“Another day and nothing finished!”
That’s the usual cry at the end of every day. At the moment our luck seems bad, with nothing being easy, and I mean nothing. Today was all about more ceramic. Most of it had been chosen and we were going back to make a “final choice”, that is really just to confirm things and then place some orders. Straight off there was a problem. The main tiles, those that will go all through the entranceway, reception, hallway etc. were not available and would not be able to come from the factory for one month minimum, two months maximum. So there’s the first decision – do we want to wait two months until we begin to finish the house (all the ceramic work, especially the floor needs to be completed first) – or do we go back to the drawing board? We decided first to check some of the other choices only to find that everything except the small toilet has the same time frame. So there’s no starting even the bathrooms.
Feeling rather deflated we had something of a look for some others without really finding anything that took our fancy, although we did find one floor tile in stock that could be OK. And found another that might be fine for one of the bedrooms. So putting off a decision we headed off to a couple of the other really big ceramic places to see if they had any stocks. We found 80 sq. m. of the main tiles at one, unfortunately we need 140. So that has prompted a big rethink – 80 sq. m. of the original choice will be fine for the bedrooms and the new choice will also be fine for the rest. One bathroom we can still have the original tiles with a different one on the floor, we’ve managed to choose, finally, something we can live with for the big bathroom and it’s in stock, although Masry would like white on the floor and I need to try and talk him out of it if I can.
We’ve also decided on plain white for the kitchen which will suit me fine (although again we’re talking white floor but I think I have convinced him that this will not be OK). I seem to be always harping about how easy (or rather difficult) things will be to clean but I suspect that Masry has never had to clean, ever, so he just doesn’t get it. And given how much I hate housework it’s pretty high on my list of priorities!
We’ve also been and chosen some fancy glass inserts to make the 3 bedroom doors (Masry’s idea and a nice one, the doors will look beautiful and not see through), and yes, the glass will take a month! Then a carpenter has to make the doors as well, but hopefully we can get those measured once the floors are done and then made just waiting for the glass. So one thing has started to be finished.
Usually by the end of the day we’re beginning to find everything pretty funny, often almost hysterical at times. The glass shop was quite late so the usual routine of Masry saying “You choose it’s no problem for me”, and then me choosing and him saying “This is your choice? You like this? This? This is very bad” and me saying “Fine, what’s your choice?” and the whole routine being reversed while the shop assistant, in this case female, just looks at us with some bewilderment. However, last night Masry said – no you choose - and went out for a cigarette. Once he’d gone the girl and I were talking (she had some English) and she said to me in all seriousness “You must remember, the woman comes first, first always!” That caused the day’s near hysteria in the car as I argued vehemently for her being the wisest woman in Cairo and Masry argued on the side of her being completely crazy. But somehow I didn’t exactly end up with my choice…. Maybe I need to go back to the glass shop for another conversation.
We’ve also looked at furniture, re-visiting some of the same shops but making a final choice on one really nice blondwood bedroom suite for one bedroom and a dining room setting with buffet. We’ve also looked at appliances of all sorts over and over. There are a number of brands that I’m not familiar with and they’re made in all sorts of odd places like Turkey. Better quality brands (say like Bosch, made in Germany) are quite expensive. I figure some of that will be sheer chance if I choose something good at a reasonable cost. Maybe it will take 3 months.
And today the kitchen design man didn’t keep his appointment so that went nowhere as well. Add to that the fact that we couldn’t get a park anywhere near a couple of places we wanted to go and you’ll understand that it seems like it might take forever to finish!
Lyndall
Monday 21 January 2008
House hunting in Cairo - 2
The last week we’ve been house hunting Cairo style – take 2.
This is one of the high priorities on each day’s “to do” list. This time we’re looking for a house, or rather an apartment, to buy. There are in Cairo, like anywhere else, “used” houses and new houses. We haven’t looked yet at existing houses but rather new houses and once again I’m way out of my depth – every aspect of this process has elements that amaze and astound me, and not always in a good way.
The most difficult part for me of the conduct of any sort of business or transaction is that women are excluded from the process. At first I thought it was just because I couldn’t speak the language, but I am learning that it is because often, in many ways, it’s considered not really my affair. This may be one of the hardest things for me to get used to in Egypt. Mohamed tries to include me as often as possible and at times apologises for “talking to the man”. At other times (and I’m not sure what the difference is) he simply goes with the other man to talk and I actually have to ask what’s going on. But he’s thorough in his discussions and finds out far more than I would think to ask. I really have to make the language one of my priorities, at least then even if I wasn’t officially included I would understand what was going on.
However, in saying that about women and “business”, Mohamed has decided that I will have an office and desk (or maybe we will share one) at the company, even though all the business will be conducted in Arabic and often he won’t be there. I can work on whatever I like while I’m there and will have internet access he says. I will also work for the company finding and creating tour business. Also designing a website I think and maybe other things. And when we are discussing offices and things, he always insists that we must make the decision together. He always remembers if I talk about something being difficult for me and later he will do or say something to show that he understands and will try to improve or change it. So I think, given Mohamed’s cultural environment and upbringing, he’s doing pretty well. He does work hard to make me feel happy and is always delighted if I say I am happy.
