UNTIL NOT SO long ago everyone in Misr El-Gedida had a certain “outing” they called their own. My grandparents never tire of talking about their dinners at L’Amphitryon and shopping at Cicurel when the streets were still so serene you’d be afraid to walk alone after sunset. A generation later, my parents and their friends courted at the Merryland Gardens, then meticulously kept, secluded and respectably romantic. My uncles remember mischieviously skipping school and sneaking into Cinemas Roxy and Heliopolis, then grabbing kofta sandwiches from Shaker and gateaux from Groppi before jumping on the metro and heading home.

I myself lived through the late 1980s-early 1990s in a then-conservative Heliopolis where girls never went to the cinema on their own. When the Normandi was given a much-needed makeover around that time and began to show current Hollywood releases, my parents agreed we could go but only if our male cousins sat on each end of the aisle sandwiching us in. From there, we’d walk down to Pizza Hut for lunch and window shop at Mondaine before ending our outing with a soft cone from Elite.

With Ahram Street as their epicenter, Roxy, Salah El-Din, Midan El-Gamei and Korba are each unique shopping and entertainment destinations in their own right. Roxy, famous for the shoe shop 14, sells clothes, shoes and bags, scarves and toys; Salah El-Din and Midan El-Gamei’s streets are lined with goldsmiths (Ehab Mounir, Nessim, New Turquiose they’re all here), car repair workshops and household goods in addition to the central vegetable souq. The more upscale Korba boasts a handmade carpet store plus posh establishments dealing in diamonds (Aram, Select, etc) and other precious gems and expensive gifts. And then, of course, there are the food stops we never tire of: New Kamal’s fruit salad; brunch at Le Chantilly and dinner at Petit Palmera; Abu Haidar for the tastiest shawerma sandwiches and freshest mango juice on God’s earth; and Mandarin Qouidar’s Oriental favorites, the crowning glory of which is the cream-filled Turkish delight.

This summer’s centennial celebrations have thrust the commercial hub back into the spotlight, much to the delight of the people who call this place of business their home. We took walks down memory lane with locals from four of the area’s top establishments.

I’ve been here just 30 years or so, and L’Amphitryon has been around since 1922, but it’s very gratifying to grow old with the people of this area. They are so loyal. I remember how one young man, a teacher he was, used to come here and sit at a certain table on each visit. When he got engaged he’d bring his fiancée here. Then they got married and came here with their children. Today their children come here often too. That’s the essence of Heliopolis, it runs through generations without losing its style or character.

I have some good memories of this place. Lots of prominent figures frequented our establishment, such as [then] Interior Minister Zaki Badr, El-Kott the writer, Ahmed Abul Dahab of Maglis El-Ummah, as well as Qassem El-Sherie [Ammar’s uncle] and Abel-Rahman El-Abnoudi. You’d never imagine how simple these people really are. Forget about positions, it’s the simplicity of character that’s the mark of a man. And the youth back then? They used to sit in groups and talk nothing but politics late into the night. I always used to overhear their conversations and would sometimes even join in. I’m seeing a positive change in today’s youth. They want to make something of themselves, they all dream up projects and micro-enterprises so they can stand on their own feet.

But that’s hardly the only thing that’s changed over the years. In 1922, from here to the Basilica, there were very few buildings. When I arrived in the ‘70s, some blocks had come up; today, you can hardly make out the church for the shops and buildings.

What really saddens me, though, is that in the years between no attention has been paid to the sprawl and how it’s changing the face of Heliopolis. Look up at the building we’re in, for example. It’s huge, with only two flats to a floor. That means there’s this shop and only four families living here. Now look across the road at that monstrous apartment block. The high-rise packs three or four flats a floor; just think how many people that works out to. And it’s not just the density; the new constructions look nothing like the original Heliopolis.

