The Mysterious Shop on Maraashly Street

I live on Maraashly Street in Zamalek. The AUC dorm isn't far up the street. I walk this street all the time, so I know pretty much every shop and store. But there is one place I've never dared enter - this one really small antique shop.


It's not like I'm afraid, really. I just don't really have any reason to shop for antiques -- especially at a creepy-old-building, hole-in-the-wall, open-at-strange-hours, never-see-anyone-there shop.

I'm not kidding. It seems like this shop, this strange one with the French name above the door, is never open. And when it is open, it's the middle of the night. But I never see anyone inside, going in or going out.

Well, there was this one time. She was very large, possibly Egyptian - but her red hair and garish old-lady applique track suit effectively masked her nationality . . . I can't recall even looking at her in the face. She came out the door, and was gone. Aha, I thought, mortals do shop there. Strange mortals, to be sure, but mortals nevertheless.

It got me to thinking . . . maybe this shop, maybe it's by appointment only. Maybe it's so exclusive you call ahead and they give you a password. Maybe you have to know someone who knows someone. Maybe it's an antique secret society.

So now I have even more reasons to not step foot in the door. What if I did?

"Mr. Lopez-Garcia?"
"Um, no, I'm just looking."
"Do you know the secret handshake?"
"Not really, no. I just thought I'd take a peak..."
"Get out!"

And I'd get the bum's rush, with nothing to do but wipe my pride off the Maraashly Street asphalt.

Zamalek is a posh, wide-open, foreigner-type place. I really shouldn't feel hesitant. But I just keep walking by, slowing a bit when the place is lit up -- old chairs and bureaus silhouetted in the yellow light spilling out the open door.