A week on….
Finally, we’ve found a house and made a deposit! I can’t tell you what a big step this seems to be for both of us, remembering that I have also never owned a brand new house, always bought from another owner. There’s a huge amount of work ahead to get it ready to live in but Mohamed thinks maybe 2 - 3 months.
We did decide on a place previously, in a new area with a view of the pyramids unable to be built out under current law, top floor and including the roof, new 7 star hotel (yes 7) going in about 600 metres away so property values would be sure to increase and the price was excellent for what we were getting. The house was large with 4 bedrooms and a study and felt really good as soon as we went inside. However, as we began to negotiate (or should I say as Masry began talking to “the man”) the price began to go up and up, then there was talk of not being able to take the roof and finally, the house was withdrawn as the man’s wife said they needed to keep it for themselves!
This highlights for me another one of the big things in Egypt, certainly in property dealings – if you can, have the cash in hand and close the deal immediately! This seems to be the only way to guarantee that people won’t continuously change their minds. We had exactly the same experience with the office – the price went up and up and finally the owner changed his mind and decided not to sell. And some places we went back to see again we discovered the price had risen. I am quite convinced that if you were buying unfinished new property you could turn a profit in Egypt with your money barely coming out of the bank.
Dubai may have 50% (or was it 25%?, whatever) of the world’s cranes working on buildings there and China may have most of the rest, but in Egypt the building rate is stupendous also, it’s just done without cranes – all by hand. There are new and partially completed buildings and new suburbs everywhere.
We looked at quite a few other apartments in the same new estate (between Pyramid Heights and Dreamland) without seeing anything that grabbed us. And we did look at one property right near the pyramids very close to what would have been the office. We call it the dog house. (All the houses have these sort of names given I don’t know the names of any of “the men” and their names are quite likely to all be Mohamed anyway, so we have the Friday house, the dog house etc. The 4 bedroom plus roof house was the dream house). But it was very expensive for what it was both size wise and finish wise. It was on the first floor and did have a garden at the back. However, I found it hard to get past the smell of dog (one large and one small). After not a lot of discussion we decided that the dog house was not for us, even if it did have the advantage of being able to walk to work, shops etc. So back to looking at new buildings.
Looking at apartments in new buildings requires stamina and caution and great imagination. Basically you are just walking freely into a building site, over piles of sand and rubbish in all the rooms, up stairways cluttered with debris and not a rail or a light in sight, sometimes out onto unfinished floors completely open, some even without walls. Sometimes there’s a man to accompany you and sometimes not. And sometimes you get to visit the apartment that’s been used as the site’s toilet area so then you really have to watch your step (not a porta loo in sight and the letters OH & S would probably stand for Omar, Hassan and Sherif). The walls are just one brick thickness, there’s no floor except the base with pipes laid all over it etc., no windows, no doors, plumbing and electricity all exposed. For an Australian, it’s a mind boggling experience. My conversation was usually limited to “What, up here?” or “You mean, follow you there? Are you positive?” or “We can just walk in?”
Still, the plumber working in the building block in which we saw the dream house called again and told us that the house on the top floor but the other side of the building was also for sale, with the roof. Not quite as large (3 bedrooms, no study and one less bathroom) but more finished, all the electricity in and working and ceilings and walls finished to undercoat and the roof completed (with a very large pergola) except for the kitchen and bathroom up there. And cheaper too by a fair margin. So we went back and saw it three times, each time with the plumber talking non-stop and once to measure it up so we could get an idea of how much to finish it off, especially for all the ceramic tiles.
Yesterday we met with the owner and paid a deposit and we now have a very rough hand-written paper on a sheet torn out of a notebook (a “small paper”) to say that we have paid a deposit and now have two weeks to pay the rest of the price. Already the man has rung twice to see if we have changed our minds. I suspect he has another buyer at a higher price. The paper is interesting: if you don’t pay when you say you will you lose everything you have already paid – he will know nothing about your money. But although the man wanted cash (of course) he has agreed to wait those two weeks for us to pay the rest. However, if I lose the paper then he also knows nothing about my money! Once we pay the rest we will get a “big paper” that is lodged with the government to assign new ownership.
So the new house has 3 bedrooms, one with ensuite and balcony, another big bathroom, very large entranceway and what the Egyptians call reception, or hall, and what Australians call the lounge or living room. It is L-shaped with a balcony and the short leg of the L will accommodate a large dining table and also the office/study. There’s another separate toilet off the reception. There’s also quite a decent sized kitchen. No laundry – originally it was designed with the washing machine in the ensuite but it’s going in the kitchen. There’s 250 sq. metres of roof area with another kitchen and bathroom area, mostly covered by pergolas. Oh yes, and there’s the view of the pyramids. Total cost for everything, including all new furniture and appliances, will be around that of a small two-bedroom unit at home (Sunshine Coast) without a water view, maybe a little less.
So the house is settled in that respect and now the hard work starts. The kitchen design man has been to visit and measure and I have some definite ideas on how I want the bathrooms laid out at least (which will require some extra plumbing for the separate showers). I’m already just about “ceramicked out” and there’s still a LONG way to go.
And somehow, with an office still to acquire, I suspect I’ll be stepping carefully through a few more building sites yet.
