Picture This: Youssef Nabil

I have just fallen under the spell of a considerably talented young photographer, one Youssef Nabil, an Egyptian expatriate now settled in Manhattan. Lucky city.

Nabil's speciality is the portrait photograph. He works in soft tints and handwashes, creating an effect that recalls the glory days of Egyptian film and the lost cosmopolitan world that was swept away in the Nasserist revolution of 1952.

Above is one of my favorite, to date, of his works, a suitably formidable portrait of that Café favorite, the smoldering dancer/actress/phenomenon Fifi Abdou. As you can see, she's fierce.

But Youssef also works in a gentler and considerably more romantic vein, as evidenced by the moody study above. I really can't rave about him too much, and I insist that you visit his presence on the Intertubes at your earliest convenience. He has not only a dazzling range of pictures, but some marvelously literate articles and interviews, including a fabulous one with Egyptian screen legend Faten Hamema (a former Mrs. Omar Sharif and something of the Audrey Hepburn of the Nile).

Lucky readers in Washington, DC (well, something has to make you lucky, to make up for living there) will have the chance to see some of his cinema portraits as part of the Kennedy Center's upcoming Arabesque festival. I'd get there, if I were you; Fifi's waiting.

The Longest Month

Ramadan grinds on. This, I fear, is the part of the month where every day starts to feel like an endless Thanksgiving afternoon: just too much holiday.

I miss going out to lunch, I miss having breakfast with Mr. Muscato (in the morning, that is, when breakfast is supposed to happen, not at sunset), and most of all, I miss - a word that hardly begins to express the depth of the longing - my mid-morning cup of coffee at the desk. And let's not even start with the whole cocktail angle. I'm teetotaling, more or less, and it's not pretty.

It probably doesn't help that I first encountered Ramadan in Cairo, where, I can't help feeling, they Do It Right: late mornings, relaxed rules for foreigners and infidels, and parties that start at dusk and last all night. I know that's probably not the Spirit of the Season, but neither is most of what we do for Christmas, and I still enjoy all that nonsense, too.

The whole city is decorated, as well. Colorful lanterns, the Ramadan fanous, decorate the entrances of almost every building, hang in offices, and are strung through the narrow streets of the poorer quarters.

There are public celebrations everywhere; charities and wealthy people sponsor Ramadan tents and tables, where all kinds of people gather for the sunset fast-breaking, the Iftar. For years the most notorious of these was hosted by the inexpressibly glamourous Fifi Abdou, much to the consternation of some local spoilsports; she responded, of course, by redoubling the size and ostentation of her banquets.

Here, things are distinctly more sedate. Decorations seem to limited to a few limp garlands in the supermarkets, evenings are if anything even sleepier than normal (especially if sitting in a coffee shop smoking shisha isn't your thing), and during the daytime one's fasting acquaintances move at a glacial pace, conserving their energy and looking wan. And let's not even talk about the driving.

It doesn't help that our favorite hangout this weekend banned Koko the Wonder Dog, saying that other customers complained, even though it's an outdoor café, we sit streetside, and he really is beautifully trained to stay quietly under the table. Local attitudes toward dogs are fodder for a future post.

The end is in sight, of course, and we'll slog on. The holiday ends at the end of this month. Then we'll have a normal few weeks before the onset of the National Day season, but more of that, no doubt, anon.

Bonus for Local Readers!
While there's still some time left, here's our wholly subjective take on this year's Ramadan offerings:

Must-do Iftar: the Crowne Plaza, in the newly redecorated Tropicana Restaurant. Great fresh salads, real juice, and more than the usual bland entrées (duck! mutton curry!). A bargain at OR 11. Reservations are a must.

Must-to-avoid Iftar: Second Avenue. Tired, tasteless, and, despite the glam setting, distinctly downmarket - and OR 7.5 to boot! Our whole table was queasy for hours afterward...

Best Local Flavor Iftar: Al-Reef Al-Lubnani in Al-Khuwair. Crowded, festive, and bustling, as locals vie with Egyptian, Lebanese, and Syrian families at a buffet that doesn't disappoint - and only OR 3.5.

Biggest TV Disappointment: Esmahan. Endless, pointless, and really, really bad period costumes and settings. Bring back El-Malik Farouk!

Must-See TV: Dubai One's subtitled Freej - really well done, and a lifesaver or those of us who have minimal Khalijy.

A Noble Effort: Oman-TV's Darayish II. It's almost worth watching just to catch the location shots and for the inevitable nightly shouting match. Almost.

فيفى عبدة

After posting, I realized that just a still of the One and Only Fifi is hardly enough to get a real sense of the Lady in Action. Thank heaven for Youtube!

I can do no better than one commenter there: "Can a woman be THAT perfect?"

Fierce Stardom: Fifi Abdou

Talk about your baubles, bangles, and beads!

Egypt seems to create a very special kind of star - outsized, extravagant, extreme. And that's something we like a lot.

Here we have one of the most extreme of them all, the fabulous Miss Fifi Abdou - a sensation of what they call raqs sharqi (Eastern dance) and that we call bellydance for more than thirty years, a film star, and most recently a regular on television serials (often playing strong but longsuffering mothers). When Miss Fifi is on screen or on stage, nothing else matters.

I am afraid; I am fascinated; I am helpless in her gaze: the very definition of stardom.