Wind, Sand, and Stars

Back from the dead

noreply@blogger.com (Michael) — Sun, 25 Nov 2007 08:29:00 +0000

So, I haven't posted in ages, and that's probably a bad thing. And to save time and everyone's eyes (if everyone hasn't stopped checking this thing), I'll bullet and highlight the details of at least what's been going on.

- First stomp into Cairo-- covered the northern City of the Dead, so named because...well, let's just say it's a bunch of people squatting in a graveyard. A very big, very old graveyard. Mosques of ibn-Tulun, the Ghuri complex, and baksheeshed our way into a bunch of others. Climbed my first minarets-- also with baksheesh in hand. Discovered the seediest bar in Cairo and ran into Charlie in the street-- back from Ethiopia and the Sudan (miserable traveling, he says)-- essentially christened the place as the watering hole before departures elsewhere. Serves tomatoes as barfood. Not a bad idea. Exhausted (must have walked twenty miles between everything).

- Rosetta. Most medieval town we've been at to boot: awesome. Nothing much except a lot of Ottoman Delta-style buildings with a plethora of mashrabiya work on the windows. Like a scene from the Arabian Nights. cobblestone alleys. Nice day trip-- recently restored (albeit not functional) Turkish bath. Incredible. Have to hang around the Delta a little more. Cheap, too.

- Managed to get out to the Anfushi district south of Ras al-Tin: old Ottoman quarter with a few mashrabiya windows and winding alleys. Supposedly a large Sufi contingency there. In Durrell's time it was the drug-and-prostitute quarter. Very rustic. Very atmospheric. I might move, it's so deliciously so. Constant attention from children. They're always flabbergasted when I start talking to them-- when they ask "You can speak Arabic well?" I ask "Can you speak English well?" Some nod their heads yes and try it out. I've developed the Egyptian habit of clicking my tongue instead of saying a simple "no," and the "Ah" for "yes." It's kind of irritating.

- Winter is officially here, announced by one hell of a rainstorm the other night. Breathtaking-- couldn't sleep so I threw on my raincoat and went for a walk on the Corniche at 3 in the morning. Not a soul awake-- waves splashed into the street occasionally. I felt very Durrell.

- Mt Sinai. After one failed attempt, one aborted attempt, and one man down, Norman and I spent our Thanksgiving on the mountain of Moses. I'm going to stop here because I've got a headache, but rest assured, a link for pictures and a proper post shall follow.

Some notes on awkwardness and Orientalism

noreply@blogger.com (Michael) — Fri, 26 Oct 2007 14:10:00 +0000

So, my birthday has come and gone. Most of the Brits were off on their respective adventures-- Charlie wandering around somewhere in the Sudan (apparently he can do that) and Alex was off making desert romance in Siwa, an oasis I have yet to visit and am more or less reserving for our "Thanksgiving" break. We all headed down to Cap d'Or for the night and proceded to celebrate the landmark day in the only fashion worthy of it-- drinking bad bad Egyptian beer. The atmosphere was nice, at least-- so nice that, once Sheikh Ali caught wind of the occasion, he spread the news among the rest of the bar and we ended up having a round bought for us.

Classes have suddenly become serious-- can't really avoid that. Eagerly anticipating the trip the Sinai this coming week (Norman and I have planned for the best and the worst--I think Alex is coming too) and will be a relief for the ongoing torpor.

Most awkward moment of my life was yesterday-- had a massage at the Cecil Hotel (Durrell's old place). Expected there to be a male massuse...there wasn't. So, standing there, speaking Arabic to an extremely pretty Muslim girl (as I discovered later) and only wearing a towel...only to be rubbed down with lemon oil by her and then questioned (as she giggled) about "how it was possible for me not to have a habiba" and that she would like to "find a nice man like me"...made for some awkward moments. Worst massage ever. Unfortunately there are no Turkish hammams here as there are in Cairo. Damnation.

I had a snob moment, too: when I was inquiring after the price of a massage (in Arabic) and the two receptionists (one of which was the girl who would massage me) were giggling over my Arabic, saying I "was of honey" (quite literally), a random, very seedy looking man in a suit who was reading a poster on the wall turns and says, in English: "I was shocked to hear you speaking our language. Normally foreigners don't bother."

I was so irritated at his tone and his sort of sneer at the word "foreigner" that I answered, slowly: "Normally, a person begins a conversation with 'Salaamu-'alaykum' or 'Good evening.'" He was somewhat shocked-- and the girls were scandalized. Later, they told me he was the head engineer for the building--hence the haughtiness. Doctors and engineers here are akin to godlike figures; working men have little worth. Actually, it's pretty common to see what I remember my father referring to as a "cocaine nail" -- the pinky fingernail grown out about an inch-- just to indicate that the person doesn't work with his hands. This man had very long fingernails.