Lyndall
This is one of the high priorities on each day’s “to do” list. This time we’re looking for a house, or rather an apartment, to buy. There are in Cairo, like anywhere else, “used” houses and new houses. We haven’t looked yet at existing houses but rather new houses and once again I’m way out of my depth – every aspect of this process has elements that amaze and astound me, and not always in a good way.
The most difficult part for me of the conduct of any sort of business or transaction is that women are excluded from the process. At first I thought it was just because I couldn’t speak the language, but I am learning that it is because often, in many ways, it’s considered not really my affair. This may be one of the hardest things for me to get used to in Egypt. Mohamed tries to include me as often as possible and at times apologises for “talking to the man”. At other times (and I’m not sure what the difference is) he simply goes with the other man to talk and I actually have to ask what’s going on. But he’s thorough in his discussions and finds out far more than I would think to ask. I really have to make the language one of my priorities, at least then even if I wasn’t officially included I would understand what was going on.
However, in saying that about women and “business”, Mohamed has decided that I will have an office and desk (or maybe we will share one) at the company, even though all the business will be conducted in Arabic and often he won’t be there. I can work on whatever I like while I’m there and will have internet access he says. I will also work for the company finding and creating tour business. Also designing a website I think and maybe other things. And when we are discussing offices and things, he always insists that we must make the decision together. He always remembers if I talk about something being difficult for me and later he will do or say something to show that he understands and will try to improve or change it. So I think, given Mohamed’s cultural environment and upbringing, he’s doing pretty well. He does work hard to make me feel happy and is always delighted if I say I am happy.
A week on….
Finally, we’ve found a house and made a deposit! I can’t tell you what a big step this seems to be for both of us, remembering that I have also never owned a brand new house, always bought from another owner. There’s a huge amount of work ahead to get it ready to live in but Mohamed thinks maybe 2 - 3 months.
We did decide on a place previously, in a new area with a view of the pyramids unable to be built out under current law, top floor and including the roof, new 7 star hotel (yes 7) going in about 600 metres away so property values would be sure to increase and the price was excellent for what we were getting. The house was large with 4 bedrooms and a study and felt really good as soon as we went inside. However, as we began to negotiate (or should I say as Masry began talking to “the man”) the price began to go up and up, then there was talk of not being able to take the roof and finally, the house was withdrawn as the man’s wife said they needed to keep it for themselves!
This highlights for me another one of the big things in Egypt, certainly in property dealings – if you can, have the cash in hand and close the deal immediately! This seems to be the only way to guarantee that people won’t continuously change their minds. We had exactly the same experience with the office – the price went up and up and finally the owner changed his mind and decided not to sell. And some places we went back to see again we discovered the price had risen. I am quite convinced that if you were buying unfinished new property you could turn a profit in Egypt with your money barely coming out of the bank.
Dubai may have 50% (or was it 25%?, whatever) of the world’s cranes working on buildings there and China may have most of the rest, but in Egypt the building rate is stupendous also, it’s just done without cranes – all by hand. There are new and partially completed buildings and new suburbs everywhere.
We looked at quite a few other apartments in the same new estate (between Pyramid Heights and Dreamland) without seeing anything that grabbed us. And we did look at one property right near the pyramids very close to what would have been the office. We call it the dog house. (All the houses have these sort of names given I don’t know the names of any of “the men” and their names are quite likely to all be Mohamed anyway, so we have the Friday house, the dog house etc. The 4 bedroom plus roof house was the dream house). But it was very expensive for what it was both size wise and finish wise. It was on the first floor and did have a garden at the back. However, I found it hard to get past the smell of dog (one large and one small). After not a lot of discussion we decided that the dog house was not for us, even if it did have the advantage of being able to walk to work, shops etc. So back to looking at new buildings.
Looking at apartments in new buildings requires stamina and caution and great imagination. Basically you are just walking freely into a building site, over piles of sand and rubbish in all the rooms, up stairways cluttered with debris and not a rail or a light in sight, sometimes out onto unfinished floors completely open, some even without walls. Sometimes there’s a man to accompany you and sometimes not. And sometimes you get to visit the apartment that’s been used as the site’s toilet area so then you really have to watch your step (not a porta loo in sight and the letters OH & S would probably stand for Omar, Hassan and Sherif). The walls are just one brick thickness, there’s no floor except the base with pipes laid all over it etc., no windows, no doors, plumbing and electricity all exposed. For an Australian, it’s a mind boggling experience. My conversation was usually limited to “What, up here?” or “You mean, follow you there? Are you positive?” or “We can just walk in?”
Still, the plumber working in the building block in which we saw the dream house called again and told us that the house on the top floor but the other side of the building was also for sale, with the roof. Not quite as large (3 bedrooms, no study and one less bathroom) but more finished, all the electricity in and working and ceilings and walls finished to undercoat and the roof completed (with a very large pergola) except for the kitchen and bathroom up there. And cheaper too by a fair margin. So we went back and saw it three times, each time with the plumber talking non-stop and once to measure it up so we could get an idea of how much to finish it off, especially for all the ceramic tiles.
