January 1, 2008 1:25am

Have arrived. EXHAUSTED.Met lovely travel agent at the airport – thank bog, as have managed to fumble everything since arrival. Must learn name (did remember that driver is Hassan). Had forgotten must tip everyone, except unclear about actual value of Egyptian Pounds (L.E.). Hopefully not insultingly low.Hotel is confusing and without clock, so not sure have time right, but otherwise lovely, in an old-world, slightly rustic way. Delightful solid doors, tiny lift, very high ceilings. Blessed hot water in bath and apparently a balcony of sorts.

Morning View from the Balcony at the Cosmopolitian Hotel

Can hear merriment below and have said “Happy New Year” in lieu of “Hello” or “goodbye” or “thank you” all evening.

Firecracker or engine backfire below, and endless horns. Sounds like a parade, but apparently not. Just Normal Cairo.

January 2, 2008 9:23am

Forgot, yesterday, to take proper notes, so will record what I remember as I can.Traffic here is amazing – not simply terrifying but like a very structured dance. Complex. The lines on the road are not even suggestions so much as decoration.Coptic Museum. In the older section, the wood ceilings are older than the buildings – colors are brilliant, patterns intricate – and the walls, too, are a completely non-traditional sort of creamy orange that sets off the exhibits. It feels rather like an extraordinary collection in a private home, cozy and intimate (although perhaps that is a result of Dr. Gabra’s lecture/reminisces).

Moat of Old Cairo Fortress

The old Cairo churches are basilica-type (compare to Roman churches), which we know the Romans took from Karnak. What we don’t know is whether the Coptic churches took the style from Rome or from Karnak. Right and left there are cats – slightly scrawny, but on the whole clearly experienced in extracting food from the soft-hearted or unwary.

continued 4:30pm

Old Cairo is huge and unwieldy – the walks snake around what are apparently ruins and shops and modern homes. Both dusty and ornate, the woodwork craves polish, yet the area seems to reject such a simplistic solution, not from innate dirtiness, but perhaps from a busy pride which implies better things to do and declares magnificence from sheer age. outside, the streets are lined by storefronts and cafes – both of which spill their business out onto the street – their calm exuberance cannot be contained by mere buildings. Gowned and suited men ply their goods, women walk by with bags and boxes securely balanced on their heads, often with elbows tucked into the arms of children or companions.

A constant chorus of horns fills the sound space, underscored by conversations, negotiations, fights, phone calls (one-sided but open – clearly a construction of the personal bubble concept). And the personal bubble concept itself, which tourists, Americans, (clearly myself) try to insist on – and fail. Necklaces, postcards, scarves, statuettes are all dangled or hoisted unexpectedly in our faces.

The ubiquitous “Tourism and Antiquities”police – a subset of the regular city forces are not terribly inclined to intervene, all they will past a certain point. In the older areas, cars and carts mingle, donkeys (and occasionally horses) munch green straw or grass perhaps on the sidewalk or narrow islands in the center divide where their carts are parked. In the newer areas, this role is filled by scooters and the occasional motorcycle. The shops here are different too, prices in Arabic clearly displayed on wares in windowfronts.

Balconies everywhere – the climate is soft and warm, and even in homes 5 and 6 stories high, people seem to live outside just as much as in.

Staring, and even glancing, acts as an invitation on our part despite the freedom of Egyptian men to stare simultaneously intensely and impersonally. We are on display, the freaks on the giant bus, but the glass, the curtains, and the night itself provide the illusion of sanctuary from the inescapable sense of visibility that we’re simply not used to.

Naturally the American imports – primarily fast food (Sbarro? KFC? Really?) – are both the tackiest and most comforting sights, followed closely by windows packed with shoes (definitely alluring) and florists shops.

continued 9:57pm

Met a restorer of icons – basically a sweet-faced middle aged man in a lab coat working with priceless relics in what appears to be an abandoned church – more decayed glory – but is actually still in daily use and very much active. Just as with nearly everywhere else we’ve been, under restoration. Got there through yet another tangle of streets, aisles, alleys, stairs that appear out of nowhere and look dangerously delicate, but are verifiably solid. Marishabyya screens are covered in plastic, clearly awaiting their turn, hiding the upside of a beautiful sanctuary. One imagines the peeping is an act repeated over centuries, doubtless by pious, curious, or simply bored women, attached to the church via heritage or location, but not permitted to enter the sanctuary proper. I do so HATE the phrase, “we are doing [thus and such] rather than entering, because the ladies are not permitted.” Okay, yes, from a tourist standpoint I am facinated by the arcane bylaws, but from a feminist perspective, you have just blamed an entirely unfair restriction on me. Because I had the bad taste to be born with a vagina. Nice.

