The Camp/A Description of Characters

There were people in the camp, so I socialized a little, but only at a minimum. The cast of characters was one that I’ve always known has existed either through books or movies, but have never really experienced. It was interesting to see the real thing in action.

Bearded Israeli men with long hair wearing loose cotton pants and saris lounged away throughout the day, emerging at night with drums and instruments to play with the Bedouins. There was a group of older women, in their late 40’s at the youngest, wearing long flowing linen dresses, adorned in jewelry and heavy eye make up. They spoke French, English, and Hebrew or Arabic with heavy, smoke tinged voices. Think Angelica Huston’s character in The Life Aquatic with a bit more cheer and your there.

French, English and Canadian travelers were mixed into this crowd, the Canadians I fist mistook for American frat guys, the French quiet, content. There was the muscled Englishman with the long dreadlocks against his white skin, the Rasta talk, and didgeridoo charming a group of girls with his adolescent spiritual beliefs, “Jesus, Buddha, Allah, Krishna, it’s allll good mon, you know what I’m saying? We’re all just trying to get high and enjoy ourselves am I right?” followed by blowing long, uninspired farts out of his didgeridoo.

Beautiful Israeli girls moved through the camp, dark tan bodies moving gracefully across the landscape shedding any memory of their military service. One approached me as I sat waiting for dinner one night under a tent hut on the beach. We talked for a long time, her French accent strange as it tried to convey her feelings, she felt as foreign to me as anyone I’ve ever met despite our shared language. I was surprised then when some time later she smiled her big smile one last time and said she had to go back to her boyfriend as she told me her name was Ellen. I watched her walk away across the candle lit beach as she sat down and lay her head against the chest of one of the Israeli men I’d seen her walking with earlier in the day.

Then there were the camp staff, young Bedouin and Egyptian men skinny as rails who seemed to spent equal time shouting at one another as they did laughing with one another. They seemed short tempered and brisk my first two days, but I’d made friends with two, and become cool with most by the last day. Bob Marley posters adorned one of their huts and at night they flirted and tried to charm the girls in the camp. Through yellow stained teeth they spoke in flowers and broad smiles, resting easy on one arm as they pulled stories out of the women.

In the mornings and evenings the managers, I’m not sure who though really, visited the camp. Bedouin men dressed in the Saudi style, white galabeyas with heads crowned by the ghurta an iqal. They would walk around the camp, inspecting it and talking to the staff before settling down to eat at a wooden table. At night there was always a large group and they would light up joints and smoke hash under the moonlight as they sat down to eat, the smell mingling with the dull red glow of other joints and cigarettes all across the beach. Around the time they finished an armed plain clothed security officer and tourist cop would show up to make the rounds and check the room log and passports. People continued to smoke on the beach as they passed back through on their way to the next camp. With the military presence at the entrance to the front and the officers’ presence everyday, I have to suspect someone is making a healthy income from bribes for allowing all this to go on since technically all drugs carry very stiff penalties here, including death for selling large amounts. I’d be shocked if they were oblivious to it.

Once they had left Bedouin musicians would show up; tune their instruments, pull out big cans of Stella, and light up joints as they began to play on the beach under the moon.

These Bedouins are drastically different in their tastes than those of the Western Oases. Tea is the drink of choice out there and while I’m sure some hash is smoked, it’s probably done discretely. Alcohol is banned. Here with Saudi Arabia just across water the local tribesmen seemed all about partying and not once do I hear prayer calls or tapes playing out from any of their huts.

Hands began clapping rapidly as the drums began to beat and the strings what I think was a rababa (a fusion of violin and guitar) unleash these strange, quiet and moody melodies. They play rapidly, building a steady repetition, and then begin to introduce small but constantly changing melodic shifts, and the music finds a strange balance of urgency and calm as it sounds out. There is nothing but low candlelight and the stars above illuminating this scene.

This is a place people can come to drop out, so long as their budget lasts. I meet people who visit regularly, other’s who came and decided not to leave. They took up work and now live there during the summer season. There was Ahmed from Cairo who’d come out to visit for a week, and never left. He’s lived there for four months now. There was an older women who spoke French with a heavy accent, English with a heavy American accent, and Arabic with a heavy French accent, who alternated between socializing and serving food at night as well as managing the orders in the kitchen. I wondered how long she had been there but never asked.

These older women would all get together smoking cigarettes and talk about how “marvelous” the day was or how “amazing” the water had been. When one of their crew dropped in, long sessions of hugs and kisses and big smiles and “darlings” and “love” came out. White linen dresses blowing in the breeze and jewelry clanging, tinkling around. The ages seemed to range from 40-60, it all seemed too strange to be true, but there it was. Who are these people and where do they come from?

