In one bustling day, Yasmine El-Rashidi rediscovers the city's delights and reflects upon its complex past There is nothing quite like a day in Alexandria. Famed for its literary history and inspirational atmosphere for the likes of poet Constantine Cavafy and writers Lawrence Durrell and EM Forster, Alexandria is quite unlike any other city by the sea. It comprises not only the elements associated with the summer months, such as beach activities and the festivities of breezy summer nights, but the city also blends culture, historically telling architecture, and remnant figments of times past. My arrival at Al-Raml Station -- two and a half hours by train from Cairo's Ramsis Station -- provides a sprightly introduction to the city with which I have an intimate past. Set at the top of a scenic street which slopes down towards the sea, the station is crowned by fine specimens of colonial architecture -- leftovers of the city's grand past. The weather, as is reputed, is pleasant -- the cool sea breeze bringing with it the scents of the salty Mediterranean waters and the richness of the world beneath the surface. The five-minute stroll from the station down An-Nabi Daniel Street takes me to Saad Zaghloul Square, named after the nationalist leader (1860-1927). Despite its place as the so-called "heart" of modern Alexandria, here "old days" remain very much intact. The Al-Raml train station is located on the right-hand side of the statue of the erstwhile leader which adorns the square, his face looking out to sea and the historic Cecil Hotel -- featured in Durrell's renowned "Alexandria Quartet" -- on his left. My first stop is the Cecil. An intricate Moorish structure opened in 1929, the hotel is reputed to have been built on the site where Cleopatra VII committed suicide after her Egyptian fleet was defeated by Octavian in the Battle of Actium in 31 BC. On the hotel's sea- front terrace I enjoy fresh mango juice -- an Egyptian delight -- and envision times past: during World War II the hotel was used by the Secret Service and later played host to politicians and writers such as Winston Churchill, Somerset Maugham and Noel Coward. But the aura of the city summons, and my stroll continues, taking me down the Corniche. Sidewalk cafés line one side of the expansive promenade, against the backdrop of old hotels, guest houses and ministerial buildings. The view, of course, is that of infinite waters, dotted with little fishing boats, and the Fort of Qaitbey in the haze of the horizon at the tip of the Eastern Harbour. Built in the 1480s by Sultan Qaitbey, the fort was founded on the site of the Pharos lighthouse -- using, in fact, stones from the ancient, dilapidated building. The Alexandrian temperament comes as a refreshing change to that of Cairo: the sight of locals in shorts and flip-flops; the ice-cream carts and overhead kites; the narrow side-streets lined with gaily painted swings and mini merry-go-rounds. The city's spirit has been said to have a special aura -- perhaps the result of lingering grandeur, historic past and revolutionary legacy. The Corniche walk is long, and I hop on one of the many micro buses whizzing by. For just 25 piastres it takes me closer to the fort. Slightly before the fort, where the street curves, boat-makers labour in the mid-day heat. Appreciation for the magnitude of their craft fills me as I pass these shipyards fronting the boat-bespeckled sea. Further along the pavement, past sidewalk coffee shops and wholesale seafood outlets bargaining with local fisherman, Greek chatter filters onto the air from a stream of Greek- Egyptians leaving the local Greek Club, the sister club of Cairo's downtown haunt. Offering Greek cuisine in an open-air restaurant surrounded by sea and saturated with the sounds of Zorba, the outlet offers a taste of Alexandria's ethnically eclectic past. No visit to Alexandria is complete without the indulgence in a traditionally prepared seafood meal. For that, I hop in a taxi and head to Abu Qir. A 15-minute drive (or perhaps slightly less), the LE10 taxi journey takes me to the small fishing village on the east coast of the city. The village is renowned for two things: historic battles and exquisite fish. It was at Abu Qir bay that Admiral Nelson destroyed the French fleet in the dramatic Battle of the Nile in 1798. With the loss of his ship and army, Napoleon's plans for an eastern empire looked doomed to fail. But in a complete reversal of a seemingly predestined fate, Napoleon's troops thwarted a landing attempt by a British contingent of 15,000 Turkish soldiers, many thousands of which drowned. Appropriately enough, underwater excavations since the late 1990s have been uncovering artefacts from those sunken ships on this historic spot. The beaches of Abu Qir are not very enticing to those who enjoy