Monday, November 30, 2009
A Few More Shots of Cairo
Citadels, mosques, parks, traffic, open-air markets, skylines, and some belly dancing.
Going to the Movies in Cairo
I was told that during the feast of Eid, the first couple of days are spent visiting families, and then people spend the latter half of the feast walking around downtown and going to the movies. I thought a movie sounded like a nice way to spend part of my evening, so I went to a nearby cinema to buy a ticket. This is what I saw.
A mob, demonstrating two facts about the people of Cairo: They like the movies, and they don't tend to line up in queues. I couldn't figure out whether this was the ticket window or the entrance, but it was clear to me that a movie was out of the question. The mob was there hours later when I passed by again.
I'm told that outside of this weekend, it's not so difficult to go to the movies, but at least last night, it was pretty wild.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Happy Eid
It's Eid al-Adha here over the long weekend. A few days ago, there were animals everywhere.
There were police everywhere, and while the atmosphere felt pretty combustible to me, I didn't see any fighting or riots. All in all, a good feast.
That last cow was chained to a lamppost in the middle of downtown Cairo. The next day, there was blood in the streets after many of these unfortunate animals were slaughtered. Here's some of the aftermath: a big pile of animal skins, looking pretty moist and unpleasant.
And then the crowds flocked to downtown.
In droves.
There were police everywhere, and while the atmosphere felt pretty combustible to me, I didn't see any fighting or riots. All in all, a good feast.
Welcome to Cairo
The view from the top floor of my hostel's building.
Coptic Cairo.
The view from a minaret in Islamic Cairo.
It was this minaret, actually.
Notice the goats and shepherdess in this next picture -- and the flock of birds up top in the same one.
This mosque was 50 meters from the first hostel I stayed at. And yes, that's a cow in the pickup truck passing by.
The Nile, again right near my first hostel.
And one more Nile shot, just for kicks.
In the Company of Men: Travels in North Africa
When I wrote this, I was in a minibus traveling from Libya to Egypt. With me in the bus were eight other men, no women.
It's been like this in many places as I have been in northern Africa: I am usually alone or among men. At cafes and restaurants, I still do a double-take sometimes: Whether there are 20 people in a small cafe or over 100 in a large tea garden, the patrons are uniformally men. Men drive taxis and buses, they run shops and stalls in souqs, they are policemen and soldiers, and they run hotels and other parts of the tourism industry. There are exceptions to be sure, but not many, at least not in my experience.
For people who live here, the experience is different. Men go home to their wives and daughters, they visit their mothers, aunts, and grandmothers, and they undoubtedly have female friends or at least acquaintances (or, anyhow, their wives, sisters, daughters, and mothers do). But I lack those family ties here, so my daily life has much less gender diversity.
It's no surprise that my experience here contrasts with the United States, but it also differs dramatically from my travels across southern Africa. A Zambian woman in her 50s orchestrated my solo border crossing into the Congo; she made me a delicious chicken dinner at the restaurant she owned, called a friend to help me at the border crossing, and then walked me through an intimidating minibus station, found me the right bus, and negotiated a fair price on my behalf. My best friend in the Congo was a female teenager who showed me around Lubumbashi and tolerated my pitiful French. Four women in their 20s intervened on my behalf at a concert in Botswana when some young men began hassling me. And when I asked a female college student for directions in Dar Es Salaam, Tanzania, she grabbed my hand and walked me all the way to my destination, then invited me to her home to meet her mother and two sisters. In every country I visited in southern Africa, countless little girls (and boys) came up to me and say hello or offer a smile.
My experience in North Africa has been different. In southern Morocco, I recall walking alone in a small town and noticing two or three women sitting near the sidewalk up ahead. One of them looked at me for a split second and then moved her veil (at that point covering only her hair) to cover her entire face, all but her eyes, and then looked away. The same thing has happened several times since then. I am sure these gestures aren't hostile, but they remain prominent in my mind. My other gender-related memory is from Libya. I recall going into an ice cream store, buying a scoop of ice cream, and sitting down at one of the tables in the back to enjoy it. I noticed two or three women in the dining area, but didn't think much of it. A moment later, the store owner (a man) came over and told me I had to leave; the dining area was for women only.