Or these young girls and guys? The guy from Israel with a sort of empty and curious look in his eyes who says he comes every summer for two months or the girl born in Connecticut who lives in Israel, speaks three languages fluently (French, Hebrew, English) and comes every summer for two week stretches. She sits alone every day, reading and smoking out of her shisha she’s brought along with her. She knows all the staff by name and many of the older women too. She is small and beautiful but has that smokers voice already, and it takes me awhile to finally talk to her to find all this out. She makes no mention of work or school and I don’t want to ask, something about a place like this makes all that seem unimportant, even though I am curious; the huts are dirt cheap, but meals are expensive and just two a day will add up quickly. To stay for a long time would require a lot of money.

But it’s the fact that things like school or work don’t really matter here that help make it so appealing. All care for work, or prestige, or any of those things we think about and have to deal with in the world become non-existent here.

Just a few clothes, a simple bed at night with no electricity, just candle light, and good food to eat everyday, it’s simple and feels good. The sea is out there, the sky is big and mountains surround the area. It feels like everything you need is there for you. That’s not true of course, but so many things that concern people in life fall away, and you realize how empty they are, and how little you really need to feel content when you start stripping these things away. The quiet helps too.

There is just the sound of the waves against the beach, and the low murmur of chatter near the central, social tent huts. If elevated you can hear the occasional sound of a car driving by on the highway, but overall there is silence all day and night.

I’m a restless person though, so I don’t know how long I could handle this much nothingness before I suffered, but this was a taste of a monastic life, extra light, but still a taste.

After my first night in my room, I took to sleeping on the beach. After dinner, tea, and a little music, I would make my way away from where there were groups of people to the parts of the beach where rugs and pillows were laid out. The first night I slept on the shore, the second on a rock outcropping sticking out into the sea with the waves hitting against the rocks. In the mornings I would wake at dawn and watch as the sun rose over the mountain range across the sea.

The Camp Part I/On Being Alone

It was quiet when I arrived. A few people were lounging under palm thatched huts and the staff was making morning rounds. I arranged a room and was lead to a palm hut on the slope of a small hill that overlooked the camp and the sea. I had wanted a beach hut, but I had the highest elevation of any of the huts and the best overall view of the area.

The camp is located on stretch of the Red Sea coast, on the east side of the Sinai, with the mountains of Saudi Arabia across the sea. Just north of us was the Gulf of Aqqaba, and from Taba you travel to Jordan or Israel, both of which were across the border, by land or sea. All these countries within a 20 minute drive of one another.

So what to write about the following three days? Three days spent mostly in silence; reading, sleeping, some swimming, and eating all filling up my time.

At first it’s overwhelming; all this time, nothing to do. Nothing is a relative term, in this case but that’s basically what I had to do, nothing. An hour might pass just spent staring at the water. Another hour reading, then a nap, then maybe a little walk before reading again. By day two I had a sort of schedule down, and was becoming increasingly comfortable with how to spend my time, I had figured out what my day was about and what it was not about. I was basically living for the mornings and the evenings. The afternoon, from 12-6 was very hot and uncomfortable especially if the breeze went away. I wanted to sleep through it, but I took my usual later in the morning after breakfast so this had me awake and wanting to be active during the long, hot, hours of the afternoon.

So it was the morning and evening I looked forward to everyday. The weather was best in the morning; cool breezes coming in from the north over the sea keeping the area pleasant before the sun took over the day. By evening a warm breeze would blow in over the sea, but it was up onto one of the elevated area’s to photograph the sunset and reflect back on my time here, thinking too about what comes next.

This was the best part of my day as the sun sunk behind my back painting the mountains of Arabia red and pink, finally fading into a muted purple as the sea below changed colors from blue to green to purple to aqua, to dark, all these colors shifting and moving as the light played out across the surface.

It’s a strange time of day, sunset over a landscape like that. The overwhelming size and emptiness can make you feel small and insignificant as your overwhelmed by how grand the world is with or without you; a great sense of loneliness bites at me when I watch the sun go down over such a landscape. There’s something terribly isolating about it. Despite that it can be relaxing and empowering, that same amazement at the world that can make me at one moment feel alone can at the next make me happy to be a part of all this or at least feel a sense of peace with the world. Spending so much time alone in a setting like this with nothing to do but think and observe makes for a strong emotional ride, and it was something I was looking for by taking a trip like this alone.

Photos

Ras Shaitan/The Drive

The Sinai was supposed to be our last trip, a group of us heading out for one last relaxing week before we all split up and take off back to North America and the working world or grad school. Things didn’t work out, so it was just me in a position to leave. I’ve wanted to make a trip on my own, so the opportunity was there and I took it, and was glad things turned out the way they did despite not having good company around.

I left my place around 9:30 on Monday night for the bus station in Heliopolis. My ticket was easy to purchase, but finding the bus was tricky as none of them have numbers or placards announcing their destination, not to mention everything on my ticket was in Arabic. I talked to an American guy heading down to Dahab and he told me I just had to keep an ear open or approach every bus as it pulled in and show the driver my ticket and wait for his reaction.

