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IN ON-GOING CAMPAIGN OF DEMOLITION INTENSIFYING ACROSS CAIRO, ICONIC AND UNIQUE
HOUSEBOATS FIND NO SAFE PORT

In Egypt, a long time resident of a rare type of house along the Nile is given
days to vacate her property, home since the 1960s, to be demolished by military
contractors and without compensation by the 4th of July. Water and electricity
have already been cut. She is not alone, a row of about two dozen houseboats are
all facing the same fate. Houseboat65 was renovated during the pandemic by a
French-Egyptian who found refuge along the Nile during the global health crisis
and spent his time and savings on making this his new permanent home. Down the
row is the home of award-winning novelist Ahdaf Soueif, who also put love and
care into transforming a 1920s houseboat into a Nile-side home. A much needed
retreat for a family battling for years to free Alaa Abd El-Fattah, the blogger
and software developer who has been in and out of prison by the regime since the
2011 revolution, currently jailed for re-sharing a tweet. Demolishing these
houses will deprive residents of their privately owned homes and will wipe out
another Cairo architectural typology from existence.

Over the past decades residents of the houseboats have been facing harassment,
increased fees and pressures that appear to be designed for eventual eviction. 

I specialize in Cairo’s development in the 20th century to the present and the
city’s relationship to political change. Over the past decade many of the trends
since the 1952 coup have been exacerbated: the dismantling and disarming of
public institutions concerned with urban management and heritage, incredible
losses to the city’s diverse built heritage, the official or unofficial takeover
of various aspects of public life and public space by the Armed Forces or its
members, and the privileging of the commercialization of every inch of the
country. 

The houseboats are legal and are private property. Residents pay three fees: a
maritime license, a Nile protection fee, a fee to the state for using a piece of
public land to access the street from the boat. Once moored the houses are
plugged into the city’s infrastructure for electricity, sewage and drinking
water.

The Cairo houseboat is a rectangular, flat-roofed, timber structure built over
floating platforms. They usually consist of two levels of living space with a
portico on all or some sides or large floor to ceiling windows, both allow
direct connection between habitable space and the Nile. Even the earliest
houseboats had both a nautical and modern feel to their design, many painted
white to reflect the strong sun. When moored in place, the boats occupy the
shoreline with the river to one side and a small garden area on the other side.
These are environmentally friendly residences. The boats were often shaded by
trees. Cairo witnessed several tree-planting campaigns in the 19th and early
20th centuries when city beautification was seen by various rulers and the
city’s municipal government as a fundamental part of the city’s development and
management. This, along with infrastructural works to fix the path of the Nile
through the city, which had previously flooded on a cycle, made the shoreline a
habitable space. Houseboats of various types appeared, some designed as pleasure
retreats for aristocracy, such as Khedive Ismail himself, or long-term
residences for intellectuals, merchants, and political figures as well as
regular folks and in the 1920s and 1930s, important spaces in Cairo’s nightlife
history. At their peak, the houseboats numbered around 300 and they were spread
across the many shores of the city, most were built from the middle of the 19th
century to the 1930s. In 1966 the municipality began a campaign against the
houseboats, its intensions were various, often using development and the ‘public
good’ argument at the expense of private ownership. It was then that the number
of houses was reduced significantly, and the remaining houses were clustered
together along the shore of Kit Kat on the west bank of Cairo facing the
affluent island district of Zamalek.

By contrast to the historical trajectory of the city a century ago, today Cairo
is witnessing tree-cutting campaigns, wide-scale demolitions - despite the
harmful impact of unnecessary demolitions on the environment - and Cairo’s
houseboats are under imminent threat. Across the river from the shore of Kit Kat
where houseboats are found, the Armed Forces have built a new Nile promenade
with cafes. While this is much needed public space, it is not exactly public, as
the Armed Forces have taken control of the Nile, including its agricultural
islands, which it hopes to transform into touristic and commercial investments,
profitable for the Armed Forces and its contractors, after forcibly evicting
villages and wiping out agricultural land. In this context, residents of the
remaining houseboats have been given a broken deal: abandon your homes and have
them demolished or pay undisclosed and unfixed sums to transform them into
commercial enterprises. 