Yesterday we met with the owner and paid a deposit and we now have a very rough hand-written paper on a sheet torn out of a notebook (a “small paper”) to say that we have paid a deposit and now have two weeks to pay the rest of the price. Already the man has rung twice to see if we have changed our minds. I suspect he has another buyer at a higher price. The paper is interesting: if you don’t pay when you say you will you lose everything you have already paid – he will know nothing about your money. But although the man wanted cash (of course) he has agreed to wait those two weeks for us to pay the rest. However, if I lose the paper then he also knows nothing about my money! Once we pay the rest we will get a “big paper” that is lodged with the government to assign new ownership.
So the new house has 3 bedrooms, one with ensuite and balcony, another big bathroom, very large entranceway and what the Egyptians call reception, or hall, and what Australians call the lounge or living room. It is L-shaped with a balcony and the short leg of the L will accommodate a large dining table and also the office/study. There’s another separate toilet off the reception. There’s also quite a decent sized kitchen. No laundry – originally it was designed with the washing machine in the ensuite but it’s going in the kitchen. There’s 250 sq. metres of roof area with another kitchen and bathroom area, mostly covered by pergolas. Oh yes, and there’s the view of the pyramids. Total cost for everything, including all new furniture and appliances, will be around that of a small two-bedroom unit at home (Sunshine Coast) without a water view, maybe a little less.
So the house is settled in that respect and now the hard work starts. The kitchen design man has been to visit and measure and I have some definite ideas on how I want the bathrooms laid out at least (which will require some extra plumbing for the separate showers). I’m already just about “ceramicked out” and there’s still a LONG way to go.
And somehow, with an office still to acquire, I suspect I’ll be stepping carefully through a few more building sites yet.
Lyndall
Wednesday 9 January 2008
House hunting Cairo style
Basically, it’s all about “the man”.
The man might be the doorman for a building, or he might be a man whose office is the street corner, who has a fistful of business cards and who spends a lot of his time with his mobile phone attached to his ear. The man, whilst he is most certainly a businessman, is not dressed in a suit and tie; rather he is dressed in a grubby galibaya and a pair of sandals, and he’s badly in need of a shave. But he is a man who knows other men: men who are doormen in buildings with apartments to rent, or men who own buildings and who have apartments to rent, or men who know even more men who know about apartments to rent.
Every building has a doorman, someone whose responsibility it is to be security guard and janitor and handyman and owner’s representative, (and tenant’s representative, seemingly without any conflict of interest). The doorman is usually your entry into the building and your initial negotiator and how well he negotiates on your behalf will determine the size of the fee you pay him when your have been successful in your attempt to rent.
We are looking in Mohandessen, which Mohammed tells me is a “very good” area of Cairo. I figure it must be if the number of dentists per square kilometer is any indication. We look at some buildings from the outside, none of which to my eye are particularly promising but I know that in Egypt the outside may hide a very sumptuous interior. Mohammed keeps asking me “What do you think?” and I really don’t have an answer, so far I don’t know what to think. I figure wherever I settle I will just have to try it and see.
Eventually, the man we are to meet is back from Alexandria an hour early and so we can begin to look at apartments. We move off the main road and into the small winding streets that are so packed with cars parked two and occasionally three deep that there is room, just, for us to move through with about a coat of paint thickness to spare. Blaring horns and flashing lights let everyone know who is coming though and vehicles seem to be accommodated with the minimum of fuss, although to me it seems impossible. We go to the first apartment, on the first floor up the stairs, and now I know what I think: “Thank goodness it’s not the top floor” – there’s no lift.
The man who owns the apartment is very nice but I can’t help but feel shocked. By western standards this is not an apartment that is ready to rent. The rooms are bare and small and I have to ask if someone is still living there – there’s food and dirty plates in the kitchen and toothpaste and toothbrush in the bathroom. In fact the whole place looks as if it hasn’t been cleaned at all for months and the sofa in the small lounge is very grubby. I don’t mind the street – there’s a restaurant over the road and I joke with Mohammed that if it’s any good I may never have to cook. Not that I think I could bring myself to use the oven anyway. There’s a range of other shops including an up-market supermarket at the end of the street, and there’s a tree outside the front window – I could lean on the windowsill in its shade and watch the passing parade. But I’m just dreaming really.
Mohammed does some negotiation but the man wants 3 months rent and a bond up front, almost LE10, 000, and so we move on, saying if we are to take it we’ll get back to him. We’d be moving on anyway. We’re not going to get back to him.
We pick up “the man” and begin our hunt in earnest. The next apartment is several floors up but there is a very small private lift. The apartment is bigger and decorated in a very overblown Egyptian style, albeit down at heel. The owner is an older man who seems very nice and there’s a young girl watching TV. Again, given how the apartment is, I ask if anyone is living there. Again I’m told no, but the whole family lives in the building, different parts of the family on different floors, so I would be very secure the older man tells me. This is a much bigger place, and although older, it appeals to me more. There are still a lot of issues dirt wise but I figure I can get it cleaned if I have to. However, I am sure there must be something else out there so although once again Mohammed does some negotiation I figure we’ll keep looking. As it’s getting on towards dark by now I also tell Mohammed that I can stay in a hotel for a day or two while we find somewhere, but he tells me in return that I can rent an apartment for a month on what I would spend in a hotel in 3 days. We tell the man we’ll keep looking.
