First off: I want to apologize to all my readers (all eight of them) for the commonplace spelling errors that have occurred on this blog. I've thought about it for some time and have realized that, while typing, my mind has gone immediately to the phoenetic spelling of a word, rather than the correct one-- perhaps this is due to actually having a phoenetic language? It's happened quite often with the words "do" and "due," as well as "there" and "their." Others are most likely due to the fact that the keyboards around here have the tendency to stick n one key or aother. See: it just happened-- the n sticks with this one. I feel the need to apologize as both an aspiring writer and an English major. Haram on me.
Anyway, just got out of the first class on Sufism-- it's one on one, which I think is all but unheard of here, at least on the undergraduate level, and it was quite enjoyable, albeit headache-inducing. I was pleasantly surprised, in fact, to discover I got most of what he was talking about-- either that or he was merely jogging my memory with what I know of al-Ghazali and the three pillars of Islamic theology-- either way, I got it. But I also discovered that I can't write very fast in Arabic-- at least mildly legibly. The professor is quite a guy-- quoted the Gospel back to me when I started off with the "Man does not live by bread alone..." and I think he was pleased with my familiarity at least with the general idea of the system of thought.
I have to buy books. That's going to be a pain in the ass. All on theology. Shit. What am I doing in this country...
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Monday, September 24, 2007
Flyboys at the Spitfire
Cut out of the expat party for Amy and headed over to Alex's place to check out the digs-- place is nicer than mine, which says a lot. I'm envious of his furniture and curtains, which are darker and thus make the place look a little more cozy. And he has a sea view. Bastard.
Ended up at the Spitfire to have a few beers-- ran into the first students from the TAFL Center who, according to them, never quite left the bar from the night before. The three of them have since parted ways, working for various and sundry British organizations abroad (one's in Dubai, another in Beirut) who proceeded to pay for our drinks and get wasted. Amazing how much beer they could drink. Eventually headed down to Mohammed Ahmed's for the "midnight feast" of fuul and falafel that we paid for (a ridiculous sum of 30 pounds Egyptian for five people...about five dollars).
Heard far too many war stories for my own good. Nice night, though. Don't feel like writing about it, I'm afraid.
Ended up at the Spitfire to have a few beers-- ran into the first students from the TAFL Center who, according to them, never quite left the bar from the night before. The three of them have since parted ways, working for various and sundry British organizations abroad (one's in Dubai, another in Beirut) who proceeded to pay for our drinks and get wasted. Amazing how much beer they could drink. Eventually headed down to Mohammed Ahmed's for the "midnight feast" of fuul and falafel that we paid for (a ridiculous sum of 30 pounds Egyptian for five people...about five dollars).
Heard far too many war stories for my own good. Nice night, though. Don't feel like writing about it, I'm afraid.
Friday, September 21, 2007
Member of the Portugeuse Club and more...
Last night witnessed everyone at the TAFL center (Teaching Arabic as a Foreign Language...the "institute" we all gather at)-- Britishers, Germans, and Americans alike-- gather for the Iftar (sunset breaking of the fast). Aside from the prune-juice being a little too strong for my liking, it was quite tasty.
Ended up upstairs and talked with the professors (who had sequestered themselves off on another level. I insisted that there was a caste system at work, much to Nehad's embarassment and what seemed like their bemusement). Then the stories from summer school came out-- mainly from Nagua and Nehad, who told everything about my chess addiction to dandyism on test days (they seemed impressed, actually) to chasing after the girls in the Spanish and French Schools over the summer. THAT was a little embarrassing, though I got a few conspiratorial winks from Mahmoud. We laughed loudly until the time for the evening prayer rolled around and the head table disappeared into the carpeted back room.
Interestingly enough, all of them wear the exact same shoes, only in different sizes. While they were absorbed in prayer, shoulder to shoulder, Magda (the office go-to, as it were) in her brightly colored turban decided to mix up their shoes behind them. When I pointed out that she was being mischievious while they were being pious, she turned to Nehad and asked her "Did you see Michael switch the shoes?" I'm very fond of the sense of humor here.
