Episode 42, in which our hero narrowly escapes a car wreck

Today started wonderfully, as I sat on Sharia al-Muizz sketching a madrassah for a few hours this morning.  As the morning turned to afternoon, I was getting hot, and the flies had descended on me for some reason.  I packed up my sketchbook and walked to a nearby falafel stand to get my daily sandwich.  Then I sat in a cafe, drinking coffee and eating my lunch.  This paragraph is generally true for most of my days in Cairo.  However, today took a turn for the strange.

After paying the guy at the cafe, I hopped on a minibus to get back downtown.  There was a cute exchange between an older lady and me.  Fare is 75 piastres, and after we each paid a pound, the driver gave fifty cents change.  I insisted she take it.  She insisted that I take it.  (This is a pretty classic Arab game, often involving who enters a room first, who gets the first serving of food, etc.)  Finally, she points to my shirt.  "Get yourself a decent shirt....and a haircut," she told me.  Burned.

About five minutes later, as we passed by the Islamic Art Museum, a taxi started inching into our lane.  The driver laid on the horn.  Then BAM.  I don't know quite what happened, but it ended up totaling both vehicles, smashing out all the passenger-side windows on the minibus, and covering me in glass.  I had hung onto the bench in front of me during the collision (no seatbelts, Welcome to Egypt!), so other than a bruised elbow, sore leg, and glass in my hair, I was unscathed.

The taxi driver, bleeding from a small cut on his head, was yelling at our driver, who was having none of it, while I sat on the curb, hyperventilating, as I am wont to do.  A crowd of passengers and onlookers had gathered around the wreck.  A mechanic from a nearby autoshop walked up to me.  "Hamdulilah as-salama."  Thanks be to God, you're okay.  "Hamdulilah," I responded.  He invited me to have a drink in his garage.  Walking over, I realized shards of broken glass had filled my shoes. [Cue Annie Lennox reference.]  Stumbling into his shop, he got me a glass of water.  He was an observant Muslim, so a drink that would have done me real good was unavailable.

After chatting and calming down, he offered to give me a ride. I declined, and I walked the rest of the way downtown, stopping twice for banana smoothies.  I figure a near-death experience deserves some reward.

[Answers to expected questions:

1. Yes, Mom, I'm really okay.

2. No, Mom, I'm not going to go to the hospital.

3. Yes, Andrew, it was onion falafel.]

Street Scenes (Thursday night/Friday morning)

So the dirty little secret of my Watson project is that I'm not specifically interested in religious communities. I'm not religious, and I often feel quite phony (What up, Salinger?) feigning belief in order to get to the heart of what makes religious people tick stay faithful, and stick together. Nevertheless, what fascinates me is communities in general and what binds them, religious communties included. In walking around Cairo the last few days, a few things I saw were quite profound on this second point, in regards to the Egyptian community, the Watan, or patrie.

Thursday night was the semifinal game of the Africa Cup of Nations, which is being held this year in Angola. Egypt was recently eliminated from World Cup contention so this is the biggest event they can win this year. On Thursday, they faced Algeria, the team which eliminated them from The World Cup a short while ago in a nail-biting two games, complete with blown calls, allegations of bribery, and riots in the streets. So yeah, soccer is kind of a big deal here.

As I wandered out to get some dinner and watch the game, every cafe had chairs spilling out not only onto the sidewalk, but also halfway across the street as people gathered to watch the semifinal match. During every break in play, the young shabab in the front would beat on a makeshift drum, leading chants of "bump ba-bump bump bump MISR!". Any questionable contact would lead to cries of "kuss ukhtak" (YOUR SISTER'S VAGINA!) or even less printable words directed at Algeria's players, fans, and national history.

In a country which suffers from extreme poverty, pollution, corruption and other ills, this was a major release, especially after the previous defeat. Egyptians have a chance, a reason to feel national pride. This binds the community together. Having awoken many mornings to the 8am chanting of the national anthem ("baladi, baladi" or "my homeland") at the primary school next door, I know the pride Egyptians feel in their connection to this land and it's history. Watching the game and its viewers confirmed that and made it much more real.