My nerves were tight; the station was a little chaotic despite how small it was, and buses were pulling up and pulling out quickly. When I found a bus driver who gave me a thumbs up when I showed him my ticket I went to put some stuff in the storage compartment. The guy loading the bags took my ticket and shook his head, “No Taba.” He handed back my backs. I asked around, “Taba bus?”

“Yes”

“No”

Long drawn out Arabic jumble to my ears, arms waving and pointing in two different directions

I went back to the bus driver.

“Taba bus?”
“Yes, Taba, Nuweiba.”

“Ahh.” I got on board. The bus would pass through on Taba on it’s way to Nuewiba, as planned.

I got a good seat and settled in. Ten minutes after we left the station the bus broke down. My roommate had told me that would probably happen. A 45 minute delay followed before another bus showed up to transfer us. The new bus was in worse shape and made terrible grinding noises like the gears were shot every time the driver shifted. But by 1am we were on the road.

Along the way we had to stop at several security checkpoints, and just as I was told, several people were taken off the bus for questioning. One who stuck out was a young Egyptian women wearing a short skirt and heels. She looked a little trashy by any standard and I was surprised she was using public transportation. The security was interested in her for some reason, and she refused to get off the bus. A big verbal sparing match began with two men yelling at her and her yelling back. Then a group of veiled women, no doubt undone by the sight of this girl began standing up and yelling at her and pointing their fingers. Then she yelled back. And so on for a good ten minutes before the security dropped whatever it was, and let the men back on the bus. Then we were off, finally leaving Cairo around 2am.

Dawn came and I woke up. The desert spread out as we moved along and the sun was coming up over the mountaintops in the distance. After some travel across flat terrain we descended through a mountain range towards the coast. Mountains rose up on either side of us, and I could hear the gears straining as we slowly snaked down through the pass. We made it and the sea lay ahead, shimmering dark blue water and orange light bouncing off into the sky.

I arranged to have the driver drop me off on the road near the camp I was heading to. And so after some anxiety about where the place was, as the whole coast was filled with similar camps, the bus driver said “Ras Shaitan.” The area was a little more empty than the earlier stretch of coast, and I only had to walk a short distance down the side of the highway before I saw the camp sign, rather the sign leading to the beach camp I was looking for. Outside sat a black, armed personal carrier, 50mm machine gun mounted on a turret with several heavily armed soldiers sitting around it. I walked up and asked for Moon Beach, pointing up the hill ahead, being pretty sure it was that direction. They nodded and pointed up the hill. I walked up and saw the sign. It was 8am.

Note: Going to break the rest up into several posts since my time is running out here, and I’m loosing writing time. Also, I caught a lot of grammatical errors in the last post after checking it again and again. Like I’ve said before, I need an editor. I’ll try and correct them when I have some time and repost.

City Stars

I’m in Cairo ostensibly to photograph the effects of globalization on the country and try and create some kind of visual document of the lives of people who have benefited from it. Needing a fresh burst of inspiration, I thought it was time to visit City Stars, Cairo’s first mega mall.

The mall is located in Heliopolis, just up the road from where Sadat was assassinated by Islamic hardliners in nearby Nassr City. Nassr City is one of those depressing and tasteless constructions of 60’s era socialist architecture. What had once been desert was quickly turned into towering apartment complexes and state facilities built to house refugees pouring in from the Sinai and Port Said area after the Tripartite invasion of ’56.

Heliopolis on the other hand is one of Cairo’s original suburbs, constructed in the early 1900’s to house wealthy French merchants and elite who were living in Cairo and wanted an escape from the chaotic mess of the city. The area is now a predominately a middle class neighborhood on the outskirts of Cairo proper, although it still retains some of it’s original flair in the villas and palaces scattered throughout the area, and the president even calls it home. City Stars rests seemingly on the border of these two neighborhoods fittingly; squeezed in between the socialist remains of Egypt’s past and the wide-eyed hope of a capitalist present in the heart of one Cairo’s largest upwardly mobile middle class neighborhoods.

The mall is a large complex that spreads out over 750,000 sqm of land and has six levels. Upscale high residency towers are also located on the grounds, along with an Intercontinental Hotel, all part of what is called Star Living. This is how the press release frames it:

This investment of more than 800 Million USD is located only minutes away from Cairo’s International Airport. CITYSTARS is considered to be the first integrated urban development project of its kind in the Middle East and Europe. The complex is equipped with the most advanced infrastructure and multi-media network which complement the project’s outstanding design elements and customer services including easily accessible indoor parking facilities for over 6,000 vehicles.

CITYSTARS is the latest landmark in Cairo and consists of three international hotels including 1500 room accommodation options, shopping and entertainment centre, a medical centre, office and residential towers.

How I frame it:

Going beyond the synthesis of a mall and hotel, the residency towers mark City Star’s as one of the ultimate symbols of the globalized free market, a constructed world where lifestyle and consumerism become inseparably intertwined. It’s an interesting fusion of marketing, advertising and consumerism all rolled into one catchall location. For those who feel gluttony is a good thing for the economy, City Star’s is a dream come true.

