Storm Coming

We are sensing a growing feeling of public unrest. It is like watching a stalking lioness about to pounce. The week's national news has been disquieting, adding to the feeling that violence is approaching. There is an unusual lull in the fighting in the Sinai. We have had several days in Cairo without an organized protest march. The streets at night have been unusually quiet these past days. This should point toward an easing of the crisis here in Egypt, but we do not feel as if this is the case; neither do our Egyptian friends. These positive prognostics are overshadowed by ominous events happening around us.

We are reading other disturbing reports in the news. In the center of Cairo, the 50 people participating in the constitutional convention are at an impasse. The conservative, religious members of the convention, members who have sworn to provide this nation with a viable and sustainable constitution, are readying themselves to quit the convention, feeling that they are being betrayed by the proceedings. There is talk of upcoming elections being further postponed. Here in Ma'adi, several judges that were overseeing the trials of prominent members of the Muslim Brotherhood have stepped down this week, forcing the trial process to reset and also lengthening the period of time where the defendants in these cases remain imprisoned while awaiting trial. Again here in Ma'adi at the Constitutional Court, the highest court in the land, the trial of deposed President Mohamed Morsi is set to begin in just a few days.

We are seeing sinister portents. All this week trucks carrying scores of blue-clad security forces, their M-16s glittering in the sunlight, somberly pass through our neighborhood streets. We have never seen security forces passing through our neighborhoods. Several times a day we hear the thudding of massive military helicopters thundering over our heads. One week ago, there was just one tank installation on alert outside our local police precinct. Now there are three. The grocery stores have become more crowded this week. We usually see quite a bit of mirthful banter among shoppers and store owners, but this week the banter has been replaced by a quiet and nervous resignation. Our Egyptian students are telling us that their families are discussing their fears at their evening dinner tables. For the first time since we have arrived, I hear students expressing their worries.

I share their sense of worry. I feel like there is a hurricane coming, and we are not prepared.

When the Going Gets Tough, the Tough Go to Greece

This photo of Nikitas is courtesy of TripAdvisor

 Dana and I are sitting in a sidewalk taverna in Athens called Nikitas, a family-owned ouzeri in the Psirri district in Athens. An ouzeri, we have come to discover, is a traditional Greek eating and drinking establishment. Although the name implies lots of ouzo being imbibed, none of the patrons at this jam-packed, outdoor restaurant are partaking. Most, like Dana, are drinking a small carafe of red wine or the local white retsina. Some, like me, are having a potent, Greek-style coffee with a carafe of water. All are eating. Nikitas has been here since the late 60s, serving up simple, Greek fare to a mostly local clientele. Nikitas is a favorite among Athenians looking for a wholesome, home-cooked meal. It does not disappoint.


The small ouzeri straddles both side of the Agion Anargyron, one of the main pedestrian-friendly thoroughfares that meanders through the Psirri district. With a nondescript, white, clapboard facade, the doors of Nikitas' two entrances are never shut. One entrance opens to the bustling kitchen. The other entrance leads inside to a couple of small rooms with tables. When the weather is warm enough, which is almost always the case here, everyone eats outside. The patrons of Nikitas sit at simple painted pine tables and chairs, dining under a host of square-shaped, mottled canvas umbrellas. Most of the tables are across the street from the taverna, sandwiched between the sealed brick of the Agion Anargyron and a lovely, 200-year-old Greek Orthodox church. It is a splendid setting on this warm, autumn day.


We start our meal with large loaf of fresh, olive bread and a Greek salad. The Greek is served no-nonsense, with a massive slab of herbed feta balanced atop the tomatoes, cucumbers and olives. Before we are half finished, Sofia, one of the owners, brings the mains over. Dana has ordered the roast pork with a side of fries, while I have gone for the moussaka. Although the fries are passable, the pork and the moussaka are divine. Halfway through the meal, Dana and I are wondering whether we can sell the house in Memphis to buy a place in Athens. Although I would end up looking like Marlon Brando, I could eat like this until I was corpulent enough to be buried in a piano box. Dana and I have officially found our favorite eaterie in Athens, and we are already planning to return before flying back to Cairo.

