A tribute to Jeremy Atiyah - the first
travel editor of 'The Independent on Sunday'
Jeremy Atiyah (30/12/62 to 12/04/06 ),
died suddenly last month while walking in Umbria .
Here we publish the last piece he wrote for these pages, a humorous tale from
his travels in Egypt
From the back seat of a Mercedes, in
the mother of cities, I am looking for an obelisk. "Slow down!" I
shout, as we swerve between a group of schoolgirls and a line of parked
vehicles. My driver calmly reminds me that we are on an urgent mission: to find
relics of the city of On, the most ancient of all the cities ever built here at
the base of the Nile 's
delta.
"But look out!" I cry, as we
accelerate to overtake a donkey cart. We are heading into the path of two
converging buses. Yet again, we emerge with an inch to spare on either side.
"Number One driver in Egypt ,"
chuckles the driver, as I grip my seatbelt and concentrate on the scholarly
words of the Roman geographer Strabo. "It was said," he wrote in the
first century BC, "that, anciently, this was the principal residence of
the priests, who studied philosophy and astronomy..." In Strabo's day, it
was already 4,000 years old, and all he found was a mound and a few stones.
Might any of these stones survive? My
driver has assured me that they do: there is an obelisk on a traffic
roundabout, in the district of Matariyah, the last surviving relic of ancient
On. Only modern Cairo 's
traffic comes between us and it.
On my first trip to Cairo in
1982, as a 19-year-old back-packer I had no map, guide or money. I saw little
beyond my mosquito-infested hotel, which is why I have been so determined to
make amends this time round, by covering 6,000 years of Cairo's historic sites
in six days (hence driver No 1).
Amid honking traffic, I recall the
sites I have seen so far, starting, six days ago, at the southern end of Roda Island ,
at the so-called Nilometer, the device originally used for measuring the annual
flood of the Nile in the whole of Egypt .
On a certain day each August, the height of the water was measured here: too
little foretold drought, too much foretold floods. Harvests could be predicted
and tax levels set throughout Egypt ,
according to the readings obtained. The Nilometer's tunnels have long been
sealed, and the well shaft is dry. But no cities here could have existed
without it.
Also on the first day, I made a fast
drive up to the heights: to the top of the barren Muqattam, the cliffs of bare
stone that impede Cairo 's
growth to the south-east. Romantic couples come here to canoodle in their cars,
gazing down on their vast, smoggy city. From these cliffs, the white sandstone
was quarried that clad the pyramids 4,500 years ago.
Dedicating the second day to Egypt 's
pharaonic remains, I started with the city of Memphis :
not quite the first city of the area, but certainly the first imperial capital.
From here, Upper and Lower Egypt
were united under one ruler for the first time, some 5,000 years ago. Back
then, it was the world's greatest city, with granaries, lakes and temples. But
all I could see was a mangy dog chasing a woman, and a bullock. Two hundred
tourists trudged diligently behind me, wondering what to look at.
Today Memphis is
a smallish enclosed park, littered with broken statuary, amid groves of dusty,
spiky palm trees. The foundations of the old city lie lost far beneath the
ground. I spent a day touring pyramids that date back 45 centuries, starting
with the stunning step-pyramid - Sakkara, the oldest freestanding, man-made
structure in the world, followed by the "bent" pyramid of Dahshur, so
called for the abrupt change in angle of its outside walls.
This was the true Egypt ,
down to the handsome, rogues sidling alongside me on the backs of camels. Did
madam wish to sit on a camel? Did I wish to have my photo taken next to madam?
Did I have any baksheesh? I gave them what they wanted."Egyptian
Cadillac!" cried a man approaching on a donkey.
I still had the pyramids of Giza
ahead of me. After 4,500 years, these have not yet lost their power to astound
and awe, even though they now stand on the outskirts of the modern city. The
son et lumière shows, the productions of Aida, the encroaching hotels, adjacent
golf courses, tour buses, "special price" guides, camels, postcards,
picture books, clap-trap - none of these detract from the experience of looking
for the first time into the impassive face of the Sphinx, with the Great
Pyramid of Cheops filling half the sky.
On the third day, I was ready to turn
my attention to the living city of Cairo .
