The Tourist Gaze

It’s already late afternoon. The route to our next stop, St. Simon the Tanner Cathedral, skirts through narrow and congested streets. Our bus is too large to pass here, so the group is divided into two taxi vans, kind of like the UV Express in the Philippines but slightly larger. We drive through piles of meticulously sorted waste lining the roads and the facades of weathered buildings, at times with the van just a few inches from the walls and rocks at the side of the road. It’s also a two-way street despite its width barely enough for vehicles going in one direction, so there’s congestion as drivers figure out how to squeeze their way through cars and tuktuks going the opposite direction.

Our guide Michel, who is in the same bus as my subgroup, talks about this chaotic neighborhood. “Okay, guys, so this is the Garbage City,” he says. “The people here collect the garbage of Cairo’s residents and bring them here. “

Indeed, Garbage City, officially known as Manshiyat Naser, is a unique neighborhood in Cairo: waste management is a way of life for its residents. The community here has built an informal yet highly efficient recycling system over decades. Often referred to as the Zabbaleen (literally “garbage people”), the residents are mostly Coptic Christians who collect, sort, and process the city’s waste—an extraordinary feat considering the Cairo’s population of over 20 million people.

The streets of Garbage City are lined with piles of garbage in various stages of sorting. Organic waste is separated for animal feed, plastics are cleaned and recycled, and metals are salvaged for resale. Remarkably, the Zabbaleen recycle up to 80% of the waste they handle—significantly more than many formal waste management systems worldwide.

This practice is not just a livelihood but also tied to their faith. Coptic Christians see stewardship of the earth as part of their spiritual duty, transforming an activity many might consider degrading into an act of service.

About 30 minutes later, we find ourselves at the foot of the Mokattam Hills, and the claustrophobic, trash-laden streets of Garbage City are replaced by a rugged, rocky landscape. Rising before us is the entrance to St. Simon the Tanner Cathedral, framed by the ochre hues of the sandstone cliffs. The cathedral’s gate is a modest iron structure adorned with intricate Coptic crosses. On either side, stone carvings etched into the cliffs depict biblical scenes with such detail.

The cathedral and its surrounding churches were established in the 1970s and 1980s after the Zabbaleen community, a group of Coptic Christians involved in Cairo’s waste management, settled in the Mokattam area. They needed a place of worship that could accommodate their growing numbers and reflect their faith amid their unique living conditions.

The church is named after St. Simon the Tanner, an iconic figure in Coptic Christianity who lived in 10th-century Egypt, when the country was already under Islamic rule. St. Simon was a devout Christian and worked as a leather worker or cobbler, hence his title “Tanner.” His life is most famous for a miraculous event attributed to his faith.

Egypt’s ruler at that time, Fatimid Caliph Al-Muizz li-Din Allah, challenged Patriarch Abraham of Alexandria to prove the truth of the Bible’s teaching that faith could “move mountains,” as stated in Matthew 17:20. Simon was chosen to pray for this miracle. “Through his prayers,” Michel tells us “the Mokattam Mountain was miraculously lifted, demonstrating the power of faith and saving the Coptic community from persecution.”

I stare at the towering cliffs, wondering how much of the story is steeped in history and how much in traditions.

Michel then leads us inside, where the sanctuary stretches like a large amphitheater. The natural rock formations have been shaped to create a vast, open space, with towering stone columns supporting a high ceiling that rises into the cavern above. The seats ascend in tiers like the stands of a stadium, overlooking the altar at the far end. Despite the rough, unpolished edges of the stone, the sanctuary exudes a sense of majesty.

Michel gestures toward one of the prominent carvings on the ceiling just behind the altar, where an image of the Virgin Mary holding the infant Jesus is displayed. “This carving,” he says, his voice sounding distant, “is said to have miraculously appeared during a time of great strife. During a fierce conflict between the Copts and the ruling authorities, the community prayed for divine intervention. It was then that, in the midst of the tension, this image of Mary and Child was revealed in the rock. The faithful believed it was a sign of protection and a manifestation of the Virgin’s grace in the face of persecution.”

The intricate carving of Mary, her face gentle and serene, cradling the Christ child with tenderness, seems almost alive in the soft light. It’s as if the rock itself was moved by faith, revealing this sacred vision to offer comfort and strength to those who needed it most. I glance at the carving, feeling the focused expressions of the group, their hushed whispers betraying a mix of wonder and veneration.

About an hour later, we leave the church, pass through the Garbage City again, and board the bus for the final destination of the day: a dinner cruise at the Nile River.

