Now, here’s the thing. Egyptians don’t “window shop” like the rest of us. They don’t aimlessly wander through shops waiting for something shiny to catch their eye. They go to specific places for specific items. You need a couch? There’s a district for that. But where? WHERE?
The young receptionist, bless his clueless heart, had no idea. Then, in Luxor one day, a British friend said, “Why don’t you check the Golden Pages?” Yes, he meant the Golden Pages—like the Yellow Pages, but with an Egyptian twist. I stood there dumbstruck. Fast forward to my next Cairo trip, I asked the hotel receptionist for a copy. Nope. They didn’t have one. But he kindly suggested I try the Rameses Hilton. Off I went. They had one. But it was precious—no mere mortal could even lay eyes on it, let alone touch it. After some pleading, I was directed upstairs to the Corporate Services Desk. They had one too! But…also no. I could not have it, look at it, or even breathe in its general direction.
Cue my breakdown. I stood there, channeling my inner drama queen, ranting about how Egypt was supposed to be open for foreign investment, but how could anyone invest if they couldn’t even get a phone directory?! It was in the middle of this tirade when I mentioned President Mubarak. And that, my friends, was the magic word. The man behind the desk literally jumped into action, grabbed a Golden Pages from who-knows-where, and thrust it into my hands. I stood there, blinking, “F-for meee?” I could hardly believe it. I even offered to pay for it—no, no, no! It was a gift!
If you’re ever in Egypt, remember this: Don’t mention the president, in hopes of a miracle – those days are gone.
So there I was, on the train back to Luxor, feeling like Charlie with his Golden Ticket. But did my story end there? Of course not. This was Egypt. I spent hours combing through that directory, finding websites for promising furniture stores. I sent out emails—dozens of them! And every single one bounced back, their inboxes full to the brim. The phone was no help either. The only one available to me was down the street, and I burned through phone cards faster than you could say “Hello?” before anyone could understand a word of my Irish accent.
Did I give up? Not a chance. I made a list of places to visit on my next trip. I hired a taxi driver, spent two days and over 900 Egyptian pounds (which, let me tell you, was a lot of money to me – now thinking like and Egyptian – in 2005), driving across Cairo. The driver Ahmed – I can still see his face, bless him, could speak English but couldn’t read it. And I had no idea where anything was, so we spent the entire time zigzagging around the city like a toddler playing with a map and crayons. We either couldn’t find the stores, or they were selling entirely different things, or—classic—they had gone out of business.
Another trip to Cairo, another adventure, and still no furniture no sheets, no curtains – nothing! Come back for part two and how I found the SHOPPING!