Cairo is a smoggy hell-hole, where the polluted air sticks constantly in your throat and you spend the last 10 minutes of every day pulling black snot from your nose. If you want proof that CO2 emissions are hurting the planet – the only thing you have to do is go to Cairo and breathe. You’ll taste the Earth’s pain in your mouth, (if your taste buds haven’t burnt away) and you’ll no doubt wonder “how could anybody live here, let alone come here on holiday?” The usual escape would be a hotel room. A little bit of peace and quiet in your own space. But the ever present car horns of Cairo’s streets travel through even the thickest of walls, and for SOME unknown reason your travel partner has booked you into the only hostel in Cairo hosting an all-day, 72 hour Islamic festival.
Now I have nothing against festivals at all. I love them. The music, the dancing, the drugs. These things are all fantastic and I don’t mind people doing them at all… just as long as they’re doing them nowhere near me! Music is noisy, dancing is for people who enjoy looking like tits and the less I say about drugs the better.
But hell, I’m kind. If you want to play a little music and do a little dancing, who am I to object? Have your festival!