The men in North Africa have been incredibly kind, generous and hospitable. I don't think I've encountered such warmth from strangers anywhere else in the world. I get phone numbers, food and drinks, and invitations to visit restaurants, shops, and homes hundreds of kilometers away. And I get the small stuff too -- a hello, a smile, a handshake. But I still miss the full spectrum of humanity.
(NOTE: I wrote this before I arrived in Cairo, Egypt, where it's a bit different -- but that's another story.)
It's been like this in many places as I have been in northern Africa: I am usually alone or among men. At cafes and restaurants, I still do a double-take sometimes: Whether there are 20 people in a small cafe or over 100 in a large tea garden, the patrons are uniformally men. Men drive taxis and buses, they run shops and stalls in souqs, they are policemen and soldiers, and they run hotels and other parts of the tourism industry. There are exceptions to be sure, but not many, at least not in my experience.
For people who live here, the experience is different. Men go home to their wives and daughters, they visit their mothers, aunts, and grandmothers, and they undoubtedly have female friends or at least acquaintances (or, anyhow, their wives, sisters, daughters, and mothers do). But I lack those family ties here, so my daily life has much less gender diversity.
It's no surprise that my experience here contrasts with the United States, but it also differs dramatically from my travels across southern Africa. A Zambian woman in her 50s orchestrated my solo border crossing into the Congo; she made me a delicious chicken dinner at the restaurant she owned, called a friend to help me at the border crossing, and then walked me through an intimidating minibus station, found me the right bus, and negotiated a fair price on my behalf. My best friend in the Congo was a female teenager who showed me around Lubumbashi and tolerated my pitiful French. Four women in their 20s intervened on my behalf at a concert in Botswana when some young men began hassling me. And when I asked a female college student for directions in Dar Es Salaam, Tanzania, she grabbed my hand and walked me all the way to my destination, then invited me to her home to meet her mother and two sisters. In every country I visited in southern Africa, countless little girls (and boys) came up to me and say hello or offer a smile.
My experience in North Africa has been different. In southern Morocco, I recall walking alone in a small town and noticing two or three women sitting near the sidewalk up ahead. One of them looked at me for a split second and then moved her veil (at that point covering only her hair) to cover her entire face, all but her eyes, and then looked away. The same thing has happened several times since then. I am sure these gestures aren't hostile, but they remain prominent in my mind. My other gender-related memory is from Libya. I recall going into an ice cream store, buying a scoop of ice cream, and sitting down at one of the tables in the back to enjoy it. I noticed two or three women in the dining area, but didn't think much of it. A moment later, the store owner (a man) came over and told me I had to leave; the dining area was for women only.
The men in North Africa have been incredibly kind, generous and hospitable. I don't think I've encountered such warmth from strangers anywhere else in the world. I get phone numbers, food and drinks, and invitations to visit restaurants, shops, and homes hundreds of kilometers away. And I get the small stuff too -- a hello, a smile, a handshake. But I still miss the full spectrum of humanity.
(NOTE: I wrote this before I arrived in Cairo, Egypt, where it's a bit different -- but that's another story.)
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Bibliotheca Alexandrina
Alexandria's public library cost a fortune and was finished in 2002. It's meant to look like a rising sun. My helicopter ride fell through, so you'll have to look here for an aerial photo.
Once upon a time, Alexandria had the most famous library in the world. This new one is an attempt to rekindle some of that magic.
There's been some controversy about the new library, particularly because it cost so much to build that they've had trouble filling it with books. Controversy aside, I loved the place; I spent an afternoon there and didn't even get to see chunks of what the library had to offer.
Here are some photos of the reading room.
Once upon a time, Alexandria had the most famous library in the world. This new one is an attempt to rekindle some of that magic.
There's been some controversy about the new library, particularly because it cost so much to build that they've had trouble filling it with books. Controversy aside, I loved the place; I spent an afternoon there and didn't even get to see chunks of what the library had to offer.
Here are some photos of the reading room.
Alexandria, Egypt
I spent two relaxing days strolling around Alexandria. My youth hostel in Shatby cost $2 per night. The city is narrow and stretches for 20 miles along the Mediterranean. It's modern, and quite beautiful in spots. Here's a nice profile of the city with a pretty slideshow.
It felt like a university town, at least where I was staying; everywhere you looked, young people were walking about carrying stacks of books.