It is not my fault this is a patriarchal, misogynist world. Do not blame me for someone else’s prejudice.

Tired now. Apparently the Egyptian Museum and Giza will have to wait till tomorrow – perhaps on the bus to Alexandria!

January 3, 2008 7:13am

Back on the bus for the trek to Alexandria. You notice, in passing, that there are neighborhood trends in balcony styles – very sparse, or hung with laundry, shuttered, glassed in, curtained, or covered in flat or cafe awnings. Some have potted plants and a few have intriguing rooftop-style gardens. There are also, in Robyn’s words, “a sea of satellites,” which break up the roofs as effectively as the scalloped edges of crumpled lace.It is the planting which force you to remember both that Cairo is on the Nile and that the Nile commands fertility. Everywhere there is a chance, trees spring up – olives, date palms, and other varieties with dusty green or sienna leaves. It is incredibly verdant, the greens both prickly and lush, as though one could run hands and arms through them, fully expecting bramble scratches. And it would be as worth the pain as a brush with fragrant rosemary.

View of the road out of Cairo

This early, the clouds are incredible – dove grey undersides with creamy peach tips. In the distance, through eucalyptus, lombardies, palm and evergreen, we see both the skeleton of a building (a more final version of the construction sites we’ve passed in the city) as though the walls have been knocked out and everything else remains, and also a resort, self-consciously labeled “Hollywood”, but graceful and appealing nonetheless.Suddenly, we leave the green irrigated lands and move into the desert, which is not desolate at all, but dotted with low scrub, rows of roses and miniature oleander. Just as suddenly, the sun rose. Our moods, I think, with it. Edvard has come along to collect a “looks tax” – really the tip for our driver and tour guide. His teasing puts a sweet face on the tipping practice whose intricacies have eluded or defeated all of us at one point or another. At the Egyptian Museum, after an exhaustive but instructive tour, I manage to accidentally hire a local guide (for future reference, the men in blue jumpsuits are not janitorial staff) who directed us to the animal mummies room.

Obelisk and facade of Egyptian Museum

Actually, at 10L.E., not a bad deal at all, just disconcerting. Who knew the Nile perch got so huge? At least a yard long and as wide or more than my forearm and hand.Dr. Gabra – in response to the deeply, quickly variant desert and farmland (by now our run includes clearly barren land)- reminds us that twenty years ago, just as in his childhood, this row was known as the Desert Road to Alexandria. Industry being what it is, cisterns have been dug, and now even the western desert thrives. On my right was pass dovecotes – giant conical hives dotted decoratively with openings for the birds. Not my idea of a good time, but beautiful. On either side are waled gardens or farms with arched gates, both imposing and welcoming. Or perhaps simply inviting. Billboards – some charming, some obnoxious, span the roadsides. How much soda do we need?On the other hand, the rows of grapevines and citrus reminds me of home – both Sonoma and down south. We pass red sand, cacti, bougainvillea, and parallel telephone lines. It looks so natural, so permanent, and yet really – and recently – this land was just as clean a canvas as the hills of Giza.The pyramids and Sphinx do rise out of the sand as if exposed by a massive earthquake, just as promised, but their magnificence and intrigue is dwarfed by the persistence of the minor merchants.

Sphinx and Pyramids at Sunset

I find myself becoming the ugly American in their presence. What worries me most is that I discover a rather intense longing for male protection here, and the sentiment is echoed by other women in the group – not ingrained, but suggested. Nancy is told she’d make a “fine first wife,” and an offer of 25 chickens is made for her – and the impulse is reinforced. What is not clear – who gets the chickens – underscores the real nature of the exchange. I think Nancy will not benefit from the union, flattering though it is, and tell her so. To my relief, she agrees.

