Flavours along the Nile

Along the spine of egypt - the River Nile - thrives a culture that offers rich flavours and aromas in its cuisine. Mike Harrison, the wandering foodie, discovers the country's culinary wonders.

'Ulli, we le t'khabeesh, ya zein
Esh t'ool al ayn lil ayn
Lemme el ayn t'shoof, habibi
Te 'ooli, welle takhshash

'Tell me, don't hide your feelings,
my dear:
What does one eye say to another
When it encounters its loved one?
Speak - and don't be afraid...'

Since buying the beautiful ceramic plate on which the falafel in the recipe section is presented, the words of the song by the legendary Egyptian singer Oum Kalthoum, have been floating around my head.

What a novel idea to inscribe a serving dish with the lyrics of a love song! Perhaps only an Egyptian heart would think of doing such a thing, bringing together, as it does, passion and food.

Since time immemorial, Egypt has evoked strong emotions among its inhabitants and visitors alike. The charm of the country is its people, their vibrancy and zest for life. It is a place which captures, and enraptures the heart.

It is Upper Egypt in particular that holds all of the charm for me. The splendour of Luxor, eight hours up the Nile from Cairo by train, is known to the world for its historic Valley of the Kings and the wondrous temples of Karnak. But four hours further on, where the train finally grinds to a halt, is one of my favourite places in the world: Aswan.

And where the train line ends is where my journey begins.
The old British colonial powers were particularly enamoured of Aswan. They constructed the rail route down the spine of Egypt, following the Nile up to the then little hamlet which became their gateway to Africa.

The aesthetic beauty of the town is evident as soon as you step off the train and wander along the pleasant corniche that meanders alongside Africa's best known river for a few kilometres.

In the 19th century, while the town expanded along the east bank of the Nile, the other side remained totally undeveloped, giving anyone walking along the corniche a wonderful view of the river dotted with islets and the majestic, imposing dunes of golden desert sand rising directly from the shores of the bank opposite.

But the colonial powers were of course not the first to be seduced by the charms of Aswan. There was a strategic settlement on the largest island on the river - Elephantine Island - as early as 3000BC.

The economic success of Abu (the local name), right up to Greco-Roman times, was due to the abundance of granite and ivory in the vicinity.

The island, in ancient Egyptian times, was the home of Khnum, the ram-headed deity of cataracts, who controlled the water level of the Nile, and thus the economy of the region.

The southern end of the island is still dotted extensively with ruins from those earlier times, while the northern end is home to a fairly bland-looking 5-star hotel, reached only by a small ferry.

In the early 1980s, during my first visit to Egypt, I hopped on the little private ferry across to the hotel and wandered around inside the walled hotel complex.

The gardens were pleasant, quiet and peaceful, yet just over the high perimeter wall, separating the hotel from the rest of the island, I could hear the happy squeals of children playing.
Curiosity piqued, I clambered up and peered over the wall, only to find a group of very African-looking kids scampering around in the dusty pathways below.

They yelled up at me to climb over, and after a moment's hesitation, mainly because it was a high drop down, and I was wondering how I could get back, I jumped down into the alleys of Koti, a pure African village of shady mud houses and fields of alfalfa, unlike anything I had seen in the town of Aswan, just minutes away across the water.

The villagers were extremely friendly, and I found myself invited into several homes to taste karkadeh, the refreshing drink made from dried, purple hibiscus flowers.

This visit marked the first of many subsequent encounters with Nubians, the dark-skinned, ethnic group of inhabitants of the villages stretching from Aswan way down into Sudan, many of whom were relocated from further south when their villages were submerged following the construction of Lake Nasser.

On the two island villages of Siou and Koti, I took countless photographs of the little houses, painted in soft pastel shades.

A number of the houses were also covered with drawings of their residents' pilgrimage to Makkah, together with a sketch of the 'Haji' in question.

The means of transport - usually plane and boat - were also depicted on the outer wall of the house with pride, alongside a description of the journey itself.

