[center][h1][Color=DF0101]Haakon J. Elvsgaard[/color][/h1]
[img]http://riverwalkjazz.stanford.edu/sites/default/files/images/Bix_portrait(1).jpg[/img][/center]

[hr][center][Color=DF0101]Location:[/color] Al Fishawi' in El Ataba El Khadra [/center][hr]

[Color=DF0101]"Hey! Watch where you're driving that, you idiot![/color] Haakon shouted at a man riding a horse-led wagon through the Opera Square, jumping back a few feet to avoid getting driven over. Partly it was his own fault, checking his satchel one last time and not noticing that he stepped into the road. But then again, Haakon figured the man could have been more considerate about his horse-riding, and Haakon was simply a visitor and couldn't possibly expect to know that he was to be run over. All in all, Haakon felt confident in his right to shout at the man. 

But he did look in both directions before he walked across the square again, just to be sure. 

The square and streets outside the Grand Continental was indeed buzzling with life, people of all ethnicites and religions filling the area in a sea of men, women and children. And Haakon was just one of those many, a unique man in an ocean of equaly unique people, but as a group united in said difference. Pulling out the notepad and a pen, he began to quickly scribble down all the different nationalities he could make out from them, be it true or not. [Color=DF0101]British, Eygptian Arabic, Italian, French, Sudanese Muslim, [s]German[/s]...[/color] He quickly drew a thick line over the last one, before continuing with said list. But in this small game of Guessing, he tried to navigate to his destination, a place he had heard only good things off. 

Al Fishawi' was exactly what Haakon pictured an Egyptian coffee house to look like, only with more foreigners and food. The atmosphere was filled with approriate music for the coming darkness of night, it's night-life and a mix of the smell coffee and Middle Eastern water pipes. Haakon had at first been disgusted with the smell, if primarly for its intensity, but by now he'd grown an indifference to them both. Luckily the sea of people had shrunk - it was just a steady river flowing down the street next to Al Fishawi' by now -, and so it wasn't too difficult to find a table to sit at. [Color=DF0101]Thank you, Sir. Yes please, one coffee and something light to eat. Preferably not spice, please."[/color] Haakon said in his, not broken English with still with a non-English accent, to the man one could call a waiter. 

As he sat at the table, waiting for his order, he pulled up the notepad again. He went back to the first page of it, reading through his sparse notes from his first day in Egypt. Oh, how much anger was in that article he sent back; it was no wonder that he was told to man up and be positive. After that, he simply left out all the negative parts of his reporting, specifically the heat. He skimmed forward, ending up at his notes for the last events of the so-called "Curse of King Tut"; the grave-robbing of Lord Carnavon and the theft of a single object, a necklace in the shape on an Egyptian Eye. And so far Haakon had very little, probably nothing to work with, only pure speculation on the matter. [Color=DF0101]"Skulle gitt mye for å faktisk finne noe brukbart om denne saken..."[/color]