Turkish Coffee and Hookhas

As we drive towards the Khan-al Khalili, Ernesto asks if I would like to drink some Turkish coffee and smoke a water pipe? I tell him that that I would like that and he tells me that it will cost about $20.00 I tell him that I am out of money which is the truth, since I have only exchanged one hundred U.S. dollars. Between the $40 paid to the taxi kiosk in the hotel and what I have handed over to Ernesto for entrance fees and parking, I am tapped out. He contemplates that and we eventually pull over on a side street in the crowded Islamic district. He passes a folded bill to a man who takes the car and parks it at a tilt in an impossibly small space. I worry since my computer is in my back pack upon the back seat, but since it is broken and I don't want to carry it into the souk, I trust to fate. The old souk is colorful and small open shops line the narrow passages. Cheap goods spill out into the walkways. Brass and tin lamps, pitchers and tea sets are crammed into tiny open shops. Other shops sell brightly patterned wall hangings, woven rugs and and tapestries. There are book shops as well as the usual array of cheap t-shirts and tourist junk. Some of the narrow walkways are paved with ornate Islamic tile and others with small cobble stones. There are many cafes in this district and Ernesto chooses one just off the main passageway and tells me he will treat me to the coffee. We sit across from each other, a small brass table between us. He orders two Turkish coffees and an apple flavored water pipe for us to share. Another man sits alone at the table beside us and it is instantly obvious to him that I am a tourist. He speaks to Ernesto in Egyptian and then to me in English. I learn that he is American and a distributor of water pipes within the U.S.A. We are served the Turkish coffee and it is thick, sweet and strong. The waiter next brings the water pipe and sets it on the floor beside our table and takes two sterile mouth pieces from sealed plastic wrappers and attaches them to the pipe. The American has determined that I am a novice and advises me to just take a couple of puffs from the pipe. I appreciate his advice and cautiously draw on the pipe. The smoke is cool and tastes of apple. Ernesto and the American converse in Egyptian while I sip my coffee slowly and breath in the exotic landscape surrounding me. Ernesto finishes the pipe and goes inside to pay the bill. In his absence, the American tells me that Ernesto thinks that I am a stubborn woman. I imagine that something was lost in translation, and I surmise that the coffee and hookah cost only a few dollars, not the $20.00 that Ernesto was lobbying for in addition to the the money I had previously handed him. Upon returning to the car, I am happy to find my back pack with all its contents intact. The return drive to the hotel seems to take longer than before, but perhaps it is just an illusion induced by an overly full bladder.