Manhattan: and a streetwalker's tale

Before Marrakesh, before Windhoek, before Kathmandu, before Dhaka, before Dakar, before Bologna, before Washington, before Paris, before Wellesley...

there was Chappaqua. At least for me there was.

Chappaqua, a town with good roads for bike riding and excellent bake sales. A town not yet made famous by resident presidents. A town where the neighbor's bathroom bidet was the source of much intrigue and "talk" (but I digress).

Yes, Chappaqua. That's where I spent years growing up. 

But on the weekends, there were visits to my grandmother in Manhattan.  It was during walks in uptown and downtown that she taught me about everything that was important.  About things that were right side up and upside down and knowing what mattered most. 

I'm back walking those streets again.  (Perhaps the very streets where my father walked Eleanor Roosevelt's dog, a task for which he was handsomely paid 25 cents.)

Exciting things are happening, and I'm sorting out the right side up from the upside down.  Sometimes, it's trickier than it seems.

 Image found here.

Cairo: a tale or Egyptian parable of Azza Fahmy's sublime jewelry

Oh, things might be confused and dark in Egypt.  But at Azza Fahmy........there is only beauty and light.

There is no Arab Winter here.....only eternally blooming Arab Spring.........

worn as a reminder.........on the finger. 

At Azza Fahmy, intolerance and fear are always better replaced by acceptance and generosity. 

There is no careless looting and burning, no not here.  Only careful preservation.

....down to the last detail.

And there are certainly no grey regrets about things that have gone terribly astray.  Only a multi-faceted reminder..........  

of a great people with a great history.

But perhaps the true national treasure is Azza Fahmy, herself.  

A point of clarity and optimism in a place struggling to right itself. {Please, let it right itself soon.}

Azza Fahmy

Cairo, Alexandria, London, Dubai, Doha, Manama, Amman (and other places where fine jewelery is sold)

Cairo's La Bodega: a tale of glamorous Egyptian dining and decor

I should have known as soon I saw them,  that La Bodega was unlike any other restaurant in Cairo.

She might have said, Expect glamour, as I brushed by her.  

And, of course, she was right.....  

Located in an old Cairo mansion, with all its fine fittings and fireplaces, La Bodego showed off remnants of a more romantic era.

Through golden doorways there was seating under crystal moons.......  

and a bar under a crystal waterfall.

All the beautiful people were there.  With a kiss kiss, they said hello.

And hung up their purses.

And (gasp) had an illicit smoke.

And then they gossiped Cairo gossip. 

The waiters could hardly keep up with the orders for chestnut risotto, crusted salmon, and homemade papardelle.

Or perhaps they were taking intrigue-filled notes culled from the whispered tales around them.

No mater, it was a shimmering night....

But don't take my word for it.  Next time you're in Cairo, come for a glamorous evening of your very own....

La Bodego, Apperitivo & Bistro

157, 26th of July Streat
Baehler's Mansions Building
Zamalek, Cairo, Egypt
info@labodegaegypt.com
www.labodegaegypt.com
+20 2735 0543/6761 or +20 10 523 2923
Reservations by phone only.

Cairo: and a tale of a man with {maybe} 2 or 3 wives - Part 1

We were driving, as usual, when he told me.

My brother died, he said. 

I’m so sorry, Ahmed, I replied.  {I knew that he knew a thing or two about death already.} 

He was my only brother, he said.  And now that he’s died, he’s left me his wives -- his three wives.  And all their children.

You have to take care of them? I asked.

Yes, he said.  I think I have to marry the wives. 

But you’re already married, I offered. 

Yes, he said.  But what can I do?  They’re my responsibility. And I’m allowed to have four wives.

I didn’t say anything then and he continued.

Wife #1, Hoda, she’s a kind woman.  She says I shouldn’t feel that I have to marry her.  But maybe I should.  Wife #2, Nehad, she’s a very good woman, very polite.  Even my own wife says that she doesn’t mind if I marry Nehad.  Wife #3, Fouzia, she’s very loud, very pushy, a troublemaker.  She’s Palestinian and so you know how they are. 

The phone rang then.  Ahmed looked at the number, his hand on the steering wheel.  It’s my wife, he said.  She calls me all day, asking me if I am going to marry these women. 

You’re not answering?  I asked.

No, he said.  I don’t know what to tell her. 

The phone rang again.  Ahmed looked at the number.  It’s Fouzia, the fast talking Palestinian one I told you about, he said.  She’s a problem! She’s making me crazy!  He exclaimed.  If I marry Fouzia, my life is going to be hell! 

He let the phone ring until it stopped.

He was quiet.  And then he said, Did I tell you….Did I tell you that Fouzia is beautiful?  Very beautiful.  You know how those Palestinian women are – that beauty they have.

We were at a red light when he picked up the phone and punched in a number.

Who are you calling? I asked.

I’m calling Fouzia, he said.  And then he smiled a small smile.  

 Read Part 2 of this tale here.