Alexandria felt very livable, but I chatted with a few people who said that work was hard to find there. I met a teacher and a pharmacist who each went to the United States for a year to work in the food industry -- Dunkin' Donuts, pizza delivery, diners -- to earn money to send back home to their families. And most of the 7 Egyptians in my minibus from Libya had been working as electricians in Libya because they said there was more work there, and the pay was better.
The view near the sea. You can make out the edge of the Alexandria Library on the right.
Handsome planetarium as the sun sets in the distance.
Students chatting outside the Alexandria Library.
Cemetery in the middle of town.
Friday, November 27, 2009
My Final Overland Adventure
With questionable health and little time, I had planned to fly from Benghazi, Libya to Cairo, Egypt -- a journey of about 1000 kilometers. But one day I found myself itching to get to Egypt, and no flights were available for a few days, so I located a minibus and made it happen.
I am glad I did. Most border crossings on my African journey have been memorable, and this one was especially so.
The journey began as most minibus journeys in Africa begin. I approached a bus, ascertained its destination (or so I thought), secured a spot, and sat around waiting for the bus to fill up. I arrived at 1pm and was told we'd leave at 2:00. By 4:00, the bus was 3 feet taller thanks to a mass of luggage strapped to the roof, and we were off. The journey ended around 9:00 the next morning ... to my surprise, in Alexandria!
I won't narrate the whole ride -- just bits and pieces and a few storylines.
One plotline involves hours of conversation between me and 8 men who could collectively speak less than 40 words of English (and I know fewer than 40 Arabic words). The conversation was surprisingly rich, interesting, and satisfying. We talked about religion, food, soccer, marriage, the differences between Libya and Egypt, life in America, and many other things. Another plotline involves pit stops. We stopped repeatedly for gas, food, tea, bathroom breaks, three times for prayer, once to change money, once for a flat tire, and several other times for purposes I never understood. A third plotline is the tremendous generosity of my new friends. Well before we reached the Libya-Egypt border, I had been given two dinners, five apples, a Pepsi, two glasses of Coke, some pear juice, a cup of coffee, and about 4 cups of tea. Over the course of the trip, I had a chance to bond a bit with everyone, and I was sad to see them go.
Now, for a few highlights.
Highlight Number 1: One final time, I got to experience that moment of panic when I awaken from a shallow, bumpy sleep to see that it's pitch black and everyone other than the driver is sound asleep as the minibus races down an empty highway. As is my practice, as soon as I woke up, I tapped the driver on the shoulder to ask if he was ok, I offered him a caffeinated beverage, and I found somebody to give him a cigarette. Our driver was a pro, and wide awake. As dead-of-night awakenings on a minibus go, this one was a cakewalk..
Highlight Number 2: Late evening, still in Libya. We pull into a gas station and fill up with 35 liters for less than 6 bucks. Although nobody else seemed concerned, I was terrified. When we pulled into the station, two of my companions were smoking cigarettes. A third lit up shortly after we began filling up. This was enough to raise my blood pressure, but I really began to worry when a man not ten feet from us topped off his old jalopy. As his gas tank filled up, the man kept pressing the pump's handle, and the petrol repeatedly reached the top of the tank and spilled down the side of the car, splashing into the air and onto his clothes. The gas-station scene from Zoolander raced through my head, but we emerged unscathed.
Highlight Number 3: Libya-Egypt border, the Libyan side. Leaving Libya overland was surreal. In the 10 or 20 kilometers leading up to the border, we passed through at least 5 checkpoints. Each time, the driver gathered our passports into a pile and handed them over. Each time, the officer spent a long time thumbing through my passport, asked the driver (but never me) some questions about me, and then let us pass.
As we approached the border itself, the man next to me, named Said, closed his eyes and began to pray in a low voice. Everyone else was silent. This continued for a good 5 minutes. We finally arrived at the border post, piling out of the car and standing in a pack near a handful of booths. Our driver ran at full speed from booth to booth, apparently trying to expedite our exit from the country. Other groups of hopeful border-crossers mingled about.
What struck me as we waited in the cold night was that all the travelers had an air of subservience. They stood a little bit straighter, talked a little bit more quietly, and ran like the wind when their names were called. I received an exit stamp within 10 minutes, but some of my companions ran into some trouble. I watched with great interest as they spoke urgently and in hushed tones to one another, but I didn't see how the story played out because the driver sized up the situation and told me to walk on toward Egypt.
