Please Tell Your Friends We Do Not Hate Them

This is what a guy in Old Cairo told me yesterday. He had struck up a conversation with the usual, "Where are you from," and, when I said I was from America, he asked if I liked Egypt and whether I found people to be friendly. I said that the people are extremely friendly. That's when he asked that I tell this to people in America.

"Tell them we do not hate them," he said. "I will be honest with you; we hate Bush. But we do not hate American people."

So today, the last day of my trip, that is what I'm doing. People of America, know this; the people of Egypt do not hate you.

I have had countless random people on the street tell me some variation of this. We hate Bush, but you are welcome to Egypt.

Egypt really is unbelievably friendly. Some of the friendliness morphs into hustle, particularly in Cairo, where your new friend is often trying to get you to visit his papyrus painting shop or craft store.

In Alexandria, however, the hospitality is nearly always genuine, and so omnipresent that I literally would not have had the time to accept each offer.

I was walking by an old tea shop along the Corniche in front of Alexandria's Eastern Harbor, when an old man sitting by the window yelled, "Hello! Where are you from?"

I responded.

"Ah," he said, "America! I have been to Boston, to New York, to Charleston. Come inside."

I hesitated a moment.

"Come inside!" he ordered, obviously impatient with my vacillating.

I went into the tea shop, a large, wood-paneled room with high ceilings, overhead fans, and big, open windows looking out on the harbor. It was full of old Egyptian men drinking tea, telling stories, arguing, smoking bubbling sheesha water pipes, or, often, just quietly gazing out at the water.

My host introduced himself as Captain Sayeed, a retired sailor in the Egyptian merchant marine. He had sailed to ports all around the world, but loved his time in the USA - a beautiful country he said, with wonderful people.

Captain Sayeed had the posture and manner of a man accustomed to giving orders and having them obeyed. But he also listened intently to every word that I said when we were speaking. We sat and drank tea for well over an hour. Whenever something struck him as funny, or when he felt that he had made a particularly trenchant comment, he would throw back his head and laugh a loud, hoarse laugh.

When I finally graciously took my leave, Captain Sayeed demanded that I return the next day. He sat in that spot, in that cafe, every day from about 9am to 2pm. I could find him there. I agreed, and as I am a man of my word, I showed up for more tea the next day. Though, truth be told, my morning tea with the Captain was the highlight of my Alexandrian day. There's no way I would have missed it.