Islamic Cairo : October 6

Day two of the great weekend travel-rama : Islamic Cairo.
Today's trip was one I signed up for through faculty services at AUC. My upstairs neighbor runs these programs, and since they're all or mostly free, I've managed to make 2 out of 3. We got on a bus at 9 am and headed to Islamic Cairo with a member of the Egyptology department in tow as a guide. Going on tours with academics is a double-edged sword, but this woman did an excellent job of catering to our intellectual curiosity without deluging us with minutiae.

First, we went to the Nilometer. We got there first thing in the morning, so the breeze coming off the Nile was still lovely. The Nilometer is right on the tip of the island of Rhoda. I knew that we were going to see a device that measures the height over the Nile (sometimes a cigar is just a cigar). I had a mental image, of course, of what this thing would look like - something like an ancient toliet bob, I think I had in mind. You know, with pharoahs or something. Never mind that the city of Cairo didn't exist in pharaonic times. Or that the Egyptians have been, throughout history, a remarkably practical and resourceful people.


This thing was huge, and absolutely beautiful. The Nilometer itself is a deep shaft in the ground, carved and fronted with beautiful white marble. The Arabs (not the pharaohs, this was an Islamic device) had appropriated two ancient columns, stacked one on top of the other, and marked them with slashes to measure the rising floodwaters. The shaft itself contains niches and carvings and stairs, along with inscriptions of Quranic verses along the tops.

But over the top ... the Arabs later built a dome over the top of the Nilometer, and painted it with exquisite images of flowers, abstract designs, and calligraphy. As I entered the building, I heard the breath go out of the person in front me. I skirted his stock-still form and had the breath knocked out of me as well. I had no idea - not the slightest! - that I was approaching a thing that melded utility with indescribable beauty. What a perfect surprise in the early morning.


The last time I remember feeling this stab of shock was when I wandered into the Pantheon as a freshman in college. I was ambling around Rome, trying to not look too American. I turned my back on McDonald's and followed a group of chattering people into a marble building - and had the breath taken out of me. Most of what I remember is the space - transitioning from crowded, grubby Rome into an empty heaven guarded by a blazing eye. The Nilometer inspired the same sense of surprised awe in me.

From the Nilometer, we crowded back in the bus (jump seats had to be lowered) and headed over to the Mosque of Amr ibn al-As. This is an old, old mosque. Given that it was Ramadan, we had to be extra polite while we were there. In fact, we entered the mosque - leaving our shoes at the entrance (I heard more than one bowling joke). A man with glittering hard eyes stood under the arch and handed a hideous green robe to every woman. We had all covered our heads with our scarves, but apparently this wasn't enough. We had to be swathed, head to toe, in sweltering acrylic robes, with full sleeves and a hood. My hem dragged on the ground, and I was so irritated by this treatment that I didn't close the front of my robe. I was wearing jeans, socks, and a short-sleeved shirt, and I had my head covered with a scarf. As far as I was concerned, I was more than decent.

Long story short, we spent a very few minutes inside the mosque itself. Apparently during the last 10 days of Ramadan, men who want to experience their religion more deeply never leave the mosque. They stay and pray, forsaking work and their families - who bring them food every day. We were very uncomfortable having tourist-talk in front of these men, so we exited as rapidly as possible. This is - according to some - the oldest mosque in Cairo, but it's been rebuilt a few times. And it has a charismatic sheikh, so the people come for worship.

Our next stop was the mosque of Ibn Tulun. We passed some rather imposing Islamic edifices on the way to Ibn Tulun, but we didn't stop. We stayed outside the mosque at first, and headed for the minaret. We climbed onto the roof first, admired the architecture and the view, and then most of us headed on up the minaret. This minaret is special, because the staircase is on the outside. The view was spectacular.

When we came into the mosque proper, the first thing that struck me was the size of the thing. It's enormous - and apparently not as full as al-As, because the sheikh is less charismatic. But what a thing of beauty! It seemed that every architectural element was considered as a true marriage of form and function. The early Islamists had an eye for beauty and delicacy. Such stucco work, and cunning placement of arches and columns to create an illusion of open air! Our guide pointed out masterpiece after masterpiece, in stucco, in wood, in architecture. I don't know that I ever would have found this place on my own.


We were still in the mosque when the call to prayer sounded. This is the first time I've been privy to this even from the inside. To my surprise, there was a live man giving the call; I'd assumed that it was a recording, since it's broadcast through loudspeakers. You can hear a small part of the call in this video clip above.


Next door to Ibn Tulun is a museum that's been made of a house that was formerly occupied by a well-placed British doctor. It's called the Gayer Anderson house (apparently he was), and it made me want to rush out to Khan El-Khalili and buy everything. The good doctor had excellent taste, and was quite the collector - I imagine many of his objects would be illegal to buy today, given the provenance conscience our society has grown. I especially enjoyed his collection of birthing chairs. Ugh.

In my own mind, I'm trying to reconcile the beauty of the Islamic monuments I saw today with what's going on in the world. I don't pretend to have a perfect social conscience, or to be completely resistant to the rhetoric that our "leaders" are pouring into our ears. What I know is that today I saw a culture of beauty and elegance, a perfection of form melded with the aspiriation for perfection of soul. But I also experienced first-hand a blanket treatment because of my gender. And I recall the Taliban destroying the beauty of the buddhas on ideological grounds.

I don't know. I just don't know. But I think that's part of the reason why I came here.