Rascal Chuck and the Heliopolis House Adventure

             The gig is up, as they say. We have no option but to tell Noah the truth. Especially after Chuck lets out another BIG MEOW.

 

         “Yes. He’s our cat. Chuck.”

 

         Noah opens his mouth to say something. Probably, the usual. Cats aren’t allowed in . . . but he doesn’t. We’re long gone from the seminary and finally heading toward Dan’s house in Heliopolis. We all know that getting into the house, at this point, will be a long shot. There are always complications in Egypt. So, Chuck being there, amazingly, is less of a threat.

 

         Which is super good news because finally Chuck is interested in what’s going on. He wants to see the house. We have no idea why except that maybe we’ve been talking about it for the last year or so . . . Chuck maybe imagines it to be some grandiose structure, surrounded by catnip gardens.

 

         Anyway, all Noah does is nod and then the focus is on finding the house. Dan still remembers his address after many years. He’s said it out loud every so often. It always sounds totally incomprehensible to me. Luckily, he can spell it—in Arabic—and Noah has put it into his GPS so we find this illusive house without too much trouble. We park the car and hit our first obstacle.

         The gate keeper. Now, in America, you encounter a gate with a guard (and clipboard) only when you want to meet a very wealthy or very important person, and you usually have an appointment. Here, in Egypt, we have no appointment. The gate keeper only speaks Arabic, and Dan’s house now belongs to a church. 

 

         Dan’s Arabic has slowly been coming back since we arrived in Egypt, but it’s not nearly good enough to explain why we want to get inside the gate and see the house. Noah tries to explain in his faltering Arabic. For some odd reason, the gate keeper gets it and lets us through. Miracle #1

 

         He doesn’t even blink when he sees Chucky. Miracle #2

 

         But the house is locked. A phone call has to be made. To the head church guy. Who has to agree. He does. And then he has to find the grounds keeper who has the key. As we’re waiting, we’re offered a soda. It seems the idea that Dan grew up in this house enthralls everyone. In fact, a guy shows up out of nowhere insisting he used to play baseball with Dan. The guy with the key shows up and unlocks the house. Miracle #3

         

            We’re in. Chucky’s in. It’s only polite to wait for a tour. Dan is looking around trying to remember which room is which. The house is now a kind of meeting place for church officials, fund raising projects, etc. There is no sign of anything from when he lived there—only the  rooms are the same and yet different—the kitchen, dining room, the bedrooms and the porch out back. 

 

         Chucky, however, has taken a different view. He’s going to sniff out the entire place. Leave not a corner unsniffed. He is determined to get his fill as if he’s been comissioned with writing a report on this house once we’re back in America. He's also being very secretive about it. 

          We begin walking room to room. Dan is enjoying this trip down memory lane, gleefully recounting stories of how they belonged to the local swim club during the summer. Of how he used to take the local tram across town to take piano lessons when he was ten. 

 

         “Where is Chucky, by the way?” Dan suddenly asks.

 

         “Somewhere sniffing.”  

         Dan doesn't look surprised. 

         "What's going on?"

      

         "Well, I might have implied that there's a small garden of . . . " 

         Sure enough, Chucky has somehow found his way outside and is sniffing the perimeter of the house, in search of the supposed garden. Outside a bunch of boys are playing ball.

          "Is there any catnip back there, really?"

          "I had to find someway to keep him happy."

           "You're right. He was moping around. But you know, you gave him mission impossible." 

            "He should be thanking us."

           Now, of course, we feel incredibly guilty. 

           But all is well. The boys spot Chucky and run over to pet him. He is the center of attention. Which he loves. They decide to make him the mascot for their team.

            Chucky never finds the garden or the catnip. But the rascal cat is purring away and that makes all the difference. 

 

 

Rascal Chuck and the Holy Family?

        This is my idea and not Chuck's. Seeing the place where the Holy Family stayed centuries ago is not his idea. In all honesty, I'm not even sure if he knows who the Holy Family is. Chuck has never been to church and never meowed a prayer. He probably doesn't have a religious bone in his cat body.

        Still it's hard to pass up opportunities when they fall in your lap. Dan and I are in Cairo, Egypt, visiting the Hanging Church and very, very nearby is the Saint Sergius and Bacchus Church. Which means nothing to most people but if you know your history, you know that you are about to walk into a place where Mary and Joseph and the infant Jesus most likely, most probably stayed when they needed to find refuge from King Herod's decree--called the Massacre or Slaughter of the Innocents. Herod ordered the massacre/slaughter of all male children who were two years or younger and lived in the vicinity of Bethlehem. (He'd heard the prophesy that Jesus was coming.) Bingo. That's all Joseph needed to hear. He left Israel and came to Egypt.

