rihla

writer/editor

middle east: work and travels

Wednesday, July 29, 2009

keeping busy (relaxing in desert oases)

There is probably a very, very empirical study waiting to be conducted with this blog in which one takes the relative amount of posts made during a time period and compares it to how busy I actually was. Basically, I write when nothing's going on in my life. Sorry all.

As for what has been happening, well, lots. For those of you who haven't seen, I've been doing interviews for the month of July with bishops, newspaper editors-in-chief, monks, priests, and church reformists alike. I've also been writing up a storm on this pilgrimage issue (made depressing to a certain degree by the knowledge that I will be staring at very, very similar Word documents for the next year as thesis-season rolls in), and getting ready to take the GREs/apply to grad school. Oh, and in two days I'm taking quasi-monastic vows for the weekend. Whew.

In the midst of all this though, I did get one vacation. Last weekend's long weekend in Siwa, a desert oasis (literally) located next to the Libyan border, about 12 hours from Cairo by a very lonely road. The actual oasis stretches far beyond the two trees and small pond in a desert that make up my mind's eye oasis, really more of a forest. The old town of Shali (now in the modern town of Siwa) is similar to a Taos-pueblo structure, albeit one dissolving. Traditional Siwi (best adjective ever?) homes are constructed out of very durable salt-and-mud adobe. It's only flaw is that it dissolves when it rains every century or so. Shali's become a bit of a fixer-upper, but a pretty one. The oasis is also incredibly wet. As it hot/cold springs, everywhere. For swimming, as well as growing dates, olives, and pomegranates. Did I mention I love Siwa?

However, by far the best part of this weekend was that Angelica and I went in the super off-season, the sole occupants of our beautiful hotel at the edge of town (completely without electricity, so wandering into the blue and white adobe octagonal courtyard at night lit completely by candles and lamps was as fantastic as it sounds). As a result, Siwis (seriously, bets adjective ever) were exceptionally bored by in large, including Idris (store owner) and Ibrahim (camp operator), who both took a shining to us after we met them ten minutes after our first meal. For the rest of the weekend, the two were our volunteer guides and friends, coordinating donkey rides to mesa sunsets, camp outs in the desert under the stars in a hot spring, and even letting us take a nap in the back of Idris' store on a sleepy Saturday afternoon. I doubt I've ever met any other two people for three days who I can legitimately say I will miss. I will certainly miss Ibrahim and Idris, and can only thank them for their incredible hospitality and friendliness. I hope to see them again one day.

PS – Facebook is being stubborn. Photos are slowly being added.

Saturday, July 11, 2009

painful to write...

I fully realize that this post gives away a certain amount of my own pretension, but I will write it anyhow. When I looked at the New York Times this morning, I felt a certain emptiness in reading this story though not to the extent of many of those interviewed within. To those who know me well, crosswords are indeed a key aspect of my stress relief, along with another personal trait that may explain why the AARP sent me a "New Membership Incentive" email last year. I should have taken that tote I guess; it came with a free book of crosswords.

Thursday, July 9, 2009

things i wish i could justify my job being about...

I happened to stumble across this today. Basically, it is the fantastic news story. I hope you all enjoy reading it.

other updates

For those curious about that work thingy that I do sometimes, I have updated the other blog. It gives you an idea about what I do, about what my thesis will be on, and an explanation of that mysterious photo of me holding Saint Antony.


highlights from the ellen egypt experience 2009

As for the fun mentioned in the last post, a lot of that was my friend, Ellen, visiting from Germany for a long weekend. Highlights (that I have photos of, as my batteries were inopportunely dead in Alexandria):
ellen from minaret of al-ghuri
ellen in minaret of al-ghuri
felucca (traditional nile sailboat) captain
me (photogenic as always) and angelica on felucca
what a felucca looks like at sunset
me + sphinx
ellen + sphinx
what might be the photo of me doing the most touristy thing in my life (by the way, the whole camel series is really worth examining as a quickly-clicked through flipbook).

i snatched a visa from the jaws of the fearsome mogamma'

I have not posted in week + as I have had a busy, busy life of fun and joy. Or my internet has been out when I have not been having a busy, busy life of fun and joy. It's about 50:50 really.

Anyhow, this post was actually supposed to go up last Monday believe it or not (when the relevant photo was taken), but the above happened, preventing its existence. Anyhow, without further ado, I present the story of Alexander Wamboldt and the Horrible Visa Renewal Office.

