Memories in Alexandria.

The salty sun,

air sticking to the skin.

The busy sea, white boats like ants, some things don't change despite thousands of years passing.

The Alexandrian Skyline.

The amazingly juicy liver sandwiches, 2 Egyptian pounds per piece, over in three medium sized bites, bought standing behind 15 people in a small but old shop on El-Gaish Road, tucked away in one of the corners of this maze of a country.

A morning spent with my back to burning sun and sea, laughing at the excited childlike tourists on overpriced red coloured double-decker buses.

The lovers sitting on cooling stones by the sea, hand on arm, chins on knees, talking softly, laughing hard, cats prowling close by for scraps of dinner.

And most lovingly, the outside table set for three at the Terrace Cafe in the Steigenberger Cecil Hotel, the bright red and copper coloured menus in English, a boon of luck in an Arabic country, having cups of hot chocolate and oily textured coffee I'd never had before and will prefer not to have again, smoking a couple of L&Ms Blue, looking at the never-ending traffic, snatching glimpses of the sea right across the road if the cars ever stopped for more than a couple of seconds.

A rare occurence but carefully preserved by this strange system of memory.

- S.