Beyond the skyscraping hotels with their splendid Nile
views, much of the city seems to have been trampled into the dirt by the
supporting pillars of flyovers. Everything has been reduced to a uniform dun
colour, thanks to dust blowing ceaselessly off the desert. Much of it, in result,
is rendered invisible in the haze, hidden below the level of the roads,
disdained, semi-ruinous and forgotten. But it is there. When the Romans came to
Egypt ,
they built a city called Babylon
(not to be confused with Babylon in
Mesopotamia ). What remains of their
efforts are not only fortifications, but also culture. The city quarter now
known as "Old Cairo", built on the site of ancient Babylon ,
is still the Coptic quarter of Cairo -
the Copts being a relic of the Roman population, pre-dating the arrival of the
Muslims in AD641.
Old Cairo
today is not a lovely place. Coach-loads of slightly disappointed tourists
creep along dusty alleys of cement and bare brick. Wobbling clay-built Roman
walls protrude here and there, some conserved, others festering amid piles of
rubbish. One of the old towers of Roman Babylon stands outside the metro
station, but its base starts 10 metres below the ground. The Coptic churches
too are at varying subterranean levels, according toage. The oldest are
accessible down excavated steps and are little gems, lined with icons and
filched Roman columns.
The city of Al-Qahira ,
founded in 969, eventually became the seat of the Caliphate, and the largest,
richest city in the world. This was the fabled medieval Cairo of
bazaars, minarets and domes. Much has been lost; much continues to decay and
crumble. But splendid mosques and madrassas and palaces survive by the dozen,
and a connoisseur could spend weeks here.
I walked round the gorgeously archaic
Mosque of Ibn Tulun. I gazed upon the magnificent façade of the madrassa of
Sultan Qalaoun. I heard the call to prayer from the tiered minarets of the
mosque of Sultan Hassan. I smelled the donkey droppings by the Bab Zuwayla. I
browsed the trinkets in the Khan Al-Khalili bazaar. I even picked through the
litter-strewn alleys of the Cities of the Dead, medieval cemeteries inhabited
by the city's poor.
And I glimpsed the hidden domestic
world of medieval Cairo ,
with its secret salons and invisible courtyards, at the Beit Al-Sihaymi in the
Darb Al-Asfar, and in the so-called Gayer Anderson Museum ,
attached to the Ibn Tulun Mosque, where an eccentric Englishman lived out his
orientalist fantasies with a Nubian boy-servant in the early 20th century.
I saved until last the Al-Azhar Mosque,
the foremost centre of Islamic learning in the world where, in an atmosphere of
utter tranquillity, earnest young men lounged on carpets, reading their Koran
and debating in hushed voices.
On the fifth day I charged up to
Saladin's citadel, the massive fortifications of which have commanded
astonishing views over Cairo
since the 12th century. The main structures that survive here today are not
those of Saladin, but of Egypt 's
great 19th-century nationalist, Mohammed Ali. His mosque is purely Ottoman in
style, decadent and sumptuous: half-mosque, half ballroom. In the courtyard
wall stands a clock given to Ali by the French government in exchange for the
obelisk that now decorates the Place de la Concorde. "The French gave us
that broken clock!" my guide said in despair. "We are still trying to
fix it!"
And so I hastened, on the sixth day,
into Cairo 's
European century. The Paris of Napoleon III was the paradise that Ismail Pasha
tried to reproduce here on the banks of the Nile ,
with its palaces, legations, handsome Italianate villas, leafy avenues, hotels,
theatres and cafes. Dribs and drabs of this survive in suburbs such as Garden
City, home to the huge British Embassy. But 20th-century Cairo
expropriated most of what had gone before. By its end, the city's population
had bloated to 16 million, and the amount of parkland per inhabitant could be
measured in square inches.
But modern Cairo is
not without its pleasures. A million Arab tourists come here each year, to
visit its casinos and its opera house, ogle its belly-dancers, read its
newspapers, follow its fashions, and to eat and drink in its restaurants and
bars. I've tried to join them, drinking tea at Groppi's, dining at pavement
cafés behind Ezbekiya Gardens where grilled chicken and rice cost £1, and in
swanky Zamalek at Abou Seed, with its seductive music and sophisticated
clientele.
"What are you doing?" I gasp,
as my driver suddenly hits a speed bump at 50mph. "The obelisk is
near!" he cries, accelerating again. We are here, at the fabled
roundabout, the location of the last relic of On. What we find is not an
obelisk, but a notice, and a laminated picture - of an obelisk.
"By God!" he shouts again,
hurtling round the roundabout and putting three traffic cops and a donkey to
flight. "The original has been removed!" And Ibeg him to let me walk
home.
Abercrombie & Kent (0845-0700 612;
abercrombiekent .co.uk) offers four nights at the Four Season Cairo at Nile
Plaza from £849 per person, including return flights, transfers and b&b