All cities are noisy. Cities in developing countries are noisier still. Cairo, so they say, is the noisiest city in the world. Using the car horn to get through traffic is the main offender, but people also say that the Egyptian way of talking is loud and guttural. The latter point is debatable. However, if you are in Egypt for a while you do start to long for silence, so here are a few suggestions of where to find it.
Outside all the big hotels in Cairo which are ranged along the banks of the Nile and on Zamalek Island you can hire a felucca. The best time is sundown. The Nile in Cairo runs almost directly south to north; so on a clear day the west bank is bathed in the most beautiful golden light while the east bank becomes completely dark. The asymmetric effect is disorienting. It’s only a shame that most of the buildings on the river banks are hideous concrete monstrosities – evidence of a dictatorship combining its interests with capitalism. Feluccas rely on sail power and so once you get out into the middle of the river complete silence falls, it’s a very relaxing, hypnotic feeling. At about 5.50 pm, the first distant wail of a muezzin starts up from somewhere. Quickly all the mosques call out to the faithful. Apparently there are 1000 mosques in Cairo and in a few minutes you can hear all of them, each in a slightly different register. The total effect is like listening to a harmonious polyphony in a low volume echo chamber. It is transfixing.
The other place to find a beautiful silence in Cairo is in the Coptic Museum after hours. The Coptic patriarch established the museum when European archaeologists were removing Egyptian antiquities as fast as boats would carry them back to the Louvre, the British Museum and the Pergamon Museum. The Coptic Museum was established to save some of these antiquities for Egypt. It is a beautiful building set around a tranquil courtyard full of date palms and orange trees. The windows are in traditional Egyptian style, covered with dark wooden intricate trellis work, to filter in the light of the sun while keeping out the heat of the day. At sundown the golden light plays through the windows in filigree patterns on the sandy walls. Inside the museum are lovely frescoes from desert monasteries, some of the earliest sites of worship in Christendom. You can see the beginning of the Iconic tradition still strong in the Orthodox tradition. Perhaps even a little hint of the Romanesque, but that might be your imagination.
Christianity is said to have arrived in Egypt in 45 AD, just 12 years after the death of Jesus Christ. Since then the Coptic Church has flourished, waned and flourished again. But it flourishes now and has a special place in the cultural, linguistic and archaeological history of Egypt. The Coptic era is the bridge between Pharaonic and Ptolemaic Egypt and Islamic Egypt. To this day prayers are said in Aramaic, the language of Christ’s preaching. Many of the items on displays are funerary ornaments and feature the dead person laid out with their arms splayed back beside their head, like a baby asleep. They are often set in alcoves of Corinthian pillars with a Coptic cross above showing the long exchange of decorative and religious ideas between Egypt’s great religions, both past and present. This tradition of syncretism, borrowing from past religious and cultural traditions to establish new ones, is a feature of all ancient cultures and societies, including for example India and China. The Coptic tradition does not have the glamour and drama of the Pharaohs and is therefore readily ignored, but it should not be ignored. The pleasures of the Coptic tradition are the pleasures of heartfelt devotion set against a vast historical backdrop going back to the several roots of our civilisation.
The Coptic tradition has been very much revived in the last 150 years or so by enlightened, outward looking Patriarchs and monks. Sadat, Egypt’s second military ruler, exiled the Coptic Pope from Cairo, which is perhaps some kind of compliment. At least he must have been relevant. There are now six million devotees, almost all in Egypt. The sites of the Coptic monasteries in the desert are around the ancient oasis of Wadi Natrun, now a poor and dusty desert town. The monastery of St Bishoi attracts many thousands of devout Coptic pilgrims. It is nearly, but not quite silent. You can hear the quiet sobbing of a troubled pilgrim asking for the saint’s help while family members look on morosely. Who knows what troubles they face, illness, penury – perhaps the Saint can help. The pilgrims gather around the tomb of the saint and stroke the casket, which has been worn shiny by the hands of the faithful. The casket is shaped like a body and has an effigy of the Saint on the cover. The structure and style is not dissimilar to the tombs of the Pharaohs.