So, when I came to Egypt, I purchased a month tourist visa in the airport for $15. This is standard procedure and was nice and easy and all. However, as I am here for over a month, conundrum. I could pass the rest of the time here without a visa illegally, basically resulting in a hefty fine when I leave the country, or go to a building in the center of the city (very near the Egyptian National Museum) named the Mogamma'. Now, the Mogamma' is legendary, both inside of Egyptian culture and outside. When I told coworkers I had to go renew my visa they told me to bring: 1) water 2) food 3) a book 4) iPod 5) patience 6) no watch, as it would prevent bringing #5. A friend's guidebook tells what I am assuming/hoping to be a fictitious story about an African immigrant driven mad by the bureaucracy who jumped out of the Mogamma's window to his death instead of continue to shuffle papers from window to window. Possibly my favorite story on the nature of the Mogamma' is that its name in Arabic literally means "the Collective." How's that for bureaucracy being the Borg?

Anyhow, I got there early in the morning last Monday with my friend, Tyler, passports in hand, ready for anything. Entering the building, it becomes clear that it is just sort of lines, everywhere. Like if you constructed a building with the only desired architectural feature being the ability to have the most queues for people to wait in imaginable. We are slowly directed to the 2nd floor, which is a large, oval shaped hallway that curves around the interior courtyard of the building, lined with windows. Tens of hundreds of postal service-esque windows. These windows bear rather obtuse names like, "Palestinian refugee non-tourist residency" (begging the question of what a "Palestinian refugee tourist residency" would entail). We are auspiciously directed to window #13, where the woman immediately tells us that we are lacking the necessary passport photo and photocopies (in triplicate) of our original visa as well as our passport identification page. These can be made on the first floor. Back down. There is literally a window that about a dozen people constantly surround in a hoard in which a harried-looking woman operates a photocopier for money (talk about desirable jobs). We push are way in, get the (triplicate) copies made. Then, we have to cross the hall, and turn under the stairwell where one can get passport photos taken (the sample photo was of a rather airbrushed looking young Egyptian woman gently reclining onto her right hand and smiling vacantly in front of a background of pale pink shooting stars, which I'm fairly certain is one of those images that you can't use as a passport photo. You know, what with her smiling and all.). Passport photos taken, we go back upstairs to window #13. Window #13 sighs reluctantly, apparently realizing that we have now brought enough documents to force her to do her job. Which, it turns out, is handing us a rather incomprehensible form that asks for lots of interesting personal information in lieu of other personal information (Question #19: Religion, versus Question # oddly-absent: Previous Name or Names). We fill out said form, then return it to Window #13. Window #13 sighs again, then begins to examine forms, passport photos, photocopies (triplicate) and passports. Discovers Tyler has a student visa and assigns him to the Window of Lost Causes (#28). Window #13 is apparently still forced to deal with mine as it falls under whatever the jurisdiction of Window #13 is (suggested jurisdictions based off of my experience: non-Arab foreign tourist residency extensions?), which basically means that Window #13 has to tell me to go to Window #39. Window #39 re-examines form, passport, passport photos, and photocopies (triplicate), before stapling them together and referring me to Window #41 (suggested jurisdictions based off of my experience for Window #39: nothing? office supply distribution?). Window #41 informs me that I now need to pay 15 Egyptian Pounds (about $2.5) for unclear purposes. Upon producing this money, unclear purposes are revealed to be purchasing what appear to be a variety of postage stamps, each with a labeled value of under 5 LE (suggested jurisdictions based off of my experience for Window #41: bureaucratic postage supplier?), and refers me back to Window #13. Window #13 sighs, wearily accepts postage stamps, and proceeds to haphazardly attach them to form and passport photo stapled to form (one goes over my forehead), before asking for my passport. I am informed passport will be returned to me with visa from Window #53 in 2 hours. I am skeptical with Window #13, need convincing that this is, in fact, the case (new suggested jurisdictions based off my experience for Window #13: haphazard stamp attachment, passport thief, potential lie distributor).

Tyler's visa, in the meantime, has been declared good enough after having some blue pen drawn in a squiggly line at the top of old visa, and is free to go.

I camp out next to Window #53, glaring at it periodically while fully catching up on my iPod's stash of NPR. Two hours rolls by, and my sanity is beginning to wear thin. The building is as crowed as Space Mountain, and full of as many screaming toddlers. The old British man next to me just stares stoically at Window #53. I go up to Window #53 and ask if my visa is ready. Window #53 laughs. I get dejected, then see my passport sitting right there, next to Window #53. After telling Window #53 this, it is Window #53's turn to get dejected, then slowly pick up my passport as I glare, open it, and adhere a stamp which is apparently my visa (suggested jurisdictions based off of my experience for Window #53: attaching visas to passports, dispensing finalized visas, tripping on its own sense of power). As I sit back down to put away my passport, I see the stoic old British man is writing a text message. It reads, "I have almost snatched a visa from the jaws of the fearsome Mogamma.'" I liked the sentiment (as well as the way it sounds when read in my fake British accent), hence the title of this post.

