Affordable disillusionment
Youssef Rakha explores alternative summers
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The Qasr Ra's Al-Tin café encapsulates a particularly unlikely version of summer in Alexandria. Owner Arafa sits at the back, overseeing this truly memorable place
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For millions of Egyptians summer is synonymous with Alexandria; many spend time in the city proper rather than the satellite beach resorts that surround it. Yet very few venture out into Bahari, the older, more blue-collar half of the city. One consequence of Bahari's relative obscurity is that it retains colourful associations that no longer hold true. The image of melaya laff-clad women in Zanqet Al-Settat, with Ibn Hamido, the bambouti (stereotypical stevedore, pl. bambouteya), hanging about at a seaside café, no longer has any basis in reality. Nonetheless, along with a particular turn of phrase, a fiery temperament and a vociferous sense of identity, it is this image that, in the public mind, characterises Bahari, the land of vernacular poet Bairam El-Tonsi and musical genius Sayed Darwish -- both icons of an age in which, against the backdrop of the 1919 Revolution, such sights and sounds were at a historical zenith. Present-day Bahari is rather another place.
Seeking out the older Bahari can prove frustrating, an anticlimactic encounter in which reality appears far less romantic than the collective imagination suggests. The Qasr Ra's Al-Tin café, an unacknowledged landmark of that neighbourhood of Bahari closest to the main corniche, Ra's Al-Tin, is a prime example of this. Founded in 1936 opposite the Bahari shoreline and within walking distance of both the docks and the Sidi Al-Mursi Abul- Abbas Mosque, not to mention the once royal, now presidential palace of the same name, the establishment initially evokes anachronistic visions of a long extinct Alexandria, with traditional stevedore dress, laughing youths and tumultuous disputes centred around a game of cards -- or possibly the elaborately dressed women of legendary beauty shopping in the stalls nearby. Upon reaching the café, however, one encounters a reality startlingly divergent from the imagined Alexandria of yore. Fortunately, the modern Bahari is no less interesting for being so.
Old, weathered, old: although renovated four times since first opening -- the last time, to coincide with the opening of the Bibliotheca Alexandrina less than a year ago -- the café exudes, principally, a sense of age. Flanked by white-washed patios, the somewhat cramped space, with its fluorescent lights and off-white palette, is arbitrarily divided by a series of walls covered entirely with wood- framed mirrors. The oversized counter is flanked by two refrigerators; one side of the wall behind it has old, elaborately patterned tiles in place of the smaller, white tiles to be found in this part of most traditional cafés. Slim shishas with clouded glass line two shelves located near the ceiling. The predominantly old clientele seem weary, ponderous. Dressed mostly in shirts and trousers, they go quietly about their intermittent conversations, playing dominoes or backgammon rather than cards. Occasionally, a drink is wordlessly placed on a table. From here, the Mediterranean is imperceptible.
Ever since he was growing up, one customer explains, this venue was the place to be. It was his father's café of choice, and being there with the old man and his neighbour- friends -- in effect surrogate uncles -- would make him feel like an adult. This customer loyally insists that he cannot imagine himself spending much time in any other café. Here, he explains, he knows everyone; others who have gathered around enthusiastically second this view. The café is like a second home, another customer fondly points out. Everyone in the entire neighbourhood used to know everyone else; but even now, when this is no longer true, at least one group of older residents maintains the tradition of neighbourly interaction, meeting regularly at this café.
The two waiters and their teenage assistant are arguably the most sociable people present. Both waiters have been working here for many years, and are residents of the community. They love the place, of course, and feel profoundly connected with it. But the two prefer a down-to-earth, objective approach to describing it. They mention other, more sophisticated, career-advancing alternatives, and complain about the limitations of their job. But neither will even consider for an instant working somewhere else. Their bond with the customers is too strong for financial concerns to easily break, and nothing will undermine their sense of belonging. Bahari is the soul of Alexandria, the teenager is eager to point out. Without walking by Sidi Al-Mursi, perhaps participating in one of the popular moulid games available there throughout the summer, you cannot claim to have been to Alexandria. "Afterwards," he advises, "you can walk by the corniche for a little while and then come here and have a soft drink, and enjoy yourself."
The owner and manager, Mohamed Ahmed Arafa, 68, is as quiet and phlegmatic as his customers -- mostly neighbours and, by now, friends. Established by his grandfather, the café was passed down to him through his father; after his death Arafa abandoned his career as an accountant to run the café full-time. Even so, he requires the help of three younger brothers, since the café opens at eight in the morning and does not shut until one the next day. Constantly complaining about the tax man, Arafa reveals few details about the café. Some 20 cafés have opened near by, he says, their founders thinking this a profitable business. In fact, as a money-making venture, the café is hardly ideal. "All through winter there is very little business," Arafa insists. "And even in summer people stay at home to watch satellite television." The café's own television has been removed, replaced by the time-honoured radio; knowing his niche, Arafa offers only the basics, tea, coffee and shisha.
"I know all my clients by name, they are like family. And if they don't show up," he adds, "I ask after them." The busiest times are Thursday evening and the few hours after the Friday prayers. The café once served as the neighbourhood's principal gathering place and, for a long while, as a television-watching venue. With only the few faithful clients, who preserve a sense of identity with the café and its owner -- "even they, mind you, do not come as often as they used to" -- neither function is viable today. Arafa does not remember the café as a bambouteya meeting spot, but he regrets the disappearance of the atmosphere associated with the docks. "This was always a respectable venue. But the whole neighbourhood has lost its flavour." The more Arafa speaks, the more the establishment's true identity as a private club of sorts for older residents of Ra's Al- Tin emerges-- a secret, exclusive refuge.
Outside, the sea is still out of sight. People come and go, flocking to and from a handful of newer cafés. Bahari is boisterous and vibrant, leaving one with the impression of having just left a monastery or place of worship. By the time one has reached Alexandria's main corniche, however, one thing is clear: a summer spent in Bahari is sufficient to dispel any preconceived notions about that precious and integral part of a city of many faces.