We caught cabs with the Brits down to Rushdy, which is something of th known expat quarter, to get into the Portugeuse Club. To enter, you have to knock on a giant gate to a villa, and you're hard pressed to even see a sign-- it all reminds you of a speakeasy, until you get past the grumbling doorguard into the courtyard, which is very tastefully lit and makes ample use of shadow. It's not much, as far as clubbing goes, but everyone inside is a foreigner (they actually don't allow Egyptians inside unless their English is unparalleled) and you buy your bottles of Stella five at a time. Chef's pretty decent, too-- we had a pizza that, despite lacking tomato sauce, was fantastic. Ended up buying a membership from the bartender-- won't have to pay to get in and now get twenty percent off drinks.
At the bar inside met a couple of guys from Stateside that hailed from Alabama-- one was an electronics instructor to the Egyptian Navy (who has no cultural sympathies whatsoever) and two maritime inspectors. All had been here for more than two years, and the first questions they asked me were: "How many times were you cheated from the airport to the house?" and "Does it suck yet?" Was actually quite embarassed for my own culturally empathetic tendencies. But it was still pretty nice to kick back a beer and a cigarette with a couple of blue-collar guys. Wouldn't trust them further than that, though.
Smoked so many cigarettes last night-- it was absurd. Largely do to sitting down next to an extremely interesting economics major from England who has a pure Orientalist interest in the Sudan. Made an agreement to go to Damascus with him in the winter.
Then the subject turned to Islamic theology.
We must have argued extremely vocally for quite some time-- I think I was the only academic with any background in the subject, the rest were Muslims, albeit knowledgeable ones, putting the quotidian spin on the religion. Unfortunately, I kept combating with scholastics. Snobby as it sounds to say that, it was remarkably unhelpful; everyone knows that the religion as an orthopraxy differs from the orthodoxy of the belief.
When we got into Sufi interpretatioins of certain ayahs, I looked at my watch, realized it was 3 AM and that I had had quite enough to drink. Said my goodbyes, and Lauren and I stumbled home.
What a night.
Ended up upstairs and talked with the professors (who had sequestered themselves off on another level. I insisted that there was a caste system at work, much to Nehad's embarassment and what seemed like their bemusement). Then the stories from summer school came out-- mainly from Nagua and Nehad, who told everything about my chess addiction to dandyism on test days (they seemed impressed, actually) to chasing after the girls in the Spanish and French Schools over the summer. THAT was a little embarrassing, though I got a few conspiratorial winks from Mahmoud. We laughed loudly until the time for the evening prayer rolled around and the head table disappeared into the carpeted back room.
Interestingly enough, all of them wear the exact same shoes, only in different sizes. While they were absorbed in prayer, shoulder to shoulder, Magda (the office go-to, as it were) in her brightly colored turban decided to mix up their shoes behind them. When I pointed out that she was being mischievious while they were being pious, she turned to Nehad and asked her "Did you see Michael switch the shoes?" I'm very fond of the sense of humor here.
We caught cabs with the Brits down to Rushdy, which is something of th known expat quarter, to get into the Portugeuse Club. To enter, you have to knock on a giant gate to a villa, and you're hard pressed to even see a sign-- it all reminds you of a speakeasy, until you get past the grumbling doorguard into the courtyard, which is very tastefully lit and makes ample use of shadow. It's not much, as far as clubbing goes, but everyone inside is a foreigner (they actually don't allow Egyptians inside unless their English is unparalleled) and you buy your bottles of Stella five at a time. Chef's pretty decent, too-- we had a pizza that, despite lacking tomato sauce, was fantastic. Ended up buying a membership from the bartender-- won't have to pay to get in and now get twenty percent off drinks.
At the bar inside met a couple of guys from Stateside that hailed from Alabama-- one was an electronics instructor to the Egyptian Navy (who has no cultural sympathies whatsoever) and two maritime inspectors. All had been here for more than two years, and the first questions they asked me were: "How many times were you cheated from the airport to the house?" and "Does it suck yet?" Was actually quite embarassed for my own culturally empathetic tendencies. But it was still pretty nice to kick back a beer and a cigarette with a couple of blue-collar guys. Wouldn't trust them further than that, though.
