With those 2 pitas in hand, I walk around the square at Place Saad Zagloul and listen to the cacaphony of taxi horns, street vendors, horse drawn carts and the rumbling ancient tram.
Our Flat, on the 3rd floor of a collonial era building overlooking one of the side streets jammed with chairs and tiny tables for the tea drinkers and shisha smokers.One must navigate through the crowd to access the steel doorway into the foyer that contains our ancient, caged elivator and the residence of Ramadan, our doorman, and his wife and cats. The stairs are marble worn to a slope by the traffic of residents over the years.
And once upstairs, and out on the balcony overlooking all of this, one can pear down to the sea, and catch a glimps of our trusty expedition ship, anchored in the harbor ready for adventure, just as the ships of Ceasar, Ptolemey,, and Herodotus once did.
But did they start there adventure with a belly full of Falefel and Fuul?