As the electronically amplified, tape recorded call to prayers reverberates off the tall buildings of downtown Cairo, a few of the faithful spread their blankets near the entrance to the restaraunt and kneel to pray. The wind whips the dust around our feet as we step inside to a dinner of lamb kebab, brown rice and strong Turkish coffee. At least we’ll get a brief respite from the terrific noise that’s the signature sound of Cairo: car horns. Drivers in Cairo honk at pedestrians to get out of the way, at other cars, if they see someone they know, if someone honks at them, if they like the song on the radio, to see if you want a ride or because they think you’re cute. They honk because they can. The continuous roar of car horns flows through the man-made canyons of Cairo like a river. It ebbs and flows in volume but it never stops, becoming a background pattern we accept but don’t really get used to.

I’ve had to pinch myself because I can’t believe I’m really here. Actually, Mary Lynn keeps pinching me because I slipped and used that figure of speech. It has been a lifelong dream of mine to come here. The danger of lifelong dreams is that they often fall short of reality. But I’m not disappointed. On the contrary, it has been even better than I imagined - every bit as exotic as expected and the people are so incredibly friendly. That has made the experience extra special.

I’ll give an example of what I mean. There are three or four soldiers on every street corner, two in the middle of every block, four at the alley way entrance to our hotel, twenty or so near the entrance to the Egyptian Museum. No matter whether they are simply girl watching, cooking kebabs over a spirit fire or idly spinning an AK-47 by its bayonet tip on the pavement, they almost all stop to say “Hallo” or  “Welcome to Egypt” or even “What is your name?”

(I’m sorry, but from here on out I w”ll answer to the demands of th´´s keyboard and type ´´ ´´nstead of I, because ´´t’s so much eas´´er.) (Text corrected later for readability.)