…

The bus drops us at a riverside dock, where a large crowd is gathered in front of a large boat, waiting to embark on the evening’s cruise. The boat, sleek and grand, looks almost like a floating restaurant. We join the queue, and within a few minutes, the line begins to move smoothly, allowing us to board without much delay. Inside, the atmosphere is already vibrant with the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses.

We’re guided to the second floor, where tables are arranged elegantly by the wide windows, offering a prime view of the Nile. The interior is reminiscent of a fine-dining restaurant, with dim lighting that gives the space an intimate, relaxed feel despite the number of people inside.

A middle-aged man takes the floor at the center of the room, his deep, slightly husky voice rising above the gentle murmur of the crowd. He begins to sing songs of different genres. When the familiar intro of “How Deep is Your Love” starts, I immediately pull out my phone. It’s my dad’s favorite song; this is something I’ll definitely send him later.

As he moves on to the next song, the buffet opens, and guests head toward the spread—platters of Egyptian specialties, fresh salads, spiced meats, and a wide selection of desserts.

As we’re eating, two ladies take the floor, dressed in intricately beaded bra tops paired with flowing skirts adorned with sequins and delicate embroidery. Their movements are fluid, hypnotic, as they begin a traditional belly dance. This form of dance, with its roots in the ancient Middle East, was historically performed as a celebration of womanhood and fertility, with an emphasis on isolated movements of the torso, particularly the hips and abdomen. The ladies’ performance fills the room with energy, and soon, they’re inviting people to join them on the dance floor. A few brave souls from our group, along with other passengers, eagerly take to the space, trying to mimic the graceful, rhythmic motions, while the crowd cheers them on. This might not exactly scream “spiritual journey,” but hey, who says a pilgrimage can’t have a little sparkle?

Shortly after the two belly dancers finish their performance and leave the floor, the tannouri dancers appear, twirling onto the stage in their colorful, swirling costumes. The tannouri is a traditional Egyptian dance, performed by spinning rapidly in a distinctive manner that causes the dancers’ long skirts to flare out dramatically. The dance symbolizes the inner spiritual journey and the connection between the physical and divine. With their controlled spinning, the dancers appear almost otherworldly, as if they’re in a trance, the colors of their skirts transforming into a dizzying, beautiful blur. How do they not get dizzy? My head swims just watching them, yet they whirl with effortless precision. Just as we think their performance has concluded, the lights suddenly go out, and the tannouri dancers’ dresses come alive, glowing with patterns of swirling lights, like spinning Christmas lanterns.

After the dancers finish their performance, I decide to step outside onto the deck to take in the view. The chilly night air hits me, though it’s not as peaceful as I’d hoped, as many other passengers apparently have the same idea as me. I do find a spot along the railing and gaze out at the Nile. The boat glides smoothly along the river, passing by the lit-up structures of Cairo. The river’s surface reflects the glow of the buildings lining the banks. The sound of chatter and laughter blends with the distant hum of the city. The Nile, flowing steadily under the night sky, remains a constant through millennia of change, bearing witness to both the ancient and the modern forces shaping Egypt.

…

The next day is our last in Cairo–and the tour overall–as we’re headed for the airport in the afternoon. We’ve got some time in the morning, though, and our itinerary lists a couple of churches in Coptic Cairo.

Coptic Cairo is a historic district located in the heart of the city, renowned for its deep religious and cultural importance to Egypt’s Christian community. It is considered the center of Egypt’s Coptic Orthodox faith, with history dating back to the early centuries of Christianity. The area is home to some of the oldest Christian churches in the world, as well as other important religious landmarks.

Christianity began in Egypt in the 1st century AD, when St. Mark the Evangelist is believed to have founded the Coptic Orthodox Church in Alexandria around 42 AD. Egypt became one of the earliest centers of Christian theology and scholarship, with Alexandria playing a key role in their development, particularly through early Christian leaders such as Athanasius and Cyril of Alexandria.

In the centuries following St. Mark’s arrival, Christianity spread rapidly across Egypt, eventually becoming the dominant religion in the region. By the 4th century, Emperor Constantine’s Edict of Milan legalized Christianity in the Roman Empire, which led to the construction of churches and the rise of Christian communities throughout Egypt.

However, after the Arab conquest of Egypt in 641 AD, Islam became the dominant religion, and although Christians, particularly Copts, remained a significant minority, they faced increasing pressures under Muslim rule. Over time, the Coptic Orthodox Church developed its own identity, distinct from other Christian groups, often maintaining its religious traditions while navigating the challenges of living as a minority in a predominantly Muslim country.

Today, Egypt is home to one of the oldest Christian communities in the world, with the Coptic Orthodox Church remaining central to the religious and cultural life of the Egyptian Christian population, despite political and social challenges throughout history.