Pat and Regina at Khufu’s Pyramid

Given the amount of time it takes to fend off the “gifts” (souvenirs forced upon us with the expectation of payment. Some of the group thinks this is dishonest and are angry. I figure it’s simply an accepted sales tactic, and they expect us to already know what’s going on.), 10 minutes here is not enough time. Between the disappointment of the practical addition of pavement and parking lots (clearly I have unaddressed romantic ideas) and my vague feeling of being assaulted (here, in personal space expectations, the cultural divide is blatant), my experience wasn’t the greatest, but perhaps salutary. I hate being rude, but a lack of eye contact is protection, provided you can live with being a stereotype. I find that my energy level is a strong indicator of just how rude I’m willing to be.

(I’m addind this comment in after the fact, because I just want to say that while my worries are valid, the pictures I’m including tell the beautiful parts of the Giza visit. Please don’t ignore the pictures)

A series at the Giza Plateau

Patricia, Cameron and Edvard (“hugging” a pyramid)

continued 9:09 am

Apparently I missed the billboard of a woman in a bikini wearing workboots. Guess what she was selling? Steve and Jackie want to know if, “she comes with the boots?”. Blergh.

Here’s where I realize just how much I missed by trying for ending summations. I had miles of thoughts – and not a few signs – carefully stored away for recording, all gone now. I miss my computer.

We’ve passed through the toll booth indicating Alexandria “sponsored by Pepsi” (who knew?). The sky looked dark, but not heavy, and I pronounced that it would not rain. About a minute later, the rain came down.

Have passed the sign for SOS Children’s Village, which directly fronts a ramshackle orange market and reminds me of passing the fish stall yesterday. Laid neatly in rows, the fish looked like the result of mass production, uniformly silver and extraordinarily large, it is still not as massive as the mummified example from the Egyptian Museum. I remain vigilant in my lookout for a matching exemplar.

Have been informed that SAE means something like “incorporated”. I did wonder how “Oscar of Agricultural Development by SAE” got hooked into the fraternity.

Were I to see this place at home, I’d label it a slum, but somehow here that doesn’t apply. The donkey trot rather than plod. The car horns remain a vibrant, alert choir. A tiny yellow truck passes to the side, carrying a solidly muscled black horned bull, munching contentedly on his hay. The rain doesn’t seem to bother anyone, although it does send the boat (excuse me, bus) shuddering from side to side a bit. My hips shift with it as though I’m on horseback. It remains secure and unalarming.

continued 10:46am

Passing from the new library to Kait Bey citadel, I am struck by the city. the water is alive, peaking and curling, and somehow the new city reflects this. The mosaics are vivid, the fountains evocative, alleyways hung with shimmering blue cloth and lamps – right next to a dentist’s office, the New Italy Fair, and the patriarchal church (Patriarcat Copte-Orthodoxe).

continued 3:08pm

Gad Restaurant – YUM! Looove Alexandria. Bright, clean, waving palms, charmingly French/Italian/Egyptian architecture. The consul of Finland abuts the Egyptian Ministry of Marine Equipment. Who knew there even was such a thing? Flags wave across the street from green and yellow “Ringo” phone booths. Everyone in the bus is happy, calm, well-fed. Today’s routine clearly suits us all – we’ve stopped now at the newly uncovered Roman theater and had both a lecture and a bit of time to wander down into the ruins and back up to the sculpture garden of recovered artifacts from the marine digs.

Roman theater at Alexandria

At the church, we saw mosaics by Isaac Farnouse, moulded ceilings, and the Christmas decorations of the modern church. Paper angels and poinsettias and star shaped lights. Downstairs, my favorite was the Noah’s ark at the baptismal font.

The musical lecture was, as Steve and Jackie noted, overly westernized in the sense that it felt incongruous to the church setting and to his very pro-religious message. The wedding ducks – a bizarre advertisement – reminds us of yesterday’s painting labeled, “evocative of ducks”.

Perhaps Alexandria is so stunning because everyone is so calm. I rather think the embassies are my favorite buildings here, just because they are little islands surrounded by gardens. We’re struck by the intersection of luxury and excess with practicality and recycling. Also amused by the red “x”s on blue backgrounds – what exactly are they prohibiting?

January 4, 2008 10:34am

I haven’t yet written about Habbak or her party, and I must, in no small part because she is an amazing woman, absolutely glowing. She began and runs her own NGO – one which is apparently the model endorsed by the United Nations.The city from the citadel is vast and magnificent, full of small ironies. during the call to prayer, magnified voices echo and compete with each other. Squat, square buildings cluster around towers, domes, and also electrical conduits. To the left, the pyramids are clearly visible but aloof, withdrawing into the desert behind them.

Spot the pyramids in the picture? 

