Cairo was too quiet.  It was the morning of Friday, January 28th, 2011.  Most of the city’s 18 Million residents were listening to the mosque sermons and calls to prayer which echoed all across the vast landscape of dirty, 20-story buildings, medieval forts, stunning mosques, and ancient pyramids.  When Friday prayers end, there is usually a return to the continuous urban chorus of honking horns, bargaining leather jacket salesmen, and chatty Egyptians drinking Turkish coffee.  But today there was only silence and an aura of anticipation.

Over the last few days demonstrators had taken to the streets and called for the resignation of President Hosni Mubarak.  I saw about 5,000 people cross the Nile River from West to East into Tahrir Square, which is in downtown Cairo.  Thousands of riot police deployed and used tear gas, billy clubs, shields, and riot trucks, to disperse the crowds which began to pop up all over downtown Cairo.  My Egyptian friends described these police as the loyal attack dogs of Mubarak’s regime.  Some of these guys started working around police stations at the age of 13 and gradually were raised by the wider police family to become enforcers of the martial law which Mubarak declared in Egypt 31 years ago when Anwar Sadat was assassinated and Mubarak was promoted from Vice President to President.  I had been hit by small amounts of tear gas launched by these police, a friend in my hostel had been clubbed in the back by plain clothes police who were using sticks to spread panic ahead of the riot trucks, and another friend had been robbed by a group of 5 men who had a gun and police I.D.’s.  Most of the demonstrators I saw during this period looked afraid and tended to retreat when riot control lines marched down the streets.  An odd exception was the steps of the National Press Club where a few hundred demonstrators listened to a speech given by a young woman while right next to them about 200 riot police waited silently and sealed off the street.

The first few days of the demonstration were effectively controlled or disrupted by the police.  Internet and cell phones were shut down across Egypt by the Government, few working-class Egyptians could afford to risk leaving their jobs in already dire economic circumstances, and there must have been a reluctance to believe all this was really happening since there had been nothing like it in the 31 years of Mubarak’s rule.  Thus, as of early Friday morning, the riot police were firmly in control.

But Friday is the Muslim holy day, and a day off work for most Egyptians.  By now, word of mouth had spread through Egypt that today was going to be the big day.  Demonstrators had learned to bring masks and bandanas to combat the effects of tear gas and they were more accustomed to the fear tactics of the riot police.

Personally, I had no desire to get caught up in someone else’s political turmoil, so I paid my way into the pool deck of the Grand Hyatt Hotel which had a great view of the Nile River Bridges, and an efficient poolside beverage service.  The best place to watch a revolution is from a hot tub, and since it was a perfect day I was also able to work on my tan.

“Pop! Pop! Pop!”  There was a continuous popping sound similar to that made by those idiotic T-shirt cannons which third rate sports arenas use to keep fans awake.  I saw tear gas shells launched in a long arc from the El Galaa Bridge into El Galaa Square.  It was a continuous firing process which resulted in a large, thick, tear gas cloud hovering in El Galaa Square.  Without a gas mask, it would have been near impossible to run through the cloud, and anyone making it through the cloud would be met by about 600 riot police formed up in a tight blocking position which sealed off the western entrance of El Galaa Bridge.  In addition, there were a handful of police boats guarding against amphibious crossings.

The crowd was assembling near a building which housed Mohamed El Barradi, the Nobel Prize winning physicist who many considered to be an opposition leader.  They apparently wanted to cross over the Nile bridges and into Tahrir Square as they had done on Tuesday.  But this time their route was firmly blocked by the riot police.  In addition to the defenses described above, the police had hundreds more men in reserve in Tahrir Square, as well as water cannons mounted on vehicles.  Earlier in the morning, on my way to the Hyatt, I saw many of these police forming up.  In spite of their youth, they looked focused, prepared, and determined.  Their older leaders were actively trooping their lines and getting them geared up for the day’s events.  At that point, I would have bet money that not a single demonstrator would be able to cross from West of the Nile into Downtown Cairo.

