I've Been Golabeya'd

So, I decided to take the next step towards Egyptian integration yesterday: I bought a golabeya (spelling varies). It’s basically the traditional dress worn by both men and women, however the styles are different from both. For those that know what a long Punjabi kurta looks like, a golabeya resembles that, but has a much looser fit. To make the purchase, Simon (an Aussie) and I took our bargaining act to Khan-el-khalili, the tourist trap market next to an ancient Egyptian mosque.

The key to all touristy markets is to head to the shady backstreets where tourist dare not venture. Or, go at 2 AM when the foreigners are all sleeping. Most of the shops were closed when we ventured through, but we did manage to navigate through a maze of walkways until we came upon well-lit street we could’ve taken from the beginning. We perused a couple of shops, trying on whatever we could, but came away with nothing. Our verdict was that the product we were being shown was too dressy.

Luckily, the great thing about the market is you simply need to shout out “golabeya” and people will flock towards you like sheep. A quick shout by Simon garnered just that. We ended up at a humble table stacked with cotton golabeyas.

“I think these guys know what we’re saying, so we should try to speak using fancy words,” says Simon. “These colours definitely meet my stringent requirements.”
“Oh, you mean that they’re commensurate with your standards?”
“Exactly. Commensurate.”
“Haha.”

Simon went for the beige, I opted for the light navy blue. Now all we needed to do was bargain. The vendor started with an obscene 95 LE (20 bucks) each, an offer at which we balked. We offered something a lot less, which provoked a demur from him. Here was the problem: I had no money and Simon had 60 LE, so we either were going to pay less than 60, or not get a golabeya. Our determination, along with the dirty tactic of walking away to one of the other many vendors, managed to get the price down to 60. He kept asking me to pay more, but all I could produce was a business card of a papyrus dealer I had met earlier.

So we walked away two happy individuals. All the was left was to “take the plunge,” of sorts, so we ducked into a dark alleyway, or so we thought. You see, to properly wear a golabeya, you can’t be wearing pants, shorts, or shirts. Boxers/briefs are all that’s required (although you could probably go commando if you want). As we were performing our little strip show, random guys just started walking up. Then a small crowd formed. We managed to get away after shaking a few hands and exchanging Arabic pleasantries.

I can’t really think of a better way to immerse myself in the golabeya culture than changing in a dark alleyway surrounded by old men. Awesome.