Alexander’s City By The Sea

On arrival I have to ask myself why I am here. This is important as there are a great number of distractions in this city.

It starts as I am shown to my room. Since I’m only here a short while, I have booked into the Hotel Cecil, a luxury hotel known for its historical connections, Agatha Christie, Churchill, Noel Coward and Somerset Maugham all stayed there, and during WWII so did British Intelligence.

I am preceded by a porter through the red carpeted lobby to the brass-caged, turn-of the-last-century museum piece elevator with two cars paneled in lovingly carved dark wood. Once in the spacious room, the porter walks to the window draws the floor-length red velour and gold drapes, and with a flourish throws open the window and the shutters. The room is flooded with sunlight and I am invited to step out onto the balcony where I am presented with a breathtaking scene. The sea, a calm glittering surface of Mediterranean blue, is framed by a breakwater a line of dead white, the low-lying limestone and masonary that continues out from the cornice of the shore and encircles the bay. It resembles an enormous circle of blue water caught in an eternal white embrace. I suddenly see why blue and white were the colors of ancient Greece.

Wait a minute, I ask myself. Why are you here?

I step back from the balcony and recall that I’m here to look over the new Great Library of Alexandria. It was here that the Ptolemys set out to collect of all the major written works of Western history. By the time of the Romans this amounted to a million papyrus scrolls.

Second, I’m here to see if there is any interest in using modern made papyrus paper from Cairo to reproduce some of the ancient scrolls. This was an idea of my old friend Hassan Ragab, to recreate some semblance of the original Great Library. I have an appointment with Hossam El Deeb and Wael Mohamed in the new document restoration laboratory in the Library. I hope to see my questions answered the afternoon of my arrival, which will leave the next day for sightseeing.

My plan is brought to a halt on getting out of the taxi in front of the Library, which I learn to my chagrin is closed. My taxi driver is ecstatic since this means I will definitely have to use him to return to the hotel. "Or," as he suggests, his eyes brightening like a child in a candy store when told he can sample as many of the goodies as he wants, “I take you to catacombs, yes?” “No.”
“I take you to Pompeii Pillar, yes?” No.”
“I take you all day only a hundred pounds, yes?” and so the litany begins, and will continue every time I get into a local cab.

I dismiss the taxi and walk around until I find a Library guard. He tells me the place is closed, but, “Only until 3 in the afternoon." Since they stay open until 7 this leaves me plenty of time. I later find out they are closed because of a surprise visit by the President’s wife, Susan Mubarak, who has a big interest in and has supported the Library for years. She has motored out from Cairo with a fleet of Mercedes that are now waiting in the driveway of the Library.

To kill an hour or so until opening time, I wander into a coffee shop, the Café Trianon, an Art Deco beauty left over from 1905 when Alexandria still thought of itself as an extension of Europe. Since the 60’s and Nasser’s intervention it is definitely now a part of Egypt and the United Arab Republic, even though most of the others have gone their own way. Still, the men here are prone to European styles and manners. I saw one broad-chested male with a Windsor knot larger than any I’ve ever seen. The knot shortened his dark red silk tie, but with his blue blazer, white shirt and short beard he reminded me of a picture of the Prince of Wales, the Edwardian one, later George V.

Wait, there she goes. I stand on the street with a throng of several hundred Egyptian women dressed in everything from head-to-toe burquas, with lace grills for mouth and eye holes, to Yves St. Laurent jeans, Liberty scarves and Armani sunglasses. We all wave goodbye as Susan roars off in her Mercedes motorcade. Shades of Washington DC, where I have stood in the same way on countless occasions, always assuming there really is someone of importance inside that dark-windowed juggernaut.

I now turn and look at the Great Library. A spectacular building, all glass, white stone and marble. My feet, perhaps on the same ground that Alexander walked on, tingle as a frisson of pleasure sweeps through me.


Next post will definitely be on the Great Library.



© Copyright J. Gaudet, 2009, all rights reserved.

Take Me to Alexandria

Woke in a dark hotel room to the sound of a horse. Sounded like it was in the room. No, it was the rhythmic clip-clop of metal shoes on the street below. Rushed to the window and threw open the drapes - too late, the street is empty.

Last night same street filled chockablock with people and cars is now deserted as dawn breaks over Cairo.

I look out into the morning haze and realize there is dust everywhere, on the ledges, on the buildings across the way, the street below, and on many of the cars parked down there. Dust, and in the air, dust. Hotel manager at breakfast tells me horse carts with farm goods come early into the city to avoid the cars, so it was not a dream.

Traffic after 8 is horrendous as I start early for the train station. In the first jam I watch a man with a cloth tied around his head turban fashion sweeping dust from a patch of city sidewalk in front of a café. This must be a lonely occupation in this city. I take note of his broom, which is an exact replica of the broom used in the musical “Wicked” I saw the week before last in NYC. Great show, tells us things are not always what they seem. Whoever thought you could fall in love with a green-colored witch?

I wonder if the broom will fly. No chance to find out as taxi starts again with a lurch and dashes forward bound for the station, a lofty open girder structure on tall wrought iron blue-painted pillars. Reminds me of British RR stations with their distinctive painted and decorated pillars, and the nimble-brained Victorian travelers (S. Holmes, for example) who could tell where they were by glancing at the pillars.

We travel about a mile a minute, in 15 minutes after leaving the station the train has left the dusty city behind and is passing through verdant fields, all of which are irrigated, so the countryside is dead level. Gets to you, mile after mile of flat, even terrain, almost hypnotic.

We pass clusters of cement and brick buildings, most have upper stories unfinished, rebar and bare brick columns sticking up. Presume this is a tax thing, the unfinished building is not taxed at full rate? Beds and furniture strewn about on unfinished top floor, washing hung out to dry on rebar, residents sleeping in the open air under the stars. Can’t beat that.

Oh look over there, a dovecote, a house for pigeons. It is sitting on an unfinished roof. It looks just like those in tomb paintings 3-4 thousand years ago, mud plastered dome-shaped with holes and perches for the birds to go in and out. Museum guide tells me ancient Egyptians raised pigeons for food, also used them to send messages. Great idea, if you don’t like the message eat the messenger. Try that with your computer.

On the train a young woman serving drinks and coffee looks like Hatshepsut, wife and queen of Thutmose II, dark eye makeup, lip gloss enhances resemblance. Makes coffee for me on the spot in a small glass tumbler, from TWO packets of Nescafe powdered espresso! Adds a shot of hot water then whips it to a froth. I drink it forthwith, black, no sugar. For a caffeine addict like myself this is the ultimate high, eyes stay wide open and will be that way for some time to come. Oh thank you Queen.

Two hours pass and the Alexandria station looms. For no reason I feel it strange to note that it is an exact duplicate of the lofty iron pillared station in Cairo, except one faces south the other north. Both are painted blue and white as is also a tram that sits not far from the station. Realize these are the colors of ancient Greece. Appropriate for the city founded by Alexander the Great. Leaving the station I see a large brass bell at hand still used to signal train departures. Tempted to give it a ring but station master is watching me carefully. Decide at that moment that I should travel more, it really does clear the brain.

The Great Library must wait for next post.



© Copyright 2009 John J. Gaudet, All Rights Reserved