It is 6:30 a.m. here in Cairo and only now is quiet returning to my neighborhood. I'm traveling this morning, so I went to bed early last night, before hearing the results of a major regional soccer showdown: Egypt vs. Ivory Coast in the semifinal of the Africa Cup of Nations in Ghana.

I snuggled in and calculated that I had at least six blissful hours of sleep before I had to wake up and finish packing. Then, after midnight, I was jolted awake by a symphony of car horns, fireworks, chants, pop music, screams, ululations, clapping, drums, dancing and so on. Defending champion Egypt beat Cote d'Ivoire 4-1, and will now face Cameroon in the final.

At first, it was fun to see such an outburst of emotion after the game. I crept onto my 8th-floor balcony and watched caravans of slow-moving cars with young Egyptians riding on the hoods, clapping and chanting. People stuck their heads out the windows of nearby apartment buildings, so close I could see their eyes as they waved and gave me the thumbs-up sign. There were boys with their faces painted, girls wearing hijabs in the colors of the Egyptian flag. Fireworks sparkled and popped in the distance.

Even the notoriously heavy-handed Egyptian authorities backed off, or at least the ones on my block did. Some uniformed Central Security officers clapped and danced just like everybody else.

All righty, that was fun. Time for bed, guys. But one o'clock rolled around, then 2, then 3 a.m. Egyptians were still partying. I tried stuffing cotton in my ears, but it didn't help drown out the noise. I checked the balcony doors to make sure they were totally closed, with no crevices for letting in the cacophony. It still sounded like the party was in my living room.

I recalled a Western friend once telling me how he could spot Egyptians abroad: "They're always the ones having the most fun, wherever they are." Yeah, well, good for them, I thought bitterly as I tried to get back to sleep. At one point, I found myself rooting around the office, throwing out the contents of drawers in a desperate search for the squishy yellow ear plugs I use in Iraq for rides on Black Hawk helicopters. Didn't find them.

Then 3 a.m. turned into 4 a.m. and the revelry continued until the muezzins made their early calls for the dawn prayer. The last sound I recall before finally falling asleep was the odd harmony of Islam's call to prayer mixed with a Brazilian soccer chant.

"Allahu akbar, allahu akbar..."

"Ole ole ole ole!"