A Call to Cairo
A Letter from Finch Martindale
It was just past 5 am this morning when I crept out to my second floor office, a mug of coffee in one hand and PK in the other. His demeanor was calm now that his morning meal was past tense and he was ready to start phase 2 of his day - curling up on the sofa next to my desk as I went through my mail.
Whenever I get back from a trip I like to wake up extra early and catch up on correspondence. I make phone calls to people in time zones winding down for the day while mine is just getting started, and I send letters and make my ‘to do’ list.
PK and I just returned from an estate sale in Connecticut and short stayover in Boston, which is why I didn’t see the letter from Finch Martindale until five days after it arrived.
Finch was originally a friend of my parents and uncle Herman. He lived in London up until fifteen years ago when he moved to Aix in the south of France. He and his partner, Antoine, opened a small luxury hotel and he’s been gloating about the weather and the food ever since.
He was always a good friend of the family but when I interned at an auction house in London for a summer he became so much more. Like my uncle, he had connections and loved art and antiques. Although he was not a dealer himself, he was on an endless shopping expedition for the hotel which was filled with exquisite examples of anything and everything. The most luxurious Persian rugs, the most beguiling soaps and toiletries, coffee and teas not found anywhere else…the whole hotel was like this, detail oriented to the nth degree.
I finished my last year studying Art History before moving in with Finch and Antoine. I was assigned the small but charming attic of the Hotel Fintoine (a combination of Finch and Antoine, if you didn’t get that).
For room and board and frequent shopping expeditions with Finch, I would, in return, help out around the hotel, doing anything that needed doing. I spent a year there and the real-life education was priceless.
Finch had an acquiring mindset and money to spare, a dangerous but envious combination for a collector.
I grew up with travelling parents and already experienced many countries, but travelling with Finch was different. And it usually was just Finch, Antoine stayed and ran the hotel most of the time.
Finch took me to the markets of Marrakesh for spices, into the Black Forest of Germany to visit a watchmaker, to a small village in Japan for specialty knives, Italy for marbled paper, and to India for custom textiles. We even went on an Alaskan boat trip to study wood carving, among many other outings.
Although I gained incredible experience in regard to art and antiques, these trips also gave me something else. It gave me the confidence to travel by myself and to do business in other countries, something that was invaluable.
Which is why, when I read Finch’s letter telling me his good friend Mr. Alfa was retiring and selling off his shop inventory at auction, a trip to Cairo began to form. The sale wasn’t for another 2 months, so I had a bit of time to plan.
I met Mr. Alfa once before, about ten years ago when I was 23 and accompanying both Finch and my parents to Egypt. We were on a holiday visit and I vividly recall dining in the hotel. Rattan tables covered in white linen, lush, green palms surrounding us, brass fans whirring overhead and the sounds of at least five different languages in the air, creating an intoxicating cocktail of exotic intrigue. It was then that Finch told us his good friend Mr. Alfa would be pleased to meet us at his shop down the street, which had just closed for the day.
While my parents chatted with the caftan clad proprietor, Finch took me around and we inspected the beguiling shop shelves which reached from floor to ceiling. It was still light out but slowly dimming and I remember how peaceful it was with the sun coming through the latticed windows, small particles of dust and sand suspended in the beam. The din from the street was softened to white noise by the thick, limestone walls.
Mr. Alfa’s shop had a definite air of mystery, the kind of place that shows up in movies about mummies and ancient boy kings while iconic Ney music (an Egyptian flute-like instrument) plays in the background.
But his inventory wasn’t kitsch or for the tourist trade. It was far above that…
These memories danced in my head as I started thinking about a trip to Egypt, leafing through books and collecting notes later in the day.
We could meet Finch in Cairo, visit Mr. Afla and then take a few days down the Nile in hopes of collecting some other items of interest. Who knows what we might come across down a dusty, little alley?