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Chasing the Bus
A Cairo Adventure in a Black Taxi
What fascinates me most is crossing the street in the heart of Cairo, especially at Tahrir Square. You certainly feel very young there. You are no longer an adult but a child, holding tightly to the hand of someone older and more experienced.
If no one is looking after you, you have to wait for a local and pretend to be their shadow.
But I had to cross that street early in the morning to catch my bus to Hurghada. Together with my companion — my big rolling suitcase. My dusty, old-fashioned hotel was just a few blocks away, and I figured that setting off three hours ahead of time should be more than enough.
And I was right. At four o’clock in the morning, Cairo is still in bed. The streets are empty, with no cars in sight. So I walked along with quick, light steps, my rolling friend following behind, and we arrived at the nearly empty bus station.
It was easy to get there — at least at that hour. I went into the office and asked where my bus would leave from.
“Number one,” they told me.
So I went there to wait. Traffic was slowly getting heavier. Soon, I felt as though I were standing on an island in the middle of a swirling, treacherous river. For a while, I waited calmly. Then I wanted to check whether anything had changed. In…
