Egypt: Day Fourteen, Part Two

After this exploration of how religions coexist in this largely Muslim country, our bus wends its way through Cairo traffic, past shops, garbage and people sleeping rough, to a square that borders on the Khan El-Khalili Bazaar.  Adjacent on the square is the Al-Hussein Mosque, which is where Ahmed goes, while we shop, to catch up on some of the prayers he probably missed because of us heathen tourists.  He told us during the Q&A on the boat that he manages somehow to fit his prayers in during the day.  Which is amazing, given our schedule.  (His last name is Hussein, as is the other guide-Egyptologist, Jihan.  I guess that may be Egypt’s version of Smith or Jones.)
       We all head into the bowels of the bazaar.  Dawn and I decide to split off from the group and wander on our own for the hour-and-a-bit we’re given.
       Khan El-Khalili is a warren of criss-crossed lanes with shops on either side.  Most are open-air but some are arcades with offices or residences overhead.  I’m not looking for anything in particular, but I spot some small mirrors that would look good in my apartment in Montmartre, by the door to reflect sunlight into a sometimes dark interior, especially in winter.  There are none the size - and price - I want in the first shop, but nearer to the end of our bazaar-cruising, I do find one made out of wood that’s perfect in size.  Dawn and I also stop by a spices store to enjoy all the colors and aromas.  There’s every kind of spice you’ve ever known and a few you haven’t, all in barrels or baskets.

       A strange thing happens in one of the streets bordering the bazaar.  Shopkeepers call out to us, as we are visibly tourists.  And then, for no apparent reason, one of them calls out to me in French.  About five minutes later a second shopkeeper does the same.  To this day, I have no idea why they picked me out as being French, but as it happened twice, they must have been basing it on something.  I guess that will remain one of Life’s Little Mysteries.
       Dawn and I walk back and forth in these lanes for the full hour.  And then we need to find our meeting point, which we think is in opposite directions.  As it all looks alike up to a certain point, there's a moment of apprehension, but finally we wind up on the square again and our blood pressure returns to normal.
       As our bus creeps down a crowded street, there’s a shout and the bus comes to a sudden halt.  I see people running toward it, and the security guard jumps out through the door in a flash.  Sitting on the opposite side of the action, I have no idea what’s going on.  It turns out that a boy in an adult-sized wheelchair propelled himself against the bus.  It was probably a ploy to extract money from the bus driver.  When he saw our security guard, he evidently thought better of it because he’s run away, unharmed and suddenly not in need of the wheelchair.  A miracle!  Must have been all those churches.

Back at Mena House, we all gather together for one last meal in the big banquet room.  I must say there are some tearful good-byes.  Some of us have grown close over the past two weeks, and chances are we may well never meet again... with one or two exceptions.  At least a list of e-mail addresses is passed out so we can keep in touch.  I’m sure there’ll be exchanges of photos and memories over the coming months.
       A good number of my fellow travelers head to the airport tonight.  Others are leaving in the morning.  I and a few others have chosen to add on a day in Alexandria tomorrow.  So it’s to bed with me because... well, yet another early wake-up call.