Visiting the Markets Reveals True Egyptian Life

The action takes place in a small yard near the railroad station. Camels cluster on low hills, a collection of knees and humps and necks. They’d be laughable if it weren’t for the mean, suspicious look in their eyes.

Of course, they have their reasons. Men in sky-blue, ankle-length gowns--known as gelebayas --move around checking them out. Suddenly, one grabs a bridle and another forces a shoulder under a camel’s. Together they heave and push to get it onto the truck that’s backed up to the hill.

The men pull one way while the camel pulls the other, a test of wills with a great deal of motion--none of it forward--while a cloud of dust rises over the field of battle. Faces red and pouring sweat, the men strain with all their might as more men join the fray. Finally, the animal is shoved and yanked onto the flatbed, where it sits--calm at last, a disdainful expression on its improbable face.

This is the market in the village of Daraw, six miles south of the city of Kom Ombo in upper Egypt. The camels that are so unceremoniously loaded here are headed for the camel roundup at Imbaba, largest of its kind in Egypt.

At Imbaba, on the outskirts of Cairo, hundreds of camels fill several large pens, shoulder to shoulder in docile groups, lower jaws shifting from side to side like doors with broken hinges. Then two or three are cut out by herders smacking their rumps with long sticks. They bellow with rage, baring their huge yellow teeth, then bolt for freedom.

But men hang on to their halters, heels dragging in the dirt, and finally they are led to another docile group or to the street, where they mingle with the impossible Egyptian traffic.

An Egyptian market is the Third World in microcosm, a living organism dependent not on computers and fax machines but on the physical labor of humans and beasts.

In the Nile village of Esna, between Luxor and Aswan, just out of sight of a waterfront lined with cruise ships, a wide square is crammed with tiny shops and donkey carts heaped with produce. Women covered from head to toe in long black kaftans and men in white gelebayas .

Crates of tomatoes, hills of green fodder for the donkeys, cages of fluttering chickens, piles of sugar cane rise from the dirt. Great chunks of raw meat hang from vicious-looking hooks, and vegetables sizzle on primitive grills to be stuffed into soft pita bread for an Arabian sandwich. Just enough room is left for a meandering path filled with battered Japanese trucks, horns blasting, and the ever present shoppers who always seem to step aside at the last second.

Esna’s market, and others like it, are excluded from most tourist trips to Egypt, which usually follow an itinerary as immutable as the pyramids. Cairo, Luxor and Aswan are the three fixed destinations, each with a list of obligatory attractions. If a Nile cruise is part of the package, additional stops will be made at Edfu, Esna and Kom Ombo.

But what’s missing for most visitors on those predictable trips is contact with present-day Egyptian people. Very often, only a few steps away from the hotels, cruise ships and gigantic relics are incredible sights, sounds and smells, unnoticed by all but a few foreigners who leave the custody of their guides.

Every Egyptian town has its own market. The one at Edfu, about 40 miles south of Esna, even has a separate area for auto repairs, where cars that have succumbed to Egypt’s dust and suicidal drivers are resurrected by men hammering on ancient replacement parts.

But Edfu’s market puts more emphasis on clothing and colorful bolts of cotton. And because it is near the temple of Horus, a mile or so from town, it is reached by the traditional tourist means of transportation--a richly decorated horse-drawn carriage.

A visit to the Luxor market begins behind the temple, a couple of blocks past the tourist bazaar, and runs through the heart of a crumbling slum. In isolated spots--a storefront covered with gleaming silver platters, a row of stands piled high with oranges--the city is bright and colorful. In others--a man squatting in the dirt before a heap of dusty onions or children struggling under loads of sugar cane--it is depressing and grim. The market at Luxor is a learning experience, albeit a a painful one.

At the Aswan market, merchants ring a small open circle, shouting at the top of their lungs. Behind two boys who have spread limes on the street, a man waves a live chicken at the surging crowd. Women dressed in ubiquitous black fill bags with tomatoes while the salesman yells over their heads to the passers-by.

Pita bread, hot from a bakery around the corner, is sold on wooden racks. Donkey carts stand outside, and men dusted in white lift heavy sacks of flour on their shoulders. Nearby, in a dark room, boys ladle rounds of flat dough into the oven, where they quickly bake and are then pulled out, puffed up and hollow.