A little harsh and ignoring some positive aspects of a development like this, but I think it entails the basic ‘dark’ side of a project like this on a country like Egypt.

Like most malls it’s packed with restaurants, fast food chains and retail shops. Surprisingly though there isn’t an overwhelming Western presence in the retail sector; Arab companies have a strong presence and balance out some the presence of the Western chains. The restaurant sector is however overwhelming Western.

Chili’s, Wagamama’s, Cinnabon, Cantina Laredo, something called the Rain Forest café and Ruby Tuesday’s all make strong showings in the “Family Dining Area” on Level 5. Brinker Co. has made strong headway in the Middle East it seems. On a recent Thursday afternoon the restaurants were packed with Egyptian families and couples of the rising middle class excitedly shelling out their earnings on a big meals of steak fajitas, enchilada’s and refried beans.

One of the things strikes me as fascinating about this phenomenon is the opportunity to indulge in eating at the same establishments I frequented growing up in Texas. Why I find this more interesting than say the presence of McDonalds, I can’t yet figure out. But there is something strange about seeing a restaurant that once only existed at one location in my hometown as I was growing up and was a place to put down some margarita’s on a newly purchased fake ID at age 18 now sitting in a mall in Cairo.

Near me a group of adolescent males were debating where to spend their money, Chili’s or Ruby Tuesday’s they argued. Two of the boys faces lit up when Chili’s was suggested and they all started laughing and settled on Chili’s. Opposite their direction was a large poster near the Cinema for TGI Friday’s,
“Finally” it announced, “What everyone has been waiting for.” Images of sizzling steaks and golden fries called out to the viewers. Apparently these boys weren’t aware of this fact as they sauntered over towards the Chili’s in their trucker caps and faux designer jeans.

I wondered if they had wandered through the other food court earlier having this same debate. There is a fast food only court located on Level 0 and another on Level 4 that seems to cater more towards Middle Eastern chains and coffee shops. Each has at least three choices of ice cream parlors to choose from and variety of salty, fried or sweet spots to please the taste buds. To step inside the food courts inside City Stars is to step into a world of plenty where any trace of the massive food shortages threatening Egypt’s masses of poor is erased. One hour I’m looking at mounds of fruit covered ice cream deciding whether the Strawberry Chocolate Vanilla would be better than the Banana Sunday, and the next hour I’m looking as a line of people stand outside a government subsidized distribution center that is dispensing free bread to a long line of Cairo’s lower class as my taxi takes me home.

The mall is this ways exceeds being merely a metaphoric symbol of the imbalance of resources in the world, it’s a physical, tangible source of this imbalance. To walk through City Stars is to see the first hand evidence that resources are being unevenly distributed. While America has always had the resources and economy to support institutions like malls, it’s upsetting to see this “we deserve it all” mentality being instituted in a country where there is a drastic lack of resources for the bulk of the population. One gets the impression that everywhere in the world businessmen have picked up on China’s standard excuse, “Why shouldn’t we be allowed to enjoy the same growth as the US?” in justifying US style consumption. The floodgates are open.

So with that in mind, I wanted to see what else was floating around.

The majority of the young women I saw were veiled, and quite a few fully covered in the hijab.

From Wikipedia: In some Arabic-speaking countries and Western countries, the common meaning of hijab currently is of “modest dress for women,” which most Islamic legal systems define as covering everything except the face and hands in public.^[1] Since the 1970s, hijab has emerged as a symbol of Islamic consciousness “and an affirmation of Islamic identity and morality” in opposition to “Western materialism, commercialism, and values.

While this could be a result of the influx of Saudi’s who invade every summer in search of alcohol, gambling and a more laid back environment, there is a growing number of fully veiled women to be seen on the streets of Egypt, even in middle class areas. The ages too spread a broad range, for even under the dark veils you could make out the thin bodies of young girls and the more full bodied and plump shapes of older women. What is apparent though by the numbers that claims to wearing of hijab in opposition to Western values have to be taken with a big, awkward, grain of salt given how much they often seem to be partaking in it on one level.

How odd to pass by a lingerie store where one of the mannequins was decked out in a black laced bustier and stockings, reclining on her back with a rose in her hand and her eyes covered by a lacy sleep mask with one leg propped up. Exciting stuff compared to her flesh and blood counterparts walking by. All around her stood other more liberally covered mannequins, suggesting what could perhaps be kept unseen by the women walking by. Inside the store stood two young, fully clothed women in headscarf who were looking at me as I stood with what must have appeared an odd look on my face as I stopped to stare at the inviting mannequins and the black clad women passing by them.

Adding to the contradictions that were all around was what I noticed as I passed by another lingerie and bikini store. Inside pictures of Western women were plastered across the walls and two greasy looking salesmen stood behind the counter as Arabic trance music played on the speakers, a sight I counted three times as I continued my walk around Level 4. There is a great disconnect here.

