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Al-Ahram Weekly 10 - 16 June 1999 Issue No. 433 
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Published in Cairo by AL-AHRAM established in 1875 |
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Al-Ahram Weekly 10 - 16 June 1999 Issue No. 433
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| Published in Cairo by AL-AHRAM established in 1875 |
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Egypt Region International Economy Opinion Culture Profile Features Books Living Travel Sports Time Out Chronicles Cartoons Letters Afloat on the Nile
By Paul Garwood
A houseboat with a view
photos: William Conroy
It seemed like a romantic notion that had no chance of coming off, but as luck would have it, it did. And because of luck, I find myself living on a river known world-wide, in the middle of one of the world's most amazing cities.
Houseboat living must be one of the best, if not the best, ways for a traveller to live for any length of time in Cairo. Aside from the Pyramids, what image personifies Egypt more than the Nile?
I may be biased, because I've only lived on houseboats -- awwamat in Arabic -- since arriving here at the start of the year. But after finding them, I could not live any other way.
A former colleague gave me some accommodation advice on my first day in Egypt. He said, "my old apartment is still available, I have friends who are looking for another person to share the rent in Maadi, and I met an Australian called Bill who said there was a spare bed on his houseboat. It sounds like a unique way to live, but I heard the boat was old and it could leak."
That was the first thing I heard about the boats. Even though the picture was vague, the prospect of living on the Nile sounded amazing. But I held out little hope because my friend didn't have a way of contacting Bill, nor did he know where he lived.
As you find when you travel, however, the most amazing things can happen. Four days after first hearing of the awwamat, I was walking down the Tawfiqiyya Market street. A hotel doorway beckoned, for some reason, and on entering it, I came face to face with someone who, I was sure, was a fellow Aussie. So in the typical antipodean way, I said, "g'day" (Australian-speak for "good day") to which he also responded "g'day". We exchanged pleasantries -- "My name is Paul"; "My name is Bill" -- and then, when I asked where he lived, he said, "on a houseboat on the Nile." This, incredibly, was the same Bill my colleague had mentioned. To my delight, there was a spare bed on the boat. The rest is history -- I've been living on the Nile since.
Kit Kat, near Imbaba, is where the 30 or so houseboats are moored. I've lived on two of them since moving in three months ago. In reality, they are more houses than boats. Sure, they float and rock with every passing wave, but that's where the similarities start and end. They all look like homes, have gardens and balconies and most are split into two, three or four apartments. My first home was one of four apartments on probably the oldest-looking of the boats. Being old, it had few mod-cons, but made up with bucketloads of character.
Of the eight people who lived on the boat all, bar one Egyptian man, were travellers from England, Australia or Belgium. In their floating homes, the tenants discovered a peace they found difficult to come across in other parts of the city. The maddening traffic of downtown, the hassles of commuting to Maadi or the high prices of Zamalek apartments were just not tempting.
In the houseboat, the tenants have a refuge from Cairo's traffic, crowds and pollution. You can actually find large amounts of open space by simply walking onto your balcony and looking over the wide expanse of the Nile. Here, the blaring horns fade away into the distance and are replaced by the splashing of fishermen's oars.
The people of the area make the life of the houseboats all the more fascinating. For starters, the tenants come from all walks of life. The houseboat community comprises professionals, students and easy-living travellers. Everyone has a story to tell about where they come from, and they do come from everywhere -- France, Belgium, America, Italy, Holland, Germany, Canada and, of course, Australia.
Your houseboat doorkeeper and his family also play another major role in your daily life. As friends, they'll do anything for you. But if you haven't paid the monthly fees in full (ours comes to LE50, which includes gas and water supplies and rubbish collection) then certain things don't happen: no gas or water, and the rubbish stays where it is.
As a visitor, it seems every day in Kit Kat/Imbaba is an adventure. Most days, I'll leave the houseboat and cross the road to the local markets. There I'm welcomed by the stall holders where I normally buy my food, vegetables, meat and bread. Unlike downtown Cairo, Kit Kat offers a laid-back environment. Tourists are not the same commodity in Kit Kat as they are around Tahrir Square. There are no travel agents or perfume makers trying to sweep you off the street for a cup of tea and a quick sale. In Kit Kat, there is plenty of tea and hospitality, but in return all you have to do is converse.
The best part of life on the Nile is the Nile itself. You can spend the whole day sitting on our balcony or looking out the window watching the river float by. All sorts of craft take to its waters, making their way to and fro. During the day, fishermen haul in their nets. They share the sunshine with relative newcomers to the river -- those of the rowing fraternity who belong to the two sports clubs directly opposite us on the Zamalek bank of the river. Looking north from my window, I can see the diesel-driven passenger ferry crossing the stretch of water from Zamalek to Kit Kat, while in the other direction a felucca performs the same role, but under sail, not motor.
At night, things change. The quiet vessels are replaced by those which wake up the entire neighbourhood and can be seen from a mile away. Giant belly-dancing boats, which look like a cross between a paddle-steamer and a fully lit Christmas tree, surge past several times a night. They leave the houseboats literally rocking in their wake. Until the wee hours, tiny pleasure craft drift along with music blaring at peak distortion levels and a handful of passengers singing and dancing.
Kit Kat's houseboats have had a long and chequered history. Much of the colour and character associated with them may be myth, but some of it must be true.
The name Kit Kat comes from one of the old houseboats. In another era, the area was renowned as a night club strip where the boats were famous drinking dens and music parlours. One boat was named Kit Kat. Over the years, the boats have been moved from one part of the Nile to the next. They were in Dokki for a time, near the Cairo Sheraton, and have since been moored in several other spots along the river until finally coming to rest where they are now.
Their future, too, was recently under the microscope. The governor of Giza sent letters to all the tenants saying that the boats had to go as the riverbank was to be cleared and opened to the public. The boat owners took up arms and won the battle. To do so, certain measures had to be taken, like improving safety, sanitation and garbage collection. Safety became a real issue for the awwamat following the sinking of one boat a few years ago, in which two people drowned. Still, the houseboats live on.
The one drawback to the Nile is the quality of the water. The temptation is often strong to jump out of your houseboat window into the river, especially on hot summer days. But equally strong health warnings recommend you avoid such spontaneous decisions. This is the sole problem, though, and it is a small price to pay for a chance to live on the magical Nile.