Traffic contributes to the wind of confusion, indicating that here, too, apostasy thrives. Depending on your mood, the city encroaches and decays or recedes – although even in areas of rubble, palms spring up, defying abandonment.

continued 1:41pm

Nagib Malfouz – recommended restaurant.

We pass by El Azhar, the Muslim University and Marirose wants to know if women can study there – which they can, but with separate facilities and faculty (I believe). Reminds me that Deena studied Construction Engineering at the American University in Cairo before getting her Master’s in Art for restoration work.

January 5, 2008 9:37am

We’re convened at the Cairo Airport, on our way to Luxor and the Temple at Karnak. The price of airport “food”(Fanta and chocolate) is just as outrageous as in any other airport. Good to know some things don’t change. So much has happened that I’ve not manged to record that I begin to worry that they are lost forever. I’ll try during this two hour wait to fill in the blanks.I began earlier to speak of Habbak, and managed half of her resume (well, half of what I know anyway). The other half includes her current project with Karen to create international activist projects – specifically feminist – in which women from various cultures will identify their most pressing issues, and Karen and Habbak’s group will hook them up with trained researchers to put together potential steps or solutions (basically stuff that can be done at the community or individual level). Cool beyond belief.

Admittedly, I didn’t know any of this going into the party – all I knew was that we were dressing up to meet an important friend (of what variety unstated) of Karen’s, who had a Nile-front apartment. But walking in was rather dream-like. It was dark outside, so the city lights reflected off the river and cast spangled patterns on anything shiny enough to reflect them – leaves, cars, glasses and windows. We hauled up in a tiny lift (2-3 people, max) to the 8th floor and were greated by a series of beautifully dressed women, all of whom seemed equally likely to be our host. The Habbak walked – or wafted – in, in her floaty red gown and rich curls and giant smile. She eclipsed the whole room, easily and graciously, and then with kisses and words of greeting she made us each come to life, a gentle Gepetto or puppetmaster. There was no wine, but somehow the fresh juices seemed heady in her presence, and it was obvious that this was a natural, uncalculated effect. She walked over to each of us in turn and grabbed our hands and demanded to hear about our work (what could be more enthralling to a group of sallow academics?).

She sent us to the buffet, where uniformed caterers offered us Egyptian and Somalian delicacies (her chosen home and her birthland). We got permission to take photos of the view, and as barges glided past we went into a bit of a frenzy with different groupings – exchanging compliments and handing around cameras in an attempt to figure out settings.

Between the day’s sightseeing and jetlag, we were all exhausted, but as a testament to both the quality of the party and Habbak’s personality, we left wishing we could stay longer. My conversation with Nancy later clarified what precisely was so compelling, and we identified purpose. Habbak has charm, yes – but she is purposeful, intentional, determined. She is passionate.

An indoor-outdoor pulpit and dome

This same quality, though younger, was apparent in Deena yesterday. she knew what she was doing and saying, and why. Young and quite lovely – small and sturdy with buttery skin and bold bone structure, exuberant brown-black curly hair and dramatically gesturing hands. She took us through two mosques – rather to the distress of Youss ef, who objected to both her coptic-inclusive statements and to following yet another expert rather than delivering the potted, pro-Islam lectures he would ordinarily be asked to give. I do think this group has been careful not to be anti-”Islamic”, in part because we’ve studied enough to be beyond the most blatant knee-jerk prejudice. And certainly when we got to the Alabaster mosque he got in as many inflammatory remarks as he could, now that Deena had departed for the day. Just past the four wives discussion, which quickly devolved into a discussion of “Big Love”, I made myself rather unpopular with my anti-marriage declaration. It was bound to happen sometime, really.

Fortress walls and Alabaster mosque exterior 

The citadel itself was like a sort of fantastic, Hollywood idea of a crusader’s fortress. Built on the high place, naturally, and packed with mosques and palaces – now museums. Outside, we waited for them to reopen at the high point – magnificent and disquieting because it was just past noon, and the city of a thousand minarets seemed to rise up to meet us during prayer.

Later, at the Bazaar (Kahn el Kahlili) Nancy and I initially try to strike out on our own, but both the restaurant and the ATM defeat us, so we hurry back to join Dr. Gabra. Best of all possible decisions. He ushers us directly to the restaurant – happily, because I’m apparently famished. At ninety L.E., it is easily the most expensive meal I’ve eaten, but totally worth it.