The villagers showed me their own local ferry - which cost around 20 times less than the hotel one - and I spent the rest of my visit, and subsequent visits over the years, taking rides with Nubian boatmen, on feloukas - the tall, elegant sailboats which ply the waters of the Nile, and which bob in and out of the inlets and islets according to where the gentle breeze takes them.

Back on the west bank of the river, and back a hundred years or so, the colonial powers were so enamoured of the view mentioned above that they built a fine, imposing Victorian hotel overlooking the Nubian ruins.

The Old Cataract Hotel took its name, according to the local booklet on its history, 'from the spectacular effect created by the collision of the river Nile with the granite barrier on the land: the first cataract in the Nile.'

First opened in 1899, the subsequent opening of the '1902 Restaurant' was a society event, attended by the Khedive Abbas Helmi, then ruler of Egypt, together with the young Winston Churchill and a host of luminaries and dignitaries.

Over the next century, the hotel attracted almost every prince, duke and count of the European pre-war monarchies. It became the winter destination choice of every aristocrat, and to have lunch at the Old Cataract was to announce that you were someone important.

The hotel today has very much retained the elegance of the original Victorian exterior, blended with oriental columns and facades inside.

The atmosphere is such that you can imagine encountering Agatha Christie huddled in a corner, scribbling notes for her mystery thriller Death on the Nile, or turning a corner in the lobby and bumping into M. Hercules Poirot twiddling his moustache, and looking at you with an air of suspicion.

Apart from its obvious style and elegance, the most attractive feature of the hotel was - and still is - The Terrace, particularly at sunset.

Overlooking the ruins of Elephantine Island, and set just above the waters of the Nile, The Terrace offered a spectacular view of the feloukas gliding below in the late afternoon shadows, and what better way to contemplate this than with a nice cup of tea, served promptly from 4-7pm!

The tradition of afternoon tea has changed little over the last 100 years, and woe betide anyone who makes the faux pas of arriving late, as I did on my last visit just a couple of months ago.

I had been wistfully dreaming of sitting in one of the comfortable wicker armchairs, fan creaking above me and gazing across over to the desert while nibbling on a macaroon and sipping a cup of Earl Grey.

As I took my place at one of the few empty tables, I decided to treat myself to the Royal Sunset Tea, consisting of, among other things, a 'mini opera gateau, white chocolate truffle, almond tuille, English scone with strawberry jam, three finger sandwiches with smoked salmon, smoked beef and cheese and one surprise sausage roll'.

The waiter's brow arched and furrowed as he listened to my order: 'Sir, the Royal Tea is served until 7pm only. It is now 7:15. I am afraid we can no longer serve it to you.

The cakes have been returned to the kitchen.' Fifteen minutes late for an appointment for tea. Am I REALLY in Egypt, I thought!

It is nice to know that some traditions never change!
It is also reassuring to know that in the world of rapid change, some things move more slowly.

However, one change I noticed between my first visit of 25 years ago and now, is just how perceptions of Nubian culture have transformed. In 1981, little was mentioned of Nubian culture, and yet now, to be 'Nubian' is about as fashionable as it gets!

Aswan is considerably more affluent these days - the villages on Elephantine Island now boast lots more feloukas, houses are more sturdily built, all have electricity, and the boatmen wear their ethnicity as a proud moniker.

They are the first to let you know their background, since this is now a strong selling point for whatever they might be offering you, the assumption being that you know they will be good at their job. 'Hey, friend.

You want sunset sail on falouka? I am Nubian. Real Nubian. You will enjoy my boat!'

Even the Old Cataract Hotel now offers Nubian tagins. While formal traditions still apply in their main restaurant, the poolside has definitely gone ethnic - partly due to customer demand, and to give the tourists an 'authentic experience' that they might otherwise miss!

The lunch buffet now produces an extensive range of local, Nubian-inspired dishes, served in huge, traditional earthenware pots.

