Rascal Chuck Visits the Hanging Church

       From the very beginning, the rascal cat doesn't want to go. We're still in Cairo, have just finished a delicious lunch at a fabulous restaurant, have puffed on or sniffed our hookah pipe, and seen the mosque. Full day, right? But there's one more thing I have to see.

        The Hanging Church. 

        Of course, this is no ordinary church. Nothing in Egypt is bland or ordinary. The church has a rich, complicated and disputed history. Dan tries his best to capture Chuck's interest by sharing what he feels are the most interesting details.

        "Chuck," Dan says, after we climb up the steps and walk under the archway, which used to be part of a Roman fortress, "this is one of the oldest churches in Egypt. It dates back to the 3rd century and belongs to the Coptic Orthodox Church of America."

       I fear Dan is crawling into the weeds. Coptic Orthodox Church? He wants Chuck to understand there is a Christian tradition in this predominantly Muslim country, but I imagine as Dan is speaking, he sounds like the way adults sound to Charlie Brown: whah, whah, whah, whah, whah. 

        "Tell Chuck the most interesting part," I plead.

        Dan plods on. "The Church was most likely renovated by Pope Abraham."

        I interrupt. "Because he had a dream. Or was it a dream? Some people believe--"

         "Some people believe it was an apparition. In 970. An apparition of Mary, the Mother of Jesus. What he saw is now accepted as a Marion Apparition."

         "This is the good part," I add loudly.

         "People can claim to see Mary. Or hear her. Or see a statue of Mary crying. But you need to visually see her and she needs to be located in your environment in order for it to be considered real and an intervention of divine power."

         "That's why, Chucky, this church is dedicated to the Virgin Mary. She's appeared many times here, Chucky. You need to keep your eyes open. You never know."

        I look down at Chuck and he's staring at us as if all of this is a bit too much. 

        "Over the years this church has been used to consecrate holy oil, select and bury patriarchs, and, unfortunately, judge heresy trials."   

        

        

        "Maybe we shouldn't tell him that part," I say to Dan.

        We both look down at the same time to see how Chuck is reacting or, frankly, if he's even listening to this last part about the heresy trials.

        He's gone. 

        Now the Hanging Church is a popular destination for tourists, believe it or not. There are people milling around us. Coming and going. Admiring the icons on the walls. Probably imagining the fact that the Virgin Mary was actually here. 

        Where is he? 

          We only took our eyes off of him for a second. 

      "He can't have gone far."

       "He must be right around here somewhere."

       We're in the main body of the church now, walking down the aisles, looking right and left. I spot him first and point.

        "Unbelievable." 

        The Rascal Cat is lying down in one of the pews, head resting on one of his paws, next to an elderly lady who is also taking a moment to catch her breath. She's resting and Chuck is cat napping.

        "Chuck, you might have missed an apparition," I say.

        "I think the poor kid is worn out," Dan says. 

        "You missed your chance to make history, Chuck."

        But, obviously, Chuck doesn't care. Dan lifts him up. If the Virgin Mary is appearing today, it won't be to Chuck. That's a fact.

        

         

        

         

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.

        

       

      

     

       

Rascal Chuck in the Mummy Room

     Chuck has to be here.

     The Mummy Room, downstairs in the Egyptian Museum in Cairo, is filled with--you guessed it--mummies. They have the foremost collection of mummies in the world. 

    As we walk in, I quickly scan the room for the Rascal Cat.

    Nothing but mummies.

    "Chuck."

    I wait to hear a purr. A meow. Anything.

    But the Mummy Room is eerily quiet. As you would expect. Dan and I are the only two living persons in the room. Mummies are everywhere. To appreciate this room in all its splendor, the tourist must go up and down the rows and look from side to side. The mummies are behind glass cases. Some have inscriptions describing who or what they are. 

    "Let's break up," I say to Dan. "You go that way." I point across the room. "I'll start over here." 

     We are convinced Chuck has to be here. He has mummies on the brain. Given the choice, he would come here. But he could be anywhere. 

      I don't mind looking for him. There's something about mummies that intrigues me. I don't find them eerie or gross, and maybe it's my own enthusiasm for mummies that's caused Chucky to go so beserk over them. 

      I pass a mummy crocodile and a pet dog with an inscription.

      

      

    

     

  

     I pass some skeletal birds and then some mummified birds. 

     

      At each juncture, I call out, "Chucky." But there is no response. 

      I have to admit I jump at little when I see the cat mummy. 