But I had underestimated both the size and determination of the crowd.  Little by little, the crowd started to creep into the edges of El Galaa Square, chanting loudly and shaking their fists.  Individual demonstrators would bravely charge towards the police, throw a rock, then run back, coughing up tear gas.  The crowd continued to edge further into the Square, and as they did so the police doubled down on the tear gas firing.  A nearby apartment caught fire somehow.  Soon a fire engine came to extinguish it while both the police and the demonstrators allowed it through.  The crowd kept getting braver, occasionally rushing right to the bridge in groups of 20 or 30, only to be beaten back.  This continued for about an hour and the demonstrators had made no progress towards penetrating the bridge.  Police reinforcements began to arrive as it became clear that El Galaa Bridge was the decisive point in their attempt to keep the demonstrators out of downtown.  The rushes of the crowd got even bigger and more determined, but still the police beat them back and continued to rain tear gas on the square with deadly accuracy.

Some demonstrators grabbed some tear gas bombs which had landed, ran towards the police, and chucked them onto the bridge.  This caused a bit of wavering in the police lines, but not enough to shake them.  In spite of their lack of success so far, the crowd continued to surge toward the police.  The stinging of the tear gas must have been intense at this point, but a small group got close to the bridge for long enough to start a large fire.  Thick black smoke enveloped the police, and the crowd spontaneously surged toward the bridge.  This was the critical point in the battle where the police finally broke ranks and began to retreat.  After falling back a few hundred meters, the police recovered and reformed into another choke point on the east edge of El Galaa Bridge, just before Zamalek Island.  But at that point, their tear gas shots were landing in the Nile River, unable to hit the relatively thin target of the bridge.  On the rare shots when gas did hit the bridge, demonstrators would grab the canister and either toss it into The Nile or back at the police.

A ripple of enthusiasm went through the crowd as they realized that the police choke point on the bridge had been broken.  Thousands of demonstrators filled into El Galaa Square and onto the bridge.  Many more were behind them but still out of view.  The police were vulnerable and the crowd knew it.

The riot police held out at their new choke point for about 30 minutes, and then they retreated to the Qasr el-Nil Bridge which connects Zamalek Island to Central Cairo.  This gave them the opportunity to use the traffic circle in front of the Cairo Opera House as another tear gas choke point, backed up by police in reserve on Qasr el-Nil Bridge.  This obstacle also proved formidable, but after about an hour of repeating the tactics of charging, throwing rocks, setting fires, and then surging in as a group, the demonstrators again broke through.

My heart sank as the violence approached The Cairo Opera House.  I had recently seen Giuseppe Verde’s opera “Aida” there.  It had been a beautiful night.  Our dates were gorgeous Danish-Jordanian girls and the opera, set in ancient Egypt, had a tragic but romantic ending.  Unlike many Western countries where it it’s considered un-cool to dress up for opera and theater, Egypt is stylishly formal and refuses entry to inappropriately dressed scruff.  So my friend and I wore sharp suits and the girls wore delicious, dark, evening gowns, and one of the girls even had a lovely white flower pinned in her hair.  After the opera, we journeyed up Zamalek Island to a traditional restaurant which used recipes from the secret cookbook of an Egyptian who was once the personal chef of the Ottoman Sultan.  We ate baba ganoush and kafta, smoked shisha, drank Egyptian tea, and the girls taught us a few rare Arabic expressions.  Nights like these are common in romantic Cairo, and in the absence of revolution, the streets fill up every night with Egyptian culture and smiling Cairoenes.

But Aida’s romantic theme would take a back seat this week to two other themes which are strong in that opera: respect for the Egyptian Army, and the everlasting nature of authoritarian governments in Egypt.  Many people had had enough the current authoritarian government, and right in front of the opera they were attacking one manifestation of that government, the riot police.  (In contrast to the riot police, most Egyptians have a profound respect for their Army, and this would be an important factor in the days to come).