Early in the morning, before shoppers fill the alleys, a curious tourist peeks into the bakery. In a second, he’s surrounded by skinny and ragged kids who grab him and pull him inside. Grinning from ear to ear, they proudly give a demonstration of the ovens and the mixing vats.

One is motorized but broken, and a boy of 13 or 14 thrusts his thin arms elbow-deep into the flour and mixes it with water until he can toss a gooey glob into a tub against the wall.

The others, half the size of the visitor, shout, “Rambo, Rambo!”, and one by one insist on arm-wrestling the visitor, who expresses surprise at the strength in those fragile bodies. Finally, after many handshakes, the boys happily return to their labors.

Aswan, with its lovely long promenade, is a Mediterranean city, except that here the sea is the Nile. Not far from the Aswan dam, the river is wide enough to surround large islands, and dozens of feluccas skim the surface, ferrying tourists and local citizens from one bank to the other.

Two streets from the corniche, or river road, the market runs for many blocks, and throbs with an intensity suitable to a town that knows its worth. Tourists are nothing new here, and hard-sell is the order of the day. Bargains can be had at the Aswan market, but it takes the tenacity of a bulldog and a will of iron.

Cairo’s Khan al Khalili is the market to end all markets. Labyrinthine, unfathomable, only a small fraction of the market can be seen in the time usually allotted. Bordered by noisy, dirty streets and packed with people and animals, numerous obscure entries lead to an interior of neatly paved alleys, where the only sound is the entreaties of the shopkeepers.

These vendors of treasures and trash--gold cartouches and plastic scarabs, hand-embroidered kaftans and cheap T-shirts--give new meaning to the word persistence . Armed with a sense of humor and the knowledge that the asking price can be 10 times that which the seller will ultimately accept, a savvy visitor can come away with some very satisfying purchases.

Radiating from the Khan al Khalili in all directions are street markets that serve one of Cairo’s worst slums. This is a world where tourists are rare, one that sports images that horrify and exhilarate, sadden and amuse.

In the shadow of two majestic towers, oblivious to the beauty of the ancient gate, a man weighs, butchers and skins a rabbit for a waiting customer. A few yards away, an old man in a turban and gelebaya rents a videotape for his VCR. A woman passes by with a child in her arms and a designer tote bag on her head.

Elsewhere, in neighborhood mosques hundreds of years old, Muslims kneel on prayer rugs in vast rooms. In a dead-end alley, dogs root through piles of garbage under a fabulously carved wooden balcony, while around the corner, little boys play an uproarious game of soccer.

These and myriad other sights can stun a visitor from another culture, who is as much a curiosity to the local inhabitants as they are to him or her. They, too, will stare in wonder, though a smile is inevitably answered in kind, and never is there a feeling of danger or the fear of being separated from one’s possessions. For here, as everywhere in Egypt, generosity is a way of life, hospitality an obligation, and no one too poor to offer the gift of friendship.

GUIDEBOOK

Imbaba, Cairo

Getting to Imbaba: According to Hisham Sirry, director of the Egyptian Tourist Authority in San Francisco, best advice on driving around Cairo is not to do it. It’s incredibly congested. To get to the Imbaba camel market, about seven miles from downtown Cairo, travelers should hire a taxi driver who speaks English. Ask a clerk at any hotel to make arrangements. Figure on spending about $1.50 to get there. The market opens every Friday at 7 a.m.

Where to stay: In Cairo, hotel recommendations include the Cairo Nile Hilton (Tahrir Square, telephone 011-202-767444; $125 double), Cairo Sheraton Hotel Casino & Towers (P.O. Box 11, Galae Square, 800-334-8484; about $108 double) and the Atlas Zamalek Hotel (20 Gameat El Dowal El Arabia St., 011-202-3464175; about $61 double.

Where to eat: Try Ageeba (113 Al Manial St., Manial, local telephone 3632856), Christo (10 Pyramids St., Giza, 3873582) and Flying Fish (166 El Nile St., Agouza, 3493234). All are recommended for their seafood.

For more information: Contact the Egyptian Tourist Authority, 323 Geary St., Suite 303, San Francisco 94102, (415) 781-7676.