Once again the handful of business cards is consulted, the mobile phone is in play and we take another drive. We park and walk down a narrow street and go into a gate next to a shoe shop. (Those of you who know me will understand the irony of this!). We meet the doorman and he shows us into a small ground floor apartment that is certainly much cleaner than others we’ve seen and looks promising. It has one bedroom, one living area, small kitchen (that includes the washing machine) and small bathroom, with a side “sleepout” type room that has another 2 beds in it. The floor tiles are ornate and the small amount of furniture a sort of gold rococo style, but I figure I can live with it for 3 months or so. The doorman can clean the bathroom again while we go and eat and I can move in straight away. I can only have it for a maximum of 5 months as over summer apparently it can be rented for 3 times the winter asking price of LE3000 per month, for which I also get air-conditioning and a chandelier. Mohammed again negotiates and this time we are not required to pay any rent up front.
It’s interesting to sit alone on the lounge while Mohammed and the men go to another room to do all the talking and have a cigarette. At least Mohammed asks me (quietly and off to the side) what I think, so that he understands how I feel about each apartment and what I might need. However I am very conscious not only of not understanding the language but also of just how much a man’s world this is. Mohammed is very much cast in the role of my protector and his presence and his conduct of my business demonstrates that I have someone to look after me and that I am to be treated with all due respect and care.
So this is to be home for a few months. I continue to sit alone on the couch and try to imagine life here as I wait while Mohammed handles all the paperwork; no-one has any English and of course the paperwork is in Arabic. I sign where I’m told and trust implicitly that Mohammed has looked after my interests.
The first few days have, of course, highlighted all the things I didn’t notice at the time (after 24 hours of flying and a day of driving around Cairo). There’s some lateral thinking called for to adjust to life in my new home.
As Mohammed would say: “Here’s a first”. There are NO cupboards. Well, a couple in the kitchen, but none anywhere near the sink, none in the bathroom, none for linen and even in the kitchen not enough to keep the things you need to keep in a kitchen. So I have bought lots of plastic containers. It’s amazing what you can store in plastic containers.
“Here’s a second”. There’s NO hanging space of any description and so far we haven’t been able to buy any sort of a hanging rack. So everything sits folded on a shelf and I think it’s a good thing that I’m only into ironing things as I wear them.
“Here’s the third”. There’s NO way of keeping your shower from going all over the bathroom floor, and the toilet and anything you leave within about a six foot radius. But the bathroom is always spotless. Well, if not spotless then pretty clean. And while we’re on the bathroom not only are there no cupboards but there are NO towel racks, one small hook and one small broken hook. There’s one small glass shelf under a mirror. This will teach me to downsize my cosmetic and personal needs.
And there’s a fourth. I can’t get the washing machine in the kitchen past the stove and anywhere near the taps or the sink or the power point. I bucket water into the twin tub and when I need to drain it out it just gets to go out onto the floor. But the tiled floor is designed to slope into a rather large drain hole, so the kitchen floor is always spotless. Well, if not spotless then pretty clean. But once I’ve finished the washing “I have a fifth”. There’s NO clothes line and no drier. So I now have a drying rack but because it’s winter it takes about 2 days for the clothes to get anywhere near dry. But that means I have to get better at planning ahead.
And the last I’m still working on. There are windows along the side of the sleepout and along the side of my bedroom. However the bedroom windows are on the footpath (yes right on it like old Georgian cottages can be) and I’m therefore fair viewing for anyone walking along it if I open the curtains. So although I open the window from time to time I don’t open the curtain all that much. There’s also a window in the bathroom and kitchen that face out onto the back building, neither of which admit much light. And that’s about it in the window department, so it’s a bit like living in a cave and the lights need to be on all the time. But hey, that’s great encouragement to go out.
Oh yes, and thanks must go to the man for helping us to find me find an apartment. As we took him back to his street corner, Mohammed offers some money and a significant negotiation in loud and rapid Arabic ensues. I can’t tell if it’s too much money or not enough but I can take a guess. Finally, the money changes hands without any being added. At LE300 I consider it was a cheap service. But I’m pleased that Mohammed negotiates on my side.
The man might be the doorman for a building, or he might be a man whose office is the street corner, who has a fistful of business cards and who spends a lot of his time with his mobile phone attached to his ear. The man, whilst he is most certainly a businessman, is not dressed in a suit and tie; rather he is dressed in a grubby galibaya and a pair of sandals, and he’s badly in need of a shave. But he is a man who knows other men: men who are doormen in buildings with apartments to rent, or men who own buildings and who have apartments to rent, or men who know even more men who know about apartments to rent.
Every building has a doorman, someone whose responsibility it is to be security guard and janitor and handyman and owner’s representative, (and tenant’s representative, seemingly without any conflict of interest). The doorman is usually your entry into the building and your initial negotiator and how well he negotiates on your behalf will determine the size of the fee you pay him when your have been successful in your attempt to rent.
We are looking in Mohandessen, which Mohammed tells me is a “very good” area of Cairo. I figure it must be if the number of dentists per square kilometer is any indication. We look at some buildings from the outside, none of which to my eye are particularly promising but I know that in Egypt the outside may hide a very sumptuous interior. Mohammed keeps asking me “What do you think?” and I really don’t have an answer, so far I don’t know what to think. I figure wherever I settle I will just have to try it and see.