After Egypt's 4-0 victory, I headed back to my temporary home, but I didn't fall asleep for a long time, as car horns, dancing, flag-waving, and chanting filled the streets below. As I watched from my safe perch above, I knew I had seen something of the Egyptian spirit and nation. No, it wasn't a religious community (though you could certainly argue that football is a co-equal with Islam as Egypt's dominant faith), but it was something I won't soon forget.

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The next morning, Friday, as I set out for a busy day of juice-drinking, pastry-eating, and drawing (it's a tough job, this Watson thing), I walked past the cafes which had been overflowing the night before. The TVs were turned off, some covered with a sheet, and men sat on the ground, listening to the Friday sermon from a nearby mosque.

These two scenes, twelve hours apart on the same corner, are what make Egypt continually engaging for me, even though my life and study here haven't exactly gone as planned.

As I walked back from sketching a few kilometers away in the afternoon, the cafes were now half-full, as patrons watched a replay of the game from the night before, reliving the triumph. I haven't come to any grand conclusion about Egypt or its people; it's a diverse place with 80 million people and 100 million opinions and philosophies, but in the last few days, I saw something. And that's what keeps me coming back for more.

[I've decided that I'm going to spend my last few weeks in Egypt before I go to Ethiopia sketching. Now, my days can be categorized by what I drew/what juice I drank/what pastry I ate. Yesterday was ablution fountain/orange/cheese dayyneesh (that's Arabic for danish). Today was tree at Ataba/sugar cane juice/cinnamon roll. I think I'm going to have a portfolio and diabetes by the time I leave.]

Location:Cairo, Egypt

Coptic Werewolves of Cairo

Not a regular post today, just an anecdote.

After showing Andrew and Liz through Coptic Cairo (Look it's St. Damiana and the 40 Virgins!  Hey Pope Shenouda!), I led them into one of my favorite parts of town, the run-down Coptic cemetery.  There aren't many open, park-like spaces in Cairo, so you have to appreciate them where you find them.  Sometimes, a creepy cemetery with a few open graves has to do.

After we got away from a guard demanding bakshish and a guy with an Elmo voice wanting to guide us through the tombs, we turned down a lane of graves.  A few dogs barked.

[I should note, that this morning I had been reading that rabies in Egypt is "endemic"]

They barked louder.  Then they started running towards us.  We started running away.

Liz was bumped by one, but we otherwise remained unscathed.  As we made our way out, I thought aloud: I may not be faster than a rabid dog, but I am faster than Liz.  And really, that's all I need to be.

Cha cha cha changes

After losing my apartment in a bizarre chain of events, I'm now crashing in a hostel with my brother and his girlfriend (Ha! Romantic vacation with little brother.).

We're headed to Aswan tonight, but before we go, I wanted to post the songs I covered and recorded shortly before being evicted.

As usual, they are available at www.drop.io/tedssongs

In order of quality, they are:

"Oh My Sweet Carolina" (Ryan Adams) A great song about wandering and ending up in not great places. I see it as facing the consequences of a lifetime of Fat Joe's "Make it Rain."

"Mexican Blue" (Jolie Holland) All of her songs are really good. This supernatural love folk song is fantastic, and even without Jolie's southern drawl, it's powerful and vulnerable.

"Tower of Song" (Leonard Cohen) I don't have the chops for this tune, but I play it all the time anyway. "I said to Hank Williams, "How lonely does it get?'" is a great line.

Location:Cairo, Egypt

Ahmed goes a-courtin'

With nothing urgent on the agenda since my return from Sinai until my brother arrives, I've been going for lots of wandering walks around Cairo.  One such trip yesterday proved quite interesting, as I wandered from Sayida Zeinab south to al-Khalifa, the cemetery/neighborhood where Cairo proper ends.