One of the most iconic sites in Coptic Cairo is the Hanging Church. This historic church, perched above the remains of the ancient Roman Babylon Fortress, gets its name from its elevated position, as it seems to “hang” over the ancient gatehouse below.

The path leading to the church is through a tranquil courtyard surrounded by tall stone walls with religious artworks. The ground is paved with smooth stones, and well-maintained plants bisect the area.

We make our way through the courtyard and walk towards the towering facade of the Hanging Church ahead. Inside, we make our way past intricately carved wooden screens and ornate columns. The interior is dimly lit by a combination of candles and warm lighting. The scent of incense is thick, swirling around the space, its fragrant smoke rising toward the high, intricately carved ceiling. The wooden screens separating different areas of the church are adorned with detailed religious symbols. In the center of the church, the altar is adorned with gold and fine details, and the priest, dressed in ceremonial robe, is in the midst of administering communion. Unlike the Catholic practice, where the priest offers individual pieces of communion bread, here the congregation is invited to partake in the sacrament from a large, round loaf of freshly baked bread.

The loaf is placed on the altar, and one by one, members of the congregation step forward, each reaching for a piece of the loaf, tearing off a portion of the bread. It’s a communal act, one that feels deeply personal yet shared, as the faithful take from the same loaf, uniting them in a tangible expression of their faith. The priest offers a blessing as each person receives their piece of bread. Some members of our group, including Fr. Randy himself, take from the bread and receive their blessings as well.

As we leave the Hanging Church, we walk down a narrow alley that leads to the Abu Serga Church. The path is lined with books—mostly about religion, politics, and history, with a few novels and children’s literature for good measure—carefully stacked or displayed on makeshift racks.

Finally, we reach the Abu Serga Church, which is believed to be built over the spot where the Holy Family took refuge during their flight into Egypt.

The church’s exterior is simple, with a modest stone façade that blends seamlessly into the surrounding buildings of the district. The interior is more intimate than the grandiosity of the Hanging Church, with soft light filtering through small windows and casting shadows across the stone walls. The atmosphere is peaceful and solemn, despite the hordes of tourists packing the small space.

One of the church’s most notable features is its well-preserved ancient altar, where Coptic Christians have worshipped for centuries. The walls are decorated with colorful icons depicting scenes from the life of Christ and the saints. The church also has a crypt, which is believed to be the exact spot where the Holy Family rested.

We then head to the Ben Ezra Synagogue, tucked away in a quiet corner, its unassuming entrance easy to miss amidst the narrow streets that weave through the area. But the interior contrasts sharply with its facade, revealing a beautiful wooden ark and richly detailed Torah scrolls, which have been carefully preserved through the centuries. The high ceilings and arched windows let in soft light, casting gentle shadows on the ornate carvings and intricate Jewish symbols that adorn the walls. Too bad taking pictures inside is prohibited.

The synagogue also carries historical significance, as this site is believed to have been the place where baby Moses was found by the pharaoh’s wife when she discovered him floating in a basket on the Nile River.

…

Our last sightseeing stop for the morning–and thus the whole tour–is the National Museum of Egyptian Civilization (NMEC), a stark contrast to the historic and spiritual atmosphere of Coptic Cairo. With its sleek, modern architecture, the NMEC stands proudly as a beacon of Egypt’s rich cultural heritage, showcasing the ancient and contemporary aspects of Egyptian civilization under one roof. The air feels different here. It’s more cosmopolitan, charged with the energy of modernity, bridging the country’s past to its future.

The NMEC opened its doors in 2021, though the idea for the museum dates back even further to the late 1990s. The Egyptian government wanted to create a modern space to showcase the country’s vast history beyond the famous treasures of the Pyramids and the Egyptian Museum in Tahrir Square. The museum’s purpose is to highlight the development of Egyptian civilization from the prehistoric era through to modern times, providing a comprehensive narrative that includes ancient Egyptian, Greco-Roman, Islamic, and contemporary Egyptian heritage.

When casual foreigners like us think of Egyptian history, obviously we think of the Pharaonic period. The goal of the museum is to tell us that there are also Egypt’s Islamic, Coptic, and modern history, so it houses an extensive collection of artifacts, including mummies, statues, pottery, textiles, and everyday objects that span over 5,000 years of history. As we move from one exhibit to the next, Michel points out key artifacts that represent the evolution of Egyptian civilization, beginning with the early Pharaonic period. “Here,” he says, gesturing toward a display of ancient pottery, “you can see how early Egyptians used art and craftsmanship to tell their stories, long before the advent of written language.” He explains the importance of the Nile River, not just as a lifeline for the ancient Egyptians but as a symbol that continues to shape the country’s identity today.

