The Mermaid

Our little portion of Cairo is called Ma'adi. Ma'adi is a large "suburb" of Cairo situated to the south of the city proper and on the eastern bank of the Nile. Cross the Nile from Ma'adi, and you are in the tangle of urban clusters and farming communities that make up Giza. Stand on a third-floor of a Ma'adi balcony, and you can see the Pyramids (on a clear day). Ma'adi has been a wealthy enclave of Cairo ever since "ever-since." Ottoman "pashas" lived here during the days of the Ottoman rule of Egypt. After the Ottomans left their grand homes, embassies moved in, and they are still here. During World War II, Eisenhower and Montgomery used Ma'adi residences during their brief stays in Egypt. Today, Ma'adi is home for many of Cairo's million-strong, ex-patriot families. When Egyptians in faraway places like Luxor and Hurghada ask us where we live, we say that we live in Cairo. Curious, they ask where in Cairo. We respond that we live in Ma'adi. They always, and I mean always, smile and sigh as if recollecting their own wonderful, past trip to Ma'adi. Ma'adi is a lovely, verdant oasis amidst Cairo's dusty, urban bazaars.

One of Ma'adi's main thoroughfares is "Road 9," and it is a stone's throw away from our flat. Road 9 is one of Ma'adi's main shopping streets. It is reminiscent of a small Floridian seaside town before the hyper-development began. Narrow one, two, and three story buildings, each sharing a common wall with the adjacent buildings, line either side of the roughly paved street. Here and there, a few of the older Ottoman dwellings, still proudly standing and framed by massive, well-tended desert palms, break up the links of small boutiques, fruit stalls, carpentry workshops, bistros, and cafes. It is here on Road 9 that old intersects with new, local mixes with ex-pat, and laboring melds with idle-rich; all in a delightfully Bohemian social fabric.

Set among a jumble of fruit stalls, carpentry shops, cafes and small lamp stores is "The Mermaid." The Mermaid is one of the older eateries on Road 9. Established in 1981, The Mermaid was one of the original, western-style, small restaurants that opened during the early portion of the Mubarak investment boom in Egypt. Despite all of the changes since, The Mermaid has remained relatively unaltered. Her wooden, one-story facade is a curious mixture of dusty saloon and weathered nautical. The restaurant name is carefully scripted in red neon, a prominent fixture in one of the tall, story-high, bay windows in front. At night, the front of the restaurant looks like something from an old Genesis album cover. 

Open the door and some kind of music from the 70s or 80s is playing. As we come in this evening, Boston's "More Than a Feeling" is blaring. Like the facade, the decor inside is a curious mix. Imagine a cross between your grandparents' favorite steak house and 70s porn. I half expect to see Ron Jeremy, Snoop Lion and their respective entourages sprawled out at a corner table, sharing a blunt over a couple of cans of Shlitz.

{Rod Stewart, "Young Turks"}

The restaurant is divided into two smallish, dimly lit sections; one side for smokers and one for non-smokers. With no ventilation fans, there is little difference, and whisps of blue-gray cigarette smoke hover and drift just below the ceiling. There are perhaps 20 booths and tables in total. The chairs are ancient relics, faded brown leather thrones from a bygone era. The tables are hulking slabs of granite and dark wrought iron. Generations of young Egyptians and expats have left their mark, Arabic and English script scrawled in the wood-paneled walls. Lamps suspended from the ceiling float above every table, each one muted with a beige, gauzy lampshade. Suspended pieces of flat sculpture that look like purplish, fallen chess piece adorn both main walls, punctuated by black-and-white photos of the restaurant's past regulars. 

{Michael Jackson, "Thriller"}

One of the wait staff motions us to a table by one of the bay windows. We sit. I am more than a little afraid of sticking to the chair. We wait. And wait.

{Eddie Money, "Two Tickets to Paradise"}

{Carly Simon, You're So Vain}

Finally the menus arrive, and our drink order is taken. Dana has a Stella, and I have a lemon-mint juice. More waiting ensues.

{Hall & Oates, "Private Eyes"}

The drinks finally come, and the waiter is about to return to the back when we tell him that we are ready to order. He seems genuinely surprised. Clearly we are two rare customers that do not have four or five hours to lounge about in The Mermaid. I order a Greek salad and a meat calzone. Dana takes a bit of a risk with the fettuccine and a white, mushroom sauce. More waiting.

{Thin Lizzy, "Whisky in the Jar"}

{Kool & the Gang, "Get Down on It"}

{Wham, "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go"}

By now the soundtrack is so good that we don't really care how long the food takes to get to the table. It takes a long time by the way, but it is worth the wait; for me, at least. Dana's fettuccine is passable, but her order was a risk in the first place. My Greek salad comes a bowl the size of small washtub, and it is excellent. The calzone is as big as a football, and is a lovely hunk of meaty, crusty goodness. We split the salad and the calzone, and life is all good. A couple of Stellas and mint-lemons later, accompanied by Hendrix and Janice, and we are stuffed. We have also enjoyed a couple of hours of a delightful soundtrack and some great conversation; just like it used to be back in the day. Back before we had more important shit to do.

Then it happens. Just when I thought the evening was finished, and that the soundtrack could not get any better, the impossible occurs. Marvin Gaye, "Let's Get It On." This is amazing. Surely we are in some cool, funky diner orbiting Neptune. Surely St. Marvin himself has descended from above to christen our little evening out, blessing us with a big send-off and ensuring that the wait staff are left with a big-ass tip. They are, and we depart.

Bless you, St. Marvin, and bless you, too, Ms. Mermaid. When next we have a few hours to while away, strolling down amnesia lane and stuffing our faces full of calzone, we will be back for more.