Egyptian cities since the 1970s have seen devastating trends: Poor urban policy,
state use of violence to forcibly evict or intimidate communities and residents,
the destruction of entire urban fabrics, the erasure of entire histories, the
denial of human beings their right to their homes and private property, and the
loss of entire architectural typologies directly linked the the country’s
social, political, cultural and economic development. The imminent disappearance
of Cairo’s houseboats is a loss of a unique architecture built in close relation
with its environment - we need more, not less, of this in a world rapidly
searching for sustainability. 




Illustration by Nora Zeid. Pictured houseboats in 1947.

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CAIRO SINCE 1900: AN ARCHITECTURAL GUIDE - WINNER OF EGYPT’S MINISTRY OF
CULTURE’S AWARD FOR ARCHITECTURAL PUBLICATION 2021

The city of a thousand minarets is also the city of eclectic modern
constructions, turn-of-the-century revivalism and romanticism, concrete
expressionism, and modernist design. Yet while much has been published on
Cairo’s ancient, medieval, and early-modern architectural heritage, the city’s
modern architecture has to date not received the attention it deserves. Cairo
since 1900: An Architectural Guide is the first comprehensive architectural
guide to the constructions that have shaped and continue to shape the Egyptian
capital since the early twentieth century.

From the sleek apartment tower for Inji Zada in Ghamra designed by Antoine Selim
Nahas in 1937, to the city’s many examples of experimental church architecture,
and visible landmarks such as the Mugamma and Arab League buildings, Cairo is
home to a rich store of modernist building styles. Arranged by geographical
area, the guide includes entries for more than 220 buildings and sites of note,
each entry consisting of concise, explanatory text describing the building and
its significance accompanied by photographs, drawings, and maps. This
pocket-sized volume is an ideal companion for the city’s visitors and residents
as well as an invaluable resource for scholars and students of Cairo’s
architecture and urban history.


For more information and building locations visit http://cairosince1900.com/

Shortlisted for the 2021 Peter Mackenzie Smith Book Prize
Five Books Best Art Book of 2020

Praise about the book:

“Mohamed Elshahed gathers and presents source material for critical debate about
Cairo’s modern legacy…[and] aims to survey an overlooked body of work and to
reveal its social and political foundations.” ⁠—Gideon Fink Shapiro, The
Architect’s Newspaper

“Cairo since 1900: An Architectural Guide not only fills an immense gap in the
architectural history of the region, but also makes a much-needed intervention
into the history of global modernism. The urban fabric of this cosmopolitan and
vibrant city is described in rich detail, with information on the architects as
well as the patrons who gave shape to it. It will serve as an essential guide to
understanding, visiting, and studying modern Cairo.”—Kishwar Rizvi, Yale
University

“The Egyptian capital, for too many visitors, is a bewildering urban fabric to
be traversed in search of antiquity, circumnavigated to reach the pyramids of
Giza, or bisected rapidly to reach historic mosques. Yet to the trained eye
sprawling Cairo’s modern fabric spells out the fascinating history of
twentieth-century Egypt. Scholarly and user-friendly at the same time, this
indispensable guide is a veritable Rosetta stone for decoding the various
languages in which the quest for modernization and identity was expressed in
concrete, steel, brick, and stone.”—Barry Bergdoll, Columbia University

“The abundant architectural production which has dotted Cairo since the early
twentieth century with dozens of remarkable structures has never been thoroughly
documented. This guide is a revelation and will help, thanks to its clarity and
precision, both locals and visitors to discover the astonishing buildings which
have crystallized the modernization of Egypt’s capital.”—Jean-Louis Cohen, New
York University Institute of Fine Arts

“Cairo since 1900 is a timely addition to our appreciation of Cairo’s urban
fabric. With meticulous research and beautiful photographs, Elshahed offers us a
unique survey of the city’s modernist architectural gems.”—Khaled Fahmy,
University of Cambridge

“Architectural historian and publisher Mohamed Elshahed is safeguarding the
architectural history of Cairo – and the rest of Egypt.”—Rima Alsammarae,
Architectural Digest (Middle East)