Smoked so many cigarettes last night-- it was absurd. Largely do to sitting down next to an extremely interesting economics major from England who has a pure Orientalist interest in the Sudan. Made an agreement to go to Damascus with him in the winter.
Then the subject turned to Islamic theology.
We must have argued extremely vocally for quite some time-- I think I was the only academic with any background in the subject, the rest were Muslims, albeit knowledgeable ones, putting the quotidian spin on the religion. Unfortunately, I kept combating with scholastics. Snobby as it sounds to say that, it was remarkably unhelpful; everyone knows that the religion as an orthopraxy differs from the orthodoxy of the belief.
When we got into Sufi interpretatioins of certain ayahs, I looked at my watch, realized it was 3 AM and that I had had quite enough to drink. Said my goodbyes, and Lauren and I stumbled home.
What a night.
Monday, September 17, 2007
More Jesuits
Managed to wander around a bit more, much to the neglect of my studying--eventually made my way back to the Jesuit Center for the French High Mass and feeling even more out of place than the Sudanese. Realized somewhere in the midst of it all that I knew enough Latin and Spanish to glean that the Gospel reading was the story of the Prodigal Son-- and it still managed to make me cry, as it always does.
Afterwards, chatted with the priests-- Frs. Carty and Francis (a Dutch priest that speaks some English, but we generally spoke in Arabic as our common language). I was amazed, in fact-- the two were quite welcoming and gt all giddy and schoolboyish when I asked about Arabic translations of the Bible and theological works (Francis seemed particularly pleased that I wanted to read the Bible in Arabic). Seems like a good way to develop my Arabic-- there's a theological library in the Center and considering I love reading that in English (though, admittedly, it's going to be a challenge)...I'm headed back today to browse around and hear the Arabic Mass. Feel pretty good about the whole thing, in fact.
Managed to make spaghetti and meat sauce-- quite creatively, I might add, considering that there was neither tomato sauce or tomato juice available. It was a most welcome Western meal.
Thinking Cairo this weekend, but not certain. We managed to convince Nehad to give us two four-day weekends, one of which is going to be my epic trek to Mt. Sinai and hopefully starry-nighted meditative amazingness. Might make another run to the West, but thinking that the Language of the Universe is telling me otherwise from the past weekend's events. More on that later-- especially considering the sudden almost-comprehension of French (which is REALLY freaking me out).
Afterwards, chatted with the priests-- Frs. Carty and Francis (a Dutch priest that speaks some English, but we generally spoke in Arabic as our common language). I was amazed, in fact-- the two were quite welcoming and gt all giddy and schoolboyish when I asked about Arabic translations of the Bible and theological works (Francis seemed particularly pleased that I wanted to read the Bible in Arabic). Seems like a good way to develop my Arabic-- there's a theological library in the Center and considering I love reading that in English (though, admittedly, it's going to be a challenge)...I'm headed back today to browse around and hear the Arabic Mass. Feel pretty good about the whole thing, in fact.
Managed to make spaghetti and meat sauce-- quite creatively, I might add, considering that there was neither tomato sauce or tomato juice available. It was a most welcome Western meal.
Thinking Cairo this weekend, but not certain. We managed to convince Nehad to give us two four-day weekends, one of which is going to be my epic trek to Mt. Sinai and hopefully starry-nighted meditative amazingness. Might make another run to the West, but thinking that the Language of the Universe is telling me otherwise from the past weekend's events. More on that later-- especially considering the sudden almost-comprehension of French (which is REALLY freaking me out).
Saturday, September 15, 2007
Nobody's going to BELIEVE the day I had...
Read all of it: it's worth it.
So, after much stalling and a number of hang-ups, I finally decided to get off my sick ass and go somewhere: el-'Alamein, the battlefield famous only for the World War II clashes between the British General Montgomery and the German (he-wasn't-a-Nazi) General Rommel. About an hour and a half away. Not bad. Lonely planet said you can hire a car to take you there from Thomas Cook (basically Avis) at Ramleh Station for about 300 pounds-- translates to about sixty bucks. Hey, it's the weekend. And along the way, says Lonely Planet, plan to drop by the Monastery of Abu Minas.