Then began the round of personal questions, after which I told him he was rude and asked the girls for a massage. I suppose that's a landmark: by now, I've gotten used to the class mentality, the chauvinism, the strange invasions of one's personal life. But it doesn't mean that I have to incorporate them into my personality-- accept them only as far as is necessary to survive and appreciate them as the idiosyncrasies of a culture very different than my own (despite its efforts to the contrary).

A note on Orientalism, because I've been accused of it a lot as of late. I think that, at least in the American university system (and I recognize that Midd doesn't represent all), in the field of Eastern studies we are extremely well-equipped to recognize our outsider-ness and search for the uniting factors common to the human experience. In fact, I've never really felt tempted to say that "the East" as place was something uniformly backwards and sensual and all that jazz. However, to say it is the same as "the West" is just as wrong-- there is certainly a gap between the two-- and to say that "the West" is the problem, that in art, literature, common experience, we project the negative or undesirable aspects of our culture onto the East is also the problem.

Interestingly, every Egyptian I've spoken to on the matter has been much more of an Orientalist (in the Bernard Lewis sense) than I am: they speak of progress and the "old Egypt" and the virtues of the West more than we do. Technology, politics, development...even down to how clean the streets are-- old men in coffeeshops look to Europe and America as the paradigm of what Egypt should be, rather than what it is presently. Is this a product of colonialism? I don't know exactly. It could just be that, after occupying the country for so long and imposing our own viewpoints on the people that they have simply taken them for their own. But I don't think so.

There is such a think as what is good, what is bad. The British were here for decades and left a liquor impact here to such an extent that the word "al-whisky" is used to refer to all alcohol, not just whisky proper, I'm assuming that's because it's all they drank. But the whisky that's made here is awful, and they don't know it. The beer is terrible, and they don't know it. The decorations are awful, and they think they're amazing. I'm actually sort of distressed by that: I remember Vera telling me that Mona pointed out a head of Cleopatra (one of those awful touristy things) and saying it was amazing. And I get criticized for wanting brass trays and cushions on the ground because they're "backwards" and Bedouin (interesting relationship that the populous has with the Bedu...to be discussed later).

Anyway, I've got to stop being depressing.

Fear and Loathing in Iskanderiyya

noreply@blogger.com (Michael) — Thu, 18 Oct 2007 14:59:00 +0000

So, I'm sitting on the windswept granite benches of the library stealing internet to download the latest episodes of Bones-- which is my one English junkie addiction that I couldn't even break in the States and really just don't want to. But it's closing time and I get to watch the confounded whole college of arts walk by to catch minbuses and all the hijabbed librarians exit, some stopping to chat, others to use the ATM. It's quite a nice exercise in birdwatching.

Alex after Ramadan is an interesting place. After finishing Durrell's Justine and nearly getting decapitated by Mona for saying it was the most beautiful thing I've ever read, I think I understand a little more about the place. It's coping with a past, and the whole thing seems to breathe like a damaged girl-- so I suppose I can't really blame the inhabitants for not really seeming like the rest of Egypt. There are no Greeks or Jews or English here anymore, but the whole place seems to want to imitate another time, another location-- it has modernized too fast to the effect that the emulation of Western fashion is misunderstood, that the buildings are garish and gaudy, and all elements of the past that might make the place a little more beautiful for the environment fall to pieces or are covered over by advertisements. All history is left entirely to the memory-- and that, truly, is the shame of it all. The most historical city in the world with the least to physically offer.

There is a proverb: "Weep for those that weep for the past." I do not weep for the past. I weep that it is not remembered.

This is the City of Memory. Why does no one remember here?

Nile cruises, Ozymandias, and bad Egyptian beer

noreply@blogger.com (Michael) — Tue, 16 Oct 2007 18:06:00 +0000

Sound exciting?

I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
‘I am Ozymandias, King of Kings:
Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!’
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.

Those lines from Shelley became something of an obsession this week-- after reading that Shelley was inspired by the largest colossus ever constructed in Egypt-- that of Rameses II, which lies toppled in the Ramsseum (the largest temple complex ever constructed, but, alas, little remains of it on the west bank of the Theban Necropolis). The name Ozymandias, interestingly enough, is a Greek corruption of one of Rameses' titles-- User-maat-Re (the Ruler in the name of Ra) which was carved on the colussus' right arm.

Irritatingly, we never got to see the colussus itself-- due to the inflexability of our tour group, we merely drove by (I did manage to glimpse the enormous, toppled structure, though driving by), but the words constantly haunted my thoughts the entire trip. We were, after all, seeing things which very much had the same sentiments about them. Rameses in particular was obsessed with the idea that he should remain remembered throughout history-- so much so, in fact, that his cartouches are engraved deeper than any other pharaoh's-- often to the point of several inches. And it certainly was a danger-- Hatshepsut, Akhenaten...along with many others that had serious religious and political conflicts with one another...had their names literally scratched out from the very monuments they had erected-- even the names of gods whose cults some pharaohs wished to suppress were chiselled from (seemingly) the walls of their history. The Copts had this nasty habit, too; most every temple we visited bore the marks of a "cleansed" space with images of gods and men effaced and Coptic inscriptions and crosses to mark that the place had once been used for the then-underground Christians.