I didn't initially intend to stop at the Mosque of Sayida Zeinab, but when I hear music and see rhythmic religious swaying, I don't really have much choice.  Though I never got a real explanation of what was happening, it was most likely a moulid, or saint's day.  Though discouraged recently by the government, which seems to fear any uncontrolled gatherings, these are big parties with associated rituals dedicated to a particular shaykh, saint, leader, or virtuous woman.  There are even a few Jewish and Christian moulids, and at least in times past, the various religions mixed and partied together.  As everyone knows, Christmas is about presents and I'm pretty sure latkes were in the Talmud somewhere.  People just want to eat and have a good time.  Someone should make a religion about that.


Where was I?  Oh yes, the moulid at Sayida Zeinab.  As the men in their galabiyyas (AKA dishdash AKA man-dress) swung their heads, some even foaming at the mouth, the women clapped and did the Arabic women's whistle.  Vendors came around selling hats that said "Oh Love, Oh God's Prophet" that every 1-10 year old was wearing proudly.  These events are chances to show one's charitable spirit, so many folks showed up with armfuls of bread, oranges, pretzels, and the like, handing them out to all in attendance.

The moulid celebration

As a fight broke out between a vendor who had been stiffed and the lady who stiffed him, I started to make my exit, but I was stopped by a woman in a niqab.  This shouldn't have surprised me, because Egyptian women are a strong lot, and no veil is going to stop one from speaking her mind, but having never had a conversation with someone who I couldn't see, it was a new experience.  After a few pleasantries, she figured out that I was an agnabi, a stranger in these parts.  She told me that I should not judge Islam by these pagan rituals.  "If the Prophet, peace be upon him, were here, he would be shocked at this dancing and music."  I was too chicken to tell her that I was quite enjoying the moulid.


We chatted for a while more in a mixture of Egyptian, Jordanian, and Italian, which she is studying at Ain Shams University.  As strange as the juxtaposition is for a woman who was criticizing various traditions as insufficiently Islamic, her dream is to visit the churches of Italy.  Conveniently, I had been looking for someone with whom to discuss the architectural dialogue between the Ottomans and the Italians in church and mosque design, so the meeting was fortuitous.


As the fight in the moulid expanded, we said goodbye, and I walked south towards the Mosque of Ibn Tulun, probably the most peaceful and secluded spot in the city.  Fighting the urge to stop and sketch, I walked on towards the Khalifa, one of the medieval cemeteries, which is now a city in itself.  I passed by the Tomb of Shagar ad-Durr, the medieval Turcoman slave concubine who married the Sultan Salih Ayyub, concealed his death (Weekend at Bernie's-style), and married his chief advisor, becoming one of the few independent female rulers in Islamic history, ushering in the period of Mameluke rule of Egypt.  It's mostly run-down now, and a mausoleum a few doors down sitting below street level is largely flooded.


After wandering onward into al-Khalifa, I sat down at a cafe.  Somehow, despite my protestations to the contrary, the waiter 'Alla in the cafe decided after brief conversation that my name is Ahmed, and I am an American Muslim.  Not wanting to seem disrespectful, I just let it slide.  I just have to answer to "Ahmed" now when I'm in al-Khalifa.  The cafe was located down an alley.  As the area is still an active cemetery, 'Alla had to clear the chairs out of the street for funeral processions every half hour.  In between these bouts of wailing and shuffling of chairs, he made it his mission to find me a nice Muslim woman to marry.  Not just Muslim, but Egyptian.


Suddenly, I was surrounded by a three jolly women in their fifties.  "Ahmed, you're not married." "What a pity." "Not engaged?" "You must not marry a Saudi woman.  They are thieves." "You need an Egyptian wife....ME!"

Sufficed to say, this was a very entertaining afternoon.  The youngest of the three, who I think was most in on the joke, had this uproarious belly laugh that could shake a city block.


After a few more pulls of shisha, I, in my new identity as Ahmed, said goodbye to the denizens of the cafe, promising to return soon, and headed back home.

Receiving the Law

With a houseguest coming to Cairo and taking my room (No Justice! Of course the twenty-two year old gets kicked out to make room for the retired Iraqi ambassador), I headed off to Sinai to breath clean air and see some Byzantine icons for the week.

