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Hazy Cairo
 Flying in and out of Egypt is probably the worst nightmare, although the skies are always sapphire blue before one touches the ground, which is all sand and dust. To begin with, it is white to yellow to beige dust in and around the whole place, with outrageous massive cars and trucks bumper to bumper all the time. Hurry was not a possibility. We were entering its gates, sworn to be crime free. It looked positive as we stepped off the plane, we were met by a troop of doers who put us in a swift salon to rest while they wheeled and dealt to get out bags for us. It was 2 am in the morning and we were to spend what was left of the night in the airport hotel until daybreak (as if early was where everything had to happen) without stirring up the norm of that huge city.
Cairo has been my least favorite city, even though it has on its face the three pyramids and the Sphinx that can lead your curiosity into the incredible discoveries of probably the earliest known things of mankind. But it’s just that congestion of vehicles from monster trucks to taxis to everyone’s car all trying to maneuver on narrow streets that often don’t make sense. The once sapphire blue sky had quickly faded into tan dust and sand, which was so extreme that one was afraid to take a breath of haze, fog, air.
All enemies of the massive city, which counts on the stillness of mist and dust to keep its antique history thriving, carries the real history of the development of humans, the most we know about the beginning of a reasonable mankind. It still brings the curious there - those fascinated by super ancient history and searching for what survives and what is often a fraction of something that was once worth the glory of kings and queens. But hear me well. I was told there is NO crime in Cairo. Police are rare, I’m promised, because if the policeman is not present to confront a crime, the normal Cairo human will stop a crime in action, with whatever style needed to convince the culprit that his crime isn’t worth it, be it with a spit or a sock. Well, that’s what I was told.
Egypt is hard to toss out of life. Its dust covers all deserts, camels wonder everywhere, giant trucks keep businesses thriving, and I’m sure there are more taxis than New York City covering more space. There is no such word as “hurry up.” It’s impossible. So put on a mask and quit breathing the dust in the air. Instead, inhale the beauty of the three Pyramids, but better, visit the Sphinx, and get tacky and have a picture sitting on a tourist camel. I know Egypt is the oldest live place on this rolling ball called Earth. Who doesn’t know the stories of Cleopatra the powerful queen who did what she wanted to do when she wanted to do it. And then there is the spot where Holy Mother Mary, embracing her precious son in her lap, wrapped, for sure, in some sort of fabric, fled the dangerous King Herod, anxious to kill this future child threat. Their only escape in those days, was a transport by donkey, guided by her aged husband. They hid in a basement in Cairo, it seems, where the Holy family was given shelter. We don’t know when or how they returned to Nazareth.
For me, the best parts of Cairo - well there were two. One was visiting the tomb of St Mark, to pray while touching his tomb, which is an enormous box, and then being able to privately see the extraordinary Cathedral over St. Marks grave. It is referred to as the Mausoleum of St. Mark at the Orthodox Cathedral. And then I had the special treat early one morning walking alone around the Sphinx, inside its home, where no one is allowed to wander unless invited. And there I learned its history and the curiosities that continue to surround it, like how did the nose get smashed. And I was allowed to touch the Paws of the great Sphinx, or any part really that was within my height. There are so many questions unresolved, why this, why that, what in the world was the Sphinx’s reason. But all those “ifs” and “what ifs” are laid deep in history, and no one has really found the answers, although many have tried and are trying.
Another battle was constantly getting lost in the Four Seasons Hotel. They had so many elevators at different levels, as if they didn’t want you to find your room 27 floors up. But we did spend a day visiting four monasteries. The first one gave me an amazingly warm welcome. The monks wore black gowns, long grey beards, black caps tied under their chins and sandals they could slip off quickly when walking into holy areas. That was tough on my feet. I had to go bare-footed, cold bare-footed. Finally I was able to purchase in a monastery souvenir shop a pair of think knitted socks, which were OK for entering holy places. They were an amazing solution since my feet didn’t adjust to lots of removing shoes when I had to enter holy places.
Most folks visiting came for just for a blessing, a quick touch of the Coptic monk’s hand, a prayer of a sort. They would lightly grab the hands of the monk or his cross to kiss them. Each one believing that because the monk handles the blood and body of Christ, his hands are constantly holy. It’s awesome to see, but it made me think about our holiness of hands, we who do bless and sanctify the blood and body of Christ. It had impressed me a few years ago when I was in Cairo. It still holds my heart. We need to get all priests to understand that blessing, sanctifying or making holy the bread and the wine is a privilege far above anything we can do to bring us closer to Christ.
The Egyptian Coptic monasteries are ancient and active and not too far apart. They house large numbers of monks, who spend most of their time in prayer and study and leading tourist groups. We visited the Monastery of Anba Bishopy, the Monastery of Baramus, the Monastery of Abu Makar, (probably the first monastery in the Wadi-El-Natroun in the 6th century, and the Coptic Monastery of El - Suryan (Syrian) of Saint Mary El-Sourian. All four were similar, almost identical, not too far from each other by dusty road. And a primary monk (usually carrying a cross and speaking perfect English) gave us a tour, which usually means at some point one must remove shoes to step into a holy place. You can buy knitted slippers just in case you do not like walking barefoot where thousands have stepped foot.
Never have I been so cold as on the night we departed from Cairo by flight. We were packed into a tight box like crabs with little or no explanation about what and who was going where and when. But finally we were put on a bus which literally - it seemed - hauled us to the farthest side of the airport where Egyptair hovered waiting for clients. But when one arrived to go up the flight’s stairs, we were halted because there was first an inspection of all suitcases sitting on the runway to be checked and carried for that flight. Yes. Believe it. One had to put your hands on your bags, point them out as they sat on the runway to be sure yours were present, which was a sane but if not so clever idea to make sure nothing was left behind! That was a first for me. Weird. Then one was packed into seats that start at row 22. Not one and two but they have five rows across starting with number 22. At all points you were frisked the old fashioned pat me down kinda thing. Have to take off shoes on ice cold metal floors - (not healthy and age isn’t relative) and there was always a Muslim female who patted you down (didn’t we stop those years ago?). And such is life - with frozen feet.
Getting out of huge Cairo airport is so long one could eat breakfast before the wings are off the ground. Bars of sand and more sand and down a strip of runway with dust waiting, lining the side of a typical dark tarmac (that was a relief), the plane finally whizzed up properly as is normal in most airports. The direction of this runway that will/does stir up the dust before rising in the air, moaning (guess it gets rusty), until the plane takes off when time had arrived and I was ready with my constant prayer as planes fly, one hopes! I’ve prayed many runways.
~ Rev
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audrey@audreytaylorgonzalez.com
www.audreytaylorgonzalez.com
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