Whoever thought of dance floors? They're too functional. In Cairo, our City Victorious, people dance on, and in between, tables. Places with dance floors rarely become that successful, people do not compartmentalise their groove that way. The joi de vivre is a palpable daily drug, consumed irresponsibly after each sunset. S and I sat in Tamarai oh so few nights ago as Cairo's most eligible partied and schmoosed, and after midnight it was electric. But, I guess, that pretty much summarises Cairo, especially when one hangs around someone like S: a stressful, surreal, extravagant blur of parties, alcohol, cigarette smoke and socialites.
And though I owe S for the best night out I've had, probably since NYE in Madrid (or maybe even more), my time in Cairo did comprise of other endeavours. I head a considerable amount of red tape to go through, always the rude awakening to the Third World. I also did a considerable amount of "2antakha" with my buddies from high school and AUC. There is (what now feels to me like) an unusual amount of warmth between people in that city. I never thought after 6 years that I would feel so foreign, sadly.
The Cairene street has become an unfathomable, other-worldly war-zone, approachable only in certain times of the day. Still, I drove through it with nothing but nostalgia and yearning for the time when I ruled the motorways, when I was indifferent to the honking of crazy taxi drivers or microbuses, when I was able to drive stick-shift, text, yell on speaker phone and down a can of Heineken all at the same time.
But alas, back in London, life continues. Not that one should complain, there's plenty of madness here. Just not the warm type.