To continue on in a loop around the floors of the mall is to observe gaudy furniture stores, inviting, saccharine coffee shops and children’s stores with wild, cartoon-eyed mannequins staring off into space. There are large groups of young kids walking around decked out in some rough approximation of Western style, groups of 12-year-old boys and girls covered in bright yellows, greens and reds as they joke with one another. Even in a Muslim country it appears malls have inherited the Western tradition of a place for young groups to gather and make those first awkward steps to coupling up. Globalization isn’t just about fajita’s and ice cream.

On the basement level rests a massive supermarket that looked like a Gursky photograph, all never ending aisles and matching color schemes.

Trying to leave proved to be interesting too. There are designated entrances and exits to the mall, and I believe each operates independently. The thing about that is, there’s a large parking lot out in front of both these entrances and exists. And what’s so odd about it is that no one can use the lot. The lot borders on farce, and when considered it in it’s completeness, borders on the surreal.

The lot is criss-crossed, intersected, bi-sected and tri-sected by police barricades. All moving and crossing throughout the lot they form an impenetrable barrier to both car and pedestrian. After exiting on the opposite side of the lot I had entered the mall through (not yet aware of the security precautions) I began heading back along the sidewalk that skirted the barriers to find myself one doorway away from where I’d first exited. There was no way through the barriers here, which were double reinforced and seamless in their flow from one end to the other. I couldn’t get through, I’d have to go back in I realized. Walking back in through the nearest door I headed in the direction I’d originally entered, thinking I could get back out that way.

On arriving at the destination I started my journey into the mall at, I made the next logical step, which was to head for the same door I’d entered. Two security guards stepped in front of me.

“Sir, you must exit through one of the designated exits” the lead guard said in very clear English.

“Oh…I’m sorry?”

“Gates 2-4 are permitted exits sir, please make your way to one of them if you wish to exit.”

“Ok.”

I walked back to the hallway I’d originally left through and exited all the time looking for gate numbers which failed to appear.

This time I exited and made a left, following the open driveway to the street. I made a right, walked to the intersection, made another right, and walked back along the sidewalk in front of the mall to where I’d originally entered. Fifteen minutes after I’d first tried to leave the mall, I’d finally made it.

I came back the next day, later in the afternoon to change my ticket booking at the BA office (another bizarre trip) and to take in Dark Knight while I was there at the Cinema. I left without any hassle this time since I knew how to move through the mall at this point. As I was leaving through the same exit I’d taken the day before, I spotted soldiers with guns and muzzled dogs at each exit gate scanning the shoppers. As I walked back out onto the sidewalk to hail a cab, I spotted the bomb ‘unit’ searching every vehicle that entered the underground parking garage.

The security threat here, perceived or imagined, or some in between, is all the more unsettling when it’s a part of an institution that represents the face of globalization. I’m curious to see what security measures are taken in Dubai for example, but I think there may be less as photographers I’ve spoken to say photography is in general much easier and accepted there in public. Every floor of City Star’s has for example prominent No Photography signs hanging from the ceiling, something not seen in Dubai I’m told.

Nor is being hassled by police who in fact are usually proud to show off whatever is being photographed, whereas here you can get yelled at even when shooting at tourist sites.

Sadat Memorial

I paid a visit to the tomb of the Unknown Soldier the other day, on my way to City Star’s. I had a long entry I’d written about some odd behavior I face tried to photograph a tourist site and the effects of military propaganda on Egyptians view of history (very flawed) but for now I’d just like to share this video to give some background on the area, and as subtle nod to the state of things in Egypt now.

Mugamma

Aug 6th, my return date is set.

Thinking I had a three month tourist visa I went to the Mugamma today to get a visa extension. The Mugamma is a sort of city hall for Cairo, but it has to serve a whole country since it’s in the nation’s capital, so it’s a bit of a big and imposing building. The word “Kafka-esque” has been used to describe its illegitimate lay-out and the “bureaucratic hell” that lies inside. There is no directory of services, no map of the building, no sense of direction.

The building is built with a slight U shape, so as you enter in through the main entrance, you are symbolically being pulled into a most dangerous womb.

As I made my way to the visa extension office, (which I had been given directions for but still didn’t make any sense by someone who’d visited before), I watched out through the windows as papers fluttered down from windows up above onto windowsill ledges or deeper into one of the courtyards as men with trays of tea moved past.

I was told at the window my visa was already expired. My guidebook told me you are issued a three month tourist visa at the airports here, but mine was only valid for a month, and I was never asked how I felt about it, so I’m not sure what to make of that.

They told me I could pay the fine now and THEN have my visa extended. Or as I coyly pointed out to the lady, couldn’t I just pay the fine at the airport as I was leaving the country.

“Yes, yes you can. That would be the best thing, just pay it at the airport.”

I’m going to investigate this further. There is a 150LE fine to pay regardless at some point in this game. Someone told me it can be quite a hassle at the airport, so I’m going to do some more research and make sure I don’t face arrest as I try and leave the country. If that’s the case it’s back to the Mugamma next week, three days before my departure, to get an extension.