“[A] call to arms, a rallying cry to take another look at the everyday fabric of
this richly layered city.”—The Guardian

“Everything from bridges to gardens, from iconic buildings to unknown
residential buildings with a story to be told.”—Shaimaa S. Ashour, Maydan

“It not only documents the past but also the future… to remind us of where Cairo
is and where it is heading.”—N.A. Mansour, ArabLit

“Extraordinary and unreservedly recommended”—Midwest Book Review

“Elshahed has performed a sterling service in putting together his guidebook,
which anyone interested in Cairo’s modern architecture will immediately want to
have.”—David Tresilian, Al-Ahram Weekly

“[A] handsome illustrated guide… for the housebound archi-tourist (and that’s
most of us right now), it’s the next best thing to a ticket to Cairo
International Airport.”—Azure (Canada)

“For those seeking architectural armchair travel experiences, I would heartily
recommend Cairo Since 1900”—Romas Viesulas, Five Books

“Cairo’s modernism—as described by Elshahed—isn’t defined by any particular
philosophy, whether local or foreign. Instead, its hallmark is an eclectic
hybridity.”—Marcia Lynx Qualey, Qantara.de

“[T]he book is beautifully designed, as elegant and functional as many of the
buildings it documents. It is a small, compact, softcover volume that can be
carried along as one explores the city.”—Ursula Lindsey, Al-Fanar Media

“Elshahed counteracts the city’s selective amnesia by cataloging the legacy of
groundbreaking professionals who shaped the cityscape mainly from the 1920s
onward.”— AramcoWorld

”Must-read”— L’Architecture d’Aujourd’hui

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CAIRO MODERN - A CAIROBSERVER EXHIBITION - AT THE CENTER FOR ARCHITECTURE IN NEW
YORK  OCTOBER 1, 2021 - MARCH 12, 2022

Cairo Modern showcases works by Egyptian modernists from the 1920s to the 1970s,
half a century of rich architectural production that complicate our present
understanding of global modernism. The exhibition introduces audiences to key
architects from the period such as Sayed Karim (pictured) as well as examples of
their works commissioned by the state and the city’s burgeoning bourgeoisie.
Modernism in Cairo reflected the aspirations of the new classes that formed
after Egypt’s 1919 Revolution who embraced the Modernist house or apartment as
the materialization of new notions of class, identity, and modernity.

The exhibition accompanies the publication of Cairo Since 1900: An Architectural
Guide, the first comprehensive survey of the city’s modern constructions
including 226 buildings in 17 geographic areas built from 1900 to the present.

Curator: Mohamed Elshahed, Independent Curator; Author, Cairo Since 1900: An
Architectural Guide

Exhibition Designer: Rami Abou-Khalil, AIA, RAIC

Graphic Designer: Ahmad Hammoud

Supported by:

Cairo Modern is supported in part by a grant from the Cornelia T. Bailey
Foundation.

Exhibition Patron: Sherine Sawiris

Cairo Modern is supported, in part, by public funds from the New York City
Department of Cultural Affairs in partnership with the City Council.

Review of the exhibition on Architect’s Newspaper, here.

Photos by Asya Gorovits


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NEW SCHOOLS/FUTURE EGYPTIANS BY MOHAMED ELSHAHED WITH FARIDA MAKAR AT THE
INAUGURAL SHARJAH ARCHITECTURE TRIENNIAL

[Video by Jonatas Junot Barros and Mohamed Elshahed, 2019. 8:19]

