The Citadel
El Nasr Mohamed Ibn Kalaoun Mosque
The Minbar
Ibn Tulun Mosque
8.14.2010
First Night of Ramadan
On the first night after the start of Ramadan the streets were empty for an hour as everyone in Cairo broke their fast. I fasted too, just to see how it was, and after the first four hours when I thought I would die, it became much easier. Dehydration can make you delirious, which means that everything becomes really funny. A month of laughing? I could do that.
(Not to discount the historical and spiritual importance of Ramadan fasting.)
(Not to discount the historical and spiritual importance of Ramadan fasting.)
Khan el-Khalili Market
Below are some photos of the less populated sections of the market and a creative writing piece...
<<<
We are wandering in Islamic Cairo on the Saturday before Ramadan, looking to buy some gold cartouches, when we somehow manage to find ourselves at the epicenter of the Khan al-Khalili market. The vendors here are selling Ramadan decorations. There seem to be hundreds of people pushing in both directions down the narrow, twisted street, shoulder to shoulder, niqabi and hijabi women forgoing personal space and shoving with the rest. I move slowly down the street, hoping the crowd will lessen soon, thinking that this is far worse than Times Square. The crushing force of dozens of people behind me is pushing me forward and the weight of dozens in front of me is keeping me upright. I step on the back of the slipper of the man in front of me and someone steps on the back of my flipflop and I'm stuck for a moment, my other foot slipping on mushed trash, grasping for a foothold before a man hits me with the huge bag of rice on his shoulder and frees me to move again. A cart half the width of the street is coming through behind me and the driver is shouting, slapping his cargo to let people know that he intends to run them over if they don't get out of the way. I hear Kyle yelling, the English words sounding unnatural, metallic, as the man prods him with the sharp front of his cart.
Three women, clucking their tongues at the cart driver, crowd me to the side trying to get us all out of his path. I'm stuck now in a niche between tables of Ramadan lanterns and I feel a vibrating in my bag. My American cell is ringing. It must be 5:30 in the morning back home I think to myself. Everything starts to feel nonsensical, like the disjointed events in a dream. A teenager reaches through the crowd to poke me in the shoulder with his pointer finger, trying to see whether I'm real, before going past me, laughing at my shock, and I decide to let my phone ring. This is about survival now. I move back into the swirling current of people, knowing I need to go through it to get out and feeling the sweat run down my back under my clothes. Suddenly, an upturned hand is groping the air in front of my body, a man looking for anything to molest as he gets pushed forward. Recoiling inside, I move to smack his approaching hand, but I'm shoved past him before we touch.
For a moment, the crush of people lessens and I lose my balance, stumbling to the right. Fear runs down my spine that I'll go down and under. My fall is stopped by the sharp edge of a table covered in Ramadan fireworks, and I get pinned there by the immediate coalescence of bodies, filling into the space like rain water pooling in a ditch. A man is sitting on the table and I look up at him out of my sweat-blurred sunglasses. Halllloooo!!! He yells in my face. Welllcomme! I try to move away as I see the cigarette in his hand ashing on his table of fireworks. I read an article once about a bomb going off in some crowded Pakistani market, the aftermath of exploded tomatoes and the rusty smells of burning and blood rising in the air. The hair raises on my arms and I can feel how it would feel. How time would seem to slow down and the air quiver and heat up before the bulbs on the strings of Ramadan lights would start popping, springing off their tables, table after table, plastic toys flying into the air, barbies and airplanes and tables and people all jumping up in a cloud of smoke till the explosion had ended and still and shock had descended.
I push the thought away as the people in my line inch down the street, so close that we all seem to be a collection of atoms, each movement setting off a reaction and a counter-reaction, a shove and a counter-shove. I hear screaming behind me and I crane my neck around to see a niqabi woman smacking the head and back of her niqabi daughter with such force I wonder what she possibly could have done and then I'm forced to look forward again as I get caught between the clasped hands of a child and his mother, the child looking up at me with wide eyes and then a smile, the mother whispering a prayer against the crowds.
Finally, the street widens a bit and I can see the ground again. I stumble into an alley on the side with unsure footing. Slowly, I realize I've been holding my breath, so I inhale, tasting the sweet and bitter smells of gasoline and hot mangoes that seem to float above all of Cairo.
>>>
<<<
We are wandering in Islamic Cairo on the Saturday before Ramadan, looking to buy some gold cartouches, when we somehow manage to find ourselves at the epicenter of the Khan al-Khalili market. The vendors here are selling Ramadan decorations. There seem to be hundreds of people pushing in both directions down the narrow, twisted street, shoulder to shoulder, niqabi and hijabi women forgoing personal space and shoving with the rest. I move slowly down the street, hoping the crowd will lessen soon, thinking that this is far worse than Times Square. The crushing force of dozens of people behind me is pushing me forward and the weight of dozens in front of me is keeping me upright. I step on the back of the slipper of the man in front of me and someone steps on the back of my flipflop and I'm stuck for a moment, my other foot slipping on mushed trash, grasping for a foothold before a man hits me with the huge bag of rice on his shoulder and frees me to move again. A cart half the width of the street is coming through behind me and the driver is shouting, slapping his cargo to let people know that he intends to run them over if they don't get out of the way. I hear Kyle yelling, the English words sounding unnatural, metallic, as the man prods him with the sharp front of his cart.
Three women, clucking their tongues at the cart driver, crowd me to the side trying to get us all out of his path. I'm stuck now in a niche between tables of Ramadan lanterns and I feel a vibrating in my bag. My American cell is ringing. It must be 5:30 in the morning back home I think to myself. Everything starts to feel nonsensical, like the disjointed events in a dream. A teenager reaches through the crowd to poke me in the shoulder with his pointer finger, trying to see whether I'm real, before going past me, laughing at my shock, and I decide to let my phone ring. This is about survival now. I move back into the swirling current of people, knowing I need to go through it to get out and feeling the sweat run down my back under my clothes. Suddenly, an upturned hand is groping the air in front of my body, a man looking for anything to molest as he gets pushed forward. Recoiling inside, I move to smack his approaching hand, but I'm shoved past him before we touch.
