Finding Religion

So, starting Friday, it seemed like a good idea to find a place to hear the Mass, and thus began my weekend adventures. I should mention that these searches were precipitated by getting lost on Pharaana Street, where I met the American consul for the second time, and for the second time he forgot the purpose of our meeting. That's what happens when you're a no one. He's got one vicious secretary, too-- towering ugly heap of an Arab woman that has all the unpleasant qualities of a bulldog on caffeine withdrawls.

Splitting off from the majority of the group for most of the weekend, I managed to find a few local dives that actually serve alcohol-- the Cap d'Or and the Spitfire, both of which have histories that would rival Captain Tony's Saloon in Key West (where Hemingway drank) and are divey-enough to warrant proper patronizing. Managed to get to know the bartenders over a few, both of whom (ironically) are Muslim.

Cap d'Or was (supposedly) the haunt of such figures of the early twentieth century as E. M Forster and, much later, Lawrence Durrell. Apparently, Durrell wasn't very well-received in Egypt, considering how his Quartet (which I am having difficulty obtaining) doesn't really discuss ordinary Egyptians. Rather, he focuses on the expat community at large that he incorporated himself into-- Greeks, Syrians, French, English...the works. Unfortunately, the city still seems as if it's dealing with its occupational past-- there seems to be this obsession among the older generation with the upkeep of French as the high language (or so I'm told by one of the local Jesuits, Fr. Carty).

The Spitfire, at least to me, seems more interesting-- a little east of Ramleh, it thankfully is open during Ramadan, and the sahib of the place, Ali, has his share of local stories and assumptions, as well as a healthy smattering of German and English. The Spitfire, which is 125 years old, was the hangout for old colonial flyboys, and the walls (covered with militaria and other imports, such as almost-centerfolds) bespeak experiences galore. Local brews here, while uncommon, come in large bottles-- best I've found so far is Luxor Classic, which has replaced the old Stella Export (and has no resemblance to Stella Artois). I've been told to stay away from harder stuff-- there's a huge black market in it all and it's notorious for making you blind-- apparently, some ambitious and unscrupulous fellows earn their living from finding old Johnnie Walker bottles and filling them up with stuff of less-than-equal quality (it's been known to contain rubbing alcohol). Ramadan's in four days and I'll be hard pressed for a brew anywhere in Egypt.

Eventually made my way to Cavafy's house, which was a nightmare to find. It's in the old Greek quarter, and he described it on the Rue Lepsius (now the Rue Charm el-Sheikh), where he lived after the death of his mother, with whom he had lived; on the lower floor was a brothel, which was also known as the Rue Clapsius. A hospital and a church were nearby--as well as the city's synagogue that touts only three local attending Jews. Cavafy more than once told visitors: “Where could I live better? Below, the brothel caters to the flesh. And there is the church which forgives sin. And there is the hospital where we die." Bought a copy of his poems-- most of which are inseparable from the City itself, but unfortunately are all but unknown to the people on the street-- even the owner of Cap d'Or didn't know who he was, and most people had never even heard of him. So far, he's provided a voice of the city for me, at least until I can get Justin to hand over his copy of the Quartet and then let Durrell do the talking.

Met up with some other expats from AUC-- was interesting, and realized how settled my Arabic is comparatively (chatting with the taxi driver made me happy), and got into a discussion with Ibrahim the bartender about America's relationship with Israel. It was kind of basic, but it was really cool.

Eventually found churches-- started at the Jesuits' residence down the street and confessed in English (my first twenty minutes of knowing this Massachusetts cenetarian were entirely in Arabic...I thought after that he was French....it wasn't until the actual sacrament that he revealed he had studied at Holy Cross). He promply informed me of the ENTIRE HISTORY of the Catholic Church in Egypt, which certainly was interesting, though I can't recall much of it.

In approximately ten minutes I will head to another church-- Sacre Coeur, where the Mass is said in French to the old ladies of the area. I get the impression I'll eventually hear it in Arabic (at five every day at the Jesuit center), but what surprised me the most was how unconscious people are of other religions (everyone knew were the mosques were, and what their names were, but no one could recall if there even was a church on Port Said Street).

Marym gave me a book on comparative Christian theology. In Arabic. That's going to take a long time to read.

More later; classes started today. Leaps and bounds in colloquial this past week.