Coptic Cairo

"Jesus loves you, he loves all of us!" the almost evangelical Coptic cab driver told us. He was speaking to two atheists, a Swiss convert to Islam, and a very high-church Anglican. Seeing westerners though, his natural assumption was that we were all practicing Christians with no significant differences in belief. In Egypt, you are either Christian, Muslim or, rare as it is here, Jewish. There isn't room for anything else: athesism is unimaginable; other religions, unspeakable. The religion we were expected to asume didn't even reduce the cab fare, but in this case, it did at least curb the taxi driver's natural instict to gouge.

Prior to coming to Egypt, my exposure to the Copts had been limited. I knew that they were the original Christians in Egypt and were some of the earliest Christians anywhere in the world, but that was really about it. I recall seeing a letter on display at Topkapi Palace in Istanbul, written by no less a personality than the Prophet Muhammad, which strongly suggested that Egypt's Copts should consider converting to Islam. The Copts crossed my radar again when I read that the Egyptian government, in a bizarre reaction to the swine flu pandemic, ordered the massacre of all of the country's pigs. Not unlike Brookyln, pork is "haraam" for much of the population, meaning that only the Christian Copts were affected by the order. As a consequence of the slaughter, garbage that had formerly been collected by the Copts (to feed their pigs) began to pile up in the streets. The people began to complain, and the government recognized its mistake. I've been reading a memoir written by a turn of the century Anglo-Egyptian official who describes the Copts as "consistently paranoid," but you're not paranoid if they actually are out to get you.

The Egyptian government, when not busy literally butchering the Copt's livelihoods, is nervous for them too. The police presence along Sharia Mari Girgis (the main street of Coptic Cairo) is not subtle. Teams of heavily armored police guard both approaches to the neighborhood. On either end, a soldier stands behind a blast shield, ready to pull the cable on an accordian style caltrop. The caltrop is designed to stretch across the width of the road and shred the tires of any wheeled vehicle with its spikes. I've seen these used on C.O.P.S. And can confirm that they are awesome.

Coptic Museum

After I made it past the police (who always make me nervous even though I've never been seriously bothered by a cop in my life) I stopped at the Coptic Museum. The museum is surrounded by peaceful courtyards and is housed in a beautiful building that alone is worth the price of admission. The collection is intelligently and effectively displayed which makes up for the fact that some of the exhibits are not very compelling. I've heard that the Egyptian Antiquities Museum has the opposite problem: an amazing collection which is crudely displayed. I hope not, but we'll find out next week.

The highlight of the collection was definitely the cell frescoes recovered from the Monastery of Apa Apollo. Desert air is great for preserving color - or at least for color not exposed to 360 days-a-year desert sun. The vibrancy of the color could lead you to think that the frescoes were relatively modern. I couldn't believe that they were early 5th century. I'd go to the museum again just to see these. A bit of trivia: the Copts gave Europe the idea of monastic communities. The Franciscans, Dominicans and Benedictines all owe their existence to these early monasteries.

Church of St. George

Even more trivia: The Church of St. George is the only round church in all of Egypt. Beyond that, there's not a great deal to say about it, but beneath the church are warrens of rooms built into the circular Roman tower from which the church takes its shape. In one of the claustrophobic rooms are relics of St. George, including a length of chain you can wrap around yourself if you like - doing so is meant to remind us of the persecutions the saint suffered at the hands of the Romans.

The Hanging Church

The "Hanging Church" is the final major site in Coptic Cairo. It takes its name from the fact that it was built near an enormous chasm over which it literally hangs. This isn't obvious from the approach to the church, so they've cut a hole in the middle of one of the chapel floors to prove just how high you really are. While it's true that you're very high, the cutaway also reveals that the only thing keeping you alive are ancient wooden beams that barely look like they would have been up to the job when they were new, which was more than 1,000 years ago. This must be what faith is.

One of my favorite non-architectural details of the Hanging Church are the beeswax votive candles, which crackle and sputter like they're doing their very best to make all of your prayers come true. I also liked the giftshop where you can buy postcards featuring various Coptic popes, who all look like Rasputin might have if he put less energy into grooming and more into wearing outrageous costumes. The only picture I could find online doesn't really show what I'm talking about, but it gives a sense. Hipsters: behold a true beard.