This installation explores an important chapter in the history of education in
Egypt, namely the expansion of schooling infrastructure as well as the
transformations and continuities in education policies under the Nasser regime
after the 1952 military coup. Primary education had been made compulsory by law
in 1923, however, due to high construction costs and colonial-era policies that
viewed the countryside, where the majority of the population lived, as primarily
a site of agricultural production, there had been no serious effort to provide
the school building capacity to absorb the country’s youth. The Free Officers
looked to signal revolutionary change and to appeal to the masses by enforcing
mandatory free primary education in rural and urban areas alike and expanding
female education. Presidential decree number 343 of 1952 (later amended by law
381 of 1954) established the School Premises State Foundation (SPSF) with the
purpose of building 4000 schools across Egypt (400 annually for a decade,
however, the actual rate of construction was slower and the 1956 war and the
subsequent rebuilding efforts in Suez Canal zone further slowed school
construction). In 1962 when the National Charter was issued by president Gamal
Abdel Nasser, three million students were enrolled in primary schools, an
increase from the 800,000 students in 1953. The SPSF created a dozen school
prototypes. In addition to exploring state discourse on education, the
installation looks into the role of architects as servants of the state and how
their views collided with those of teachers whose pedagogical debates favored
child-centered learning experiences which were not possible within the designs
provided by architects, driven by cost reduction and efficiency.

The installation is in a classroom at the decommissioned Qasimiyya School in
Sharjah (a line drawn on the floor shows the size of the standardized classrooms
built in Egypt to compare with the one you are standing in). The school
currently serves as the headquarters of the Sharjah Architecture Triennial with
the classrooms transformed into exhibition spaces. For this installation the
classroom is a palimpsest, left in its condition, textures and colors as when it
was abandoned, with only necessary changes made during renovation of the
building to host the Triennial. Furniture from the school was incorporated. The
content is displayed through light emitting media – light boxes, 35mm
projectors, overhead and digital projectors, and screens. The seemingly sparse
room is dense with research material.

The text below appears in the Triennial publication titled Rights of Future
Generations: Conditions and on e-flux Architecture.

In 1954, a young Egyptian girl living in a village hundreds of kilometers away
from Cairo could start her primary education in a brand-new school building, one
that was distinctly modern, with cement floor tiles and whitewashed concrete
walls. She may have been the first child in her family to access free education
provided by the state. The school building, based on Model 10, was built on
previously agricultural land acquired by the state for the “public good” and
surrounded by a metal fence covered with bougainvillea. The school had been
designed by architects and engineers from Cairo who surveyed the site less than
a year earlier and quickly implemented a standardized school design. The
two-story building contained thirteen classrooms for boys and girls, a meeting
room, teacher rooms, a prayer room, storage rooms for food and school supplies,
as well as gender-segregated bathrooms housed in a separate structure.
Classrooms measured five-and-a-half by eight meters and could hold forty-two
students with their desks lined up facing the blackboard. Above hung a picture
of President Nasser, the ultimate figure of authority and a daily reminder to
students that they were living in a new era. The meeting room was lifted on
slender columns with a shaded play area below, and the classrooms all faced
north, with large windows for cross ventilation and natural light. This may have
been the first time the student interacted with peers of the opposite gender,
and her future was promised to be vastly different from that of her illiterate
mother’s. She was one of 186,000 students in 372 new schools completed across
Egypt for the 1954–1955 school year by Muʾassasa Abniyyat al-Taʿlim, the School
Premises State Foundation (SPSF).1

Historian Meriam Belli suggests that “the 1950s–60s witnessed an outstanding
quantitative growth in educational infrastructures and literacy, especially in
the provincial and rural areas neglected by the ancien régime. ‘Educative
Nasserism’ attempted to reduce broad gaps in the spatial hierarchy, such as
between north and south or urban and rural milieus.”2 Though inequalities
certainly endured, “populations with low initial rates of literacy benefited the
most from these policies.”3 But for this to happen, new facilities across the
vast geography of Egypt had to be constructed quickly, and so architects
provided the plans for standardized school models, such as Model 10, which
created modern spaces for education in cities and rural areas.

Alongside such architectural advancements, the Egyptian state under Nasser
placed a significant emphasis on its education policy. Standard accounts assume
that the Nasser regime introduced new education policies immediately after
taking power in 1952. However, recent scholarship has demonstrated that it still
relied on the structures of the old regime of King Farouk. Existing educational
structures were not immediately overturned, as syllabi, textbooks, and methods
of instruction from the old regime—as well as existing networks and
advisers—continued to be in use throughout much of the fifties. Belli suggests
that “Nasserist polices carried to their conclusion the series of measures
undertaken under the khedives. These were part of a reformist ‘globalized’ and
‘transnational’ movement rooted in the past century. However, the Free Officers
[the movement that led the 1952 Revolution] pushed faster and further than the
monarchy. Like the Third Republic in France, Nasser’s Egypt did not invent the
school; it adopted it, refashioned it to its needs and views especially in a
cultural intent.”4

The result is an education system that tolerated some hybridity in its earlier
stages, combining old and new pedagogical approaches, forces, and structures of
power and authority. Education was instrumentalized by the new state as a
political tool to transform national consciousness and collective visions of the
future of Egyptian society—made visible through the enormous school building
enterprise of SPSF.