Eventually, the man we are to meet is back from Alexandria an hour early and so we can begin to look at apartments. We move off the main road and into the small winding streets that are so packed with cars parked two and occasionally three deep that there is room, just, for us to move through with about a coat of paint thickness to spare. Blaring horns and flashing lights let everyone know who is coming though and vehicles seem to be accommodated with the minimum of fuss, although to me it seems impossible. We go to the first apartment, on the first floor up the stairs, and now I know what I think: “Thank goodness it’s not the top floor” – there’s no lift.
The man who owns the apartment is very nice but I can’t help but feel shocked. By western standards this is not an apartment that is ready to rent. The rooms are bare and small and I have to ask if someone is still living there – there’s food and dirty plates in the kitchen and toothpaste and toothbrush in the bathroom. In fact the whole place looks as if it hasn’t been cleaned at all for months and the sofa in the small lounge is very grubby. I don’t mind the street – there’s a restaurant over the road and I joke with Mohammed that if it’s any good I may never have to cook. Not that I think I could bring myself to use the oven anyway. There’s a range of other shops including an up-market supermarket at the end of the street, and there’s a tree outside the front window – I could lean on the windowsill in its shade and watch the passing parade. But I’m just dreaming really.
Mohammed does some negotiation but the man wants 3 months rent and a bond up front, almost LE10, 000, and so we move on, saying if we are to take it we’ll get back to him. We’d be moving on anyway. We’re not going to get back to him.
We pick up “the man” and begin our hunt in earnest. The next apartment is several floors up but there is a very small private lift. The apartment is bigger and decorated in a very overblown Egyptian style, albeit down at heel. The owner is an older man who seems very nice and there’s a young girl watching TV. Again, given how the apartment is, I ask if anyone is living there. Again I’m told no, but the whole family lives in the building, different parts of the family on different floors, so I would be very secure the older man tells me. This is a much bigger place, and although older, it appeals to me more. There are still a lot of issues dirt wise but I figure I can get it cleaned if I have to. However, I am sure there must be something else out there so although once again Mohammed does some negotiation I figure we’ll keep looking. As it’s getting on towards dark by now I also tell Mohammed that I can stay in a hotel for a day or two while we find somewhere, but he tells me in return that I can rent an apartment for a month on what I would spend in a hotel in 3 days. We tell the man we’ll keep looking.
Once again the handful of business cards is consulted, the mobile phone is in play and we take another drive. We park and walk down a narrow street and go into a gate next to a shoe shop. (Those of you who know me will understand the irony of this!). We meet the doorman and he shows us into a small ground floor apartment that is certainly much cleaner than others we’ve seen and looks promising. It has one bedroom, one living area, small kitchen (that includes the washing machine) and small bathroom, with a side “sleepout” type room that has another 2 beds in it. The floor tiles are ornate and the small amount of furniture a sort of gold rococo style, but I figure I can live with it for 3 months or so. The doorman can clean the bathroom again while we go and eat and I can move in straight away. I can only have it for a maximum of 5 months as over summer apparently it can be rented for 3 times the winter asking price of LE3000 per month, for which I also get air-conditioning and a chandelier. Mohammed again negotiates and this time we are not required to pay any rent up front.
It’s interesting to sit alone on the lounge while Mohammed and the men go to another room to do all the talking and have a cigarette. At least Mohammed asks me (quietly and off to the side) what I think, so that he understands how I feel about each apartment and what I might need. However I am very conscious not only of not understanding the language but also of just how much a man’s world this is. Mohammed is very much cast in the role of my protector and his presence and his conduct of my business demonstrates that I have someone to look after me and that I am to be treated with all due respect and care.
So this is to be home for a few months. I continue to sit alone on the couch and try to imagine life here as I wait while Mohammed handles all the paperwork; no-one has any English and of course the paperwork is in Arabic. I sign where I’m told and trust implicitly that Mohammed has looked after my interests.
The first few days have, of course, highlighted all the things I didn’t notice at the time (after 24 hours of flying and a day of driving around Cairo). There’s some lateral thinking called for to adjust to life in my new home.
As Mohammed would say: “Here’s a first”. There are NO cupboards. Well, a couple in the kitchen, but none anywhere near the sink, none in the bathroom, none for linen and even in the kitchen not enough to keep the things you need to keep in a kitchen. So I have bought lots of plastic containers. It’s amazing what you can store in plastic containers.
“Here’s a second”. There’s NO hanging space of any description and so far we haven’t been able to buy any sort of a hanging rack. So everything sits folded on a shelf and I think it’s a good thing that I’m only into ironing things as I wear them.
“Here’s the third”. There’s NO way of keeping your shower from going all over the bathroom floor, and the toilet and anything you leave within about a six foot radius. But the bathroom is always spotless. Well, if not spotless then pretty clean. And while we’re on the bathroom not only are there no cupboards but there are NO towel racks, one small hook and one small broken hook. There’s one small glass shelf under a mirror. This will teach me to downsize my cosmetic and personal needs.