Okay. Sounds simple enough. The monastery itself was a big pilgrimage site back in the Middle Ages (fancy that! I'm a medievalist!) and became a huge trading city when the holy water there started curing people-- it's believed that after Minas was buried there (he was a Roman legionary that refused to renounce Christ and thus was martyred) gave the grounds special properties. Regardless, as most pilgrimage towns often become, it was a center for trade-- so large and rich, in fact, that it became known across the Rim of Africa as "the City of Marble"-- at least, until the wells dried up and a series of catastrophes (fire, famine, plague-- even a giant earthquake) destroyed the metropolis. For some centuries thereafter, the place was raided by local rulers (even the "civilized" Romans) for its rich supplies of alabaster and marble. Very little remains of the original church, but you can still make out the groundworks and the outline of the city and see the original altar of the basilica (which is pretty neat-- at least some peeps had reverence). However, there's a new monastery on the grounds that's quite beautiful and fully functioning. I was much bemused reading the Arabic variants of my favorite saints under their icons-- "Betrus" for Peter, and so on-- but the icons were quite striking.
I managed to wander around the olive orchards (where I wasn't supposed to) for about thirty minutes before I run into a philosophy student that kindly guided me out, and stopped to talk to an old cruciform-tattooed effendum (old guy in a galibiyya) about how to access the ruins. But my time had run out, so I walked out to the front of the monastery back to the car.
Or so I thought.
I waited for an hour-- my car didn't show. The driver (quite legitimate) wasn't there. I waited an hour. Two hours. Eventually, other Coptic students from the university began a history lesson and decided to school me on the history of the monastery, trying to convince me to see the ruins. I told them I was waiting for the car.
Eventually, I gave up. I looked around-- saw a gate and a gatekeeper at the far end of the monastery, and walked toward it. I asked the man where the ruins were: he pointed to a spot in the distant sands and said "There. Maybe half an hour by foot. Do you have a car?" I shook my head. "Then God be with you," he said, and he laughed. I wasn't sure how it interpret that.
I shook his hand and walked. Into the desert. The rusty, massive door slammed behind me.
The entire time I was telling myself that this was a bad idea. Probably was. Passed old, burned-out buildings, something resembling a muddy stream, and a mound of impassable reeds. Reads gave way to rocks. Rocks to bricks. And suddenly I was there. Marble blocks on marble blocks, felled columns likew neglected tree trunks. And in the midst of the chaos of what looked like a storm's aftermath, there was the sane gridwork of a Latinized city-- and the half-moon cruciform rooms of basilicas in places. There was a market and a bath and a baptistry, and there it was: I was crawling on top of it, able to tell what it all was from sight, only to confirm it later with a guide and a map. There were capitals-- marble tops of palm trees that had been left in the sand and the sapphire sky. It was incredible.
Eventually, all this reverie was interrupted by Amir, one of the local guides employed by the monastery to show people around, who managed to point out the finer details (the original site of the saint's grave, the wells, the old altar), and bring me back to the comfort of a very cool tent. And who should be waiting there? The history students I had discussed the monastery with earlier.
And thus came my favorite Egypt moment thus far: we played chess for while sipping the sweetest, coldest water I've ever tasted. And bantered each other's chess game.
Let's put it all together: I played chess with history students in an abandoned monastery in the middle of the North African desert after being abandoned by my hired car and driver.
But that's not all.
I walked back to the sound of the monastery bells tolling-- when the gatekeeper informed me that today was the visit from the Coptic Pope-- Shenuda. So: I managed to also see the Coptic Pope.
Eventually, I hitched a ride back from a minibus to Misr station and was greeted by Marym and Markous's smiling parents who had cooked a magnificent meal in out digs. Sand still in my hair, skin sun-kissed, I ate and laughed and told my story.
It was a good day.
(And I still haven't managed to get out to el-'Alamein).
So, after much stalling and a number of hang-ups, I finally decided to get off my sick ass and go somewhere: el-'Alamein, the battlefield famous only for the World War II clashes between the British General Montgomery and the German (he-wasn't-a-Nazi) General Rommel. About an hour and a half away. Not bad. Lonely planet said you can hire a car to take you there from Thomas Cook (basically Avis) at Ramleh Station for about 300 pounds-- translates to about sixty bucks. Hey, it's the weekend. And along the way, says Lonely Planet, plan to drop by the Monastery of Abu Minas.