        "Should we even bring Chucky into this Church?" I ask. 

        "I'll keep him in my backpack." 

        It sounds like a good plan. Of course, we have to explain where we're going so we give the rascal cat the shortened version of the story that brings us here. Important people. You don't know them. They stayed here. Many years ago. In fact, Joseph is believed to have worked at the Babylon fortress, an Ancient Roman fortress built around 30 BC. while they were here. 

        Babylon, at that time, was a town of some importance, we tell Chucky, as we are entering the Church. But he's already midway to a catnap.  Frankly, I'm relieved. The last thing I want is for him to do something crazy. Not in this church. Please.

        We learn that Babylon was the headquarters of three legions of soldiers who insured that Egypt stay under Rome's control.

       We learn that the Church is dedicated to Sergius and Bacchus, soldier-saints martyred during the 4th century in Syria. 

        Inside the Church is the crypt where the Holy Family rested, which I'm most anxious to see. We put the backpack with Chuck in a pew in the corner. Chucky is still napping. His eyes are closed. So far so good. 

    

  

    

    The crypt is ten meters deep. I stare at it for a long time.

        There is only one more thing to see. The well that the Holy Family drank from.

        

       I can hardly believe I'm here. I look around and frankly don't know what I expect to see. Perhaps, a vision? I know that's a bit ridiculous, but just the idea that Joseph and Mary and Jesus, who I've heard about all my life, were actually here in this very spot is unnerving. 

        I'm amazed that other people around me are walking around like they're in Burger King or something. Some are laughing. Pointing. Missing the significance? Is my faith deeper than I suspected?

        Rascal Chuck, for the first time, behaves like a very normal cat. He could have jumped into the well, for example. Or he could have made a scene in the crypt. But he causes no trouble. Outside the Church, when we're in the van, going back to the hotel, we give him a handful of his favorite treats--those chicken flavored Temptations. As a reward.

        Then we're worried. Is he sick? It's not like Chuck to be so well behaved. But he's munching away and purring so our fears are laid to rest. Maybe, he does know after all, that we were in a very special place. 

        No sense getting on His bad side! 

Rascal Chuck and the Hookah Pipe

        After we leave the mosque, we decide to visit one of the most famous tourist markets in Cairo--the Kahan el-Khalili Bazaar. We want to float down the streets and see the locals, the shops, the food, the architecture and become totally immersed in the Egyptian experience. The bazaar is located in Cairo's historic center and is home to many Egyptian artisans and workshops. There are street food vendors and small, traditional coffeeshops, the oldest of which dates back to 1773.  

     

      We're not sure how Chuck is going to react to the crowds so it's good we've come earlier before the bazaar is super crowded. Dan carries him around in his backpack as we walk past the shops. 

      Our pace is not exactly leisurely because--full disclosure--Chuck and I harbor this secret desire to smoke a hookah pipe, and we're on our way to a hookah shop. I don't smoke cigarettes. I don't vape. But there is something about the hookah pipe Chuck and I both find fascinating. 

        For me, it dates back to a film I saw years ago. Picture a very handsome Egyptian man and and English girl, in an open air restaurant, located on an Egyptian rooftop, smoking a hookah pipe. They are relaxed. He hands her the pipe. Luscious music wafts through the air. She's wearing a veil over her hair (in keeping with the Egyptian customs) that gently sways in the breeze. She inhales and a smile forms on her face. 

        For Chuck, it was probably something he saw on the History Channel.

        Egypt is known for having the best hookahs. Some people say that smoking a hookah, which is essentially a water pipe, is less harmful than a cigarette but that's not true. You are still literally smoking tobacco, which usually has either a fruit or molasses sugar added for flavoring. 

        Chuck and I are under no delusions. This is not something we should be doing a lot of (lung cancer, emphysema, etc.) but we intend to have one puff only. We want the experience. 

        "There they are, Chuck." 

        Our wonderful Egyptian guide is taking us to the store that sells the pipes, and there on display is the most magnificent array of colorful hookah pipes. We gaze in through the window in awe.  

      

        Luckily, there is a small room in the back where you can smoke a hookah if you want. Chuck and I are pumped. Yes. Finally. This is the day. (Dan, on the other hand, can't believe we're really going to do this.) 

        The store is amazingly small inside. We enter, walk through, and push aside a curtain to a small back room. Sure enough, there's a plain black scarred table with a hookah pipe, ready and waiting. The walls are lined with shelves, filled with stock for the store. Nothing romantic here. Nothing like the scene in the movie. I push away the momentary flash of disappointment I feel. After all, what did I expect? To push aside the curtain and end up in that same scene, to suddenly be transported to the top of an Egyptian roof?