As I walked along, a young man with slicked-back wavy dark hair approached me from out of nowhere and demanded my passport. He wore a black leather jacket and a classy patterned scarf, and had an earphone in his ear -- it looked like it was connected to his cell phone. I hesitated, and he demanded the passport again, this time more forcefully. I handed it over and he walked away to make a phone call. Soon, I was surrounded by a total of nine men -- some in military fatigues, some in plainclothes. I was escorted to a small building and watched as a man copied my visa and passport information longhand. I got my passport back was told I could proceed. One strange thing about that experience was that I wasn't certain which country those guys worked for; I already had my Libyan exit stamp, and the Egyptian facility was a ways further down the road.
Eventually, all my companions arrived -- whatever trouble there was had been resolved -- and we were off to the fun part.
Highlight Number 4: Libya-Egypt border, the Egypt side. By this point, our driver was frenzied and dead-set on hurrying us along. He grabbed my arm and we went from window to window, filling out forms along the way, to secure my $15 entry visa and passport stamp. I visited six windows in all, and at each one my driver cut in the queue or we were overtaken by someone who cut in front of us.
When my other companions made it through, the adventure began. We drove our overloaded minibus to the Unloading Zone. All around us, similar minibuses and cars were being furiously unloaded; blankets, fruit, refrigerators, wheelbarrows, chairs, boxes, bags, and baskets were piled everywhere -- but only for a second. They were immediately wheeled or dragged into a big building, the Inspection Station.
We stripped our minibus clean in a flash; the smallest among us, an Egyptian in his 50s, stood on top of the bus and tossed our luggage down. After admiring our mountain of possessions for a quick moment, everyone grabbed as much as he could carry and went inside.
When I got within 15 feet of the door, I was immediately pushed, yelled at, bumped, elbowed, and otherwise jostled, and the process did not end until I emerged from the other end of the Inspection Station. Everyone seemed to be operating at twice normal speed. The initial bottleneck was created by a double door, which had a conveyor belt with a metal detector on the the other side. Everything that came off the cars passed along that belt. The mob surged towards it; people within 5 feet of it seemed content to toss their belongings at it. They then raced through a metal detector meant for people and began clawing and fighting to get their possessions back. Meanwhile, inspectors wrote the names of each person's possessions on scraps of paper and handed them out.
On the other side of the detectors, in the main hall of the Inspection Station, the chaos continued. Some people searched for lost possessions or yelled for their companions, but most people dashed -- as though the building was on fire -- with everything they owned across the interior of the Station to the exit. A single exhausted agent was tasked with collecting everyone's list of possessions. I can't imagine that he turned many people back; if he tried, it might be like a stampede at a soccer match. I somehow never got my scrap of paper, but my US passport and a look of panic sufficed, and he waved me through with a bunch of Said's blankets and clothing. (Apparently his prayers were answered.) I exited that building behind a man in his 60s who was pushing a big metal box with two rusty wheels stacked on top.
I walked out into Egypt and into a thick fog. My companions gradually assembled, the driver arrived, and we repacked the van in record time. A pack of wild dogs ran about nearby, snarling and barking and drifting in and out of sight. Here's the scene.
In a flash, we were back in the car. After a couple more stops, we made the high-speed burn across western Egypt, and arrived safe and sound (and exhausted) in Alexandria well after sunrise.
I reached down below my seat to tidy up a bit and gather my trash. By the time I finished, only the driver and two of the passengers remained. I'm sad I didn't have a chance to thank my friends for their kindness and companionship on a worthy final voyage.
I am glad I did. Most border crossings on my African journey have been memorable, and this one was especially so.
The journey began as most minibus journeys in Africa begin. I approached a bus, ascertained its destination (or so I thought), secured a spot, and sat around waiting for the bus to fill up. I arrived at 1pm and was told we'd leave at 2:00. By 4:00, the bus was 3 feet taller thanks to a mass of luggage strapped to the roof, and we were off. The journey ended around 9:00 the next morning ... to my surprise, in Alexandria!
I won't narrate the whole ride -- just bits and pieces and a few storylines.