Artful graffiti, Psirri district

We chose Athens and its gritty, Bohemian, Psirri neighborhood weeks ago after an exhaustive research session. We knew we wanted to travel during the Muslim Eid holiday, but the situation here in Egypt did not make us confident that traveling inside the country to anything other than a Western-style resort on the Red Sea was a good idea. Sadly, we have not travelled much in Egypt since our arrival. We still have not gone to the Pyramids, for example. For the most part, travel inside Egypt is safe, but then there are those days. And in our defense, one cannot really tell when one of those days is dawning. So Athens won out over close challengers, Beirut and Munich.


When we travel, we like to avoid resorty-type places or splashy, starred hotels. We stay in those kinds of places when somebody else is picking up the tab for us. When we are making our own travel arrangements however, we like to stay somewhere local. Places like the Xiangzimen Hostel in Xian and the Saphaipae in Bangkok offer accommodating and comfortable private rooms while being incredibly tied into their local communities. And these places do not break the bank; something important for us traveling teachers. Staff at these kinds of places understand our desire to avoid heavily touristed experiences and make sensible recommendations accordingly. With such limited time, we appreciate this. So when we can, we seek out these kinds of places.

Foyer wall, City Circus

City Circus in Athens is one such place. Just over a year old, this locally-owned and operated, upscale hostel is deeply integrated into the local community. The proprietors for example, encourage residents to dine in neighborhood establishments that serve meals based on locally available fruits, vegetables and meats. We see another example in the sumptuous breakfast served every morning at the massive oak table in City Circus' main lobby. The main parts of the meal - the fresh yogurt, the best bread Dana says she has ever eaten, the fruits, the muesli, the jams, the honey - are all locally sourced. When we ask about shopping, the owner encourages us to take a look at some of the small, locally owned shops that showcase the work of local artisans. This is our kind of place, and when we come back - as we most certainly will - we will book the rooftop, balcony room again.

Acropolis amphitheater

Athens itself is an amazing city and much larger than I had thought. The city sprawls for miles and miles, radiating out in all directions, emanating from its still-vibrant, ancient heart. At the center of Athens, as it has been for millennia, is the Acropolis with its ruins. The Acropolis with the Parthenon on top, dominate the Athenian landscape, just as it should be. 


The visit to the Acropolis is a must see, so we head out on the first full day of our visit. We had not planned on seeing the beautiful ruins with thousands and thousands of our dearest friends nor had we planned on a torrential downpour, but that is what happened. The site is breathtaking despite the jostling crowds and the rain. The New Acropolis Museum, built in 2009 at the western end of the ancient site, spectacularly houses the remnants of the history of this ancient place. Some of the pieces in the museum's fine collection are just now seeing the light of day after having been locked away in storage for 200 years. 

Ruins at sunset

Perhaps the most amazing part of the city is its energy. Given the recent news on the state of the Greek economy,  I half expect to see acres of vacant lots haunted by one-time tycoons now morphed into derelict hobos. Far from it. Athenian streets teem with shoppers and food carts. Sure, there are a few empty windows here and there in the Psirri district, but for every empty window there seems to be two more new shops opening. After the sun descends behind the nearby craggy mountains, a vibrant night market rises up on either side of one of the city's central commuter rail stations. The Plaka, the center of tourism in Athens, is constantly buzzing with tourists from all over the continent and from the Arab world. All around the city I see the signs of a strong sense of urban renewal, from dilapidated buildings being lovingly restored to the city's push to encourage more sustainable development and artisan-friendly tourism. If there is a Greek recession, someone should have told the Athenians.