The demonstrators forced their way onto Qasr el-Nil Bridge and this time the retreat of the police seemed a bit more rushed.  Once again, the tear gas was rendered ineffective since the bridge was too narrow to hit consistently with long range tear gas shots.  The demonstrators pushed the police all the way to the East edge of the Nile, and it looked as if they would break into Tahrir Square.  This is when the police unleashed their water cannons along with a detachment of reserve troops.  The fire hose strength spray of the cannons drove the crowd back and then fresh troops rushed in to shove and sweep the demonstrators along the bridge.  This was very effective and the crowd was pushed back to the beautiful Opera House.  Tear gas shots once again arced into the crowd.  Another stalemate ensued near the opera for about 30 minutes.  Over the next hour the crowd was swept all the way back to the El Galaa Bridge.  Now imagine the state of exhaustion of the demonstrators after 3 or 4 hours of running, shoving, jumping around, and dodging tear gas, clubs and water cannons.  Not to mention, they had just lost almost all of the ground they had gained which must have been demoralizing.  But the riot police were also exhausted, and more demonstrators piled in from El Galaa Square.  At this point, perhaps 10,000 demonstrators were trying to push across the El Galaa Bridge against now sluggish resistance by the police.  The two groups resembled two heavy weight boxers in the later rounds of a fight who just embrace and shove each other around because they are too tired to swing.  But the demonstrators still had enough fight left to slog the riot police back to the opera, and then all the way to the end of the Qasr el-Nil Bridge.  After about 4 or 5 hours of struggle, the demonstrators had successfully crossed the Nile.

“Sir would you care for another tonic water, or perhaps some Turkish coffee?” asked the pool waiter.  I declined and he proceeded to tell me about a nationwide 6 p.m. curfew which meant the Hyatt was not letting anybody out of its doors after 6.  It was now 5:50.  They offered to arrange a room for me, but I wasn’t sure if that meant a free sympathy room or a full priced room.  The Grand Hyatt was one of the nicest and most expensive places in town, and I was too broke to risk paying for a night there when I already had a perfectly decent $14/night hostel in downtown Cairo.  I got dressed, guzzled as much free Hyatt water as I could, and then made for the exit.

Within minutes I was on the streets just South of Tahrir Square trying to work my way to my hostel which was up north by Talat Harb Square.  Every street I tried to use was flooded by people rushing south, coughing up tear gas, and telling me the route was closed or too dangerous.  It was dark now, I was alone, cell phones were cut off, and the streets of Cairo were erupting.  Catching a taxi was not an option.  The few that were still running were packed with fleeing families.  Transportation away from downtown was in such short supply that when a donkey pulling a vegetable cart stopped, 10 people jumped on it for a ride.

Luckily I had my trusty map, and I decided to follow the Nile River south towards Maadi, a relatively wealthy and hopefully safe suburb.  I figured I would ride out the storm with Maadi yuppies in coffee shops, then work my way north when the riots settled down.  This would have been a great plan if the action was confined to downtown, but I found that no matter how far south I walked, riots and confrontations with police were taking place.  Vehicles were burning, road blocks were set up by demonstrators made of cement chunks and garbage bins, a freeway interchange was on fire, there was a scorched bus and hordes of excited demonstrators near Old Cairo.  Incredibly, no matter how intense things were, everybody was polite to me and offered friendly advice about how to stay safe.  One even said, “Sorry, bad time to visit Cairo”.  One bonus of this journey was that all along the Nile you find historic treasures such as an old palace, an aqueduct from the 1500’s, and a “Nilometer” from 871.

Large police riot trucks began convoying south along the river.  They were hauling ass and driving in a panic.  In one convoy of 5 vehicles, all 5 vehicles were covered with dents from being hit with sticks and rocks.  The front vehicle was dragging a traffic gate, and the next two were driving on flat tires.  As they drove by crowds, people took off their shoes and beat the trucks with them.  Some of the police trucks stopped to regroup.  People yelled at them and tried to convince them to switch sides.  I could see the panicked faces of these kids who were about 18 or 19 years old and faced with their whole society turning on them.  I felt sorry for them as they argued among themselves about where to go, jumped back in their vehicles, and retreated.

A friend of mine from the hostel was trapped that same night in a small vegetable shop near Tahrir Square.  He said the shop owners befriended him and gave him tea and smokes as they waited for the violence to subside.  Right outside the shop window he saw about 30 police get overrun by the demonstrators.  They basically had to just surrender, give up their weapons, and join the crowd to survive.