You can also hear the Monks praying at small altars behind a curtain with a painting of the Saint. Once they have finished praying they emerge from behind the screen in their long black soutanes and their tight fitting caps which stretch down like veils to their shoulders and flap in the wind as they walk. All have long beards but they have tidily trimmed and squared off at the bottom. They leave the church one by one, still munching the bread broken in the name of the body of Christ in the service. Again silence is not quite possible, because they greet passing strangers cheerfully. They all seem to speak good English:
Monk to tourist: “Hi, how are you?”
Tourist replies: “Fine, thanks. This is a lovely place.”
Monk: “What religion are you?”
Tourist pauses and decides to avoid a long complicated explanation of their doubts and certainties and replies: “Catholics.”
Monk, still chewing bread, replies: “Ah well, you’re the same as us. You have seven sacraments and we have seven sacraments. Anyway, nice to see you.” And he wanders off between the ancient red domes of mud and sand looking down at the ground with his hands behind his back, humming to himself. Silence returns.
The monks are not enclosed and are passionate social actors and agents. An Abbot of one of the nearby monasteries set his monks the target of producing enough food to feed 1000 people each. The monks rose to the challenge and have mastered pinpoint irrigation, greening the desert with, for example, banana trees. They have also mastered bovine embryology; not for them a life of irrelevance and sequestration.
Alexandria, another noisy city, has one or two places where silence is to be found. One is in the basement of the National Museum in Alexandria, one of the most beautiful and - beautifully lit – museums in the world containing a remarkable collection of Greek, Ptolemaic and Coptic artefacts. The basement is a Pharaoh’s tomb. In the centre is the boy God-King’s golden death mask and casket covering his mummy. Another casket is suspended open to show how the intricate designs and hieroglyphics are repeated at each layer of the casket. Statues of Horus, the hawk, and Anubis, the dog, guard the entrance. No living person was ever meant to enter here so take care.
Absolute silence can be guaranteed diving in the Mediterranean. Under the ocean are sphinxes and statues of Pharaohs and Egyptian gods which have been submerged in earthquakes during the long centuries of Alex’s decline during which the great capital of Alexander the Great was reduced to a fishing village. Cleopatra is said to lie somewhere beneath this ocean as her palace was on an island long engulfed by the Mediterranean. Nobody knows exactly where Alexander is buried. His silent sleep, unlike so many of the Pharaohs, is for the moment undisturbed.
Outside all the big hotels in Cairo which are ranged along the banks of the Nile and on Zamalek Island you can hire a felucca. The best time is sundown. The Nile in Cairo runs almost directly south to north; so on a clear day the west bank is bathed in the most beautiful golden light while the east bank becomes completely dark. The asymmetric effect is disorienting. It’s only a shame that most of the buildings on the river banks are hideous concrete monstrosities – evidence of a dictatorship combining its interests with capitalism. Feluccas rely on sail power and so once you get out into the middle of the river complete silence falls, it’s a very relaxing, hypnotic feeling. At about 5.50 pm, the first distant wail of a muezzin starts up from somewhere. Quickly all the mosques call out to the faithful. Apparently there are 1000 mosques in Cairo and in a few minutes you can hear all of them, each in a slightly different register. The total effect is like listening to a harmonious polyphony in a low volume echo chamber. It is transfixing.
The other place to find a beautiful silence in Cairo is in the Coptic Museum after hours. The Coptic patriarch established the museum when European archaeologists were removing Egyptian antiquities as fast as boats would carry them back to the Louvre, the British Museum and the Pergamon Museum. The Coptic Museum was established to save some of these antiquities for Egypt. It is a beautiful building set around a tranquil courtyard full of date palms and orange trees. The windows are in traditional Egyptian style, covered with dark wooden intricate trellis work, to filter in the light of the sun while keeping out the heat of the day. At sundown the golden light plays through the windows in filigree patterns on the sandy walls. Inside the museum are lovely frescoes from desert monasteries, some of the earliest sites of worship in Christendom. You can see the beginning of the Iconic tradition still strong in the Orthodox tradition. Perhaps even a little hint of the Romanesque, but that might be your imagination.