        The steps are obvious. First, you need to fill the hookah pipe. Which has already been done. Believe it or not, there's a real art to filling your pipe--whether you put your tobacco in layers, mix it together, how moist or dry your tobacco should be, etc.) You then need to light the pipe and give it a chance to burn. 

        Our guide motions me over, and I pick the pipe up and bring it to my lips. As I inhale, the smoke that is generated from the hookah is warm. There is a bubbling sound. Smoke fills my lungs. I cough. I taste a slight apple taste. 

        (I actually cough quite a bit. Since I don't smoke cigarettes, any little smoke will set me off. So, for a moment, I almost fear the coughing which continues won't stop, but it does.) 

        And as for Chuck, the rascal cat, as he watches me take my one puff, (and literally cough my brains out) he becomes fascinated with the bubbles that the hookah makes.

        "Chuck, are you ready for your one puff?"

        No response. 

      "Chuck, this is your one and only chance."

         He jumps up on the table. I think he's going to go for it, but then . . . Sniff. Sniff. Sniff. What? 

         "Oh, well." He is more than happy just to sniff the aroma of the apple and tobacco.

        He's no dummy. When I rethink about the entire incident later, when we're safely ensconced back in our hotel room, I wonder if he didn't do the smarter thing!

       

        

Rascal Chuck Visits a Mosque

     After our encounter with the mummies, we decide to do something very different. Since we are still in the heart of Cairo, why not visit a mosque? But this is not just any mosque . . .

    I know what you're thinking. A mosque? Official definition: a place of prayer for Muslims. Usually they are covered buildings but they can be any place where prayers are performed, including outdoor courtyards. Nowadays, Muslims attend mosque on Friday for midday prayers, teaching, and sermons. Mosques are also used for weddings, funerals, Ramadan festivals, community spaces and sometimes offered as homeless shelters. 

     The Ibn Toulum Mosque is on our radar because it is special. Chucky wants to know why we want to go there. I'm willing to tell all, but first . . .

      "No nonsense, here, Chuck. You must be on your best behavior."

      When a cat is listening, really listening, they do everything to act as if they can't hear a word. Chuck is on the ground in front of us, and he decides at that very moment to begin grooming himself. I know Chuck. I know all his tricks. In fact, Chuck is what I call an "over-groomer." 

     "Chuck, do you hear me?"

      But he only grooms more intently. It's as if he's just come in from outside and been caught in the middle of a rainstorm and desperately needs to clean his fur. Utterly ridiculous because he is sparkling clean.  

     Dan grabs hold of my arm. "He hears you."

    "This mosque is one of the oldest mosques in Egypt, in all of Africa," Dan explains in his most patient voice, directed mostly at Chuck. "And it's the largest mosque in Cairo."

    Chucky stops grooming and blinks once. Does that mean he's actually listening and is impressed?

    "Listen, buddy, it's built around an open square courtyard. There's a covered hall on each of its four sides. The largest hall faces Mecca." (the holiest city in Islam.)

     Before Chucky can blink or groan, I ask, "Who built it?"

    "The then Governor of Egypt had it built in 876 AD."

    "Whoa, that was a long time ago."

     "But that's not the best part . . ."

      I'm hoping there will be something even more exciting. We are now walking into the main entrance. The place is big. I read somewhere that the grounds cover close to six acres of land.  

      "The locals believe that this mosque on a hill was built on the exact spot where Noah's Ark landed after the flood."

      I glance over to see the expression on Chuck's face. At the moment he's focused on a stream of light that's shooting down into the courtyard. I'm busy looking around at this magnificent place.

      

        "Anything else that's exciting?" I ask.

       "They made part of a James Bond film here."

       "Really? Which one?"

       "The Spy Who Loved Me."

        One thing about Chuck--other than the History Channel, he doesn't care too much for film. Not even James Bond.

        "I think we better keep moving."

        Dan points. "To the minaret." 

        One of the distinguishing features of this mosque is the minaret. 

It is a tall, slender tower with a balcony from which Muslims are called to prayer. 

      Immediately, we decide we should go to the top because we want to see the million dollar view of Cairo.

    "To the very top?" I ask.

     Dan nods. He loves a good challenge. Even if it means climbing a few thousand steps around an edge where there isn't any edge to hold onto, where you're really high up and far from the ground. I could do it because heights don't freak me out but Dan? 

      As we get closer and closer, I remind him, "Aren't you afraid of heights?"

       No answer.

       We get to the first stage of the minaret and admire the magnificent views of Cairo.