Okay. Sounds simple enough. The monastery itself was a big pilgrimage site back in the Middle Ages (fancy that! I'm a medievalist!) and became a huge trading city when the holy water there started curing people-- it's believed that after Minas was buried there (he was a Roman legionary that refused to renounce Christ and thus was martyred) gave the grounds special properties. Regardless, as most pilgrimage towns often become, it was a center for trade-- so large and rich, in fact, that it became known across the Rim of Africa as "the City of Marble"-- at least, until the wells dried up and a series of catastrophes (fire, famine, plague-- even a giant earthquake) destroyed the metropolis. For some centuries thereafter, the place was raided by local rulers (even the "civilized" Romans) for its rich supplies of alabaster and marble. Very little remains of the original church, but you can still make out the groundworks and the outline of the city and see the original altar of the basilica (which is pretty neat-- at least some peeps had reverence). However, there's a new monastery on the grounds that's quite beautiful and fully functioning. I was much bemused reading the Arabic variants of my favorite saints under their icons-- "Betrus" for Peter, and so on-- but the icons were quite striking.
I managed to wander around the olive orchards (where I wasn't supposed to) for about thirty minutes before I run into a philosophy student that kindly guided me out, and stopped to talk to an old cruciform-tattooed effendum (old guy in a galibiyya) about how to access the ruins. But my time had run out, so I walked out to the front of the monastery back to the car.
Or so I thought.
I waited for an hour-- my car didn't show. The driver (quite legitimate) wasn't there. I waited an hour. Two hours. Eventually, other Coptic students from the university began a history lesson and decided to school me on the history of the monastery, trying to convince me to see the ruins. I told them I was waiting for the car.
Eventually, I gave up. I looked around-- saw a gate and a gatekeeper at the far end of the monastery, and walked toward it. I asked the man where the ruins were: he pointed to a spot in the distant sands and said "There. Maybe half an hour by foot. Do you have a car?" I shook my head. "Then God be with you," he said, and he laughed. I wasn't sure how it interpret that.
I shook his hand and walked. Into the desert. The rusty, massive door slammed behind me.
The entire time I was telling myself that this was a bad idea. Probably was. Passed old, burned-out buildings, something resembling a muddy stream, and a mound of impassable reeds. Reads gave way to rocks. Rocks to bricks. And suddenly I was there. Marble blocks on marble blocks, felled columns likew neglected tree trunks. And in the midst of the chaos of what looked like a storm's aftermath, there was the sane gridwork of a Latinized city-- and the half-moon cruciform rooms of basilicas in places. There was a market and a bath and a baptistry, and there it was: I was crawling on top of it, able to tell what it all was from sight, only to confirm it later with a guide and a map. There were capitals-- marble tops of palm trees that had been left in the sand and the sapphire sky. It was incredible.
Eventually, all this reverie was interrupted by Amir, one of the local guides employed by the monastery to show people around, who managed to point out the finer details (the original site of the saint's grave, the wells, the old altar), and bring me back to the comfort of a very cool tent. And who should be waiting there? The history students I had discussed the monastery with earlier.
And thus came my favorite Egypt moment thus far: we played chess for while sipping the sweetest, coldest water I've ever tasted. And bantered each other's chess game.
Let's put it all together: I played chess with history students in an abandoned monastery in the middle of the North African desert after being abandoned by my hired car and driver.
But that's not all.
I walked back to the sound of the monastery bells tolling-- when the gatekeeper informed me that today was the visit from the Coptic Pope-- Shenuda. So: I managed to also see the Coptic Pope.
Eventually, I hitched a ride back from a minibus to Misr station and was greeted by Marym and Markous's smiling parents who had cooked a magnificent meal in out digs. Sand still in my hair, skin sun-kissed, I ate and laughed and told my story.
It was a good day.
(And I still haven't managed to get out to el-'Alamein).
Friday, September 14, 2007
Three hours of Qur'anic recitation is a bit much
Remember how I mentioned that there's a small mosque across the street?
