many) family dinners - which is actually somewhere in between lunch and dinner but everything is called lunch if it's a big meal, no matter what time it is. The same goes for dinner. Confusing? Someone might invite you for dinner in the afternoon and lunch in the evening.
I've given up trying to understand this and trying to understand timings here. There is no timing for anything.
So yes, time in Egypt means something else.
Time came to my mind during dinner yesterday. Or was it lunch?
Sitting in an old living room, looking at the old furniture, old balcony with newly added windows, sliding doors and rooms hidden with curtains, it certainly feels like stepping into another world.
A world where IKEA does not exist or where wifi is an alien thing.
Why would you need it anyway when the big piece of art on the wall in the dining room is handmade with pearls and beads and beautifully sown horses?
When the lamp is a carefully designed Asian statue and the carpets have seen more years than you in your lifetime (times two).
Sitting in the balcony room overlooking the street, the older people complained about the changes. All old people do that. Well, all people do that. I do that.
There used to be a tramway there. Now, there is a bridge over there, too many cars and a silly traffic island in the middle of the road.
My question initially was.. and? And that is a bad thing because?
I realised later it wasn't a bad thing, necessarily.
But for that generation, the tramways reminded them of the past. A glorious past when Cairo was clean and metropolitan. In my eyes Cairo is always glorious. In it's own charming way.
But for them it means something different. It's a world that is not coming back. The black and white Cairo. Cairo in sepia tones. The Cairo of the beiks and the pashas and the madames and the misses.
I love Cairo. I love the chaos here. I definitely find it charming. However, I can understand they miss it. Hopefully, moving on, Cairo will be able to hold on to that glorious past and mix it with the clutter and noise there is here already today. I'd like to stay optimistic anyway.
I guess there's no harm in doing it once in a while, so that other people besides my Icelandic friends and family can understand my experiences here in Egypt.
Yesterday I went to (one of many) family dinners - which is actually somewhere in between lunch and dinner but everything is called lunch if it's a big meal, no matter what time it is. The same goes for dinner. Confusing? Someone might invite you for dinner in the afternoon and lunch in the evening.
I've given up trying to understand this and trying to understand timings here. There is no timing for anything.
I'm almost there. I'll be with you in one minute.
This means five minutes, at least.
I'm five minutes away.
This, probably is more like 20-25 minutes.
I'm on my way, not far from you, maybe 10 minutes?
I.e. I actually still haven't left home but if I tell you the truth you will yell at me.
Sitting in an old living room, looking at the old furniture, old balcony with newly added windows, sliding doors and rooms hidden with curtains, it certainly feels like stepping into another world.
A world where IKEA does not exist or where wifi is an alien thing.
Why would you need it anyway when the big piece of art on the wall in the dining room is handmade with pearls and beads and beautifully sown horses?
When the lamp is a carefully designed Asian statue and the carpets have seen more years than you in your lifetime (times two).
Sitting in the balcony room overlooking the street, the older people complained about the changes. All old people do that. Well, all people do that. I do that.
There used to be a tramway there. Now, there is a bridge over there, too many cars and a silly traffic island in the middle of the road.
My question initially was.. and? And that is a bad thing because?
I realised later it wasn't a bad thing, necessarily.
But for that generation, the tramways reminded them of the past. A glorious past when Cairo was clean and metropolitan. In my eyes Cairo is always glorious. In it's own charming way.
But for them it means something different. It's a world that is not coming back. The black and white Cairo. Cairo in sepia tones. The Cairo of the beiks and the pashas and the madames and the misses.
I love Cairo. I love the chaos here. I definitely find it charming. However, I can understand they miss it. Hopefully, moving on, Cairo will be able to hold on to that glorious past and mix it with the clutter and noise there is here already today. I'd like to stay optimistic anyway.
Comments