To preserve our heritage, we have to be less materialistic. One of the best things the authorities did was to get rid of all those street vendors several years back. Beforehand Boutros Ghali Street [where bargain shoe store 14 now holds court] was the commercial center. These people who came from Moski brought the spirit of Moski with them. We are well rid of them and the noise level has since gone down.

Ahmed Nemr Moushira Sayed Ibrahim of Mondiane

Going back to the old is good, but L’Amphitryon has had to move with the times to keep its head above water. We’ve always prided ourselves on our high level of service and our reputation, but the new malls and fast food joints have no doubt dealt a blow to our business. In the 1970s, there was no such thing as sandwiches; now they’re the order of the day. Adel Toama, the owner, decided to go with the flow and sectioned off a sandwich corner, naming it Sandro after his son Skandar, and we regularly introduce new items to the menu.

Today, the first lady’s efforts have successfully restored some of the old grandeur. But people have to have the will to bring back our glory. For example, when some officials came to us to talk about our shop, we all sat together in the café area and decided to put up the glass fence you see today. It really cleaned up our image, and [Presidential advisor] Osama El-Baz, one of our frequent guests, made a humorous comment when he first saw it. He said the presidency would envy us and copy our design!

Seriously, that’s the only way to go if we want to preserve our Heliopolis; otherwise its beautiful spirit will just ebb away.

When I first came to work here around 25 years ago, Mondaine was the classiest shop on this strip. It was a landmark and the people who used to come here had a style of their own Heliopolis style. You could tell from the way they were dressed, the courtesy with which they treated you. Coming to Mondaine was an outing, not a shopping trip. Back then, that was what Heliopolis was: chic and organized. We’d close for two hours [for lunch] and our clothes were all imported from Italy. Today, people have changed completely and we’ve had to change to meet their needs. We now cater to both the rich and those from average-income households; we have to have something for everybody.

As a resident of Korba, I’m delighted at Mrs. Mubarak’s initiative. Everything from the cleanup of street vendors and rerouting of roads to the recent coat of paint has lighted Heliopolis up. It’s much cleaner and brighter.

But not all change has been good. I’m sorry to say the change in clientele has been for the worse. Now they come in with their food and ice cream and boss you around without even a simple merci. But we can’t complain; the owners treat us very well and we are loyal to them. We owe them everything because they care about us and our relationship with our customers. They make sure we are presentable, encouraging nail polish and accepting no excuses if it’s chipped.

People have come to know me by name because I make an effort to get to know my clients. Of course, we have tens of loyal patrons who call me from abroad and ask me to set aside items that I think would suit them. We also have our share of celebrities; we dress actresses Fadia Abdel-Ghany, Suad Nasr and Aida Riyadh as well as TV presenter Nagat El-Esseily. A few years back, [the belly dancer] Fifi Abdou came here with her daughter and an entourage. She was very simple and really sweet. Recently, [young screen star] Dalia Ibrahim also stopped by and EgyptAir hostess Fatma El-Didi is one of our most respected customers.

Undoubtedly, tastes are far less conservative then they used to be. Girls all want tight-fitting clothes and young mothers, too, want to show off everything to their best advantage. This actually makes me sad because we’ve lost touch with high fashion which caters to all occasions: casual, après midi, soiree. Now everything is just sport. You can even show up at a wedding in jeans if they’re beaded and shiny. It’s shameful.

The Normandi has seen generations not only of cinemagoers, but also of employees. Now those who can remember what it was like in the old days have either passed away or retired. I myself can’t really speak for them, but I can tell you this: We have since entered a completely new era in the film industry.

Like everything else in Egypt, we have to update our product. Before the first renovation in the 1980s, the cinema was unapproachable. After that makeover, we saw a huge jump in audiences and the Normandi was the biggest thing in Heliopolis. With the 1990s and the wave of malls and cinema complexes, we’ve lost quite a bit of our business. But we are still on par with the newcomers. Just a few years ago we upgraded our sound system and everything here is now absolutely high-tech.