And there’s a fourth. I can’t get the washing machine in the kitchen past the stove and anywhere near the taps or the sink or the power point. I bucket water into the twin tub and when I need to drain it out it just gets to go out onto the floor. But the tiled floor is designed to slope into a rather large drain hole, so the kitchen floor is always spotless. Well, if not spotless then pretty clean. But once I’ve finished the washing “I have a fifth”. There’s NO clothes line and no drier. So I now have a drying rack but because it’s winter it takes about 2 days for the clothes to get anywhere near dry. But that means I have to get better at planning ahead.
And the last I’m still working on. There are windows along the side of the sleepout and along the side of my bedroom. However the bedroom windows are on the footpath (yes right on it like old Georgian cottages can be) and I’m therefore fair viewing for anyone walking along it if I open the curtains. So although I open the window from time to time I don’t open the curtain all that much. There’s also a window in the bathroom and kitchen that face out onto the back building, neither of which admit much light. And that’s about it in the window department, so it’s a bit like living in a cave and the lights need to be on all the time. But hey, that’s great encouragement to go out.
Oh yes, and thanks must go to the man for helping us to find me find an apartment. As we took him back to his street corner, Mohammed offers some money and a significant negotiation in loud and rapid Arabic ensues. I can’t tell if it’s too much money or not enough but I can take a guess. Finally, the money changes hands without any being added. At LE300 I consider it was a cheap service. But I’m pleased that Mohammed negotiates on my side.
The first few days
Shopping, shopping, visiting the suburbs looking at unfinished apartments (all called houses in Egypt), getting some cleaning done and working out the washing machine system, trying to open a bank account and get a good night’s sleep, these are a few of the things that have taken up my first few days.
Every morning Mohammed and I set out with a list of things to accomplish to move both his business and mine forward. Every evening when he drops me off at home we have a small post mortem to see what we’ve managed to get done and what we need to transfer to the next day. The last couple of nights have almost resulted in hysteria. Tonight the conversation started: “So one week, and we have no new.”
Let’s take the bank account first. A straightforward task you’d imagine? Not quite so simple perhaps. We have chosen the Commercial International Bank as it has branches everywhere and it’s the bank that Mohammed uses so it seems easier all round. We get assisted parking from the security man outside as the cars are parked everywhere (and by that I mean pointing in all directions and several deep) and there doesn’t seem to be a space to be found. Past more security guards at the front entrance and check in with the man who gives you your number. Once we have our number we go upstairs to sit and wait our turn. We are about 25 numbers from the head of the queue but the electronic system seems to churn through them, at least the man at station 21 is churning through them. Soon we take a seat and Mohammed explains I wish to open a new account. So sorry, the account opening system is down today, not sure when it will be working. Mohammed asks him to “make a check” but a quick phone call confirms that it is indeed not working without any timeframe in sight for getting it up. We agree it’s best to come back tomorrow.
And we do, and we go through the same routine although parking is even more difficult as it is Thursday and the last day before the weekend for the bank, Friday of course being the holiday for everyone and for some Saturday is also. Again we get our number, even further down the queue. But Mohammed senses from the general conversation that perhaps the account opening system is “still bad” and a quick check with our friend at station 21 as he flits past on other business confirms that indeed the system is still down. As we leave I can be heard to mutter that I hope the system fixing people don’t take holidays.
We’re going back tomorrow.
(So now it’s Wednesday and we went back to the bank today – the bank is closed for a holiday!)
Washing my first load of clothes was an experience I haven’t had for many years, at least not in this way. Whilst I washed a few clothes by hand in Ethiopia, this was far more difficult. In a confined space I bucket the water in, wash, bucket the water out, drain the rest onto the floor. Bucket the rinse water in, spin, bucket more rinse water in, drain more onto the floor, final spin and then, avoiding breaking your neck on the wet floor, get the washing to the drying rack in the spare room. Then rinse out the machine, drain more water onto the floor and finally mop it all up. All in all about an hour and a quarter to do just a couple of days washing! I’m sure I’ll improve on my time – it’s a challenge I’ll set myself.
Did another load this morning – my time was actually worse!
Sleeping is sometimes another challenge. Every car that comes down the street, no matter the time of day or night, sees fit to blow their horn to warn every parked car and possible pedestrian of their presence. I have found however that it’s really extremely quiet around 3 to 4 am. Morning prayers are at 5.00 am and the mosque isn’t too far away. Then, no matter where you are in Cairo you’re pretty close to a mosque, Mohammed tells me there are 1000 of them in the city. And on Friday night there was a wedding. Wedding parties go from midnight until 6.00 am roughly, and include travel through the streets with music playing, and a huge procession of friends and family in cars, all blowing their horns, cheering and shouting. I’m not sure how many rounds the party made on Friday night, quite a few I reckon. And of course the footpath conversations pass no more than six feet from my bed!
But last night I slept well so maybe I’m getting used to it.