After a 10km walk, I made it to Maadi which was relatively calm, but all of the shops and hotels were closed up.  I did find one vegetable stand where I bought 4 apples, 3 bottles of water, and 2 chocolate bars.  I devoured these supplies in about 30 seconds, and then gave the apple cores to a pride of scrawny stray cats.  It was an eerie vibe in Maadi and crowds began to gather.  (The next night, Maadi would be the scene of looting and vigilante defense).  I decided to attempt taking the subway back to my neighborhood.  Miraculously, it was still working.  As the subway rolled north into Central Cairo, wounded demonstrators started to board the train.  One teen who had a bleeding forehead boarded the subway, stared around confused, then got off.  Two guys carried a man onto the train who was unconscious.  Another guy limped on with a broken ankle.

The train didn’t stop at either of the two stations I would have normally used, Sadat Station and Nasser Station.  These stations had been sealed off, and as the train sped through them the tear gas from the streets above was so bad that people had to shut the train windows.  I got off the train at Orabi Station.  People were hanging around the stairs looking exasperated and unsure of whether to go outside or not.  Tear gas was creeping in from the street.  I plotted a route back to my hostel, pulled my shirt over my nose and moved out.

The trip from the subway to the hostel was a borderline post-apocalypse nightmare scene.  The dark streets were full of burned out police trucks whose wheels and engine parts had been stripped.  A destroyed tow truck was still attached to a police truck which it was attempting to rescue.  Broken glass and concrete rubble littered the streets in all directions.  The remaining demonstrators were hard core types carrying improvised weapons, wearing surgery masks, bandanas, hoods, and saying nothing.  They all drifted slowly in the same direction through a haze of smoke from various fires.  In spite of some of them being wounded, they all had the confident look of a recent armed victory.  Many carried captured police batons and shields and the police were nowhere to be seen.  Between Orabi Station and my hostel (close to Talat Harb Square) I saw no police, even though I was well within the area which the police had meant to seal off and secure.

Many theories have already sprung up about why the police withdrew from Cairo on the night of Friday, January 28th.  Some say it was an intentional move by Mubarak to foment chaos, thus making the people long for his steady hand.  Some say the police were sold out by a high ranking official.  But based on what I saw that night, I think the simple fact is that the riot police got their ass kicked by the demonstrators and had to get the hell out of Cairo before being totally annihilated.

The demonstrators could have easily dispersed in the face of the strong police resistance early in the day.  This would have made it easy for police to successfully disburse small gatherings as they occurred, and perhaps they could have prevented any large, meaningful gatherings altogether.  Instead, the demonstrators fought, some died, and they earned the right to continue to demonstrate.

Back at the hostel, the other foreigners were all glued to the TV.  By then it was obvious to everyone that if you hadn’t been to the pyramids yet, it probably wasn’t going to happen.  The next 24 hours was a band-together-in-the-fortress type scenario, as we heard gunshots, windows smashing, and occasionally a vehicle’s gas tank exploding.  We watched the news, tried to find ways to contact our families, and played Scrabble.  (Double points were awarded for any word related to revolution).

We were running low on food and water, so the next day we got the 5 biggest guys together, collected money, and went foraging for food and water.  A charismatic Australian bloke said he needed to show me something before we went out for food.  “Mate”, he said, “you’ve been here longer than I have, and you know these people better.  You think I should bring this?”  He pulled out a giant outback knife.  I advised against it and pointed out that most of the people on the street only had sticks and we were twice the size of them.  He agreed and we headed for the market.

All of the markets we knew of were boarded up.  The “Drinkies” liquor store was being raided.  In most countries’ riots, the liquor store is the first shop to get hit because everyone wants free booze.  In Cairo, it was being raided by guys who wanted to have a sort of “The Smashing of the Alcohol” ceremony.  One renegade tried to steal a case of wine for personal consumption.  They dragged him down with a crowbar, took the bottles out, displayed them to the crowd and then smashed them into the gutter.  Meanwhile, the Kentucky Fried Chicken, The Adidas Store, and various other western brand name shops had been raided and many of the goods were dumped in the street.  These products combined with the river of smashed booze to create a sort of infidel smoothie.

We asked around and some guys directed us to a small market which was still open.  There was a bit of a “buy everything you can get before supplies run out” panic going on, but the shopkeepers were calm, polite, and didn’t overcharge us by a cent.  Curfew and sundown were rapidly approaching so we rushed back to the hostel.  The front door of our building was guarded by a judge who was carrying a gun.  Meanwhile, we noticed that every shop and building had an armed man in front of it.