    "Dan," I call out.  "Look."

    "Don't get carried away," he says in that reasonable voice of his. "Of course there would be mummies of cats. The Egyptians loved cats."

     He's right. 

     "You don't think Chucky saw this mummy cat and freaked out, do you?"

      "No, if anything . . ." Dan pauses.

      "What?"

      "No, he wouldn't have a crazy idea . . ."

      It's the way he says it. "Our Chucky?"

       "All I'm saying is remember in the Philadelphia Museum when he wanted his portrait painted. The kid wants to be immortalized."

       No sooner are the words out of Dan's mouth than we hear a meow coming from the row behind us. 

        There he is--perfectly still--like a statue--posed against a white board as if he's auditioning for the role of  . . .

    "Don't say it." 

     I scoop Chuck up and give him the biggest hug possible. He's here. He's safe. That's all I care about. But then I get over myself. "We've seen enough mummies for one day. And there's no way, Chucky, that you can be a . . . " But I can't even say the word.

     Chucky shrugs. He could see a thousand mummies, and it wouldn't be enough.

    As we're leaving, Chucky wants to say goodbye to his favorite mummy. Small consolation, I suppose. 

   Gosh, Chucky, you really are a rascal cat, or should I say the wanna be mummy cat.    

       

    

      

Rascal Cat Disappears in Egyptian Museum

       We sometimes have to stretch the truth to get Chucky to do what we want to do. Case in point: when we're visiting Cairo and decide, with the help of our Egyptologist, to spend the afternoon in the exquisite Egyptian Museum. 

      It is a big place with lots and lots to see. It is super crowded. We know, from experience, that Chucky will have eyes for one thing and one thing only--the mummies. He's made it quite clear when we first board the plane that he wants to see the infamous Mummy Room in the Egyptian Museum (History Channel again.) 

        So, yes, yes, we're on our way to see the Mummy Room which is downstairs, we assure our over anxious cat. It takes time to get there.

        After all, the Egyptian Museum is a big place.  Located in Cairo, built in 1901, it houses the largest collection of Egyptian antiquities in the world--over 120,000 items, with most of them on display. It is the largest museum on the African continent. It houses, among its masterpieces, the Pharaoh Tutankhamen's treasure, including his gold burial mask, considered one of the world's best known works of art. How cool is that? But Chucky doesn't care about a burial mask.

      

    We pass tourists galore. Statues of famous Egyptian pharaohs.  And every time we stop, we hear Chuck's meow, "Are we there yet?"

    "Almost. This is a big place."

   

We pass beautiful paintings of birds. And again Chuck asks, "Are we there yet?" 

"Almost."

    

Our Egyptologist gives us some background on the museum. Chuck is practically doing back flips in Dan's backpack, he's so anxious to see the mummies.  "Meow. Meow."

"Let him out," I suggest. 

There are so many people milling about, I doubt anyone will notice him anyway.  And, besides, who is going to care about a cat, when there are so many other fabulous things to look at?

     Dan has a large map that he consults on a regular basis so we can stay focused. 

    "If we go down that hallway there, there should be a set of stairs that will take us to the Mummy Room." 

     We turn to look at Chuck, to make sure he's heard that this is it, we are really this time on our way to the MUMMY ROOM.  We expect to see his smiling face, or whatever a cat's version of a smiling face is, but the spot between us where he was perched just moments before is empty.

      Chuck is gone.  He has disappeared! Oh my God. Was he abducted? Right under our noses? Anything is possible in Egypt.

        

      

     "Or . . ." 

     

     "That darn cat--"

      "Which way--" I am flabbergasted.

      "To the Mummy Room . . . " Dan points the way.

    

       Is he right? Or are we on a wild goose chase? Wasting precious moments while Chuck is being whisked away by some foreign adversary? I am almost paralyzed with indecision.

        Dan grabs my arm. "C'mon. You know him. He's always running off and doing his own thing." 

       We race down the hallway. There is no doubt in Dan's mind that the Rascal Cat has made a bee line for the Mummy Room.  I'm less sure . . .

       I squeeze my eyes shut and whisper a quick prayer as we open the thick door and gallop down the stairs. "Make him be there." Suddenly, I regret taking our time waltzing through the museum. We should have gone straight to the Mummy Room. 

        We spot the sign: Mummy Room. We turn the corner . . .

         Will Chuck be there? Stay tuned next week to find out:

          Rascal Chuck in the Mummy Room