[Audio excerpt on education from al-mithaq al-watani, the National Charter, read
by president Nasser in 1962 superimposed with class photos of students and
teachers at the Qalyub Model School, 1959. 2 minutes]

Primary education in Egypt had been made compulsory by law in 1923. However,
there had been no serious effort to provide the building capacity to absorb the
country’s young students, particularly in rural areas. A 1949 law had
effectively made primary education free, and the Egyptian Ministry of Education
had to deploy resources and facilities in order to suit the needs of its growing
student population.

Yet state-funded school building projects prior to the 1952 Revolution were
curbed by high overhead costs—each new school cost the state 25,000 to 40,000
Egyptian pounds. This high cost limited the number of schools that could be
built, hence the need for standardization.

One of the first decrees issued by the Nasser regime established the SPSF as an
autonomous institution with the sole purpose of building schools across Egypt,
400 annually.5 The number of enrolled students would therefore increase from
1,611,000, during the 1951–1952 school year, to 2,104,000 by 1957–1958.6

The SPSF had a board that included ministers of planning, finance, education,
public works, professors of architecture from Cairo University, and others. A
team of specialists was established to determine the locations of new schools
across the country.

While inspired by international architectural developments of the time, the
schools’ standardized modernist and functionalist design served the purpose of
the centralized state’s provision of universal primary education across the
country, regardless of local specificities.7 From the point of view of
administrators and government officials, such a program was an efficient way to
assimilate a new generation of Egyptian youth into the revolutionary state’s
vision of nationalism, socialism, and revolution. Architects participating in
the program strongly believed in the power of architecture to create new
citizens. Architect Tawfiq ʿAbd al-Gawwad, for example, wrote:


> A noble outcome of the revolution, and one of the most important goals of the
> revolution, is to provide education with ease to millions of the children of
> the nation in new healthy schools, not only to learn reading and writing but
> also to be transformed into good citizens [muwatenin salhin], strong and
> capable of working, with hearts full of love for Egypt.8

ʿAbd al-Gawwad thus suggests that architects could play an integral role in the
building of not only a future Egypt, but also future Egyptians, and presented
his role as an opportunity for architects to actively serve a wider segment of
the population under the auspices of the state. One of the clearest ways in
which the state attempted to transform society via education was by expanding
the education of women, for which Nasser was greatly responsible.9

Yet it took some time for the accompanying textbooks to be rewritten. While
Nasser’s regime “attached considerable importance to the curricula as a primary
means of disseminating the values, symbols and goals of the July Revolution,”
the majority of textbooks were not produced right away.10 It was only in
1958/1959—at the same time as Egypt’s union with Syria—that revised textbooks
were published for all subjects, and they remained in use for much of the
sixties and seventies. Once available, they were adopted across the country,
regardless of the school’s urban or rural setting, the socioeconomic status of
its area, or its local history and traditions.


In terms of pedagogy, Egyptian government officials were very much influenced by
the international progressive education movement, whose practices encouraged a
more child-centered approach and a departure from rote memorization. That is,
while the Ministry of Education produced new textbooks that were meant to
indoctrinate the student population, it continued to advocate for
experience-based learning, activities in the classroom, and critical thinking.
While there isn’t sufficient evidence to suggest that such practices were
applied in reality, they were very much part of the national pedagogical
debate—as is evident from a number of reports published by the Ministry in the
fifties and sixties. They were, however, considered in the overall design of the
new schools. All of this delineates a rich and complex learning landscape, and
one which tolerated a number of paradoxes.