The Coptic display of faith appears to be much more tactile than that with which I'm familiar. They wrap themselves in chains and crawl into dark, cramped crypts. The paintings of the saints are meant to be touched. In the crypt of the Church of St. Sergius, built where the Holy Family are believed to have stayed, people actually bathe in the crypt's font. I like it! I've always said that if I ever came down with an incurable case of religion, I hope I'm lucky enough to fall into something with a little drama. There are limits, however. Not too far from the center of Coptic Cairo is a column with a groove that has literally been licked into it. The idea is that in the hope of curing whatever disease, pilgrims (I didn't see any myself) come to lick that particular spot on the column, and they continue to lick until their tongues bleed because that's how you know it's working. This may actually be a Sufi ritual rather than a Christian one, but to be honest, from an outsider's perspective, all religions blend together at their mystical fringes.

An End to Photos

I brought an old laptop to Egypt under the impression that I could afford to lose it. That impression has been put to the test, because it's gone.

It doesn't look like the poor old girl was up to handling the vagaries of the Egyptian electrical system. Probable cause of death: a rogue power surge.

I'll still be able to update through my iPhone, but won't be able to upload any photos until I'm back in Brooklyn this April. This will change the quality of the blog in the following ways:

1) It won't be as pretty;

2) I will spell things incorrectly more often; and

3) I will exaggerate even more outlandishly to compensate for number 1 above.

Tonight, I'm off to learn how to play 'tawla' at a cafe in Zamalek. I'm not sure whether tawla is just the Arabic name for backgammon or if they are completely different games altogether. I don't the rules of either of them, so it doesn't really matter. I've been wanting to buy one of the beautiful inlaid backgammon/tawla boards I've seen in shop windows, and understanding the game that's played on one makes a purchase much easier to justify.

I do know at some point during the night that I'll have to pour one out for my defunct Acer Aspire S100. We took the bar exam together, you know. It broke down that day too.

Hostel Name

One of the entrepreneurial employees at the place where I'm staying has just asked my advice on what to name a new hostel he is considering opening. His first suggestion was "Backstreet Hostel," which I wasn't in love with - I think it sounds a bit like a knifing.

Seeing as I'm sending this from an internet shop called the "Virus Cafe," I can only applaud his willingness to ask for input and would like to give him some good ideas. Please comment or email any ideas you might have! Ms. Chadha has already suggested "Kiwihouse," but I think that might draw the wrong kind of crowd.

Suffer Any Wrong That Can Be Done You, Rather Than Come Here

Mugamma is a monumental 1940's era building designed to serve as a clearing house for all interaction between the Egyptian government and her people. Some decentralization notwithstanding, it still is. This is the place you go to record a deed, register a car, or replace a birth certificate. It is monstrous. It is also where you go to extend a tourist visa.

Six days a week, the building buzzes with bewildered tourists, frustrated locals, indifferent civil servants and bemused security. Mugamma's insanity has long epitomized the impenetrability of the Egyptian bureaucracy. There is nothing about the building or its services that is at all intuitive. So, as a public service to anyone who needs to know how to renew an Egyptian tourist visa - this is how it's done.

Proceed through security, where you'll have to surrender your camera. I doubt that this building could be much harmed by a bomb, either structurally or aesthetically, but the government is keen to prevent anyone from trying all the same.

You'll need a passport photo and a photocopy of the cover page of your passport and of your entry visa. People will compete ferociously for the right to direct you to these services even though there is only one place in the building that provides them. In this way, three men struggle with each other to do the job of a sign.

Everyone says that photos and copies can be had for less money outside of Mugamma, which is probably true, but a set of eight photos costs $3.00 and the two copies another $0.20. I'd say that's worth the convenience, but if you already have these things, so much the better.

Copies and photos in hand, walk up the stairs to the next floor. Foreign national visa services are to your left, down a long hall lined with open doors. Through the doors, terrified civil servants peer at you much like rabbits in a hutch would peer at a fox. Happily for all, you don't have to disturb them with work. You're looking for windows 12-14, where you'll ask for and receive a visa extension application. It should be free so don't pay a charge. You're asked your religious affiliation. I usually put Christian, but I don't mean it.