One plotline involves hours of conversation between me and 8 men who could collectively speak less than 40 words of English (and I know fewer than 40 Arabic words). The conversation was surprisingly rich, interesting, and satisfying. We talked about religion, food, soccer, marriage, the differences between Libya and Egypt, life in America, and many other things. Another plotline involves pit stops. We stopped repeatedly for gas, food, tea, bathroom breaks, three times for prayer, once to change money, once for a flat tire, and several other times for purposes I never understood. A third plotline is the tremendous generosity of my new friends. Well before we reached the Libya-Egypt border, I had been given two dinners, five apples, a Pepsi, two glasses of Coke, some pear juice, a cup of coffee, and about 4 cups of tea. Over the course of the trip, I had a chance to bond a bit with everyone, and I was sad to see them go.
Now, for a few highlights.
Highlight Number 1: One final time, I got to experience that moment of panic when I awaken from a shallow, bumpy sleep to see that it's pitch black and everyone other than the driver is sound asleep as the minibus races down an empty highway. As is my practice, as soon as I woke up, I tapped the driver on the shoulder to ask if he was ok, I offered him a caffeinated beverage, and I found somebody to give him a cigarette. Our driver was a pro, and wide awake. As dead-of-night awakenings on a minibus go, this one was a cakewalk..
Highlight Number 2: Late evening, still in Libya. We pull into a gas station and fill up with 35 liters for less than 6 bucks. Although nobody else seemed concerned, I was terrified. When we pulled into the station, two of my companions were smoking cigarettes. A third lit up shortly after we began filling up. This was enough to raise my blood pressure, but I really began to worry when a man not ten feet from us topped off his old jalopy. As his gas tank filled up, the man kept pressing the pump's handle, and the petrol repeatedly reached the top of the tank and spilled down the side of the car, splashing into the air and onto his clothes. The gas-station scene from Zoolander raced through my head, but we emerged unscathed.
Highlight Number 3: Libya-Egypt border, the Libyan side. Leaving Libya overland was surreal. In the 10 or 20 kilometers leading up to the border, we passed through at least 5 checkpoints. Each time, the driver gathered our passports into a pile and handed them over. Each time, the officer spent a long time thumbing through my passport, asked the driver (but never me) some questions about me, and then let us pass.
As we approached the border itself, the man next to me, named Said, closed his eyes and began to pray in a low voice. Everyone else was silent. This continued for a good 5 minutes. We finally arrived at the border post, piling out of the car and standing in a pack near a handful of booths. Our driver ran at full speed from booth to booth, apparently trying to expedite our exit from the country. Other groups of hopeful border-crossers mingled about.
What struck me as we waited in the cold night was that all the travelers had an air of subservience. They stood a little bit straighter, talked a little bit more quietly, and ran like the wind when their names were called. I received an exit stamp within 10 minutes, but some of my companions ran into some trouble. I watched with great interest as they spoke urgently and in hushed tones to one another, but I didn't see how the story played out because the driver sized up the situation and told me to walk on toward Egypt.
As I walked along, a young man with slicked-back wavy dark hair approached me from out of nowhere and demanded my passport. He wore a black leather jacket and a classy patterned scarf, and had an earphone in his ear -- it looked like it was connected to his cell phone. I hesitated, and he demanded the passport again, this time more forcefully. I handed it over and he walked away to make a phone call. Soon, I was surrounded by a total of nine men -- some in military fatigues, some in plainclothes. I was escorted to a small building and watched as a man copied my visa and passport information longhand. I got my passport back was told I could proceed. One strange thing about that experience was that I wasn't certain which country those guys worked for; I already had my Libyan exit stamp, and the Egyptian facility was a ways further down the road.
Eventually, all my companions arrived -- whatever trouble there was had been resolved -- and we were off to the fun part.
Highlight Number 4: Libya-Egypt border, the Egypt side. By this point, our driver was frenzied and dead-set on hurrying us along. He grabbed my arm and we went from window to window, filling out forms along the way, to secure my $15 entry visa and passport stamp. I visited six windows in all, and at each one my driver cut in the queue or we were overtaken by someone who cut in front of us.
When my other companions made it through, the adventure began. We drove our overloaded minibus to the Unloading Zone. All around us, similar minibuses and cars were being furiously unloaded; blankets, fruit, refrigerators, wheelbarrows, chairs, boxes, bags, and baskets were piled everywhere -- but only for a second. They were immediately wheeled or dragged into a big building, the Inspection Station.
We stripped our minibus clean in a flash; the smallest among us, an Egyptian in his 50s, stood on top of the bus and tossed our luggage down. After admiring our mountain of possessions for a quick moment, everyone grabbed as much as he could carry and went inside.