Remember how I mentioned Ramadan was starting?
Did I mention loudspeakers?
Put them all together and you've got one Hell of an annoying afternoon-- two reciters got going at around 12 and didn't stop until three. The loudspeakers are at my floor's level.
Alas.
The dynamic is entirely different now-- coffeeshops are closed (which kills daylight streetlife) and old men seem to sit fidgity and impatient in front of water bottles that they can't drink from. I was going to maintain the fast, but being sick the past few days isn't exactly conducive to fasting, so I've called off my cultural enthusiasm in favor of long naps and eating.
Been watching the backgammon games in the ahwas-- sat down last night with a group of old men that played the fastest game I've ever seen. I can almost feel my lungs getting blacker from the sheesha-- I'm terrified to actually start running again because I'll be so damn bad from my lungs (no marathons anytime soon). I am purchasing my working-class 'amia from old men using my lungs as currency.
Walked around the Ibrahimiya last night-- place was alive and lit up in a night market and for all practical purposes was "daytime." The street, for the most part, runs along the tram tracks and a section of it is specifically for the khazars-- the butchers. Chickens, turkeys, ducks, goats, rabbits-- there's a veritable zoo of animals ready for purchase or butchering there on the spot (I imagine if you don't quite have the stomach for it). Couldn't find an 'oud though. Realized I was walking behind two men with goats on their shoulders. I have to pinch myself sometimes.
Probably going to spend my first night in-- lot of work to do for Sunday, but hopefully will make it downstairs to the sea for a few quiet moments. I'm just tired of getting shouted at in English.
Remember how I mentioned Ramadan was starting?
Did I mention loudspeakers?
Put them all together and you've got one Hell of an annoying afternoon-- two reciters got going at around 12 and didn't stop until three. The loudspeakers are at my floor's level.
Alas.
The dynamic is entirely different now-- coffeeshops are closed (which kills daylight streetlife) and old men seem to sit fidgity and impatient in front of water bottles that they can't drink from. I was going to maintain the fast, but being sick the past few days isn't exactly conducive to fasting, so I've called off my cultural enthusiasm in favor of long naps and eating.
Been watching the backgammon games in the ahwas-- sat down last night with a group of old men that played the fastest game I've ever seen. I can almost feel my lungs getting blacker from the sheesha-- I'm terrified to actually start running again because I'll be so damn bad from my lungs (no marathons anytime soon). I am purchasing my working-class 'amia from old men using my lungs as currency.
Walked around the Ibrahimiya last night-- place was alive and lit up in a night market and for all practical purposes was "daytime." The street, for the most part, runs along the tram tracks and a section of it is specifically for the khazars-- the butchers. Chickens, turkeys, ducks, goats, rabbits-- there's a veritable zoo of animals ready for purchase or butchering there on the spot (I imagine if you don't quite have the stomach for it). Couldn't find an 'oud though. Realized I was walking behind two men with goats on their shoulders. I have to pinch myself sometimes.
Probably going to spend my first night in-- lot of work to do for Sunday, but hopefully will make it downstairs to the sea for a few quiet moments. I'm just tired of getting shouted at in English.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
If music be the food of love, play on...
Twelfth Night and Shakespearean quotations aside, tonight I managed to fall in love.
With the lute.
Marym and Markous brought their extremely-wonderful-close-amazing friend Jack (mild as they come and patient as a saint) with his lute in response to my interest in the instrument. I'm pretty much hooked. It has all the wonderful qualities of flamenco guitar that I admire with all the pretty exoticisms of the mandolin. The problem is buying one: I think my enthusiasm is enough to keep me practicing for now-- and there's a music shop down the street that I pass every morning with lutes in the front window...and I stop and stare every morning.
It was a nice night-- stayed in most of the day, took care of a lot o laundry that's been piling up...danced around to very loud Billy Joel (which as been keeping me pretty sane, in fact), though I didnt get a chance to sit in my cafe for the last time. Ramadan begins tomorrow, and I think I'm going to keep the fast, just for the experience and to win the respect of the old men in the coffee shop. I feel tomorrow's migraine coming on already. I want to decorate, but can't find anywhere that can sell me lights or a lamp-- call me tacky and caught up. The streets are filled with streamers and lanterns (the place is quite festive, and I'm told every night's a party).