Tumbled Roman ruins in the heart of Athens

Still, the Greek economy has experienced record-setting decline in terms of GDP, leaving almost 1/3 of the Greek workforce without some means of gainful employment. Various news agencies report the unemployment rate being particularly acute among young Greeks, where up to 60% of people 25 and younger may be unemployed. Pessimists worry that the situation will continue to worsen in the face of massive cuts in government spending. Just off of Athens' busiest and most bustling thoroughfares for example, you will find once frenetic cafes and restaurants now just yawning caverns, silent and empty. 

Back at Nikitas' however, the tables are packed and the conversation is lively. Customers, including Dana and me, are enjoying yet another superb meal, dining without a care in the world. After the meal we thank Sofia, the owner who has been waiting on us this evening, for the lovely meal and the equally lovely atmosphere. We tell her that we will definitely be back. She thanks us, mentally making the sign of the cross, and says that God willing, Nikitas will still be here when we return.

 
This week's photos by Dana Purpura except where noted.

In the Steps of St. Antoni, Part 3

Greeted at the gate by Father Rawais

He has a wizard's white beard, and he wears black, flowing robes. Atop his head, he wears a religious skullcap identical to the other 144 monks in St. Antoni's Monastery. His short stature belies a robust, expansive and sometimes contradictory personality. Having been in the monastery for 35 years, he is one of St. Antoni's most senior members. His name is Father Rawais (pronounced ru'-eez) Antoni, and he is at the moment, very angry.

We know this because he is telling us so.

"Right now, I am very angry." He slowly waves his hands up and down as if making a snow angel in the air. The pace at which he is waving his hands does not suggest anger however, nor does his measured voice.  Still, he continues.

"If I come to your house, I do not just walk around inside while you are away. People simply do not do this. This is why I am angry."

Like a teenager, I hang my head. Every other member of our travel group does the same. While waiting for Father Rawais to arrive to tour us round the inside of the monastery, we wandered about. We were not causing any bother or making much in the way of noise, mind you; just poking about ... in and around some of the monks' cells. No one had told us where to wait, so some of us wandered (makes for an interesting metaphor, eh?).

For the record, I was not one of the wanderers. Having spent quite a bit of time in Catholic schools and serving as an altar boy, I was taught to wait patiently while the members of the clergy tended to their business. I cannot speak for the others in my group, but my head-hanging is the product of an attempt to hide the amusement of my being chided. It has been a long time since I have been reprimanded, so I am trying to stifle and suppress a smile and a laugh.

After finishing his measured tirade, Father Rawais pauses, breathing a heavy, intentional sigh. Within a second, the thunderclouds pass over his face giving way to a radiant, beaming smile.

"My name is Rawais Antoni, and I have been a member of this community for 35 years. I do not look this old, do I?"

It is the first of many questions expressed in an almost rhetorical manner that leaves us suspended in a constant state of awkward uncertainty. Should we answer? Is an answer even wanted? If we answer, will we get scolded again? It makes for a strange afternoon, but strange in a good, light-hearted way.

The towers of the monastery

During the first half hour of our tour with Father Rawais, we discover many interesting facets of monastery. The monastery was not founded in a classic sense but rather took shape slowly after the death of St. Antoni. The monastery itself has been in continuous operation for more than 1600 years save for a few years in the 1500s when Berber marauders plundered the facility, slaughtering all of the inhabitants. From the time the monastery was reestablished after the Berber raids up until about 90 years ago, the only way in and out was through a cleverly constructed winch and pulley system that required guests to ring a bell from outside the walls if they wanted to be hoisted into the confines of the monastery. Only the promise of protection from a nearby British garrison convinced the monks to finally build a gate.

