Cairo has a population of 20million. That’s a lot of people. It makes it by far the largest city in Africa and ranking amongst the most overly populated in the world. From what I can ascertain as soon as your legs become long enough to reach the pedals in a car you’re free to drive whatever vehicle works and in whatever fashion best suits.
The trusty Highway Code is a small piece of literature that every UK school-leaver keeps under their pillow for months nay years on end in a feeble attempt to remember, when asked, the exact stopping distances in the rain or the snow of an ‘86 Xr3i.
The same book, however doesn’t appear to have been translated into Arabic as yet.
Driving in Cairo is anarchy personified. There are no rules and should you drive pretending to abide by any you’ll quickly find yourself screeching off the road into the crash barriers or 'parked cars' as they call them here. The trick it seems is to drive with one hand on the wheel with the other welded onto the stalk that controls the full-beam flash. You must be seen to be blinding the oncoming traffic whenever possible and, if convenient any innocent pedestrians in your line of sight.
The hand on the wheel has another clever role – that of the horn-blower. It is imperative to blow the horn at all times whether necessary or not. Meandering along in silence is rude in this place. It seems as though the horn in Cairo has as much use as a one legged man in an arse-kicking contest. It really isn’t used to forewarn fellow motorists of your presence or whereabouts, it’s merely something to press whilst the tedium of driving absorbs you.
Mirrors are equally useless and are seldom used or indeed pointing in the right direction. It would seem unwise to use them. This would take your eyes off the road ahead which, believe me is the only place you really want to look. Taking a momentary glance into the rear-view mirror would only highlight the kind of carnage you are causing with every passing manoeuvre.
There is only one way to drive in Cairo - as if you are trying to get your rapidly contracting wife to the hospital before she and little Herbert make a mess of the beige velour back seat of your ‘83 Fiat 126 Saloon.
So imagine you’re a resident of this fine city and, oh I don’t know have a 9am tee time down the golf club. You step outside your house and remember that you’ve left the car across the street. In the civilised world this would mean crossing two lanes of traffic in order to access the driver’s door. Maybe even press a button somewhere not too far away and traffic glides to an orderly halt for you to cross. Not here. Down your four lane suburban street in Cairo are at least nineteen lanes of traffic going any which way they like. Marry with that the inevitable 20million people into the scene with a few thousand cyclists, pedestrians, stray cats, dogs and the token rabbit and getting to your car might not be that easy. Any local will tell you just to walk and try not to think about it all too much. Easier said than done but the only way to go about things. The driving masses won’t stop but they won’t hit you. Because call them what you will, the motorists of Cairo are incredibly agile.
Next time you see Mildred trying to negotiate her ’81 Vauxhall Chevette into one of four spaces in Sainsbury’s agoraphobic car parks and getting out looking proud of her efforts whilst straddling a white line at an angle of 37degrees, remember what you saw in Cairo. These guys know their dimensions better than Doctor Who and, trust me they will not hit you.
So you step into the fast moving traffic and get beeped at – get over it – that’ll be the first of at least twenty-five beeps you’ll get before you open the driver’s door. The trick is not to get angry. In the UK we get so upset and angry when someone beeps their horn at us. It’s like the biggest insult you can do to a fellow road user. Your heart starts racing, your forehead starts dripping. It’s as if you’ve had half a dozen pints of wife-beater and someone’s just spilled your pint. Don’t let it worry you here. Take it as a friendly, ‘Morning!’
Brushing the fenders of at least twelve cars, falling over a passing cyclist and kicking at least one dog you make it to your car and hop in. No need to unlock it – you’re lucky to have a driver’s door that opens let alone one that locks. You turn the key/hold a bare wire against the metal frame of the door of your trusty ’82 Lada 1300 and within eight attempts the old girl fires into life thus blackening anyone within 30feet of your rear.
Another minute or so to find a suitable gear and you pull out. Carelessly you look in the mirror and see the image of half a dozen chimney sweeps clearing the soot from their eyes – not a good start. What did I tell you about looking behind you…? Blinkers at the ready, fuel gauge flashing in perpetual panic and customary box of tissues on the fluffy dashboard and you're ready to go cruising in downtown Cairo. No indicators required here. Just pull out. You’ll hear a dozen horns blaring at you but don’t you worry they’re just being friendly. Some might even pull up so close you can smell their breath. That’s just Cairo for you – it’s cosy.
It’s important at this point to get up to maximum speed as soon as possible. There’s no room for the dawdler in this town. Slam that Lada through the gears and put her through hell - after all she’s only got 176,000 miles on the clock and no MOT. Last time she was serviced was when she rolled off the forecourt in ’83. Since then she’s just been abused – a little bit like Kerry Katona.