As we move through the museum’s sections, Michel delves into the Islamic and Coptic periods, pointing out intricately designed textiles and pottery, which speak to the rich cultural exchanges between Egypt, Europe, and the Middle East. “Notice the influence of the Islamic Golden Age,” he explains, as we pass by delicate calligraphy and elaborate glasswork. “Egypt was a center of learning and art during this time, and these artifacts reflect that fusion of science, religion, and culture.”

He also takes time to explain the transition into modern Egypt, highlighting how the country’s identity evolved through colonialism, revolution, and the struggle for independence. The historical arc Michel sketches feels like a conversation between the past and present. Each display tells a part of Egypt’s complex story, making the museum feel like a bridge between the ancient world and the one we live in today.

As impressive as the artifacts are, the centerpiece of the NMEC is the Royal Mummy Room, where mummies of some of Egypt’s ancient rulers are displayed. As we enter the room on the first floor, the air becomes cooler, almost reverent, and the lights are dim to highlight the ancient figures housed within the glass cases. Before us lie the preserved bodies of some of the most powerful pharaohs, their faces and bodies echoing the grandeur of their reigns.

Photography and video are not allowed inside the room, so I maximize the 20 minutes Michel gave us to explore the room to make sure the images of these mummies are imprinted in my memory. The mummies are displayed in a quiet, almost haunting manner, each encased in glass that lets us see the intricate details of their preservation. The most striking thing is the fragility of these once mighty figures—what was once flesh and bone is now dried, weathered, yet still hauntingly recognizable. We see the faces of pharaohs, queens, and high-ranking officials, their eyes closed in eternal slumber, their regal dignity preserved even as time has worn away the physicality of their being.

The mummies were prepared for an eternal journey. In a way, they mirror the faith we’ve explored during this pilgrimage tour, faith that continues to shape the lives of millions of believers. Our trip has been about finding that connection to the eternity Christians believe they will spend in the afterlife. It’s a journey that connects history with faith, the human experience with the divine.

…

After another buffet lunch at a nearby restaurant (our last for the trip, sob), we make our way to the airport. On the bus, someone plays Richard Lauchengco’s “Farewell,” a Filipino song typically performed in high school graduation ceremonies. The group sings along with the chorus. Because, really, we will miss each other when we return to our regular lives in the Philippines.

But more than that, I will be looking at this trip as a pivotal moment in my life. Visiting Jordan, Israel, Palestine, and Egypt feels like not just a quick run-through of biblical history but also a look into how deep faith can go. Louie in Jordan, Iad in Israel and the Palestinian territories, and Michel here in Egypt–they all have shared tales of devotion, resilience, and steadfast belief, of narratives that have withstood centuries. From their insights, I gained a sense of deep respect for those who built and worshipped these ancient walls and churches not based on certainty, but on a deep connection to something greater than themselves.

This idea of belief, of seeking understanding without fully grasping all the answers, is something I have tried to grapple with–there are some things that simply elude us. There’s a certain depth to these narratives that goes beyond mere storytelling. The Old Testament writers, the apostles, and early Christian leaders like Paul were deeply convinced of the things they wrote about, and it’s clear to me that these weren’t just whims or inventions of the time. They experienced something—whether it was wandering in the desert, the life of Jesus, the resurrection, or the transformative power of faith—that they felt compelled to share, often at great personal cost. That kind of conviction is hard to dismiss as just a coincidence or fabrication.

The fact that these writings have persisted and impacted so many people for millennia perhaps suggests there was something powerful behind them, something that transcends mere historical documentation or literary creation. Whether that something is divine or simply an extraordinary phenomenon that can be explained by human reason or science is where the mystery lies. And I guess that will always be my response: I don’t know. And that’s part of the human condition.

But it also speaks to the larger theme of faith, doesn’t it? If we knew all the answers, there would be little room for the trust that goes beyond the evidence we can see or measure. Faith is so potent because it connects what we can understand and what we cannot. It asks us to step into the unknown with the belief that something meaningful exists beyond our comprehension.

Even if we can’t fully understand the reasons behind these events, there’s still power in the effect they have on people, and that’s not something easily explained away. It’s like a great work of art or Petra or the Great Pyramid—it transcends the limitations of the creator and touches something deep in the soul.

There is a lot we simply don’t know, but that’s okay. We don’t have to have all the answers to acknowledge the significance of something. We can approach it with curiosity, respect, and a recognition that some mysteries may remain just that—mysterious. But the willingness to sit with that uncertainty, to embrace the unknown, and yet still find meaning in the journey, I think that’s pretty powerful.