As for shopping I’ve now been to some of the biggest malls – City Star (largest mall in Egypt and second only to one in Dubai for biggest in the middle east), Carrefours (2 of them) and a couple of smaller ones. I’ve bought yoghurt instead of milk (although in my defence the litre bottle did say full cream milk); I’ve bought hand towel instead of toilet paper (surely you’ve all made that mistake at some stage); I can’t find the equivalent of SO many things, simple things like Jif or cheddar cheese; the Turkish made ironing board feels like it will collapse under me at any time (today a man came to the door – he collects ironing and does it and returns it – I suspect the ironing board won’t matter very soon); the only brand of washing powder I recognize is Persil and yet the shampoo shelf looks identical to home. And, given that we’ve been looking at new houses for me to consider, I have also visited ceramic showrooms, furniture stores, the duty free emporium and huge supermarkets that sell plasma televisions and washing machines and stoves. I’m almost shopped out to tell you the truth (and I know you never thought you’d hear me say such a thing) but I suspect that there are many places still to visit, especially once I decide on a house. And the list needs to get at least a few things crossed off.
It’s all part of the adventure of this very new life I have chosen.
Every morning Mohammed and I set out with a list of things to accomplish to move both his business and mine forward. Every evening when he drops me off at home we have a small post mortem to see what we’ve managed to get done and what we need to transfer to the next day. The last couple of nights have almost resulted in hysteria. Tonight the conversation started: “So one week, and we have no new.”
Let’s take the bank account first. A straightforward task you’d imagine? Not quite so simple perhaps. We have chosen the Commercial International Bank as it has branches everywhere and it’s the bank that Mohammed uses so it seems easier all round. We get assisted parking from the security man outside as the cars are parked everywhere (and by that I mean pointing in all directions and several deep) and there doesn’t seem to be a space to be found. Past more security guards at the front entrance and check in with the man who gives you your number. Once we have our number we go upstairs to sit and wait our turn. We are about 25 numbers from the head of the queue but the electronic system seems to churn through them, at least the man at station 21 is churning through them. Soon we take a seat and Mohammed explains I wish to open a new account. So sorry, the account opening system is down today, not sure when it will be working. Mohammed asks him to “make a check” but a quick phone call confirms that it is indeed not working without any timeframe in sight for getting it up. We agree it’s best to come back tomorrow.
And we do, and we go through the same routine although parking is even more difficult as it is Thursday and the last day before the weekend for the bank, Friday of course being the holiday for everyone and for some Saturday is also. Again we get our number, even further down the queue. But Mohammed senses from the general conversation that perhaps the account opening system is “still bad” and a quick check with our friend at station 21 as he flits past on other business confirms that indeed the system is still down. As we leave I can be heard to mutter that I hope the system fixing people don’t take holidays.
We’re going back tomorrow.
(So now it’s Wednesday and we went back to the bank today – the bank is closed for a holiday!)
Washing my first load of clothes was an experience I haven’t had for many years, at least not in this way. Whilst I washed a few clothes by hand in Ethiopia, this was far more difficult. In a confined space I bucket the water in, wash, bucket the water out, drain the rest onto the floor. Bucket the rinse water in, spin, bucket more rinse water in, drain more onto the floor, final spin and then, avoiding breaking your neck on the wet floor, get the washing to the drying rack in the spare room. Then rinse out the machine, drain more water onto the floor and finally mop it all up. All in all about an hour and a quarter to do just a couple of days washing! I’m sure I’ll improve on my time – it’s a challenge I’ll set myself.
Did another load this morning – my time was actually worse!
Sleeping is sometimes another challenge. Every car that comes down the street, no matter the time of day or night, sees fit to blow their horn to warn every parked car and possible pedestrian of their presence. I have found however that it’s really extremely quiet around 3 to 4 am. Morning prayers are at 5.00 am and the mosque isn’t too far away. Then, no matter where you are in Cairo you’re pretty close to a mosque, Mohammed tells me there are 1000 of them in the city. And on Friday night there was a wedding. Wedding parties go from midnight until 6.00 am roughly, and include travel through the streets with music playing, and a huge procession of friends and family in cars, all blowing their horns, cheering and shouting. I’m not sure how many rounds the party made on Friday night, quite a few I reckon. And of course the footpath conversations pass no more than six feet from my bed!
But last night I slept well so maybe I’m getting used to it.
As for shopping I’ve now been to some of the biggest malls – City Star (largest mall in Egypt and second only to one in Dubai for biggest in the middle east), Carrefours (2 of them) and a couple of smaller ones. I’ve bought yoghurt instead of milk (although in my defence the litre bottle did say full cream milk); I’ve bought hand towel instead of toilet paper (surely you’ve all made that mistake at some stage); I can’t find the equivalent of SO many things, simple things like Jif or cheddar cheese; the Turkish made ironing board feels like it will collapse under me at any time (today a man came to the door – he collects ironing and does it and returns it – I suspect the ironing board won’t matter very soon); the only brand of washing powder I recognize is Persil and yet the shampoo shelf looks identical to home. And, given that we’ve been looking at new houses for me to consider, I have also visited ceramic showrooms, furniture stores, the duty free emporium and huge supermarkets that sell plasma televisions and washing machines and stoves. I’m almost shopped out to tell you the truth (and I know you never thought you’d hear me say such a thing) but I suspect that there are many places still to visit, especially once I decide on a house. And the list needs to get at least a few things crossed off.
It’s all part of the adventure of this very new life I have chosen.
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