Back track.

The tour company screwed up several times and Nehad's paranoia about traveling with seven girls on the less-than-quality Egyptian overnight train led to us taking a minibus down to Aswan, which is an eighteen hour overnight drive. Bad move. I later met a student from AUC at Luxor who, in addition to providing Norman and me a couple of couches for this weekend in Cairo, informed us that the overnight carriages, though simple and a little cramped, were completely fine.

Arrived in Aswan early--checked in to the M/S Ra around four. Norman and I spent the afternoon clambering over Fatimid gravesights and searching for the "unfinished obelisk," in the local granite quarries-- alas, it was closed early for the last night of Ramadan. Supposedly, this particular obelisk was to be the largest in existence (even larger than the "Lateran" one in Rome...outside St. John Lateran Basilica, hence the name), but was abandoned when a flaw was discovered in the stone. Whoops.

Actually, around sunset, we stumbled over a hill into an unlabelled part of the graveyard (all but the most recent graves are unlabelled-- a freak rainstorm washed away the tablets and now are in the Egyptian Museum in Cairo) and encountered tombs that had collapsed in on themselves...revealing the bones of their occupants. It was kind of unnerving around dusk. Especially with stray dogs sniffing about the cliffside.

Meanwhile, the others slept. Losers.

The nitty-gritty details of the trip I'll omit, but to give you a general idea: we cruised north to Luxor, stopping at Edfu and Esna and Kom Ombu temples along the way, exploring (or rather, touring) the Theban Necroplis on the west bank of the Nile. The best moments were abandoning the tour to go off on our own-- Norman and I crossed the Nile to Elephantine Island at one point, where an ancient Egyptian settlement had guarded against the Nubians for years-- including a Aramaic one from the early Ptolemaic period that has revealed that practicing Jews guarded the Egyptian "gates of the Upper Kingdom" as part of the Elephantine garrison. I think I like the south better-- the streets are shoddy, but swept and clean, and the houses crumbling, but brightly painted (most often in blue, which is to ward off the evil eye).

Also managed to practice my bargaining skills-- Aswan is reputed to have the best souk outside of Cairo (certainly better than Alex's) and it looks like something out of the Arabian Nights. Finally bought a chess set (alabaster...knocked the guy down from 300 quid to one hundred) and particularly pretty box, along with many gifts. Also stumbled into maskouri glass-- popular in the medieval period, it's a kind of bubble glass that is extremely inexpensive...and incredibly beautiful. It's kind of the specialty of the south (along with beadwork). ALMOST bought a camelhair blanket...until I realized that I'm in Egypt, and although it gets chilly, I don't live in the desert.

Sunsets were incredible-- managed to get a few letters off while we were cruising north-- and the song that kept playing in my head was RT's "Banks of the Nile." I've never seen a place so desolate and yet so breathtaking.

It's good to be back in Alex, though-- borrowed the Quartet and started reading (still have to buy it...I'm only halfway through the first book and have to return it)-- and the weather's changed (a little chillier). I think the more you go away from a place, the more it feels like home. And I'm thinking it works the same for friends: the more you leave, and the more you can come back, the more they have a place in your heart.

Love to all. Miss everyone.

Apologies, Sufism, and the first of a series of very large headaches

noreply@blogger.com (Michael) — Wed, 26 Sep 2007 09:37:00 +0000

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...

Flyboys at the Spitfire

noreply@blogger.com (Michael) — Mon, 24 Sep 2007 09:00:00 +0000

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.

Member of the Portugeuse Club and more...

noreply@blogger.com (Michael) — Fri, 21 Sep 2007 08:23:00 +0000

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.

More Jesuits

noreply@blogger.com (Michael) — Mon, 17 Sep 2007 10:52:00 +0000

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).

Nobody's going to BELIEVE the day I had...

noreply@blogger.com (Michael) — Sat, 15 Sep 2007 17:32:00 +0000

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).

Three hours of Qur'anic recitation is a bit much

noreply@blogger.com (Michael) — Fri, 14 Sep 2007 12:56:00 +0000

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.

If music be the food of love, play on...

noreply@blogger.com (Michael) — Tue, 11 Sep 2007 20:44:00 +0000

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.

Finding Religion

noreply@blogger.com (Michael) — Sun, 09 Sep 2007 15:49:00 +0000

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.

I don't have a honeymoon period with this country

noreply@blogger.com (Michael) — Mon, 03 Sep 2007 07:25:00 +0000

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).

Finding my feet (and shampoo)

noreply@blogger.com (Michael) — Sun, 02 Sep 2007 13:35:00 +0000

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.

First Post

noreply@blogger.com (Michael) — Thu, 30 Aug 2007 16:11:00 +0000

New York. Staging for Alexandria by way of Frankfurt. Next post probably in Germany.