The (non)wearing of the green...

It should come as no surprise, but St. Patrick's Day is not really a big deal here in Egypt. Nonetheless, I was a little disappointed. I think maybe I got my hopes up because back in February Valentine's Day was a lot more celebrated here than I had expected it to be, but alas, the same can't be true of every saints' feast day that's been mainstreamed.

March 17th at AUC was the absolute inverse of what it is at Notre Dame, where we more or less make it a national holiday of sorts. There, wearing green is simply a bare minimum, and many people choose to take their dress for the day above and beyond with festive costumes and the like. I certainly wasn't expecting something along these lines here at AUC, but I was a little shocked that most of the American students chose not to acknowledge the day by wearing a little bit o' green. Maybe they forgot to pack some?

Though apparently St. Patrick's Day wasn't important enough for most people to even alter their clothing for one day, people were, of course, still planning to celebrate in the evening.Given the fact that I'd been up for about 48 hours straight at that point (advice: don't drink Turkish coffee at 10 pm, especially not the night before a mid-term), I was absolutely exhausted, and ended up crashing almost as soon as I got back to my room that evening. Weak sauce, I know.

So with St. Patrick's day come and gone, there really isn't much in between me and my epic Spring Break tour of the Middle East, set to begin on Tuesday (only 5 days!). I'm skipping out of two days of class in order to give me some more time for travel, so this weekend will primarily be about doing the work I'll miss, as well as a 7 page book report that's due immediately upon my return from break.

Another little note. I've applied for a grant from Notre Dame to stay out here and learn Arabic for the summer. I was supposed to hear back yesterday, but an interesting development has occurred. Apparently they are starting a new program at ND specifically for students interested in Arabic that combines language skills with service. There's a lot of money available for this program, meaning a lot more opportunities for applicants. As a result, they're bumped the selection of applicants back to March 24. I'll probably be on a beach in Beirut at the time, with limited (if any) access to the internet, but I'll be sure to let everyone know what goes down as soon as I find out.

PS: I definitely wore green and I even played "Who Threw the Overalls in Mrs. Murphy's Chowder?" on YouTube in front class. It was amusing.

بكم؟- Haircut/facial/massage/threading...

I got a haircut today. You're votes definitely supported this decision, but I probably would've gotten one anyway. It was just getting too long, and with all the sun and warm air, it was starting to get spoofy and frizzy. Not then ideal.

After grabbing some 1 LE pastries from a bakery for breakfast, I went with my صاحب (so-HAAB - friend) Ben to a barbershop a couple of friends had told us about just a few blocks from the dorm. I had actually gone solo the night before to get the deed done, but the place was closed, even though it was 5 pm, well within the posted hours of operation. Oh well.

Ben and I entered, greeted the barber and sat down. He then fixed me up some  شاي (SHAAY - tea) and we began telling him what we'd like done with or hair. He didn't really speak any English, and I hadn't really been schooled on barbershop terminology in Arabic, but I made due with several hand motions and repeated قصير قوي  's ("very short"). We then settled in to our chairs, ready for the first-class treatment that awaited us.

Our friends who had visited before made us well aware of what to expect upon a visit to the barber-shop. Apparently, the idea of simply stopping in for a 15 minute hair cut was absolutely unheard of. It was a full length production, that involved a lot more than simply some scissors and a comb.

The first part of the process was my first ever facial. Our barber took some grainy looking powder (which I think he said was mud from the sea), added some water, and then began lathering our faces with it. It was cool to the touch and had an earthy, natural feel/smell to it. After the mud had been applied, he gave us each a quick head massage, and then got down to the meat of the matter.

I was originally planning on simply getting a buzz, but I was convinced to let him manually trim me down. His work was quick and meticulous, and he soon had sheared most of my damaged, sun-dried locks off. After the cutting was complete, he applied an uber-healthy amount of green glob to my head, and began rubbing it in. The picture at the top of this post encapsulates my appearance at this point, along the lines of what I'd imagine a zombie German punk rocker to look like.

After we'd both been cut and shampooed, he began massaging the mud off of our faces, and then took us to a sink where he rinsed our hair. This was followed by a nice, relaxing back massage. I was beginning to feel comfortable. A big mistake.

