Rascal Chuck and the Hookah Pipe

        After we leave the mosque, we decide to visit one of the most famous tourist markets in Cairo--the Kahan el-Khalili Bazaar. We want to float down the streets and see the locals, the shops, the food, the architecture and become totally immersed in the Egyptian experience. The bazaar is located in Cairo's historic center and is home to many Egyptian artisans and workshops. There are street food vendors and small, traditional coffeeshops, the oldest of which dates back to 1773.  

     

      We're not sure how Chuck is going to react to the crowds so it's good we've come earlier before the bazaar is super crowded. Dan carries him around in his backpack as we walk past the shops. 

      Our pace is not exactly leisurely because--full disclosure--Chuck and I harbor this secret desire to smoke a hookah pipe, and we're on our way to a hookah shop. I don't smoke cigarettes. I don't vape. But there is something about the hookah pipe Chuck and I both find fascinating. 

        For me, it dates back to a film I saw years ago. Picture a very handsome Egyptian man and and English girl, in an open air restaurant, located on an Egyptian rooftop, smoking a hookah pipe. They are relaxed. He hands her the pipe. Luscious music wafts through the air. She's wearing a veil over her hair (in keeping with the Egyptian customs) that gently sways in the breeze. She inhales and a smile forms on her face. 

        For Chuck, it was probably something he saw on the History Channel.

        Egypt is known for having the best hookahs. Some people say that smoking a hookah, which is essentially a water pipe, is less harmful than a cigarette but that's not true. You are still literally smoking tobacco, which usually has either a fruit or molasses sugar added for flavoring. 

        Chuck and I are under no delusions. This is not something we should be doing a lot of (lung cancer, emphysema, etc.) but we intend to have one puff only. We want the experience. 

        "There they are, Chuck." 

        Our wonderful Egyptian guide is taking us to the store that sells the pipes, and there on display is the most magnificent array of colorful hookah pipes. We gaze in through the window in awe.  

      

        Luckily, there is a small room in the back where you can smoke a hookah if you want. Chuck and I are pumped. Yes. Finally. This is the day. (Dan, on the other hand, can't believe we're really going to do this.) 

        The store is amazingly small inside. We enter, walk through, and push aside a curtain to a small back room. Sure enough, there's a plain black scarred table with a hookah pipe, ready and waiting. The walls are lined with shelves, filled with stock for the store. Nothing romantic here. Nothing like the scene in the movie. I push away the momentary flash of disappointment I feel. After all, what did I expect? To push aside the curtain and end up in that same scene, to suddenly be transported to the top of an Egyptian roof?

        The steps are obvious. First, you need to fill the hookah pipe. Which has already been done. Believe it or not, there's a real art to filling your pipe--whether you put your tobacco in layers, mix it together, how moist or dry your tobacco should be, etc.) You then need to light the pipe and give it a chance to burn. 

        Our guide motions me over, and I pick the pipe up and bring it to my lips. As I inhale, the smoke that is generated from the hookah is warm. There is a bubbling sound. Smoke fills my lungs. I cough. I taste a slight apple taste. 

        (I actually cough quite a bit. Since I don't smoke cigarettes, any little smoke will set me off. So, for a moment, I almost fear the coughing which continues won't stop, but it does.) 

        And as for Chuck, the rascal cat, as he watches me take my one puff, (and literally cough my brains out) he becomes fascinated with the bubbles that the hookah makes.

        "Chuck, are you ready for your one puff?"

        No response. 

      "Chuck, this is your one and only chance."

         He jumps up on the table. I think he's going to go for it, but then . . . Sniff. Sniff. Sniff. What? 

         "Oh, well." He is more than happy just to sniff the aroma of the apple and tobacco.

        He's no dummy. When I rethink about the entire incident later, when we're safely ensconced back in our hotel room, I wonder if he didn't do the smarter thing!