     

       

 

    I see the minaret in the distance. I'm happy where I am. 

     Dan takes off. With Chucky. 

     I figure they will be gone a good twenty minutes or so. It is a beautiful morning. The air is fresh and clean. So, I'm a bit surprised when suddenly they're back--like eight minutes later.  

     "Well, how was it?"

     "Chuck changed his mind. He didn't want to go."

     Chuck? The rascal cat? The kid that hardly ever steps away from an adventure? He changed his mind?  There has got to be more to the story.

      "What happened?"

      "Nothing. Really. We were on our way up. And we got to that first bend." He points to that part where there is no ledge at all as you go around.

       I nod. Totally understanding. More than he thinks I understand.

       "We were pretty high up off the ground."

       Images flash back. When we climbed up the pyramid that time on that rickety metal ladder-like structure that had a railing that ended just at the crucial point where Dan needed it most. 

       "Chucky is afraid of heights, I suppose," I say.

        No answer. 

        "Well, you can't blame the kid. A phobia is a phobia."

        I look down at Chuck. I'm not going to say he's rolling his eyes at his dad's version of the story but he's doing whatever cats do to show me there's no way that's what happened. 

        I lean down and whisper, "I know. I know." Then I sneak him a secret snack. A mom's gotta do what a mom's gotta do.

        

       

      

     

       

The Rascal Cat Can't Sing!

    "Egypt is more than just pyramids," I tell Chucky as we're in the midst of our next adventure. This morning we're 60 miles northwest of Cairo, visiting a famous monastery called Dier Anba Bishoi in Wadi El-Natroun, surrounded by a desert consisting of salt lakes and salt flats. The Egyptians used to extract salt from here. The Christians established their monasteries here dating back to the 4th century.

        Dier Anna Bishoi or St. Bishoi Monastery is named after patron St. Bishoi, who immigrated here and lived in solitude. It is one of five churches and is used only in the summer. It is an oasis with greenery and palm trees.

 

   

        Everything about this place is old. We move from room to room. Chucky is in seventh heaven. The priest takes one look at Chucky, assumes he is a cat who lives at the monastery, and doesn't give him a second glance. Which is good news because this place is a wonderland for Chuck. He is sniffing to his heart's content. 

             We're greeted by a very charismatic priest who gives us a tour and recounts some of the highlights of the monastery's history--the destruction that was done and the many restorations over the thousands of years. Most notably there is a well on the property called the Well of Martyrs where, you guessed it, martyrs were thrown down to their death centuries ago. Today the well still produces fresh water, which is considered to be a miracle.

  

        We pass ancient signs, frescoes, pottery laid out on tables that was used centuries ago and realize that even though this place is a working monastery, it is in many respects also a museum of sorts. 

        Out of the blue, and this is how the universe works, at times, we're invited to a baptism. Now I've attended plenty of baptisms in my day, but never one in a monastery in a desert in Egypt performed in Arabic. 

        Out of nowhere, or so it seems, people have arrived and are filling up a beautifully decorated room--standing around, waiting for the ceremony to begin. Dan and I, and Chuck melt into the crowd. 

 

       

         Another priest arrives and the baptism procession begins. 

              There is incense, cymbal clanging, clapping, singing, chanting and an overall festive atmosphere. Dan is busy snapping photos. I'm in awe, watching everyone as they gather around the parents and the newborn.

        And then I hear him. At first--what is that sound? It's not quite singing--a kind of mixture of mewing and meowing and . . . "Chuck, shshsh."

        But Chucky, who is plastered to my side (thank God), is swaying in time to the chanting that is reverberating through the room. But his singing sounds more like caterwauling. Which is getting louder and louder.

        I'm not going to panic. But I imagine a cat interrupting a baptism would not face an easy fate. I can see it all now--masked men swooping him up and dropping him in the Well of Martyrs!

        I have to get him to stop singing. But he is just so darned cute. I hate to interrupt his reverie. Is anyone else noticing that he's horribly off key? The rascal cat can do many things well, but he can't sing!! 

          I kneel down next to him. "Chucky, no more singing, honey."

          He looks up at me.

          At that exact moment, everything around me goes quiet. 

          I place my finger on Chucky's lips. 

          The priest recites a prayer in Arabic. 

          Chucky goes silent. Is it a miracle? Or . . . I look over my shoulder. Dan, Mr. Hero Man, holds out a luscious treat and Chucky, needing to make a decision, chooses to eat and not sing.  

          Crisis is averted. No masked men will be coming for Chucky. The Well of Martyrs will not claim another innocent victim. I heave a sigh of relief. 

           We've learned one valuable lesson: the rascal cat can do many fabulous things but he can't sing!