Due to my thirst for ascetic life (well, mostly just my frugality), I rented a tent for $2.50 a night and slept in an olive grove near St. Katherine's monastery. Well, it turns out that despite beautiful weather during the day, Sinai gets wildly cold at night. Like, three pairs of socks and shivering cold. And no broomball to make up for the freezing weather!

I endured and climbed Mount Sinai for the last four days. Living in the smog and noise of Cairo, as much as I love the city, makes a retreat into the mountains incredible. I don't think I've seen a sky as blue as at St. Kate's. At night, the stars just filled the sky with no street lights or houses for miles.

Most people (Russian tour groups, mostly) climb the mountain before dawn to see the sunrise. However, I'm not a big fan of dawn. If I'm awake at that time, it's usually an indication of something wrong in my life. So each day, I climbed in the morning or early afternoon with the sun shining, alone save a trickle of Germans and Frenchmen at the top.

My final ascent yesterday was the only problematic one. Aware of their power, the underpaid police who guard the gate at times now require all hikers to hire a guide, who no doubt directs half of the $20 back to the cops who keep them employed.

Passing for Arab and entering with a new friend, an Arab servant and cook to the Greek monks, saved me from hiring a guide for three days. However, yesterday the police were quite persistent.

"Oh, I'm only going to the monastery, not the mountain. No need for a guide," I lied.

"The monastery is closed today," the cop answered.

"Ummm...I'm an architecture student and I want to see the towers," I said, being not totally untruthful.

"Okay, mashi. But if you try to go to the mountains, the police will detain you."

Passing the test of intellect, I now advanced to the tests of endurance and strength. Should I bum rush the next cop, confident that he's a smoker in his mid-40s as most of Egypt's finest are? No, he's friends with the Bedouin camel guides, who WILL catch me. I chose Plan B, which involved sneaking through the garden, shushing Bedouin children and scrambling over boulders to reach the Steps of Repentence, the more vertical and penitent of the routes to the top.

Out of breath and sweating through my t-shirt, I hid behind a boulder. My heart beating wildly, I took a couple puffs of my inhaler (Thanks Mom) before continuing.

This was the hardest ascent of my time at St. Katherine's. The Steps of Repentence are aptly named. (Maybe I was repenting for fibbing to the guards and depriving the guides of their livelihood?) Though you reach the summit much quicker, in 2ish hours instead of 4ish by the conventional trail, your thighs PAY for it. Furreals.

When I got to the spring of Elijah, about 20 minutes before the summit, I stopped to rest and some Bedouins stopped to chat with me.

A small boy said in English, "You look bad."

Gasping for air, I responded, "Kid, you don't know the half of it."

After that ridiculous exchange, I talked to his uncle or cousin for a while. Apparently, the Bedouins of this region of Sinai are Jebeliyya or Gebeliyya, depending on what accent you prefer. It means "mountainous" or "of the mountain." I have to say, there is something just intensely badass about saying, "I am of the mountain."

But I digress. Unlike other Bedouins I've met, who see themselves as the pure Arabs, originally from the Arabian peninsula and source of the true Arabic language and culture, despite being Muslim, the Jebeliyya Bedouins claim descent from the Byzantine army unit the Emperor Justinian sent to protect St. Katherine's in the 500s AD.

I'm kind of a nerd for history and memory, so hearing these folk tradition was quite special. This connection to the land and the past is quite strong. Sometimes it manifests itself violently; Bedouins have carried out many of Egypt's recent terrorist acts due to their resentment toward the government in Cairo. But hanging out with the guys on the mountain, I can't think of anyone else I've ever met who lives with the land, rather than simply on it.

After sitting at the summit for a few hours and watching the sun set, I climbed down. My feet blistered from lots of hiking and after another night of shivering sleep, I'd had my fill of asceticism (and a diet of bread and clementines), so I took a bus the next morning to Dahab, the Hawai'i of the Middle East, where I now sit, sipping a beer looking out toward the mountains of Saudi Arabia, where said beverage is probably gheer qanoon, or illegal.

Location:South Sinai, Egypt