when you're lifted up

For those of you who look at what I've written and think it's too much to read - to sum it all up - I climbed the stairs of a minaret today, that is hundreds of years old.

And for those of you who have a minute...

The streets are emptier than usual now that Ramadan has kicked in. More people are inclined to stay home, escaping the heat. Our morning wanderings have a different feel. I wouldn't call it quiet, but there is less life. I find it difficult to pull out my bottle of water and drink, partly out of sensitivity, and partly out of a Christian's misguided sense of embarrassment.

And so it seemed like the perfect day to finally discover what the city looks like from the top of Bab Zuweila.

We stood on the roof, next to its minarets, and could see across the city - the citadel, shanty towns built on roofs, minarets, washing lines, brick and mortar, carpets laid out in the sun. I felt like I was spinning around myself, overwhelmed by the number of pictures I could see in every direction I looked.

True to my tested theory, the city is beautiful when you're lifted up and out of it, looking down at people rushing, sauntering, sitting by the side of the road, seemingly nowhere better to be.

After shooting 360 degrees of the skyline of a crumbling ancient Cairo that I never get to see from this vantage point, I noticed a crooked, broken plastic sign on one of the minarets, that read, Caution narrow stairs. I realised, because of course this is Cairo, the city of no rules, that we could go up into the minaret. So of course, because we are always looking for the perfect photo, Scorpionkiss and I climbed the steep stairs, into what was once a lookout for soldiers protecting the city from invading troops. The minarets themselves were built 400 years after the stone gate they sit on, and belong to a mosque inside the gate, which was actually built under the guidance of Armenian Christian monks.

The history behind the place is fascinating, with tales of Berber tribes quartered near the historic walls, and a Muslim saint who is said to live behind the western wall.

Making our way up into the minaret was an experience that both terrified and exhilarated me, as, when we reached the top, I realised have a slight fear of heights. It was exhilarating to stop at each opening in the minaret, look out over the city, see the twin minaret of Bab Zuweila mirroring our every move. And it was terrifying when reaching the top, I realised that the stairs ended in an emptiness, and with one wrong step, we would plunge right back down the way we came. And in my excitement at the prospect of climbing the stairs of an ancient minaret, I forgot about how much harder it was going to be going back down. Of course I know my legs will probably be reminding me for the next day or two.

But it will have been worth it. Because, from up there, I could see the green of Azhar Park. I could see trees. I could see little markings of life in the bright red and yellow shutters, side by side, incongruous and yet perfect. I could see the bright green and yellow cages built on roofs for homing pigeons, a place they gladly return to when they see a bright orange flag waving against the sky. I could see more sunflowers, brick, and stone, faith and history. And life.

(This is a shot of the twin minaret that we could see after we had climbed to the top. We were standing at that balcony of sorts beneath the winding metal stairs.)