“He left the coffeehouse at nine thirty and proceeded slowly across al-Ataba to Muhammad Ali Street. Then, entering the Star Tavern, he greeted Khalo, who stood behind the bar in his traditional stance….The excessive reliance of these men on alcohol was apparent in their bleary gaze and in their complexions, which were either flushed or exceedingly pale… after imbibing the nastiest, cheapest, and most intoxicating drinks available….Khalo brought Yasin a drink and some lupine seeds. Accepting the drink, Yasin said, “See what January’s like this year!”
-Sugar Street by Naguib Mahfouz
“Cafes in the European style, at which beer and other beverages are obtained, abound in and around the Ezbekiyeh, none of them are suitable for ladies.”
-Baedeker’s Guide to Egypt, 1914
There were a few seedy bars left near Tawfiqiyya Square in 1979, not many but easy enough to find. I entered one after dark and took my seat against the wall. There were no chairs and tables in the center of the room, only pushed back against the wall, so you had to turn 90 degrees left or right to have a conversation, which is hard. Maybe they came here just to drink, not to talk.
Most were drinking zabeeb, (a clear alcohol made from raisins, which the word also means, and which by ironic coincidence is also the word for the forehead callus observant muslims develop from prayerful head prostrations), aka arak, raki, ouzo, fire water. And eating soaked lupine seeds- tarmus- from a saucer, and when the lettuce vendor made the rounds, nibbling on fresh green leaves like a rabbit might. Hydration. Good idea if you planned to drink all night.
I remember ordering one too many and stumbling home much later by way of the right bank of the Nile. It was not the most direct route but it is hard to get lost from there if you keep the Nile on your right hand and head upstream, turn sharp left at the British Embassy’s old walls, wind your way through Garden City, cross Qasr al-Aini, and take a few last steps up Tomb of Sa’d Street to my front door, unguarded so late by Ahmad the Bawaab, who I would not want to see in my present condition anyway. He might talk.
