The harbor of Alexandria, with the Place Zaghloul in the foreground, the Cecil hotel to the left,and the far sweepof the Corniche in the distance.

Alexandria, early morning.

I always go back to Constance Cummings in Wings. At the end the combination of her acting and the lighting—somehow giving the impression that she was disappearing, diffusing in a blinding glow—was shattering.

It was genuinely surprising to see her emerge, hale, for the curtain call.

A shop sign reads "New Maria."

Q: What is the Baroness von Trapp's biggest fear?

A:

Those of us now ‘round about our early 60s have such an interesting and complicated relationship with this movie—for me, it’s made even more so because it was the jumping-off point, one morning in June of ‘69, for my mother to have to explain to me the idea of death.

I was just wondering if she was the love interest or his dear long-suffering mama (she has an Ann Harding air that suggests the latter).

I’m waiting for the first “influencer” to decide that being handy = “try me on.”

My mother came in third (disastrous final round) on Jeopardy! in 1967, and believe me, what the sponsor interpreted as a year's supply of Rice-a-Roni went an awfully long way.

Now, it's been a while since I've seen it, but I don't know that "petillante" (or its equivalent in any language) would be even in my top ten adjectives of choice...

A view of the Rue Nebi Daniel, showing the pedestrians-only street lined with buildings that would be as at home in Naples, Athens, or Barcelona as they are in Alexandria, a reminder of the city’s cosmopolitan past.

One block of the Rue Nebi Daniel is lined with used-book stalls, offering everything from Islamic theology to dated self-help manuals to movie magazines of the ‘50s and ‘60s.

A deco moment—a flatiron-shaped apartment block, six stories high, faces a small square with splendid curved bays and period signage.

A central street, the Rue Nebi Daniel, has been turned into a pedestrian thoroughfare, to splendid results. It’s lined with a mix of local- and tourist-oriented shops (including a leafy, wine-serving café at the Institut Français) and a whole block of book stalls.

A view of the Roman ruins; the brown brick pile was one a public bath. IN the distance is modern Alexandria, with a sign for the Cinema Amir lording it over the ancient city.

The Cinema Amir is seen in a vintage photograph. An elaborate promo for a coming attraction, Bhowhani Junction, hangs on the facade, while the marquee promotes what we know as The Cartered Affairs as (in French) “the most sparkling comedy of the year.” Which is one way to look at it, I suppose.

On the far side of the ruins one glimpses the old Cinema Amir. It has, alas, been stripped of much of its Moderne splendor, but at least it survives.

At some point in 1956 it was showing what I believe is @bcdreyer.social’s favorite Bette Davis epic, which it seems was known here as Wedding Party.

A sign with an arrow pointing right reads, in English and Arabic, “Don’t Touch the Monuments.”

A sign with a stepping point down a steep incline reads, in English and in Arabic, “No Smoking.”

One wonders if one might be allowed to touch the monuments to the left, and similarly whether one might smoke at the top of the hill.

I spent my first afternoon in Alexandria visiting the Roman ruins, a compact sort of mini-forum a stone’s throw from the train station.

The site includes an odeon (concert hall), a number of what we’re told were lecture halls, a bath, and one still-decorated bit of a villa.

I wonder how much of the magic of the Wizard of Oz is how surpassingly rich and wonderful it was when one was a child; encountered new as an adult, would it just seem stagy and weird?

Christa Ludwig singing Um Mitternacht

Frederica von Stade singing Some Other Time

Peggy Lee singing… well, I’m sure you can guess.

A picture of my copy of The Essential Cavafy on a complimentary-treats bedecked table in the hotel room. Don’t leave home without it!

Fortunately, I came prepared.

I won’t lie: you have reason to be.

A view of the Place Saad Zaghloul, Alexandria’s central square, from my hotel room. The park is green and (by Egyptian standards) tidy. On one side of the square is the historic Cecil Hotel, haunted by shades of Justine and Agatha Christie. The Alex corniche sweeps by, an oval enclosing the eastern harbor, which glitters in the afternoon sun.

I’m having a little getaway—a few days in Alexandria. I plan to visit museums, stare at the sea, and indulge in dreams of Cavafy, Forster, Durrell, and their like.

This is the view from my room, which the very nice hotel manager tells me was, for a while, Cavafy’s own. I’m suitably awed.

Going to have to go, just for the completeness of its realized ambition, with West Side Story.

[Even though, in my heart of hearts, I esteem rather than love it and dearly wish the answer could be On The Town—but I know the difference between “my” and “the” greatest.]

Broccolinissimi

I was thinking a (purely fictional, of course) version of you might commit a series of murders derived from various punctuation marks and/or grammatical rules and errors.

Isn’t that funny; I remembered “eat” as well. Perhaps that was Mordden in one of his movie books?

An actual goddamn Auntie Anne’s Pretzels franchise has somehow found itself in an all a good two streets off a thoroughfare in central Cairo.

File under “Things one does not expect to encounter on a Cairo back street.”

One can only wonder from what mall it has somehow escaped; I don’t think I’ve ever seen one in the wild, as it were.

If memory serves, when I used to live in this neighborhood, that space was a blacksmith’s…

I'm of the opinion that when you have characters called Apassionata von Climax and Stupefyin' Jones, a plot is more or less superfluous.

Among many other examples. Maddening, all of it.

Both do very nicely!

If you see this, quote with a picture of you in glasses.

[My pal the Architectural Historian calls this “The Mystery of the Lost Third Eurthymic.”]

Here it’s interesting how tech has leapfrogged and random delivery guys and market ladies in Cairo have more apps on their phones than I, have access to multiple e-pay methods, and think nothing of chatting with family all over the world.

The most futuristic thing in my life right now is that at least once a week I sit in my apartment in Cairo and have one-hour video calls with friends back in the US.

It costs nothing, and I can use any one of nearly half a dozen devices to do so.

We didn’t get flying cars, but still…

When it comes to public transport, the United States should be ashamed of itself.

Photograph of a platform on the Cairo metro, at Attaba station. A train has pulled in, and commuters are billing about.

Early-ish trip this morning on the Cairo Metro, just before the peak of rush hour.

I changed trains at Attaba, a busy station. Excellent bilingual signage; Arabic classical music plays softly.

All the way across the city, to Dokki on the far bank of the Nile, in 30 minutes.

The fare is $.23.