Christianity is said to have arrived in Egypt in 45 AD, just 12 years after the death of Jesus Christ. Since then the Coptic Church has flourished, waned and flourished again. But it flourishes now and has a special place in the cultural, linguistic and archaeological history of Egypt. The Coptic era is the bridge between Pharaonic and Ptolemaic Egypt and Islamic Egypt. To this day prayers are said in Aramaic, the language of Christ’s preaching. Many of the items on displays are funerary ornaments and feature the dead person laid out with their arms splayed back beside their head, like a baby asleep. They are often set in alcoves of Corinthian pillars with a Coptic cross above showing the long exchange of decorative and religious ideas between Egypt’s great religions, both past and present. This tradition of syncretism, borrowing from past religious and cultural traditions to establish new ones, is a feature of all ancient cultures and societies, including for example India and China. The Coptic tradition does not have the glamour and drama of the Pharaohs and is therefore readily ignored, but it should not be ignored. The pleasures of the Coptic tradition are the pleasures of heartfelt devotion set against a vast historical backdrop going back to the several roots of our civilisation.
The Coptic tradition has been very much revived in the last 150 years or so by enlightened, outward looking Patriarchs and monks. Sadat, Egypt’s second military ruler, exiled the Coptic Pope from Cairo, which is perhaps some kind of compliment. At least he must have been relevant. There are now six million devotees, almost all in Egypt. The sites of the Coptic monasteries in the desert are around the ancient oasis of Wadi Natrun, now a poor and dusty desert town. The monastery of St Bishoi attracts many thousands of devout Coptic pilgrims. It is nearly, but not quite silent. You can hear the quiet sobbing of a troubled pilgrim asking for the saint’s help while family members look on morosely. Who knows what troubles they face, illness, penury – perhaps the Saint can help. The pilgrims gather around the tomb of the saint and stroke the casket, which has been worn shiny by the hands of the faithful. The casket is shaped like a body and has an effigy of the Saint on the cover. The structure and style is not dissimilar to the tombs of the Pharaohs.
You can also hear the Monks praying at small altars behind a curtain with a painting of the Saint. Once they have finished praying they emerge from behind the screen in their long black soutanes and their tight fitting caps which stretch down like veils to their shoulders and flap in the wind as they walk. All have long beards but they have tidily trimmed and squared off at the bottom. They leave the church one by one, still munching the bread broken in the name of the body of Christ in the service. Again silence is not quite possible, because they greet passing strangers cheerfully. They all seem to speak good English:
Monk to tourist: “Hi, how are you?”
Tourist replies: “Fine, thanks. This is a lovely place.”
Monk: “What religion are you?”
Tourist pauses and decides to avoid a long complicated explanation of their doubts and certainties and replies: “Catholics.”
Monk, still chewing bread, replies: “Ah well, you’re the same as us. You have seven sacraments and we have seven sacraments. Anyway, nice to see you.” And he wanders off between the ancient red domes of mud and sand looking down at the ground with his hands behind his back, humming to himself. Silence returns.
The monks are not enclosed and are passionate social actors and agents. An Abbot of one of the nearby monasteries set his monks the target of producing enough food to feed 1000 people each. The monks rose to the challenge and have mastered pinpoint irrigation, greening the desert with, for example, banana trees. They have also mastered bovine embryology; not for them a life of irrelevance and sequestration.
Alexandria, another noisy city, has one or two places where silence is to be found. One is in the basement of the National Museum in Alexandria, one of the most beautiful and - beautifully lit – museums in the world containing a remarkable collection of Greek, Ptolemaic and Coptic artefacts. The basement is a Pharaoh’s tomb. In the centre is the boy God-King’s golden death mask and casket covering his mummy. Another casket is suspended open to show how the intricate designs and hieroglyphics are repeated at each layer of the casket. Statues of Horus, the hawk, and Anubis, the dog, guard the entrance. No living person was ever meant to enter here so take care.
Absolute silence can be guaranteed diving in the Mediterranean. Under the ocean are sphinxes and statues of Pharaohs and Egyptian gods which have been submerged in earthquakes during the long centuries of Alex’s decline during which the great capital of Alexander the Great was reduced to a fishing village. Cleopatra is said to lie somewhere beneath this ocean as her palace was on an island long engulfed by the Mediterranean. Nobody knows exactly where Alexander is buried. His silent sleep, unlike so many of the Pharaohs, is for the moment undisturbed.
Egypt photos at www.flickr.com/photos/gerardlemos/sets
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