Right, I promised some name-dropping.
Yesterday I was invited for lunch by the Archbishop Papal Nuncio (Vatican Ambassador) at his Italianate mansion overlooking the Nile. It would be little exaggeration to call it a palace. Marble staircases, grand reception rooms, white-gloved servants and immaculately groomed shady gardens.
I asked how to address him. I vaguely remembered it's Your Grace for archbishops, and Your Excellency for Ambassadors. Apparently in his case it is Michael.
He greeted me with an invitation to "Please have a G&T. It will give me an excuse to join you". A respectful flunky had already wheeled in a cocktail trolley.
Michael's hushed interactions with the staff were conducted in Italian, and for a couple of hours I was transported from dusty Cairo to a green and pleasant corner of Tuscany.
The menu was Italian, served à deux in a private dining room with (I can't see how to avoid the cliché) crisp table linen, hallmarked silver cutlery (I sneaked a furtive look), wine, but naturally neither women nor song.
One funny little detail. The English-language coffee table books in his waiting room were all turned face down. It puzzled me for a moment until I remembered that Arabic books run from back to front and right to left, so it would be natural for an Egyptian tidying the room.
That's the name-dropping out of the way. This privilege had nothing to do with me, but with my lovely wife, whose second cousin Michael is. To wrap this up: he is unassuming, saintly, academic, very good company - and he seems to have no aversion to his guests having the rare (in Cairo) pleasure of a drink or two.
I am off on Saturday for 4 days wild camping in the desert. I think my chances of survival have improved somewhat now that I am cloaked in the odour of sanctity, and have a friend with a hotline to the top man - blessed be his name.
More anon
Chris
Yesterday I was invited for lunch by the Archbishop Papal Nuncio (Vatican Ambassador) at his Italianate mansion overlooking the Nile. It would be little exaggeration to call it a palace. Marble staircases, grand reception rooms, white-gloved servants and immaculately groomed shady gardens.
I asked how to address him. I vaguely remembered it's Your Grace for archbishops, and Your Excellency for Ambassadors. Apparently in his case it is Michael.
He greeted me with an invitation to "Please have a G&T. It will give me an excuse to join you". A respectful flunky had already wheeled in a cocktail trolley.
Michael's hushed interactions with the staff were conducted in Italian, and for a couple of hours I was transported from dusty Cairo to a green and pleasant corner of Tuscany.
The menu was Italian, served à deux in a private dining room with (I can't see how to avoid the cliché) crisp table linen, hallmarked silver cutlery (I sneaked a furtive look), wine, but naturally neither women nor song.
One funny little detail. The English-language coffee table books in his waiting room were all turned face down. It puzzled me for a moment until I remembered that Arabic books run from back to front and right to left, so it would be natural for an Egyptian tidying the room.
That's the name-dropping out of the way. This privilege had nothing to do with me, but with my lovely wife, whose second cousin Michael is. To wrap this up: he is unassuming, saintly, academic, very good company - and he seems to have no aversion to his guests having the rare (in Cairo) pleasure of a drink or two.
I am off on Saturday for 4 days wild camping in the desert. I think my chances of survival have improved somewhat now that I am cloaked in the odour of sanctity, and have a friend with a hotline to the top man - blessed be his name.
More anon
Chris
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