What Zamalek tastes like at 7 a.m.

Before the bridges fill, Zamalek is a quiet island. The man on the corner toasts the first batch of feteer; the river still has yesterday's mist on it. We walk the same loop most mornings — past the embassy gardens, around the back of the Marriott, into the small bakery that has been there longer than the building it occupies. By the time we are home, the city is loud again.