Tomorrow's the end of the week-- we have a different weekend here of Friday and Saturday. Probably will try to visit the mosques in the afternoon before dinner with Markous and Marym's parents.
With the lute.
Marym and Markous brought their extremely-wonderful-close-amazing friend Jack (mild as they come and patient as a saint) with his lute in response to my interest in the instrument. I'm pretty much hooked. It has all the wonderful qualities of flamenco guitar that I admire with all the pretty exoticisms of the mandolin. The problem is buying one: I think my enthusiasm is enough to keep me practicing for now-- and there's a music shop down the street that I pass every morning with lutes in the front window...and I stop and stare every morning.
It was a nice night-- stayed in most of the day, took care of a lot o laundry that's been piling up...danced around to very loud Billy Joel (which as been keeping me pretty sane, in fact), though I didnt get a chance to sit in my cafe for the last time. Ramadan begins tomorrow, and I think I'm going to keep the fast, just for the experience and to win the respect of the old men in the coffee shop. I feel tomorrow's migraine coming on already. I want to decorate, but can't find anywhere that can sell me lights or a lamp-- call me tacky and caught up. The streets are filled with streamers and lanterns (the place is quite festive, and I'm told every night's a party).
Tomorrow's the end of the week-- we have a different weekend here of Friday and Saturday. Probably will try to visit the mosques in the afternoon before dinner with Markous and Marym's parents.
Sunday, September 9, 2007
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.
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.
Monday, September 3, 2007
I don't have a honeymoon period with this country
Epic journeys began last night, as it were. Realized that I hadn't eaten anything in a good 36 hours except for an acer manga, a mango juice that is, essentially, pureed mango and is probably just like eating one. However, the Basha-- the restaurant literally downstairs from me, and by restaurant I mean take-out place-- fized up some good kebab and kofta for me, all for what amounted to four bucks.
I walked around today (we have orientation at the university in an hour) and discovered something of the charm of the city. I'll admit, it's not the most beautiful place in the world (it has massive potential for developers, seriously), even with the ocean right there. The thing I can't get over is all the garbage-- people drop their trash right where they stand and don't give it a second thought. There's an enormous dust problem here, and the Egyptians cope with it by splashing water on the sidewalks and streets and trees and basically everything, making things muddy instead of dusty.
I can't recall who said it, but someone described the "charm" of Alex as being its "decay." Somehow it fits. It's like living in a dive-- I suppose the charm is something akin to a hole-in-the-wall restaurant that's always had good food. It just is great, and somehow you can ignore the grime on the walls. Nevertheless, I notice. But I feel it growing on me.
I sat in an ahwa early this morning and watched the shops open. Eventually the gardner from one of the local sporting clubs sat down next to me and we started up something resembling a conversation between my broken Egyptian (he knew VERY little fusha) and his occasional attempts at English. All in all, it was a 75 cent conversation-- three Egyptian pounds for my two cups of tea and the mutual hookah.
A note on Egyptian tea: it's ridiculously strong. The leaves are boiled directly in the cup and left loose, and they add a lot of sugar, with no milk. Most of the time it's serve with a glass of water so you don't go nuts. But it's quite good, once you get over the questionably clean glasses its served in.
In addition to that, a note on sheesha-- I've never gotten buzzed from the tobacco in it, but maybe that's just because I've smoked the American stuff. Whoa. I was reeling around in my seat from how strong it was. Might have something to do with the coals resting directly on the tobacco itself, lending the molasses an acute, but pleasant charcoal flavor.
We're touring the city today and eating with some big wigs. I have to find a bank to change more money (and get smaller bills. Baksheeshes are killing me). More tomorrow if I get the chance (language pledge takes effect in the evening).
I walked around today (we have orientation at the university in an hour) and discovered something of the charm of the city. I'll admit, it's not the most beautiful place in the world (it has massive potential for developers, seriously), even with the ocean right there. The thing I can't get over is all the garbage-- people drop their trash right where they stand and don't give it a second thought. There's an enormous dust problem here, and the Egyptians cope with it by splashing water on the sidewalks and streets and trees and basically everything, making things muddy instead of dusty.