The final part of the process was something known as "threading." I'd never heard of it before, but apparently it involved taking string and plucking hair from your face. Our friends who'd gone before us informed us that it was quite painful, but I shrugged off their warnings. How much damage could a little thread due?

I settled back, and waited for him to go to work. He grabbed a nice length of thread, looped it, and put the open ends in his mouth. He then positioned the string above my eyebrows, and let a rip. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but it wasn't this. It honestly felt like tiny scissors tearing at my skin. Each pull of the string brought an intensely sharp sting. He worked above my eyebrows, below them, my hairline, my cheeks, and finally my ears, by far the most painful area. When he was done with one side, I realized I was half way done, bit my teeth, and gritted it out. Little did I know, he'd saved the worst for last: my nose. While doing my nose, he latched on to a stubborn piece of hair that wouldn't come out initially, causing him to tug forcefully on the string, pulling my head with it before the follicle finally came out. Needless to say, by the end of the entire procedure, I had tears welling in my eyes.

But all in all, it was part of the experience. I'd never had a facial, a massage, or threading before, and it was simply something I had to do while in Egypt, where a service like this was far cheaper than it would've been in the US.

But how much cheaper? That's for you decide. In this week's edition of the بكم؟ Game, your challenge is to guess the total cost of my barbershop visit in Egyptian pounds (LE). Just a refresher: about 5 LE equals $1.

 Additionally, let's revisit last weeks contest. I asked you to guess the price of a packet of Borios, which contained six, cheap, imitation Oreo's. Once again, no one was correct. Robin Soukup came the closest with a guess of 1.25 LE, but she was still significantly off the actual price of .50 LE (1/2 LE). That's right...a pack of six cookies costs half an Egyptian pound. In other words, less than 10 American cents! That's absurd!

So, since you guys seem to be hitting a dry spell with this guessing-the-prices thing, I'm going to revert back to "closest guess wins." We'll keep the prize from last week, and say winner gets 10 packs of Borios. Have at it.

Going to Mass in Misr...

 You might imagine that it'd be difficult to locate a Catholic church in the heart of the Muslim world, especially in a country like Egypt, where, unlike in Catholic-populated Syria and Lebanon, the only significant Christian presence allegedly consists of Copts.

In fact, this couldn't be further from the truth. Although I'm not sure how numerous Catholic parishes in Cairo are, there happens to be one conveniently located just a few blocks from the dorm. Even more fortuitous, they offer a 6 pm. English Mass on Sunday, which suits me just fine considering I have classes until after 3 pm. We've even been able to put together a nice little Sunday crew, consisting of 2 other Domers and 3 kids from other schools.

If you're expecting the name of this Catholic church to be exotic or "Egyptianized," I'm sorry to disappoint you: it's name is St. Joseph's. Yes, just like the medical center in Brainerd, or the church in Crosby, and even the county where Notre Dame is located. Pretty unoriginal, really.

But the Egyptian version of St. Joseph's makes up for its unextraordinary name with plenty of character. The church's high-ceilinged interior is beautifully designed, while maintaining a level of intimacy and approachability. Perhaps even more defining than it's physical characteristics are the traits of a St. Joseph's Mass. From the ancient old nun who leads the singing in, let's just say, "strained" English, to the sometimes indiscernible homilies, to the chaotic, disorganized rush for the Eucharist, Mass at St. Joseph's is a very unique experience.

But what I love the most about St. Joseph's is the congregation itself. Maybe because my home parish of St. Alice consists of probably 99% white people, I find it refreshing to be a part of a multi-ethnic gathering, comprised of a significant number of Filipinos, a decent number of Africans, some Caucasians, and a handful of Arabs (of course, I'm assuming most of the Arab Catholics go to the Mass held in Arabic. There's also one in French, and they have a Tagalog [language of the Philippines] service once a week as well). In fact, in about a month and a half here, I've attended Masses presided over by French, African, and Filipino priests. Pretty neat.

While racial diversity isn't exclusive to the Catholic faith, I really feel it is something that the Church stresses. Its message is the same to everyone and open to all who wish to participate. This is epitomized at St. Joseph's. No one is better than another, no one more worthy than the next. Everyone is truly part of one Body, brought together to celebrate Christ in the same way. Attending Mass here in Cairo has really made me realize what it means when we say that the Catholic Church is "universal." It's a reality that I embrace and am proud to be a part of.