We also learn some interesting aspects about the monks who live in this place. Men wanting to become a part of the fellowship here must serve a three-year apprenticeship as a novice before being considered. All of the monks possess the equivalent of a Bachelor's degree, and several of the monks have earned Master's degrees and a few hold PhDs. Father Rawais emphasizes this last point as if to suggest that we should perhaps address him as "Doctor Father Rawais." When the apprentice-novice becomes a fully fledged member of the community, he forsakes his family name and adopts the name, Antoni, as his new family name. So there are 145 current members of the Antoni family living and working in the monastery. All of the monks have two full-time jobs. The first is to spend time engaged in prayer for others. Following in the Christian monastic tradition, the monks here pray eight times per day. The second job is to spend time in the service of the monastery. Monks here serve as builders, field workers, bee keepers, carpenters, and even as the odd English-speaking tour guide.

In time, we come to learn more about our contrary guide. Father Rawais says the simple, religious life revolves around the Bible, the Church and sincere prayer. He occupies what he says is the choicest cell in the monastery. He lived for three years in Seattle, and knows some of the Seattle neighborhoods quite well. He has an affinity for Starbucks, bold-roasted coffee ... when he can get it. He has an email address and keeps up a lively international correspondence. He has an iPhone 5 which he says is for emergencies. It rings twice during our tour, and Father Rawais excuses himself to answer both times. He likes sunglasses. He also likes one of our friend's flashlights, and he guilts her into giving it to him. He thanks her many awkward minutes later. He has a bad leg, and he proudly displays it to anyone who cares to look; I saw it twice. Because of the bad leg, he needs assistance going up and down the stairs. Being the good recovering-Catholic that I am, I volunteer on several occasions, and on each occasion, Father Rawais nicely but firmly tries to save my soul.

Father Rawais shows us his bad leg

"Kyle, you must remember three things in life in order to be happy."

"Yes, Father Rawais. I remember you telling me earlier."

"You must remember the Bible."

"Yes, Father, I will remember."

"You must remember to go to the Church."

"Yes, Father, I will."

"And you must remember the prayer; the prayer is important, Kyle."

"Yes, Father, I will remember."

And so the afternoon goes on in a similar fashion. We learn more about the monastery and the fascinating lives of the men who dwell here. We learn more about Father Rawais, and he makes a few more attempts to secure for me a sublime afterlife; bless him. 

After three hours, we reluctantly leave this beautiful place and the curious characters that inhabit it. It is easy for me to imagine the real Antoni, so torn between the life of luxury that he inherited and the life of suffering he witnessed so often around him. It is easy for me to imagine that man, forsaking everything to come here, to this beautiful oasis in the center of the Great Eastern Desert, in order to find himself and his spiritual center. Standing here, with a gentle, cool afternoon breeze blowing down from the mountains, I can understand this man and his desire for simplicity.

We file past Father Rawais one by one, shaking his hand and thanking him for his time. I am one of the last to leave his company.

"Kyle ...., " he begins in an earnest whisper.

"Yes, Father Rawais?" I am steeling myself for one last frontal assault on my pagan spirit.

"You wife is very lovely."

"Yes, Father Rawais, she is indeed."

This week's photos by the lovely, Dana Purpura. Father Rawais approves this message.

In the Steps of St. Antoni, Part 2

Crosses on the way up to the cave

We stand atop the Red Sea mount, awed, the desert valley far below us and a cool, Saharan wind sweeping our faces and roaring in our ears. It was here, over 1700 years ago, that St. Antoni would have emerged from his cave and looked out over the arid vista to the north. He called this place home for over 40 years. That I am here now is nothing short of a miracle. Standing here, I am transfixed, silent and solemn. I sense the vast desert, and I feel all at once insignificant and a part of the arid world around me. I am aware of only the wind, the sand and the sky. Moments or minutes pass; I am uncertain which. At some point I slowly regain my senses, a dreamer awakening from slumber.

I am me again instead of a small quiet speck of desert.

Entrance to St. Antoni's cave

The entrance to St. Antoni's cave is not much more than a crack in the side of a sandstone mountain, the top of which looms above us. From the valley below, the entrance would be completely unnoticeable. It is perhaps two meters high and barely a shoulders' width wide. Even from our vantage point just a few meters away, the entrance looks sufficiently narrow to make me think twice about wriggling my way in. But I have struggled up 1200 or more steps to get here, and I have brought a flashlight along; might as well chance it.

