One of the wonderful aspects of living and working abroad is being able to break through the tourist barrier, experiencing local life as much as someone born and bred in the U.S. can. As we approach the southwest corner of the Khan, our intrepid group is about to break that barrier in a very real way. As if to warn foreign tourists that they are about to pass into realms not designed for upscale sensibilities, two scowling Egyptian men sitting on a pair of crusty, very worn Vienna cafe chairs and drinking hot tea, are partially blocking the southwest exit out of the Khan and into the broad expanse of markets beyond.
We stop as we approach the two men. It is here that I realize that we are being followed. While in Mustafa's glass shop, I had been dimly aware of a young-ish, mustachioed and well-dressed Egyptian man browsing the shops around Mustafa's place. Now, as we pause before trying to exit the Khan, the same Egyptian man emerges from behind our little group, confidently approaching the tea-drinking fellows that guard the southwestern edge of the tourist bazaar. I catch of whiff of spicy bay-rum as the man passes me, and much to my surprise, I also notice the barrel of a very large handgun protruding from underneath his neatly pressed shirt. He shakes hands with the two tea-drinkers, kissing them both, first on the left check and then the right; they all know each other. Pleasantries exchanged, the two tea-drinkers, now smiling, allow our group to pass.
I ask one of our group leaders about what has just transpired. The two tea-drinkers are indeed a type of Egyptian security detail, put in place to ensure that tourists visiting the Khan do not stray too far from the rectangular area that has been informally designated for them. Our mustachioed mystery man is an off-duty police officer who spends his off days in the Khan providing discrete security for groups of tourists. He has been with our group since we entered the Khan, and I didn't even know it. He will be our chaperon as we troll the local bazaars, and he will ensure that nothing bad happens to us. At the end of our journey, our group will thank him and pay him a couple of hundred Egyptian pounds (about $30) for his services. This is more than he earns in a two week period of time on the police force.
We head south, walking briskly down a bustling thoroughfare lined with merchants selling everything from Gucci abayas to bags of raw wool stuffed 
in burlap bags. Jewelers and silversmiths abound. There are spice merchants as well as perfume merchants. The streets are crowded with Egyptians from all walks of life. There are men in suits as well as conservative gents dressed in traditional galliabayas (long, flowing shirts) and turbans; women wearing everything from Western dress to abayas (long cloaks) and niqabs (headdresses covering the face).
in burlap bags. Jewelers and silversmiths abound. There are spice merchants as well as perfume merchants. The streets are crowded with Egyptians from all walks of life. There are men in suits as well as conservative gents dressed in traditional galliabayas (long, flowing shirts) and turbans; women wearing everything from Western dress to abayas (long cloaks) and niqabs (headdresses covering the face).We cross a major road that separates the more touristy areas from an even more traditional bazaar. The entrance here is unlike anything that I have ever seen. Surely I must have stepped into a gloaming area of Mos Eisley on the planet Tatooine; or maybe into the Cairo from Raiders of the Lost Ark. Two massive mosques tower above us, one on the left and the other on the right. Huge wooden beams joined together with thick cords of rope span the gap between to two mosques, forming an oaken roof high above our heads. Surreal shafts of light steam down on us through the cracks in the planks above, fine dust swirling about us and the hundreds of people coming and going.
Our guides tell us a little about the area in which we entering. It is one of the beating hearts of Islamic Cairo, and the area appears to us as it has for thousands of generations before us. The markets here provide jobs for hundreds and hundreds of merchants and artisans. Every month, hundreds of thousands of Cairenes come to shop here, just as they have for at least a millennia. We are asked to stick together in groups of at least three or four. Although we are relatively safe being led by people with experience and being followed by our trusted off-duty security officer, this is still a place where one should be on one's guard. There are pick-pockets. Thieves on motorbikes have been know to whiz by, snatching purses and satchels. Occasionally people are hurt or even killed. In 2005 and again in 2009, suicide bombers targeted areas within the Khan, and several people were killed. As we pass through we can still see the charred remains of the most recent bombing attack.
We continue on, down the narrow, winding street. At some point not too far in, the pavement gives way to a path of packed sand and crushed shell. Motorbikers and cyclists, some carrying deliveries of fresh pita above their heads, careen up and down the street. Water-sellers clang finger symbols together as children run to and fro, their mothers stopping to examine the richly embroidered fabrics that seem to burst from every stall along the road. It is almost impossible not to stop every couple of steps just to take it all in. We are strangers in a very strange, very unique land.
Eventually we approach an ancient stone gate, the type I have seen along Hadrian's Wall or in York, England only much, much larger. Dominated by a massive archway several stories high and flanked by towering minarets on either side, we are coming to the Bab Zuweila, one of the Great Gates of Old Cairo. It was built in the year 1092 just as the city of Cairo was being constructed. It was built as an access point to control merchant traffic and probably to tax those merchants before they could enter into to the markets of the community on the other side of the gate and walls. It is impossible not to believe that this gate was also designed and built to inspire awe and reverence. Hundreds of years ago, from the vantage point of the minarets high above, military scouts could have easily seen any kind of activity coming from what would have been the agricultural plains spread out below. Legends tell of platforms being built to span the two minarets all for the purposes of holding courts and conducting public executions. Other legends tell of ancient Sultans standing atop these minarets, announcing the beginning of the Hajj, the pilgrimage to Mecca that all Muslims are encouraged to take at least once in their lifetimes. Apparently after the Sultan's proclamation, the gates would open and thousands of Cairenes would issue forth, taking the first steps toward what would be their spiritual journal of a lifetime. 
Standing at the base of the Bab Zuweila, I am overwhelmed by the knowledge that I am here looking up at the soaring spires above me just as someone else no doubt did almost a thousand years ago; just as generations of people have done for over a millennia. I pause, letting the years and generations swirl and flow about me. For a brief and fleeting moment, I am at one with the current of humanity that has passed through these gates, just as I am about to pass through them. And then the moment passes, and I am once more present in the here and now, aware that we had a purpose today.
I pass quietly and reverently through the gates. Along with the members of my group, we are slowly winding our way toward the part of the bazaar where the tent-makers reside. Before we go much further, I stop to look back on the imposing gates of the Bab Zuweila. There are times in my life where the image of what I have seen is so potent and powerful that I know I shall never forget. This is one of those times. I turn my back on the massive gates to catch up to the rest of the members of my group who have just entered into the tent-makers area. We are now much closer to finding Tariq, the famous tent-maker of Cairo.
*this week's images taken by Dana and Kyle Purpura
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