Why not go tomorrow?

Tonight I’m leaving on an overnight bus for Taba in the Sinai. From there I’ll be hitchhiking down the coastline to Rasshitan, “The Devil’s Head” for three days of Sinai style relaxing, sleeping in a little thatch hut on the beach every night, reading, consuming lots of tea, swimming, and eating overpriced Bedouin meals. I’ve been itching to get out of Cairo for sometime now and I’m excited about making a trip on my own.

Then it’s back for a two day rush of shooting and sightseeing (still haven’t visited the Pyramids, weird I know, but I decided this should be the last thing I see here) and hopefully getting a good night out with friends. I might squeeze a day trip to Alexandria in there too.

Cafe Horriyah

This is one of the best spots in Cairo to drink a Stella. I’m told the place is 50 or 60 years and it looks it in the worst way. This is not some well preserved institution that attracts the after dinner set. No, this is one of the few places where you can get some laid back drinking done in Cairo without any hassle.

The paint is a peeling, mustard color that covers the columns and walls. Cardboard is used to fill in the gaps in the street level French windows which are kept open so customers have some kind of barrier between their table and the sidewalk since the whole floor is recessed from the street.

Housed down the road from Tahir Square, the café serves cold Stella’s for 9LE each.

Old men sit in small groups sipping on a tea or beer, others sit alone, silently smoking cigarettes and pulling on their beers under the dirty glow of the fluorescent bulbs that hang from the ceiling high above.

The room is cavernous in it’s size and on a busy night all the tables and uncomfortable wooden chairs are filled with what I could only describe as a true alternative set in Cairo. I’ve seen an Egyptian sporting a Mohawk, a leather vest with chains and Doc Marten’s sitting a table over from a group of Abercrombie Western AUC students who are in turn sitting next a table of old men in sloppy, ancient suits. Cairo’s artist set is easy to spot too, Velcro sandals, dirty t-shirts and long hair shared by the guys and girls alike. The only Western women I ever seem to see here are usually adorned with a headscarf, long, loose, flowing dresses and sandals; a crossbreed of hippie backpacker and socially conscious, full time tourist.

There is occasionally the old, haggard looking red-faced Western traveler who comes in looking like some kind of roadhouse drunk in hiking boots whose has descended on Egypt to pilfer it’s Stella and go camping in it’s deserts.

I once saw a preppy set of attractive Egyptian girls with Prada bags and the like knocking back beers here. The other night there was a truck driver and his veiled wife putting down some as their child rolled around on the dirty floor next to their feet.

Some people find all this a turn off. “It’s so pretentious, in it’s own way,” says my roommate. “Ask any young Egyptian there what they do and they all say ‘I’m a filmmaker’.”

Some just find it too dirty looking. The shells of nuts on the ground mixed in with cigarette butts and ash that people liberally leave around their tables and the occasional spilled beer give it a rough edge.

I love the place though, something in the spirit of the old dives of New Orleans hangs in the air here. I’m not sure how late they’re open, I’ve yet to test those waters, but I suspect it runs late. Unlike New Orleans though I never find myself with a group knocking back bottle after bottle of $1 beer till early in the morning.

Instead a bottle or two of Stella usually runs the course of the night over conversation; either with strangers or friends. Sometimes I come in after shooting or running errands downtown to read and drink something cold.  There’s one server there in the habit of high fiving Westerner’s and he always pulls a chair and Stella for me as soon as he sees me. I feel comfortable yelling out to people across the room here.

The other night I was making my way there when I heard an American voice call out to me,

“Excuse me but do you know where such and such a square is?”
“No I don’t, sorry.” (How Egyptian of me, no one knows any street names here)
“I’m looking for the Café Horiya, do you know where that is?”
“Mmm, yeah, it’s across the street actually. I was headed there myself. I guess this such and such a square then.”

Thirty minutes later I’m drinking with a Fulbright scholar, a finance student who worked in Abu Dhabi, an Egyptian tour guide, and an excited Egyptian who claims he used to be a religious student of Islam on the path to fanaticism, but now is happy to get drunk and go home to his Russian wife. It’s not a bad spirit to have a beer in.

The Citadel

I woke up at 6:30 to get ready for a morning of shooting. First stop was Mokattam, a large mountain that sits just on the outer edge of Cairo with a view of the city spread out around it. On top of the town sits Mokattam City, a small neighborhood of some businesses and apartment buildings with the odd villa here and there. I’d passed through here on Saturday when I’d visited the Christian ghetto at one base of the mountain, but wanted to catch the morning light coming up over the city.

The light was beautiful. I’d set out too late to catch the dawn light, but the sunrise was still solid as we were facing west with the sun was just coming over the mountain top behind. I was surprised though to see Cairo already had a distinct layer of haze from the pollution obscuring a good part of the skyline. I worked though several different exposures hoping to nail the mix of early morning light, brownish smog and blue-orange sky above. I was still a bit nervous though so I was moving a little too quickly I think. There is an Air Force Command base that was just outside my frame along the side of the mountain, and with the tripod out and the cable release hitched into the camera at that hour, in the Egyptian military eye, I probably looked really suspicious. The base commands a great view of the city so I should have just pressed my luck and shot over it, but I didn’t. On the way down the mountain we had to pass through two military checkpoints and I wasn’t in the mood at that hour to try and explain things.