Dana and I approach slowly, and as we do we can feel and smell the cooler air of the inside of the cave. Another member of our company decides to quickly temper her intense claustrophobia, and she hastily joins us. I get the sense that had she waited a couple of seconds longer, she would have chickened out. Two steps inside of the cave, and I have to crouch and shimmy my way past a smooth outcropping of sandstone that blocks our view of the passage ahead. Lonely Planet was right, this cave is for the svelte and non-claustrophobic.

St. Antoni's icon

Once we pass the sandstone outcropping, we need the flashlights. Dana and our friend are not too happy about this. Flashlights snapped on, we realize that there is a u-shaped set of stairs that leads down to the cave itself. I hear sounds of hesitation behind me. I sidestep down the stairs, but I still have to crouch in the tiny cave. The cave is crowded even for one person. Dirt floor and craggy walls, this was St. Antoni's home for a long stretch of time; unbelievable.

There are only two items inside the cave that speak of St. Antoni's long residence here. On one wall, a lovely enameled icon depicting the holy monk has been mounted into the sandstone. There is a locked reliquary set into the opposite wall. Aside from this, the cave is empty. Feeling cramped, we do not tarry as we did on the the perch outside of the cave. Despite the fact that this is where St. Antoni spent years and years praying in splendid solitude, the cramped confines of the cave do not lend themselves to evoking the sense of awe and mysticism we experienced outside.

Time to leave. 

We pass through the narrow passage in silence. The long trek down the metal-framed stairs likewise passes in near silence. The climb and the scenery are having a profound impact on us all, leaving us speechless for the most part. Father Rawais was correct, the experience at St. Antoni's cave has readied us for a tour of one of the oldest monasteries in the world.

Monks' cells, St. Antoni's Monastery

Photographs taken by Dana and Kyle Purpura

In the Steps of St. Antoni, Part 1

In the southwest portion of the Great Eastern Desert, almost halfway between Cairo's sprawl and Hurghada's seaside opulence, lies the Monastery of St. Antoni. Founded over 1700 years ago, this ancient place is one of the oldest monasteries in the world. The buildings and small plots of farmland that make up the monastery are nestled comfortably and safely within a crooked arm of the Red Sea Mountains. According to the traditions of the monks that reside in this oasis community, it is here, during the late period of the Roman occupation of Egypt, that St. Antoni gave away his lands and all of his possessions to lead a life of solitude, prayer and asceticism.

He lived in a small cave high up in the mountains, climbing down everyday day or two to replenish his water skins from one of the three fresh springs bubbling up in the nearby valley oasis. Presumably he also descended from his mountain perch to hunt and eat. After a few years, rumors of his holiness spread throughout the desert communities, and he began to attract a following. A monastic community was thus born in the oasis below Antoni's mountain cave. The community was one of the firsts of its kind, a precursor to the monastic communities that would become common throughout the Christian world.

Father Rawais Antoni

We are here on this hot, late September day, pilgrims of sorts, hoping to walk in Antoni's steps; to experience just a little of a life of monastic seclusion in the majestic panorama that is Egypt's Eastern Desert. We are greeted by the venerable Father Rawais Antoni. White beard and black robes flowing, he meets us at the great gate in front of the monastery, and he suggests that we first climb the 1200 or so steps to visit the cave where Antoni spent more than 40 years of his life. After this struggle to get up to the cave, he says, we should then be ready to tour the monastery below.

We travel to the base of a nearby, rocky mountain. Pausing in the heat of a direct, Saharan sun, we survey the metal-framed stairway zigzagging up the side of the mountain and ending in cement perch hundreds of meters above us. This will be a long and sweaty climb.

Steps leading to St. Antoni's cave

And it is.