Oh, maps are a no go. There’s not one single map vendor in the city of Cairo. There was one once but he was single-handedly responsible for more accidents than any other individual since Claims Direct started advertising on daytime TV. Satellite navigation and other such radical inventions haven’t really taken off either here. God help anyone who tries to pen a map of this place and then make it into a computer programme.
So you’re in the middle of downtown Cairo and you want to get on the ring road. You're in the fast lane/left hand side of the road and the slip lane onto the freeway is on the right - what do you do? Don’t look behind you! Don’t even look right. Just weave across the road… there you go – you’ve got it. I know the horns are drowning out Now that’s what I call Egypt XCMLXX but you're there. The slip lane then takes you up the hill to the motorway itself. Different gravy now.
The old expressions like that’s about as much good as… a chocolate teapot/screen-door on a submarine etc.have a new addition. How about… as much good as a white line on an Egyptian road...? Really there is absolutely no point in them being there. You think about the endless man-hours and paint it must have taken to individually paint the white lines around the roads of Cairo back in 1965 and to what avail? None.
On the ring road there are supposed to be four orderly lanes at any given time channelling the masses around their version of the M25. Sadly, the Egyptian motoring public seem to feel the need to generate a further six lanes of fast moving traffic within the designated four. So doing the math, that means there are 10 lanes of traffic at any given time. Add to that the persistent lane-changing the locals insist upon and it’s absolute mayhem. There is definitely a health and safety issue here.
The same rules apply though; drive like you’ve just received a call from the neighbour below suggesting you’ve left the bath running and her living room is two feet deep in warm bubbles and ruining her Jeremy Kyle coffee morning. You have to weave like you’re playing Mario Cart and in a similar vein you will bump into people alongside you. But don’t worry. It’s perfectly normal and in most cases it’s considered polite to have done so. Try that on the M25 next Monday morning and you’ll create a tailback big enough to see from the moon.
If you’re wondering what all the people are doing on the road – you’d be right to ask yourself. I don’t know. You don’t know. They don’t know. There’ll be quite a few of them milling about though. Some will be just hanging out on the hard shoulder. Some more adventurous types will be ‘having a chat’ on the central reservation. It’s perfectly normal – perhaps you can pull over and join them? It’s considered a standard place to pull over for a cigarette and you’ll be amazed just how many people stop in the middle of the motorway perched on the bonnet of their prized ’87 gold Fiat Regatta gassing to their mate about last night’s Cairo FC game. No one bats an eyelid either. The whole world (almost literally) slows down and swerves around Mohammed and Ahmed who are having a whale of a time chatting away in the fast lane. You won’t hear anyone shouting abuse to them – it’s seems as normal as a stray traffic cone on the M1.
Other sights to behold whilst doing 100kph in ten lanes of random weaving Monday morning traffic are road sweepers. Lining the central reservation and hard shoulder you will see old guys in long gowns out with a witch’s broom happily gathering up any loose impediments that might otherwise damage your already knackered motor. They seem happy as Larry doing their job and who are we to suggest that being a javelin catcher might be a less dangerous profession.
There’ll also be men in suits traversing the highway too. Where they’re going is anyone’s guess but sure enough throughout your journey they’ll be there crossing from one sandy wilderness to another in a $14 suit.
Stationary vehicles in any ‘lane’ will be another hazard to negotiate whilst on the highway. The motoring fraternity of Cairo like to call them a chicane. Worth keeping an eye out for them I suggest.
Many years ago I narrowly missed a six-month driving ban for reversing up the hard shoulder less than a hundred yards in a gridlocked traffic jam in order to remove myself from its clutches to use the lavatory. This occurrence you will see on almost every turn off from the ring road. Not just people reversing up from past the last chance saloon but people on the side of the road having a shit. Motorway service stations aren’t quite like Clackett Lane over here.
So having narrowly missed gown-man road sweeper, cheap-suit Charlie and the brothers Ali having a Benson, you swerve violently off the ring road at the very last minute losing momentary traction on someone’s poo and make it to the golf club a little late but hey, you're there.
Driving in Cairo is an experience not to be missed and although it will scare the be-Jesus out of you on day one, by day three you’ll be looking forward to it. A guy I know hired a car for the week and after day two he took it back at a substantial loss as he couldn’t switch from his UK driving head to the one required in Cairo. My advice would be to use the taxis. Be clear where you want to go and if possible get the address written in Arabic for them to understand. There are as many taxis in Cairo as bicycles in Beijing so leave it to the professionals and enjoy the ride!
I loved it.