taking the plunge. In fact, the village is not aesthetically appealing at all, and certainly not to those seeking any form of relative luxury or comfort. But for the sake of indulging the palette, a fish-centred visit is unquestionably a must. Whether along the beach, where umbrellas and tables are set up and your fish is grilled as you sit and watch -- or in the market place, where rows and rows of little stalls grill fish and crab -- the selection of sea-food is vast, the catch is fresh from the sea and the prices are thrillingly low. If you opt for the sea-side setting, make sure you keep your taxi waiting, or ask him to come back for you, as transport there is hard to find. Around Abu Qir the most common means of getting about is by horse-drawn carriages. If you don't want to go rustic, preferring instead seated service, the most famous fish restaurant (one of the most famous in Egypt in fact), is Zaphyrion, which is the ancient Greek name for Abu Qir. Overlooking the sea, this must-visit eatery is located at 41 Khaled Ibn Al- Walid Street. Infused with energy from my tasty sea-side meal, I head back to the city centre, and to the enchanting grounds of Montazah Palace. As I enter the grand gate and walk through the walled-off palace gardens, perfectly groomed and lush with colour and life, I am transported once again into the past, this time my own. For my family, like many other Egyptian families, Alexandria and Montazah were summer "musts". We would troop to this seeming other world every morning, aunts, uncles, children and grandchildren. Each bringing a delight, culinary, literary, a board game, a treat, we would meet at the small cabin on the section of shoreline known as Cleopatra. Every morning we would experience the thrill of passing this particular cove, home to what I was told were the king's gazelles. Every morning we experienced the excitement of picking up pastry from the palace's famous bakery. And every morning, of course, we savoured the prospect of arriving at the cabin and setting up for the day. Like for many an Egyptian family, our Alexandrian summers were utterly carefree. I arrive at the cabin this time alone, the Cleopatra shoreline empty, most of the cabins closed up, abandoned and alone. Few people come here in this modernised time, the North Coast areas such as Marina and Marsa Matruh having lured many families away. Sitting on the rocks where my brother, my cousins and a stream of friends spent hundreds of childhood hours exploring the crevices for crabs, I contemplate the palace's, and indeed the city's, changed façade. Montazah was built at the beginning of the 20th century by Khedive Abbas II, a relative of King Farouk. Architecturally, the palace is a mix of Turkish and Florentine styles. It was here that the last king of Egypt spent his childhood years, isolated from the realm of public life. Indeed, his sisters too were groomed in the lush surroundings. Upon his father's death, the 16-year-old Farouk was thrust into the limelight and onto the throne. Young and unaware of the so-called real world, he was guided and mentored through his early years of rule. But as time went on and destiny transpired, the unfortunate fate of this kingdom and its ruler came to be reflected in the king himself. The svelte, dashing young king grew in time into one whose weight became the subject of scorn. His fashioned smile and charismatic poise faded, overshadowed by the heaviness of depression and despair which became clearly imprinted on his face. It only needed time. On 23 July, 1952 -- almost 52 years ago to date -- the kingdom fell. From the palace of Ras Al- Tin, to the sound of 21 trumpet salutes, the king and his family boarded the yacht Mahrousa and set sail to their place of exile: Capri, Italy. The fate of the family was dire -- the king, his sisters, and the grandchildren and theirs to come, fell successively victims to heart-wrenching personal tragedy; depression, murder, bankruptcy and more. Perhaps it is this aspect of the city's history which tinges its atmosphere, lending it a certain heaviness and depth. Or perhaps it is the suffocation of much of the land by the non- descript structures which comprise its dishevelled urban sprawl. Or perhaps it is also its legacy of battles fought and armies lost. The energy of the city is a complex concoction of history and culture mixed with the personal anecdotes of the millions of children -- in numerous generations past -- who spent their summers playing by the sea. But as the kingdom crumbled, the families dispersed, and the order of a once perfectly groomed city turns into that of a haphazard sketch, Alexandria has acquired an aura of depth, of experience, of history. Alexandria is indisputably captivating, not only because of its sights, but much more so because of its wisdom.