For a moment, the crush of people lessens and I lose my balance, stumbling to the right. Fear runs down my spine that I'll go down and under. My fall is stopped by the sharp edge of a table covered in Ramadan fireworks, and I get pinned there by the immediate coalescence of bodies, filling into the space like rain water pooling in a ditch. A man is sitting on the table and I look up at him out of my sweat-blurred sunglasses. Halllloooo!!! He yells in my face. Welllcomme! I try to move away as I see the cigarette in his hand ashing on his table of fireworks. I read an article once about a bomb going off in some crowded Pakistani market, the aftermath of exploded tomatoes and the rusty smells of burning and blood rising in the air. The hair raises on my arms and I can feel how it would feel. How time would seem to slow down and the air quiver and heat up before the bulbs on the strings of Ramadan lights would start popping, springing off their tables, table after table, plastic toys flying into the air, barbies and airplanes and tables and people all jumping up in a cloud of smoke till the explosion had ended and still and shock had descended.
I push the thought away as the people in my line inch down the street, so close that we all seem to be a collection of atoms, each movement setting off a reaction and a counter-reaction, a shove and a counter-shove. I hear screaming behind me and I crane my neck around to see a niqabi woman smacking the head and back of her niqabi daughter with such force I wonder what she possibly could have done and then I'm forced to look forward again as I get caught between the clasped hands of a child and his mother, the child looking up at me with wide eyes and then a smile, the mother whispering a prayer against the crowds.
Finally, the street widens a bit and I can see the ground again. I stumble into an alley on the side with unsure footing. Slowly, I realize I've been holding my breath, so I inhale, tasting the sweet and bitter smells of gasoline and hot mangoes that seem to float above all of Cairo.
>>>
8.08.2010
Architecture is Art
These photos were taken in the Church of Saint George and the Church of the Virgin Mary, also known as the Hanging Church because it was built suspended over the gatehouse to the Babylon Fortress.
8.06.2010
Symbols of Christianity
I've noticed that prayer in Islam, Coptic Christianity, and Judaism all share the same lilting, eerie song. As I walk through Coptic Cairo -- through the Ben Ezra synagogue and the Hanging Church and the Church of Girgis as the crescent moons of neighborhood mosques are never far from view -- the three religions seem so similar. A major difference, however, is Christianity's depiction of the divine, which Islam and Judaism forbid...
Sailing on a Felucca
The word "Nile" comes from the Greek word "Neilos," most likely meaning the black and blue color of river water.
Living By the Nile's Edge
"There are in Egypt enduring world views which have barely changed from the era of ancient myths until the present. This is because they are tied to the innermost essence of this earth, deriving their inspiration from the soul of the clay of this fertile valley and from the spirit of this eternal Nile. For man's world view, his beliefs, his religions and his superstitions are generated by the forms of life which surround him."
-- Tawfiq al-Hakim, 20th century Egyptian intellectual and author
8.05.2010
Fateer -- Egyptian Pizza
Fateer is another typical Egyptian dish. This one is Kiri cheese and sweet peppers wrapped up in a thin dough and baked in a wood-fired oven.
This is a video of a chef making fateer. The method is similar at my fateer place, just imagine lots of flies, a burning oven that looks like a giant clay pot, and a ten-year-old kid hacking at tomatoes on the side...
8.03.2010
A Bar Called Freedom
The bar Hurriya (Arabic for "freedom") in downtown Cairo. The lighting is intensely bright and only Stella is served (not to be confused with Stella Artois), an Egyptian brewed beer that tastes remotely like Rolling Rock.
The atmosphere can best be described using a quote from a fellow Fulbrighter: "Being in Cairo is like watching 17 million people fall down the up-escalator."
-Theo Beers
8.02.2010
Colonial Decor
"All knowledge that is about human society, and not about the natural world, is historical knowledge, and therefore rests upon judgment and interpretation. This is not to say that facts or data are nonexistent, but that facts get their importance from what is made of them in interpretation… for interpretations depend very much on who the interpreter is, who he or she is addressing, what his or her purpose is, at what historical moment the interpretation takes place."
- Edward Said
7.30.2010
A Tribute To Tourists
As a New Yorker, I am naturally averse to tourists. But here, I am a tourist. And yes, I am visiting the Egyptian pyramids with a tour guide, and sweating under the midday sun, and saying oooh and ahhh at every upturned stone -- just like every other tourist. But instead of trying to walk around them, or elbow them out of my line of view, I decided to see what (some) tourists look like...
The Pyramids of Giza
"One mirage kept raising us up, another casting us down, and from deserts we were spewed out into yet more deserts."
- Tayeb Salih, Season of Migration to the North
- Tayeb Salih, Season of Migration to the North
Imhotep and Saqqara and Memphis
"All the variety, all the charm, all the beauty of life is made up of light and shadow."
Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina
Leo Tolstoy, Anna Karenina
King Tut Song - Steve Martin on SNL (1979)
King Tut Song - Steve Martin on Saturday Night Live (1979)
Some lyrics:
(King Tut)
Dancin' by the Nile (disco Tut)
The ladies love his style (boss Tut)
Rockin' for a mile (rockin' Tut)
He ate a crocodile...
Anubis
Anubis, an ancient Egyptian God with the head of a jackal, oversaw mummification and the balance of truth in the afterlife. He was said to weigh the deceased's heart against the feather of truth and the cosmic order.