When I got within 15 feet of the door, I was immediately pushed, yelled at, bumped, elbowed, and otherwise jostled, and the process did not end until I emerged from the other end of the Inspection Station. Everyone seemed to be operating at twice normal speed. The initial bottleneck was created by a double door, which had a conveyor belt with a metal detector on the the other side. Everything that came off the cars passed along that belt. The mob surged towards it; people within 5 feet of it seemed content to toss their belongings at it. They then raced through a metal detector meant for people and began clawing and fighting to get their possessions back. Meanwhile, inspectors wrote the names of each person's possessions on scraps of paper and handed them out.
On the other side of the detectors, in the main hall of the Inspection Station, the chaos continued. Some people searched for lost possessions or yelled for their companions, but most people dashed -- as though the building was on fire -- with everything they owned across the interior of the Station to the exit. A single exhausted agent was tasked with collecting everyone's list of possessions. I can't imagine that he turned many people back; if he tried, it might be like a stampede at a soccer match. I somehow never got my scrap of paper, but my US passport and a look of panic sufficed, and he waved me through with a bunch of Said's blankets and clothing. (Apparently his prayers were answered.) I exited that building behind a man in his 60s who was pushing a big metal box with two rusty wheels stacked on top.
I walked out into Egypt and into a thick fog. My companions gradually assembled, the driver arrived, and we repacked the van in record time. A pack of wild dogs ran about nearby, snarling and barking and drifting in and out of sight. Here's the scene.
Our minibus wasn't packed quite this high, but it wasn't far off. In this next shot, the Inspection Station looms in the background.
In a flash, we were back in the car. After a couple more stops, we made the high-speed burn across western Egypt, and arrived safe and sound (and exhausted) in Alexandria well after sunrise.
I reached down below my seat to tidy up a bit and gather my trash. By the time I finished, only the driver and two of the passengers remained. I'm sad I didn't have a chance to thank my friends for their kindness and companionship on a worthy final voyage.
Signs
Libya's signs are in Arabic. For tourists like me without a firm command of the language, it can be challenging to get around.
I took this photo in Sebha. Several blocks back, I had used gestures and sign language and the word Internet to indicate that I wanted to find an Internet cafe. I stared at this sign for a solid 30 seconds, trying to guess whether it meant "Internet Cafe." It didn't.
Go to (the street mentioned below). Then look for (the thing mentioned in the second sign below). It's on your right.
As I wandered around, I'd sometimes try to guess what was behind those shuttered stores and (to me) indecipherable signs. The funny part was that sometimes, when the stores were open, it would be no clearer to me what they actually sold or what service they provided.
Benghazi, Libya
I was about to tell you that Benghazi isn't particularly photogenic, but then I visited its Wikipedia page and I take that back.
Benghazi is Libya's second city, along the coast in the eastern portion of Libya. I spent a couple of quiet days there, wandering through the long market, eating delicious and inexpensive food (including a massive lamburger with a fried egg and hot sauce for less than 75 cents), and enjoying the hospitality of the Libyans I happened upon.
One tip: Stay at the El-Dogal hotel. It's along the sea, the rooms are pleasant enough, and they're much less expensive than similar options in town. Also occupying the hotel while I was there: A cool Indian music group and a group of European basketball players. El-Dogal is the place to be.
Photos of Benghazi:
Not much to look at, but believe me, much more interesting and fun.
Benghazi is Libya's second city, along the coast in the eastern portion of Libya. I spent a couple of quiet days there, wandering through the long market, eating delicious and inexpensive food (including a massive lamburger with a fried egg and hot sauce for less than 75 cents), and enjoying the hospitality of the Libyans I happened upon.
One tip: Stay at the El-Dogal hotel. It's along the sea, the rooms are pleasant enough, and they're much less expensive than similar options in town. Also occupying the hotel while I was there: A cool Indian music group and a group of European basketball players. El-Dogal is the place to be.
Photos of Benghazi:
This next one is an average street in the main part of town.
Benghazi has nice lakes, and a few monuments, and some pleasant places to walk along the sea, but the areas off the main souq -- which are smelly and dirty and wonderful -- are the places to be, as far as I'm concerned. They look more like this.
Not much to look at, but believe me, much more interesting and fun.
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