And, without further ado:

my success as documented from photobooth (and following a shower). also, now i have a lot of extra passport-sized photos of me. anyone want one?

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

pilgrimage ('09)

I apologize for the lack of blogging in the past week (I received several worried messages and/or emails to the effect of whether or not I had died). I have not, in fact, died, although the fatigue is certainly starting to set in over the past week.

Synapsis.

Last weekend, Asger (intern coordinator from work) and I decided to head out to Saint Catherine Monastery in the Sinai Peninsula. For those of you who don't know, brief run-down on Saint Catherine.

The monastery was built in the 6th Century CE by the Emperor Justinian (of Justinian and Theodora fame) around the site of the Burning Bush and Mount Sinai (indeed, the building's original and formal name reflect these holy sites). To this day, it continues to be a Greek Orthodox monastery (an anomaly in Egypt), and is the only extant, unmodified known Byzantine church in the world. In the 9th Century, the bones of the martyr Catherine (a young woman put to death in several ways, including being broken on the wheel, but, as martyrs often prove quite difficult to kill, eventually beheaded) miraculously transported themselves there, hence the current name. The monastery's other claim to fame is its fantastic library collection (in terms of Christian manuscripts, second only to the Vatican in Rome) which is notoriously well-guarded following the theft of a priceless manuscript in the 19th Century by a German scholar. Today, the monastery has also become an international pilgrimage/tourist (so hard to tell apart) destination (complete with awesome website: http://www.sinaimonastery.com/en/index.php?lid=1 ), servicing primarily Christian pilgrims, with a skew toward the Asian Protestant and Eastern Orthodox.

Back to our pilgrimage. Saint Catherine is rarely reached from Cairo. Most pilgrimage arranged tours are through Sharm al-Sheikh in the Sinai and attached to a larger pilgrimage agenda on a bus. As two random guys in Cairo going there, we had a significantly less-traveled road. Namely, there is one bus that leaves Cairo once a day to go there. It leaves at 11:30 in the morning, which we took on a Friday, and proceeds to drive through two deserts (the Eastern Desert and the Sinai Desert) through the heat of the day without air conditioning to get there. We arrived at 8, unfed, hot, and disoriented. The village of Saint Catherine (about 2 miles from the monastery) is beautiful. It is oddly reminiscent of a Western National Park built in the late 1960s (red stone construction, small motel-ish facilities). Luckily for me and Asger, we encounter an old man as we left the bus in the village, not knowing where to go, who took us to his cousin's hotel-motel-"Bedouin Camp" named Mukhayyam Musa, or Moses' Camp. A weird combination of those three first descriptions, it is surprisingly well-kept and nicely priced, with each of us getting a small, basic room (but it included things like a towel) with a king-sized bed for about $9. Nice. However, the Mukhayyam Musa was not serving food @ 8pm, and our very nice self-appointed guide felt terrible about this, so he offered to take us back to his home for a dinner, which, around 9:30 we ate on his balcony overlooking the red rock hills with the village below (his house was literally the highest building in the town). It was beautiful. The director of Saint Catherine Village Agricultural Projects (even after talking with this man for 3 hours, I am unclear what agriculture he is overlooking) will definitely be receiving a thank you letter from myself.

However, by the time we left at 10:30, we could just get back to the Mukhayyam Musa in time to sleep (albeit some of the best sleep I've gotten in Egypt as the Sinai gets cold at night) for one hour until we needed to wake up to start the walk to the Monastery. A word of explanation: the tradition of visiting the monastery is to climb Mount Sinai at night for the sunrise, then descend in the early morning in order to visit the monastery, which is only open from 9 am - noon. So we began our pilgrimage.

the walk

Once at the "base camp," for lack of a better word, we started the climb up by flashlight. Mount Sinai is not an easy climb, let alone in the dark. I had also failed to realize the my Danish traveling companion had never been higher than things in Denmark (so, like, a table?) before, meaning that he began to have some horrible altitude sickness by the time we were nearing the summit at 3:30 am. Near the top, there is an area with Bedouin guys selling coffee and tea and renting blankets. Blankets? you might ask. Certainly. At the top it was windy and freezing and 3:30 in the morning. Probably about 35 degrees Fahrenheit. We needed three blankets, then started our camp out at the top. Luckily, it was empty at this point and beautiful. So far from, well, most things, the top of the mountain gets possibly the best view of the stars I have ever seen, including the full ribbon of the Milky Way. Absolutely beautiful and we were the only people up there for about one and a half hours. Starting around 5 am, the pilgrims (Russian, Korean) and tourists (British, German, Japanese) started to come in droves. Droves.

