leans back into

I love Kheyameya for its shadows. It is narrow, cool, dark. The only light they get streams in from either entrance, and a series of skylights that dot the roof. (They can be seen better in some older pictures I posted on flickr here and here)

In this kind of light, you can see the smallest specks of dust. It makes the rugs, carpets, and tent cloth glow, where each store is nothing more than a closet that leans back into the ancient walls of Cairo.

After walking through the crowded market, the more garish stalls, and passing under Bab Zuweila, this here is always my favourite part. We see this man and he greets us, insists that we have a drink with him. Scorpionkiss has sweet Egyptian tea, and I have a lukewarm seven up. We see Sherif, the carpet seller who can tell you where each carpet he has is from - Al Arish, Sinai, Aswan, Delta, Sharqiya - by looking at its patterns and colours. He can tell us which ones have a modern touch, as he pulls out carpet after carpet, the camel hair itchy and doing nothing to lessen the heat of the morning, but he smiles, and laughs, and tells us in true Egyptian flare and hospitality, that his shop is our shop.

And in between the constant noise and movement and rush of an ancient market, there are these small pauses. Like taking a breath, inhaling, and letting it out slowly. There is quiet, a comma, or semi-colon, in a beautiful story filled with characters and plot, and the rise and fall of life.