Today, we have our own special audience. Almost everyone is from Heliopolis and they come because they are loyal to the cinema some even have a favorite seat and we try as much as possible to show the latest releases for them. Older clients come because they have fond memories for the place.

Of course the bigger picture sees an audience divide that you can find at all cinemas around the capital. There are those who come for the Hollywood releases and those who come for the local Arabic-language productions. They are two totally different sets of people. The former are better educated and more discerning and they usually catch the evening shows. The latter could even be from lower-income households but they arrive in large groups and are generally younger, aged between 13 and 25. They tend to come in the mornings, which is why we now offer cheaper tickets for those shows as most are students cutting class.

Although the boom in cinemas has taken a toll on us, it’s been a boon for the industry as a whole as local films get a much higher exposure, and that’s where we make most of our earnings from. At the same time, cinema equipment is more high-tech, as is the quality of the film, and the profits from high season releases have skyrocketed.

But one of the biggest changes our corner of the world has seen is undoubtedly in censorship. It’s much more lenient and not as conservative as it used to be. Gone are the days when many films would be torn to shreds by authorities or banned completely.

I believe audiences are more receptive too, at least when it comes rated content. They’ve got to be now that every other home has a satellite. Granted certain scenes are not everyone’s cup of tea and we frequently see outraged clients walking out of particularly steamy scenes. With the Hollywood audiences it hardly ever happens, but our Arabic-language viewers even have a hard time accepting liberal values.

Our most recent example was with Baheb El-Cima (last year’s I love the Cinema) where disappointed families Christians and Muslims alike came to us and asked to have the film pulled. Our society is going through a transition in values, but we can’t tell for sure which direction it’ll be heading in. In the near future we’ll have to work more closely with distribution companies on what we can and can’t show.

Where can I possibly begin telling you about this place? It’s been so long since I arrived here in 1931. What I can tell you is that people are first changed by their government, and that generation divides are a distant second. Let’s start with the Revolution. The powers that be changed the social fabric of our nation totally with their imposed views. A once-powerful rich strata was shrunk considerably and the poor got stronger and stronger. The former grew meek and the latter turned into conceited dimwits who quickly realized they no longer needed anything from the rich.For me, that was the real turning point. Since then, the people have become so materialistic it makes me sick. Gone are the days of my friends who used to come to this very same stand and be kind to me. Haidar Pasha, Sabri Abu Alam Pasha, Kamel Pasha and Abdel Fattah Saeed Pasha. Why, I remember how Abdel Rahim Pasha, God rest his soul, used to shout at the cooks in Ramadan if they didn’t serve me and others on the street first at iftar.

Everything today is money, money, money. And it’s getting worse. Before, when everyone believed in the socialist ideals, people wanted to make it work and looked out for each other. Remember when Khaled Mohieddin raised bread prices by a tareefa? People went crazy. Abdel Nasser was away and upon his return he cancelled the price hike and he had half a mind to sack Mohieddin! Now, prices go up 10, 20, 30 percent and no one gives two hoots about us. The cheap baladi bread they make is so full of grit you can’t chew it; it’s fit only of the bin. We’re forced to spend precious pounds of our income on a couple of loaves of bread. For me, it means people no longer have extra money to spend on papers and magazines. Before, people would come and pick up three, four publications a day. That’s all changed.

You ask me what the difference is between then and now? Despair, that’s what. Then, we worked hard and carved out a living for ourselves. Today, we are living a state of despair. Our government breeds injustice, and we as a nation are treated with indignity. And there’s little we can do about it. Article 76? Rubbish. Nothing’s going to change, it’s just a curtain they’re hiding behind. Ayman Nour’s been made an example of and anyone else would be a fool to make the same mistake and walk into the lion’s den.

Egypt is falling into a black hole and fast. If it were up to me, I’d take the sack of rice and grains they give to refugees and move to the desert. But alas, it’s just a matter of time before it’ll be more of the same. et