nearing sunrise (circa 5 am)
pilgrims/tourists
pilgrims/tourists
sunrise on mount sinai

not the happiest asger has ever looked due to being underslept, altitude sick, and muhammad, the bedouin i accidentally befriended by becoming his arabic-russian translator with a woman at the top. he gave me an american penny to remember him by (?); i gave him a dc metro card.

pilgrims/tourists

Here's the thing about Mount Sinai though; it might be freezing at night, but literally the second the sun was up, you could feel the heat start. Thus began the mad dash off the mountain as temperatures climbed up to 100 (around 6:15 am).

get off the mountain


Off the mountain (around 7:30), we stopped in the monastery guesthouse until the monastery opened, drinking nescafé and not eating (as they wouldn't sell us food since there was barely enough for the people staying there). The monastery guesthouse, as it turns out, is infested with blue chairs, cats.

guesthouse and its two infestations

After exhausting (literally), that option, we entered the monastery.

monastery walls

Dodging between the Russian tours, we saw the Burning Bush (cutting, made in the 9th Century, the actual site of the Bush being inside the chapel).
burning bush cutting

At this sleep-deprived point in my being, I really couldn't get over how, next to the Burning Bush, there is a fire extinguisher (in case it happens again?). I think it is actually the best thing I have ever seen.

use only in case of emergency, miracle

We toured the interior of the chapel, which is an absolutely beautiful building with some of the most famous icons in the world inside that, for better or for worse, one cannot take picture of, but here is the area near the door to the church. The monastery open to tourists/pilgrims is remarkably small, with very narrow passages. I am glad I managed to take a few photos without people.

outside the church

church entrance, bell tower

the monastery belltower and its minaret (built in the 9th century in the fatimid style for local bedouin muslims as a sign of good faith. it was never used though as its qibla does not actually face mecca. nice gesture though, and is still mentioned by the bedouin).

Once we exited the monastery (around 11), we encounter our next task for the day: how to get back to Cairo. There is one bus a day from Saint Catherine village to Cairo. It is, unfortunately, at 6 in the morning. So to take that, we'd have to wait until Sunday morning, thus missing a day of work. Unacceptable. So began the negotiations.

For the first time since I've been in Egypt, my Arabic was ridiculously useful. Nice thing about speaking Jordanian/Palestinian is that the Bedouin in Sinai (with a few, minor adjustments) can understand me perfectly. Go symbolic capital. Anyhow, with this oddly acquired skill, I set about talking to all of the Bedouin guys I could find asking if any could recommend a way home. Taxi available... for $500. No. Taxi available to Suez for only $100 each (then, presumably, find something to Cairo). No. Eventually, realizing that as a group of two our bargaining power is, well, useless, I just ask them that if they see anyone else going to Cairo, let us know. Lo and behold, ten minutes later, there are three American guys who had been in Israel looking to go to Cairo. After consulting with them for a minute (Me: "Going to Cairo?" Them: "Yes." Me: "I can negotiate for you as long as you're kind of willing to follow me, a complete stranger into wherever that takes us and count of me to be able to get you out of it." Them: "Umm... Yes?"), fanagle a cab ride for $6 a person to go to the nearest police checkpoint on the highway in the desert (what with Sinai's recent checkered past of changing borders, it is currently closely monitored to say the least). Once at the checkpoint (in about 120 degree heat), we are walking up toward the guard building when a white car zooms by with about ten people more than it can contain inside. They get out, yelling, open the passengers' side door, help a man out who clearly has a broken left leg and is bleeding at the hip. From garbled phrases, I can hear that there was a car accident, he was in the car, the other guy, not so lucky (car accidents are common in the Sinai where the equation of reckless driving + heat + old cars often results in serious accidents). As we continue to approach, it becomes clear that the other guy is, in fact, in the back seat of the white car. I'm starting to question the choices I've made in life with the amount of corpses I've accidentally seen. That said, I get to the nearest officer, ask if I can help, and am basically informed that they're waiting for an ambulance. In the meantime, we wait until a bus comes by, which we hitch a ride with for about $10 to get to the farthest northern suburb of Cairo six hours later.

Not the most restful weekend, and plenty of unforeseen events, but all in all, I am content I went to Saint Catherine. I actually think it'd be a really interesting place to do fieldwork... Fulbright perhaps.

And the full album.