The SPSF schools remained in place until 1992, when many of them failed to
withstand the force of that year’s earthquake. While the earthquake did not
destroy all schools, many buildings suffered major damage, which made them
unsafe for occupants. A new school building program, this time spearheaded by
the military, eventually replaced most of the SPSF schools by the end of the
nineties. For four decades, millions of Egyptian youth had received their
education in these once modernist, but now crumbling, buildings. Pictures of
presidents that hung in every classroom had changed only twice. The schools had
grown more crowded and less maintained, as the future-oriented nationalism of
the fifties and sixties faded into the past.

1. Tawfiq Abdel Gawwad, “School Premises State Foundation and the First Stage of
Schools” in Majallat al-Emara, No. 2, 1957 {in Arabic}.

2. Mériam N. Belli, An Incurable Past: Nasser’s Egypt Then and Now (Gainesville,
2013), 55.

3. Ibid., 57.

4. Ibid., 28.

5. Keith Wheelock, Nasser’s New Egypt: A Critical Analysis (New York, 1960),
112.

6. United Arab Republic: The Yearbook, 1963 (Cairo, 1963), 103.

7. This process, of course, occurred in many countries. In the case of
revolutionary Egypt, standardized curricula and school buildings can be
understood as part of a broader effort to define a “standard citizen.” See
Catherine Burke and Ian Grosvenor, School (London, 2008), 19.

8. Gawwad, 8.

9. Belli, 28.

10. Yoram Meital, “School Textbooks and Assembling the Puzzle of the Past in
Revolutionary Egypt,” Middle Eastern Studies, 42, no. 2 (March 2006): 255.




[35mm projections presenting side by side the perspectives of the state,
architects, and teachers on education reform. Images from the teachers magazine
Al Read, architectural journal Al Emara and a variety of state publications and
annual reports.]

Commissioned by the Sharjah Architecture Triennial, 9 November 2019 - 8 February
2020.

Farida Makar is a doctoral candidate in History at the University of Oxford. Her
research focuses on the history of progressive pedagogy in Egypt between 1900
and 1952.

Team

Jonatas Junot Barros (Videography)


Ahmad Hammoud (Graphic Design)

Mohammad Helmy (Video Editing)

Hussein El-Hajj (Translation)

Tamara Barrage (Production)

 * cairobserver sharjaharch schools Egypt architecture modern Nasser

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MODERNIST INDIGNATION - A CAIROBSERVER EXHIBITION - WINS LONDON DESIGN BIENNALE
MEDAL

Egypt at the 2018 London Design Biennale

Modernist Indignation

4-23 September 2018

Somerset House, East Wing


EGYPT’S FIRST ENTRY TO THE LONDON DESIGN BIENNALE WAS AWARDED THE MEDAL FOR MOST
OUTSTANDING OVERALL CONTRIBUTION ON 3 SEPTEMBER 2018.

The Egyptian installation recreates a fictional 1939 exhibition put on by the
editors of Al Emara, the first Arabic-language design magazine focused on
contemporary architecture in Egypt. This is Egypt’s first participation in the
London Design Biennale. The country does not have a design museum or archive, an
architecture museum or a national body concerned with design. 

Al Emara, founded by architect Sayed Karim, was published between 1939 and 1959.
The goal of the magazine was two-fold, first to invigorate Egypt’s architectural
culture by recording recent constructions and promoting the principals of modern
design. Second, to make Egypt’s contemporary architecture visible to the
international community of architects. While the magazine published occasional
content in English and French, its primary language is Arabic, making it a
unique publication in the world at the time. The magazine promoted the work of
Egyptian architects, featured international architectural developments, included
technical, theoretical and art historical essays and reported on regional
engineering conferences. Despite its historical and cultural significance, the
magazine, as well as Egypt’s embrace of modernism, remain on the periphery of
design and architectural histories, a position that enables the erasure of this
heritage. 

