Luxor

This past weekend was spent walking amongst some of the oldest known ruins in the world. We visited the Valley of Kings and walked through the eloquent tombs built to protect and guide pharaohs on their journey into the afterlife. The weekend also involved some necessary relaxation, reading, and hours spent lounging by our hotel’s beautiful rooftop pool. Needless to say, I love my time in Egypt, I am often overwhelmed by what I have seen, and I am extremely thankful for the amazing people accompanying me on this journey. Though I could spend paragraphs describing the wonders of ancient Egyptian temples, the soaring obelisks still towering like weary soldiers, the sturdy pillars reaching hundreds of feet towards heaven, and the intricate carvings depicting the historical conquests of long dead pharaohs, I was struck by something deeper as I wandered through the remains of this ancient civilization. From my very first moments in Egypt I have been struck and humbled by a rich, subtle and complex feeling of history. Growing up in an American society that is increasingly ahistorical, or, at the very worst, quick to believe that all of human history began and ended with the U S of A, it is always refreshing to be reminded of the vast history of the human race. This feeling has permeated my thoughts on faith, the Church, politics, and my role as a young American trying to reconcile his place in the world.

Paths unfold beneath my feet.
But like a ball of string
I never seem to roll back into my original form.

Mt. Sinai, Dahab and the Red Sea

watch out for the yellow ones...they don't stop.

I think my fear of crossing the street ended sometime around the age of 6. Since that time, I never seriously reconsidered my foot steps as I made my way from one sea of sidewalk to the other. That all changed about two weeks ago. For those of you who enjoyed computer games in the early to mid-90's, I can describe the traffic in Cairo in one word: Frogger. Other words that come to mind proceed as follows: chaos, madness, good God that guy almost got killed by a bus. To undertake this task, I have adopted several strategies. My the first technique is shadowing; or, like I have to come to call it: 'walking like an Egyptian". This strategy is rather simple. When approaching a street I simply locate the nearest Egpytian, stand near them, and follow their lead as they wade into the sea of taxis and buses. Thus far, this strategy has yet to fail. And I must say, it is an incredibly empowering feeling to navigate the traffic with an element of grace and speed. By December I will be doing it blind-folded. Just kidding Mom.

Qalaʿat Salāḥ ad-Dīn

Last Friday I took a little trip to the Citadel. A fort that was built to defend Cairo from the Crusaders. It later became the center of the Egyptian government. On Friday, though, it became the playground of four American boys. Sure don't get views like this back on the farm.

Nile Pics

The Paisley Palace

Psychologists will tell you that group dynamics and group cohesion are often best shaped by shared experiences. For anyone who has participated in international travel or study aboard experiences, this principle is practically a religious code. Though I am firm believer, I would like to add a lesser known, though equally relevant theory of my own—furniture. I’m not talking about your average couch, love seat or standard dining room set. These items rarely have the power to capture the imagination of six 20-something year old guys. No, to achieve this kind of feat, several qualities must be fulfilled. First, the couch must provide amble space for the minimum of six men, sprawled out after a long day. Second, despite the assumption of many women, color and pattern are important (though not essential). With this in mind, I invite you to close your eyes and take a little mental sojourn to an Egyptian apartment that I have come to call home over the past week. This apartment has been passed down through the generations of MESPers (Middle East Studies Program) and was entrusted to the six of us for the semester. Before entering the apartment, we were informed that our apartment had been christened ‘The Paisley Palace’, and that we had no choice but to embrace this fact. Why the Paisley Palace you ask? Well, it has a little something to do with the giant pink paisley couch that that adorns and occupies the majority of our living room. Instantly, this item became the unifying element for our flat. In minutes we had found our identity as the ‘Paisley Palace men’—we haven’t looked back since. Lying on the couch last night, I remembered something I first realized when I was in Germany: cities are just empty skeletons occupying a fixed space. People are what bring cities to life; people create memories and strengthen hearts. Looking at the five other guys lying on our paisley couch, I couldn’t help but smile, and be thankful for the new people in my life.

the sum of our parts is great

Yesterday I walked through a city of garbage. I peered into houses laden with the waste of others and watched skillful hands separate this rubbish: the by-products of a modern society. Through dusty streets 30 foreigners became spectacles for the eager eyes of children. They call this place “Garbage City”; but for thousands it is known as a much more innocuous name—home. Enveloped by the smoggy air of Cairo, this part of town contains a large population of Orthodox Christians. The hum of street vendors and the raucous roar of car horns accompanied our walk to the destination of our excursions—the cave churches. Here I heard stories of faith—faith that literally moved mountains, healed the lame and caused the blind to see. Within this garbage, beautiful churches were found and even more were built. With faith like a mustard seed, this community continued to expand and provide for its inhabitants. Yesterday I walked through a city of garbage. I peered into my own wasted heart and found very little that resembled a mustard seed.