After completing the application, return it along with your passport, a passport photo and the relevant photocopied pages to the same windows. You'll be given a chit with some numbers scribbled on it.

Take your chit to window 42, where after paying LE 11.50, you will receive four small adhesive stamps.

Take the stamps back to windows 12-14 where they will be applied to your application.

Find something to do for two hours.

Don't go to the Hardees across the street like I did. In fact, don't go to Hardees anywhere in the world.

After lunch, I watched a woman set up a tea stand in Mugamma's courtyard. She walked over to a bush and miraculously returned with two-dozen glasses and a strainer. Then, from under a bench on the other side of the park, she pulled out a butane tank. Rather than lug things around, she had apparently hidden all the necessary components of her businesss all over the courtyard! Either that or she was just very lucky and managed to randomly stumble on everything she needed to run a viable tea outfit. This wouldn't be impossibe in Cairo.

Having filled your two hours enjoying the great bazaar that is Cairo, proceed to window 38. Gathered around the window will be dozens of people just like you. There is a large pile of processed passports and they are distributed to the crowd like this: the woman behind the counter shows everyone an application with a tiny photo of the applicant stapled to the front. The crowd squints at it, but if nobody makes a claim, she moves on to the next application. Every now and then someone's eyes light up and they lunge at the window. When this happens, she sends the lucky applicant away with their prize and starts the whole process over from the beginning of the pile which is constantly being refreshed with new applications. This means that if yours happens to be on the bottom, you will need every single application to go unclaimed before it is reached. That will never happen. Mine was right near the top, so my fist pump was accompanied by an envious "quelle bonne chance!" from the French couple next to me.

Insh'allah, at the end if this, you'll have a new visa which allows you to stay in the country for another four months. I understand that you can request a period of up to a year. The application is open ended and asks only how long you'd like to stay.

I can think of a few ways to make this process more efficient, but in a country where you have to deal with three people to buy a sandwich, I don't think anyone will listen.

The Big Move

At the end of last week, I moved from Mohandiseen to the Meramees Hotel just off Midan Talat Harb in downtown Cairo. What a change! Downtown Cairo is so much more interesting, more walkable, more lively, more of everything, really, and really not any louder. Why was I in Mohandiseen again? My roommates and I had spent hours trying to figure out what makes that neighborhood so unpleasant. My best guess is that living in a big city normally involves certain trade-offs: in the city you give up calm, quiet and privacy, but in return you get liveliness, culture, convenience and fun. Mohandiseen forces you to surrender all of those things, and in return gives you slightly cheaper Koshari. I'm very happy to be here.

The room itself, on the other hand, is a major step down from my school provided apartment. This new room is most charitably described as "monastic," except that this place focuses less on quiet and cleanliness than you'd imagine a monastery might. It also has a very strange smell which, for better or for worse, I am used to. There's a good chance that I'll just spend the money and move to a hotel. Still, it's hard to mind too much when the neighborhood is so much better and the price is so much less. I have been eying the minaret of the neighboring mosque with some concern, since my room's balcony is twenty feet from the minaret's speakers. I'd better get used to waking up at 5:00 A.M. sharp.

My move was prompted by a change in schools. I've dropped out of the program at the International Language Institute. The classes were just too big - at one point, my class had as many as sixteen people, and you don't learn a language by sitting in a class with sixteen other people. So tomorrow at noon, I'll began working with a private tutor supplied by "Arabic4U." The name doesn't inspire much confidence - I can't imagine why anyone would want their educational institution to sound like a text message sent by a twelve year-old girl. Still, my hope is that in a one-on-one situation, the speaking opportunities will outweigh any issues that might arise by going to a school with a name that makes "Hooked on Phonics" sound Ivy League.

As I write this in the lobby of the hostel, I realize that the biggest advantage of this place might be the lack of internet access in my room. I'll have no choice but to study because I'm not going to sit out here all day with the backpacking set. I'm not sure when it happened (probably sometime during law school) but I've become the old guy. Yes, definitely time for the old guy to move to a hotel; preferably one where the toilet and the shower are served by different holes in the floor.