The Army had entered the city, and due to the respect they have among the people, the demonstrators embraced them.  As of this writing, there still hasn’t been any significant Army vs. demonstrator violence, and hopefully that will continue.  Unfortunately, the Army lacked the resources to protect every block and shop.  So with the police gone, Cairo was ripe for looting.  The men in front of the buildings were defending their homes and shops.

That night, we heard sporadic violence between looters and homesteaders.  Just outside our window we heard glass smashing as a looter broke into a shop.  Within minutes, he was surrounded by 10 guys carrying sticks, knives, and even numb chucks.  They ranged in age from 12 to 60.  They questioned the looter, and then began to beat him.  Soon a man showed up with a pit bull and set him upon the looter.  The looter screamed in agony, and then the men stopped beating him and pulled the dog off.  After that they tied his hands and dragged him off, presumably to turn him over to the Army.

That night consisted of more gunshots, more Scrabble, and lots of tea.  We made a plan to defend the hostel in case any looters came in.  A French guy pulled out a small pocket knife and said, “This is a French knife.”  The Australian then did his best Crocodile Dundee, pulled out his outback knife and said, “That’s not a knife.  This is a knife.”

The next morning we heard that most foreigners were evacuating Egypt.  Internet was still down across Egypt, but we heard about a guy who had a satellite link.  A group of us went to the place, and internet was working.  We all sent hello’s to our families and tried to book tickets out of Cairo.  The flights to my home, Los Angeles, were all either cancelled, sold out, or ridiculously expensive.  There was one exception:  Aeroflot Russian Airlines connecting through Moscow.  It seems I was benefitting from the fact that there had recently been a terrorist bombing in Moscow and no one else wanted to connect through there.  I booked the ticket, packed my bags, showered, donned cologne and sunglasses, and proceeded to complete one last important task:  I had to bring flowers to the Danish-Jordanian girl from the night at the opera.  I caught a cab, and after about an hour of Army check points and skirting around debris and demonstrations, I found an open flower shop.  (In Egypt, the markets, restaurants, and coffee shops might close, but the florist loves on!)  I met up with her, gave her a card and the flowers and we said goodbye with plans to meet for an opera in Copenhagen, Denmark.

The cab ride to the airport was an impressive display of Egyptian military might:  modern tanks at every major intersection, disciplined soldiers, and jet fighters screaming overhead.

Predictably, the airport was a scene of chaotic exodus.  The Kuwait counter had a few men and large groups of wives and daughters clad in elaborate burkhas.  The Jordanian counter was a near violent screaming/pushing match between the 6 staff who had to link arms and the 200 customers.  The whole airport was overcrowded, people in wheelchairs were getting shoved, and hustlers were scamming people out of money to “speed up” their check in.  Amid the chaos there was a long, orderly line of quiet, stone-faced men wearing red jackets that said “Russia” on them mixed in with a string of gorgeous brunette and blond girls wearing ski pants.  I assumed that was the line for Aeroflot and checked in.  I started chatting up one of the Russkie-Lassies who was a stunning piece of work clad in a white mink coat.  She had actually been to the U.S. for a year where she worked as a cashier at a roller coaster, then upgraded to waitress, and finally was promoted to being a stripper in Jersey.  Given Cairo’s chaos, I asked her if she was glad to be getting back to her home in Russia.  She replied, “I’d rather stay in Egypt, Russia sucks.”

Before boarding the plane, cell phones had been turned back on in Egypt and I was able to get a last call in to 3 of my Egyptian friends.  One was enthusiastic about the demonstrations and wanted Mubarak to step down immediately, and for El Barradi to become President.  The second wanted Mubarak to step down but was mad at the demonstrators for setting cars on fire even though the majority of the demonstrators were peaceful and well meaning.  The third friend said that Mubarak had made mistakes and should be held accountable, but that he was the best option they had right now to maintain stability, and that El Barradi had been gone from Egypt for so long he had no right to be involved.  Although they had different opinions, they all shared an intense love for Egypt, and saw these events as the defining moment of their generation.

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Author GREG HOLT is a veteran of Afghanistan and Iraq. He is a graduate of MIT and West Point.