Cairo Crank

Monday, September 24, 2012

Mena House Oberoi, Giza

The Day's Itinerary

The church of St. Sergius

Ben Ezra synagogue

Church of St Barbara

The Hanging Church

Lunch at Felfela (downtown Cairo)

Egyptian Museum

Dinner in Zamalek

After only the second day of touring, it's becoming difficult to remember where we had lunch. Lord Ganesha, help us as the journey unfolds.

I made some irrelevant notes this morning about the churches and synagogue we went into this morning, mostly about the design elements in houses of worship, and the commonality between the Big Three monotheistic religions. They go on to talk about the shape of pulpits, and how much I admire the design which reaches into the body of a church so that the parishioners in the first two rows of pews have no hope of seeing the minister without incurring serious neck injury. Take it farther, I say. Go for a full thrust pulpit which reaches half-way into the audience. Make it a 220 degree experience; get out into the crowd, and reach.

The other point in my notes is a certain impatience with the creation stories that surround historic churches in Middle East. This it the place where the Holy Family took refuge while fleeing Pharaoh. This is the place where god spoke to so-and-so. This is the place where Abraham spent a week blessing this and that.

The Church of St. Barbara. Cario

Whatever you say, sir. It's a very nice church/synagogue/mosque. The incense smells sweet, and I am grateful that you have opened your doors to me, an infidel, and have welcomed me into a place that you consider special. 

Candles in the Hanging Church

The drive from the churches was unusually long because of the unusually bad traffic. Cairo traffic is always horrible, but since the revolution, it has gotten far worse. As we inched past the parliament, and the concrete barrier which now hides the American embassy, we came to an intersection where three cars had gotten into some sort of fender-bender. A man was wielding a piece of lumber as a bat, using it to smash the windshield of one of the cars. Another man, presumably the owner of the other car, was trying to stop him, and got struck for his troubles. A crowd surged forward, and the man was eventually restrained as our bus rolled on past.

I am not used to witnessing the violence a blind rage brings on, and it leaves me dismayed. I wonder if there is anything special about the events we witnessed, whether this sort of thing happens all the time, or whether this was the one-in-a-million, and it was just out lucky day.

At lunch, our table rehashes some of the mosques we saw yesterday, and it turns out that almost all those present were also atheists. Who knew? We need some kind of secret handshake so we can sort this out with less risk to our mutual bonhomie.

We pass the afternoon at the museum, which is located on Tahrir Square, the site of the revolutionary protests in January of 2011, the protests which led to the end of the Mubarak regime. The government building beside the museum, which was set alight in February last year is still standing, with its windows gone and heavy soot coating the outside walls.

There are changes at the Museum. The second-floor cafe, from which you used to be able to have a cold lemonade and a bowl of soup while overlooking the garden, is gone. The bookstores are gone. Some of the alcoves in the central statue gallery have been painted purple, or blue. Some stela which are attached to the walls have been simply painted around, leaving a visible line of dirty white, which was the previous colour. I make no judgements on this work in progress, although I will observe that that gallery is already dim, and opine that the darker paint will not improve the situation.

Gayle and I do an impromptu tour of some of our favourite things: an octagonal display case on the second floor, containing small finds. It's a lovely old piece of furniture that remind me of a Tardis control panel. Nearby, some of the coffins of Tuya and Yuya lie in new display cases which Gayle speculates were made for the touring exhibition that wound up recently. From there, it was down to the Old Kingdom room to see a pair of terracotta statues of a standing feline deity with human body. The muzzle of one statue is broken, and in the damage, you can see that the statue has teeth. If the statue hadn't been broken, you never would have known.

Then to Djoser by way of the Menkaure triad statues, to which I conveyed my Mother's greetings. Ever since the Old Kindom show in Toronto in 2000, I think she has had a soft spot for that Pharaoh. His artwork is undeniably spectacular, and is of the finest quality.

What was next? A check of the special exhibits room on the main floor – a dog skeleton, and also that of a horse with the remains of its tack displayed. A lack of labels means that I have now conveyed all the knowledge on offer.

Waking down the north wing, backwards in time, past the Graeco-Roman, Late Period and the end of the New Kingdom, we end up stop at the Amarna room. We'll be there next week, so it's only right to pay our respects.

The afternoon ends with a visit to the Royal Mummy rooms where the air conditioning provides a welcome respite from the rest of the building which is distinctly hot and humid. There are some new additions to the second Royal Mummy room – Queen Tye and the skeleton thought to be Akhenaten are on view for the first time anyone in the group can remember. Also, most of the Ramesses are receiving visitors now. Gayle says prayers for them, and once we've recovered a bit in the cool, we head out for a cup of tea in the new museum cafe, which is outside, on the south side of the museum, near the new exit (which is near the Hatshepsut statuary.)

It is here, as we nurse cups of outrageously overpriced tea that one of our number realizes that her wallet is missing. A search of her knapsack turns up nothing. The museum lost-and-found hasn't seen it. It is not on the bus. Ominous vibes. We return to the restaurant where we had lunch, and to everyone's great relief, it was returned by the washroom attendant, which is ultimately (or initially, depending on how you want to understand this story) is where the wallet was inadvertently left in the first place (or last place). Nothing is missing. Not the credit cards, the bank card, or the cash.

So what to make of all this? How does the honesty of one person compare to the rage we saw in the noonday traffic? I'll err on the side of generosity, despite being a cynical crank, and declare the good guys the winners on this day.