I can't recall who said it, but someone described the "charm" of Alex as being its "decay." Somehow it fits. It's like living in a dive-- I suppose the charm is something akin to a hole-in-the-wall restaurant that's always had good food. It just is great, and somehow you can ignore the grime on the walls. Nevertheless, I notice. But I feel it growing on me.
I sat in an ahwa early this morning and watched the shops open. Eventually the gardner from one of the local sporting clubs sat down next to me and we started up something resembling a conversation between my broken Egyptian (he knew VERY little fusha) and his occasional attempts at English. All in all, it was a 75 cent conversation-- three Egyptian pounds for my two cups of tea and the mutual hookah.
A note on Egyptian tea: it's ridiculously strong. The leaves are boiled directly in the cup and left loose, and they add a lot of sugar, with no milk. Most of the time it's serve with a glass of water so you don't go nuts. But it's quite good, once you get over the questionably clean glasses its served in.
In addition to that, a note on sheesha-- I've never gotten buzzed from the tobacco in it, but maybe that's just because I've smoked the American stuff. Whoa. I was reeling around in my seat from how strong it was. Might have something to do with the coals resting directly on the tobacco itself, lending the molasses an acute, but pleasant charcoal flavor.
We're touring the city today and eating with some big wigs. I have to find a bank to change more money (and get smaller bills. Baksheeshes are killing me). More tomorrow if I get the chance (language pledge takes effect in the evening).
Sunday, September 2, 2007
Finding my feet (and shampoo)
Arrived at 2 AM this morning to Nehad's smiling but weary face and the extreme ghetto-ness of Borg al-Arab International. No, seriously, this is probably the smallest airport you'd ever see--especially for an international one. Nearly got screwed out of the porters carrying my bags--first opportunity to haggle has been entirely in Nehad's hands.
The area I live in is literally 100 yards away from the Corniche-- the large open harbor that supposedly the Lighthouse was located at the crest of. Pretty prime property, but unfortunately Alex looks something akin to a war zone from all the gradually decaying buildings and TONS of garbage everywhere.
Ran into a bunch of Britishers downstairs-- four girls who seem nice enough, if a little overly cautious. The flat actually exceeds my expectations, except for the mattress, which is probably the hardest thing my back has had contact with. And the exposed lightbulbs. Those are bright. But it's enormous and the landlady seems very nice and on the inside it's quite lux-- I have two balconies and an extremely large bathroom, though the linens everywhere leave much to be desired (Floral prints. Yuck.)
First goal has been accomplished-- to buy shampoo and soap, which I forgot, and presently I'm sitting in an Internet cafe sweating my pores out wondering where I can buy tea and towels. I'm sure it'll turn up somehow. No idea what I'm doing next. I'm still exhausted and severely jet-lagged; couldn't sleep until I unpacked.
And at four-thirty this morning, I woke up to the call to morning prayer from the mosque across the street. I guess I've arrived.
The area I live in is literally 100 yards away from the Corniche-- the large open harbor that supposedly the Lighthouse was located at the crest of. Pretty prime property, but unfortunately Alex looks something akin to a war zone from all the gradually decaying buildings and TONS of garbage everywhere.
Ran into a bunch of Britishers downstairs-- four girls who seem nice enough, if a little overly cautious. The flat actually exceeds my expectations, except for the mattress, which is probably the hardest thing my back has had contact with. And the exposed lightbulbs. Those are bright. But it's enormous and the landlady seems very nice and on the inside it's quite lux-- I have two balconies and an extremely large bathroom, though the linens everywhere leave much to be desired (Floral prints. Yuck.)
First goal has been accomplished-- to buy shampoo and soap, which I forgot, and presently I'm sitting in an Internet cafe sweating my pores out wondering where I can buy tea and towels. I'm sure it'll turn up somehow. No idea what I'm doing next. I'm still exhausted and severely jet-lagged; couldn't sleep until I unpacked.
And at four-thirty this morning, I woke up to the call to morning prayer from the mosque across the street. I guess I've arrived.
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