I spent most of today cleaning our new apartment, which we'd moved into the previous night well past midnight once Chris had finally finalized his story with his editors in Abu Dhabi.
In the evening I met Chris across the Nile at the apartment of a former National colleague, now a writer for The Wall Street Journal; in these paradigm-changing early days of the protests, when Cairo's foreign journalists were still scrambling to contextualize the startlingly violent clashes of Days 1 and 2 within their old understanding of the city, there was a sense of certainty in numbers, of the unbelievable made more believable when witnessed by two sets of eyes. Chris had stayed indoors making phone calls to experts and opposition leaders, while his friend had tracked the protesters through the northern Downtown neighborhood of Bulaq, dodging tear gas canisters and trying to figure out what story to tell the rest of the world.
A real sense of danger hadn't yet set in. The journalists of Cairo are a motley bunch, a serious cadre of professional reporters -- along with the Journal, The New York Times, AP, Bloomberg, and a host of major European media outlets all have full-time correspondents here -- rubbing shoulders with an ever-changing mixture of freelancers, bloggers, and activists. Until three weeks ago they were better known for producing sentimental features about poor falafel vendors and throwing good parties than for the hard-hitting news coverage of their comrades in Beirut, Baghdad, or Khartoum. These events would change what it means to be a journalist here; it's too soon now to say if that change is a permanent one or if, like the potato seller who has already returned to hawking his merchandise on our street each morning or the store-owners near Midan Tahrir who aren't letting broken windows and graffitied walls stop them from reopening for business, they will soon resume their previous habits. Will life return to normal here? Does normal still mean the same thing it used to?
We went out for Indian food that night with a friend of mine who works for the American Embassy. The Embassy wasn't on high alert, he told us, they were simply monitoring the situation closely, and like everyone else, waiting to see what would happen. Over curry and beer from our third-story vantage point overlooking the glittering billboards and frenetic traffic of Cairo's Mohandiseen neighborhood, we speculated about what new developments the coming days might bring. Like me, he assumed the unrest would die down quickly.
On the way home to Garden City I asked our taxi driver what he thought of the protests. He was nervous, driving too fast, didn't want to talk about it.
In the evening I met Chris across the Nile at the apartment of a former National colleague, now a writer for The Wall Street Journal; in these paradigm-changing early days of the protests, when Cairo's foreign journalists were still scrambling to contextualize the startlingly violent clashes of Days 1 and 2 within their old understanding of the city, there was a sense of certainty in numbers, of the unbelievable made more believable when witnessed by two sets of eyes. Chris had stayed indoors making phone calls to experts and opposition leaders, while his friend had tracked the protesters through the northern Downtown neighborhood of Bulaq, dodging tear gas canisters and trying to figure out what story to tell the rest of the world.
A real sense of danger hadn't yet set in. The journalists of Cairo are a motley bunch, a serious cadre of professional reporters -- along with the Journal, The New York Times, AP, Bloomberg, and a host of major European media outlets all have full-time correspondents here -- rubbing shoulders with an ever-changing mixture of freelancers, bloggers, and activists. Until three weeks ago they were better known for producing sentimental features about poor falafel vendors and throwing good parties than for the hard-hitting news coverage of their comrades in Beirut, Baghdad, or Khartoum. These events would change what it means to be a journalist here; it's too soon now to say if that change is a permanent one or if, like the potato seller who has already returned to hawking his merchandise on our street each morning or the store-owners near Midan Tahrir who aren't letting broken windows and graffitied walls stop them from reopening for business, they will soon resume their previous habits. Will life return to normal here? Does normal still mean the same thing it used to?
We went out for Indian food that night with a friend of mine who works for the American Embassy. The Embassy wasn't on high alert, he told us, they were simply monitoring the situation closely, and like everyone else, waiting to see what would happen. Over curry and beer from our third-story vantage point overlooking the glittering billboards and frenetic traffic of Cairo's Mohandiseen neighborhood, we speculated about what new developments the coming days might bring. Like me, he assumed the unrest would die down quickly.
On the way home to Garden City I asked our taxi driver what he thought of the protests. He was nervous, driving too fast, didn't want to talk about it.
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