Nubian restaurants have also mushroomed along the corniche, with a popular one on the small islet next to the ruins of Elephantine Island, accessed only by felouka!

Fast forward to earlier this year and I was staying at the New Cataract Hotel - a cement tower built in the grounds of the old hotel but with the advantage of being eminently more affordable and with the added attraction of allowing the guest a fabulous view across to the elegant gardens of the Old Cataract and its terrace.

The view from the Nile-facing rooms is unparalleled and I cannot think of a more graceful and elegant panorama than the feloukas bob by, steered by tall, muscled Nubian boatmen in crisp white galabiahs, while looking across to the west bank and the imposing mausoleum of the Aga Khan perched on top of the dunes, standing as a gateway to the thousands of miles of desert stretching uninterrupted across the continent, to the Atlantic coast.

Assuming you save the late afternoon for a felouka ride, the winter visitor can best spend the rest of his or her time taking a morning constitutional along the corniche, letting the desert breeze gently caress the skin, or hop onto a horse-drawn calesh to clip-clop along the road in a leisurely fashion.

Come lunchtime, the warm sun coaxes you further along the bank, inviting you to stop at one of the floating restaurants moored on the east bank.

At the Aswan Moon Restaurant, I chat with Ayman, the maitre d', and Chef Sayed Ahmed, who offer me some tagin, the local clay pot stews, containing Nile perch, okra and lamb, or the evocative sounding Daoud Pasha, meat balls in spicy tomato sauce, the name a reminder of Ottoman times.

The pronunciation of tagin is different, but the dish is essentially quite similar to the Moroccan versions which I show in my book, From Tagine to Masala.

Sayed offers me another dish with an evocative name: Baba Ghanoush. While scooping up the delicious smoky eggplant paste, I start to mull over just how evocative of romance, emotion and passion the names of so many Egyptian dishes are.

The falafel that we are so fond of here in the Gulf, is known simply as 'ta'amiya' in Egypt - literally meaning 'tasty', from the Arabic verb 'ta'am', to taste. Other dishes have equally romantic and passionate stories attached to their origins.

Many will know the story of Um Ali, based on the wife of a king of old Egypt, who wanted to avenge the murder of her husband by his second wife.

When Um Ali (the first wife) heard the news that her rival Shajarat A'adur was dead, she decided to celebrate by ordering her servants to prepare a meal using bread, milk, sugar and nuts.

Since the dish was a newly invented one, it took the name of its creator, Um Ali, and today, like many other Egyptian dishes, is eaten by a great number of people who enjoy eating the dish, without really knowing the story behind the name.

I'm tempted to finish my meal at the Aswan Moon with yet another charmingly named dessert: Besboussa - 'a little kiss' is the sweet, syrupy cake made with semolina, and often served with a nice contrasting, bitter Turkish coffee.

All too soon, the afternoon sun is fading, and as the sun prepares to slip behind the dunes, I have a major decision to make: Do I stroll back to The Terrace, sink into a soft wicker chair and order tea to accompany the view of the feloukas bobbing gently past.

Or do I succumb to Ali the Nubian boatman's entreaties to hire his felouka for an hour, engage in a bit of firm but friendly haggling to negotiate the price for an early evening sail, then load up with a paper bag of tasty ta'amiya and a bottle of water, and set off to zig-zag through the islets, watching the sunset behind the dunes, from just beneath them.

If only all the major decisions we have to take in life could offer such pleasant outcomes!

Acknowledgements:
Wonderful Egyptian hospitality given to me by: Sayed Ahmed Bughdadi and Ayman Abdulghani of the Aswan Moon Restaurant; Chef George Kotiska and the staff of the Old and New Cataract Hotels.

Thanks also to my writing class from the university in Oman, particularly Hager, Asma, Huda, Fatma, Mohammed and Younis, for helping translate the Oum Kalthoum song. It made for a nice, brief distraction from studying John Steinbeck, didn't it?