Next stop was at the base of the Citadel for some Turkish coffee that really hit the spot and got me ready for a trip into the Citadel for some sightseeing and shooting.

The Citadel is a huge complex built on a major hill overlooking most of modern Cairo. While not as high up as Moqqatam, I think it’s situated on the next highest point in Cairo. It’s a collection of fortresses, palaces, mosques and walls constructed over much of Cairo’s existence as a city. A brief history:

The first building was a fortresses built by Salah ad-Din beginning in 1176 as a bulwark against potential invasion from the Crusader Kingdoms in Palestine. From that point on, for the next 700 years, palaces and mosques would rise on the complex. The Citadel gained, and maintained it’s draw with the construction of the Muhammad Ali mosque, which was completed in 1848. The mosque was constructed by a Greek architect in imitation of the Haggia Sophia Church, or Yeni Valide Mosque in Istanbul and it’s awesome. The Albanian general, Muhammad Ali who conquered Egypt while in the employ of the Ottoman Turks, ordered it’s construction and his remains are buried on the mosque’s grounds.

The building is really impressive and while I’ve read some negative reviews about from an architectural standpoint, I felt lucky at having the opportunity to see it.

Some thoughts, impressions, stories:

-Lot’s of Italian tourists poorly dressed for visiting one of the largest mosques in Cairo in my opinion. Guys walking around in really beach shorts and sandals, young Russian girls in tank tops, older Italian women in short shorts, this kind of thing, all quite tacky considering it was 9am in the middle of a city at a religious site, not Sharm El Sheik. Any pretensions Europeans still cling onto in regards to dress and fashion really seem to fly out the window in these situations. I have to admit I think American tourists are typically better put together than the packaged European tourism crowds.

-It’s hard to fully appreciate a tourist site in the face of so many people, but possible.

-I’d hate to be visiting tourism sites in Egypt during high season, I can’t even imagine. If there’s this many people in July…

-Unrepentant hustling from the tourism police. I let one of the plain clothed service guys lead me around a little blocked off area to shoot some skyline shots, but then he tried to pull me into one of the palaces for his private tour. I kept thanking him and saying I’d like to go see the mosque, but I must admit having an armed guy pulling your hand is a little unsettling especially when his buddies are starting you down. But the coffee had me in a good mood so I laughed it off and patted him on the back and handed him 3LE and some change, he protested but I just laughed and asked him if he’d like to shoot me.

-On the way out his Captain stopped me and asked where I was from, Beijing of course. He smiled and was happy to shake a Chinaman’s hand. Afterwards he asked for his tip. I started laughing and walked off.

-The National Military Museum is located just across the way from the mosque. On one level this makes sense as it is located within the Citadel and this is a historical area of defense and military power. On the other hand it’s located next to a major mosque. Then again the mosque functions only as tourist site I think.

What kind of message does this send? Perhaps I’m reading too much into it. However I think if I asked this question to the common man here I’d get a blank stare, I don’t think they would see anything odd about this. One reason this is on my mind is because the night before I was at Horiyah and had two drunk Egyptians going on about how Islam was peaceful at its roots and it’s been hijacked by crazy people. “Like all religions, what’s new?” I replied, “No, but you see, Islam, it’s the MOST peaceful of all religions!” We then moved onto to discuss the intricacies of the not all Muslim’s are terrorists but all terrorists are Muslim rationale in the West.

Religion and violence go hand in hand in most parts of the world, so there’s nothing unique about THAT, but I still think placing a military museum close to religious sites is a bit odd.

Next stop City Star’s, Cairo’s mega mall.

Trash Town/A Church

As Ibrahim was heading out of town towards the Desert Highway, he made an exit. As the road began to turn to dirt I asked him what he was doing. Wadi Natrun is up that road I pointed out to him.

“Ibrahim good driver, you see, yes, you see.”

Ahead of us loomed a slum, so I was dubious of Ibrahim’s claim. But he maybe he was taking me on some bizarre short cut I reasoned.

I was curious if maybe I was in for some kind of Mexico City style robbery, but that seemed really unlikely since Cairo is so safe, so I was curious to see what he was up to.

We descended into what I can now say is the worst neighbourhood I’ve ever been in from an aesthetic and environmental standpoint, but I do suspect it would have been semi safe for me to enter alone.

As we moved into the mass of poorly constructed buildings, a large cross was strung above the road with an image of Jesus and the Virgin on either side. Large bags of garbage of lay piled up on either side of us, tumbling out from the buildings they sat in where they rested in even larger piles, sometimes stacked to the ceiling.