Twenty years or so ago, I would have reveled in this kind of thing. Trudging up a thousand steps on a hot, early afternoon was just the kind of challenge I would have liked when I was 27. Now that I am 47, out of shape and with a bad knee, the challenge seems more like survival. I am one of the oldest in the group, and I take my time, lagging behind the rest. Although the sun is scorchingly hot, a cool, desert breeze swirls around us, making the climb a little easier. 

During frequent rests, Dana and I stop to take in and photograph the scenery. The wild and empty expanse of the Eastern Desert opens up before us as we slowly climb higher and higher. Maybe it is the altitude or the steps, but the oasis and the broad, arid valley below make for a breathtaking sight. Along the way up and at odd intervals, I notice that past pilgrims have walked off of the path and onto nearby rocky outcroppings to "cairn" piles of rocks. Others have staked make-shift metal crosses into the unforgiving, stony ground. Crosses that have been here the longest now lean in a gravity-defying way just like many of the weary would-be pilgrims struggling and stooping to make this climb. 

The view from the halfway point

At three-quarters of the way up I stop, red-faced and huffing from the exertion. Discomfited, I am amazed by the thought that Antoni lived to be 105 years old and that he had to have made this climb every other day for over forty years. Being half this age and much better fed, I don't have much of an excuse. Divinely inspired, I force my way up the last few hundred steps.

I am not disappointed. Dana and I finally make it to the top of the stairs, walking out onto a cement stage that the monks have built just outside of Antoni's cave. We are 300 meters or so above the desert floor, and we are looking out over miles and miles of ochre, barren valleys and the dusky purple crags of distant ridges. Far below, the monastery looks like a small model made for some museum display in Cairo. Gusty Saharan winds carrying fine grains of sand roar in our ears, buffeting our clothing and covering us all in a fine layer of golden silt. We have to yell to make ourselves be heard, although conversation here is at a minimum. Most of us are perfectly content to stand in the solitude letting the desert wilderness consume all that we see and hear. 

It is a powerful and humbling experience.

The view from St. Antoni's cave

This week's photos taken by Dana and Kyle Purpura

Back in the news cycle (again)

Although Friday is the holy day of the week for Muslims, Friday protests against the military government here continue unabated. The protestors are a strange mixture. Some are conservative Muslims, many of them members of the Muslim Brotherhood, who want Egypt's first democratically elected president, Mohamed Morsi, released from jail and reinstalled. In early July, Morsi was removed from power by the Egyptian military, and he has been in jail awaiting trial on conspiracy charges since. Other protestors are liberal-minded Egyptians, usually students in their late teens and early twenties, who may or may not have been Morsi supporters but who want an end to military rule.

Since July there have been mass protests, many of them ironically culminating on a Friday, the holy day of the week throughout the Muslim world. When afternoon prayers end the mosques empty out, and the protests begin. With the speed of a superhero, a worshiper transforms into a street protestor in a couple of minutes; no phone booth needed.

Since August, when the military government cracked down on two camps of pro-Morsi and pro-democracy supporters and killed hundreds, the weekly Friday protests have been relatively tame and peaceful. Nonetheless, they have happened. It was only a matter of time until a particularly fervent group mustered up the courage to attempt to carry their street protest into the hermetically sealed Tahrir Square, the launch pad for the 2011 Revolution.

A large and boisterous group made such an attempt on the night of October 4th. They came with flags and banners, rocks and Molotov cocktails. They were met by police squads armed with tear gas cannisters and live ammunition. Four protestors died.

This coming Sunday is a holiday here in Egypt; Armed Forces Day. Given that not all Egyptians want to celebrate the role of the military in society right now, we are expecting more trouble this weekend and on into Monday. In two weeks the religious celebration of Eid begins, and many Egyptians will have the week off. Most will enjoy a huge feasts, dining with family and friends. Others will take to the streets. Protests will continue unabated. We are bracing ourselves - unfortunately - for another round of violence. 

Postscript (October 7, 2013): Sadly, 51 protestors were killed throughout Egypt on Armed Forces Day.