Doorways and open rooms greeted me from all the ground level buildings, there were no walls. Homes, businesses, eateries, all were exposed to the street. From inside the sad eyes of Jesus looked out, his softly painted icon against the wall in every room, looking out onto the street. Even he seemed aware of the stench that overpowered the area. The smiling face of the Coptic Pope who loomed down from posters and calendars seemed oblivious.

We were in Zabaleen (sp?) I would come to find out, Trash Town. The whole neighborhood supported itself by collecting garbage around the city and brining it back to sort through to find items that could be recycled, reused and resold. They also raised pigs, one of, or perhaps the only neighborhood in Cairo to do so since I suspect Muslims wouldn’t touch that business with a 10ft pole. I couldn’t see the pigs but I’m told they are back there, rooting around inside of the buildings and streets. I tried not to breathe much.

There was a surprising number of mobile phone kiosks scattered throughout the area, the orange paint of the Mobinil signs (they had the corner presence of Starbucks in Manhattan) adding a strange kind of color to the drab brown of the buildings, and a slightly surreal sight given their number. I counted three within a one minute drive of each other. Mobile phones are one of those technologies that I’ve read has worked its way into every backwards pocket of the world, deep in the outlands of Africa or the sun baked rural hinterlands of India one can find mobile phones for sale so I wasn’t surprised to see A kiosk, but several was surprising.

Children ran through the open garbage and sewage that filled the sides of the road as men toiled away inside the buildings sorting through the garbage, looking for plastic that could be smelted back into black bags or aluminum that could be reused, resold, re-appropriated, re-contextualized in their own way.

Here in this neighborhood toiled thousands of potential modern artists, forever to be shrouded in anonymity despite the dedication and sacrifice they make for their meager living. How did a whole population come into this trade? I’ve seen photo essays that deal with this subject in places like India, Nigeria and Indonesia, usually though shanty towns are built on top of dumps. Here the people were involved in collecting the garbage off the streets and bringing it home. An usual thing as it actually provides a social service to the city and a way for them to make a living.

Up we moved. Ahead lay a medieval looking gate sitting in-between the tenement buildings. We passed through it and Ibrahim was really excited at this point, “You see I’m good driver? You make very good picture here, look, look!” He pointed to the side of the mountain that road was leading along; engraved in the side of the mountain were large reliefs of scenes from the Bible. The Virgin, her son, Joseph, the twelve disciples, they all were spread out along the side of the mountain. Up ahead I could the steeples of a church, a parking lot and several other oriental (onion domed) buildings. We’d reached some kind of site that my guidebooks were apparently unaware of.

I spent the next hour shooting. It was difficult to get good vantage points as most of the reliefs were elevated several stories up on the side of the mountain, so I had to do a lot of climbing to try and get equal with them. Every shot seemed to have a streetlamp or some random object filling up my frame more than I liked, but I tried to work around it. It was brutally hot. The sun was beating down right on us and within five minutes my t-shirt was soaked.

Children ran around playing soccer, screaming and eating sweets. My driver was doing a lot of talking to the men who seemed to watch over the grounds, seeking approval for my shooting I guess. Maybe just saying hello.

One of the highlights was a huge amphitheater that had been built into the side of the mountain. A giant outcropping of the mountain created a sort of cave at which the base of the amphitheater began, and from there it spread upwards till, if you walked to the top, you had a vantage point overlooking a corner of Cairo. A massive white video screen was stretched across the rock, providing a viewing for the upper rows of the sermons that I guessed went on down below under the overhang. The whole scene was hard to frame it was so large. I worry that my images won’t convey the size of the space.

On the stage, against the rock wall, there was a wooden wall and several doors that led into a Church of the Virgin. Somehow a huge room had been built into the side of the mountain and inside was a large, square, right-angled room. Blue tiled walls with slightly purple fluorescent lights glowing from above gave the room a strange light. There was a wall-sized painting of Jesus on one wall, and near another entrance there sat some kind of wood podium with the image of the Virgin painted on it. This Church commanded more respect than the rest of the area’s I’d been as they made me remove my shoes and closed the door quickly, shades drawn too, to keep anyone from looking in to see with my camera. The guide showing me around at first made it first seem that I couldn’t shoot, but then he seemed to change his mind so long as my tripod was kept low to the ground for some odd reason. I measured the light; there was not enough to shoot since I’d been shooting outside with a slow speed film, one of the major disadvantages of film. I didn’t have my digital on me, so no way to get a shot even for posterity’s sake. Out I went without a shot, but I felt like I’d been able to see something that a lot of Americans tourists don’t get to. But maybe this spot is big with pilgrims, I have no idea at this point. Regardless it was an almost surreal experience.

At that point I realized a lot of time had passed and it was time to take off. Ibrahim was sweating up a storm too since he’d been carrying the tripod around whenever I wasn’t using it to shoot. From there we descended back into the neighborhood of garbage and headed back towards the highway, the detour (in my mind) over and ready to head for Wadi Natrun. But then I would soon find myself heading back into Maadi with the day over.