In the 1950s, in addition to editing and regularly contributing to the magazine,
Sayed Karim developed many urban and architectural projects in the Middle East
and beyond that he was dubbed the “flying architect”. Seventy-nine years after
Al Emara’s founding, this display sheds light on the magazine and Karim, who
fell out of political favour in the early 1960s as the Nasser regime grew
increasingly authoritarian. Karim’s career was practically terminated in 1964
when his architectural office was confiscated, and he was placed under
sequestration. His story echoes that of the country’s modernist architecture, a
rich heritage that has been destroyed or left to ruin. Hundreds of modernist
buildings, some of which featured in Al Emara, have been demolished in recent
years because of real estate pressures and the lack of a legal status
recognizing and protecting twentieth century design. 

Modernist Indignation proposes to read the theme of this year’s biennale as
“emotional States” by evoking the unfair treatment of a central figure in
Egypt’s design history. Like the magazine Karim founded, the aim of the display
is two-fold: to make Sayed Karim and Al Emara visible to the international
community of designers, and to insert them back into Egypt’s narrative of
architectural modernism. Exhibition design by Suzanne Gaballa of Lund Gaballa
incorporates materials and finishes favoured by Sayed Karim and utilised in such
buildings as his private villa, built in Maadi, Cairo in 1948. In the centre of
the room is a display that acts as a gateway into Egypt’s modernist past. Layers
of suspended fabric are overlaid to evoke ephemerality and fluidity. Mirrored
panels along the wall highlight milestones in the story the Al Emara’s editor
while reflecting the installation in the centre. 

Suzanne Gaballa says, “Egypt’s exhibition at the 2018 London Design Biennale
reflects on the impermanence of architecture and subsequent historical loss to
society. Visitors are invited to explore whilst unknowingly contributing to the
erasure of Al Emara’s title inscribed on the floor, reinforcing the themes of
Modernist Indignation." 

Graphic design by Valerie Arif draws from the magazine’s distinctive typography
and colours. Excerpts from Sayed Karim’s 1939 manifesto "What is Architecture?”
published in the first issue of Al Emara, are read by contemporary Egyptian
architect Shahira Fahmy in a short film, commissioned for this exhibition, shot
in Sayed Karim’s villa and directed by Ahmed Tahoun. 

Modernist Indignation is curated by Mohamed Elshahed, former British Museum
curator for the Modern Egypt Project and author of the forthcoming book Cairo
Since 1900: An Architectural Guide, published by the American University in
Cairo Press in April 2019. Elshahed says “Sayed Karim’s story shows the
precarious position of being Egyptian and modernist in the years of nationalist
politics, he is excluded from the international narrative of modernism, and his
career and legacy are denied a place in national history when he no longer
served a political purpose for the Nasser regime. Al Emara and Sayed Karim
illustrate the vulnerability of design culture.”

Administering bodies: Zein Khalifa (Tintera) and Cairobserver
Design Team: Suzanne Gaballa (Lund Gaballa Architects), Nick Westby (Westby &
Jones Ltd.), Ahmed Tahoun, Valerie Arif, Amarasri Songcharoen (Seam Design)
Curator: Mohamed Elshahed
Supporting Bodies: Orascom Development Holding, Pharos Holding for Financial
Investments, Barjeel Art Foundation, British Council, Mrs Sherine Sawiris, Mrs
Cherine Helmy  


About London Design Biennale 


London Design Biennale 2018 is devoted to the theme Emotional States. Taking
over the entirety of Somerset House, including the Edmond J. Safra Fountain
Court and River Terrace, it will explore big questions and ideas about
sustainability, migration, pollution, energy, cities, and social equality.
Visitors will enjoy engaging and interactive installations, innovations and
proposed design solutions from 40 countries, cities and territories - all in an
immersive, inspiring and entertaining tour of the world. 

Sir John Sorrell CBE, President Ben Evans, Executive Director 

London Design Biennale’s International Advisory Committee and Jury 2018: 

Paola Antonelli, Adelia Borges, Dr Tristram Hunt, Hadeel Ibrahim, Mitra
Khoubrou, James Lingwood MBE, Ana Elena Mallet, Professor Jeremy Myerson, Kayoko
Ota, Jonathan Reekie CBE, Lord Richard Rogers of Riverside CH, Sir John Sorrell
CBE, Ben Evans, Dr Christopher Turner. 

About Somerset House 

A unique part of the London cultural scene, Somerset House is a historic
building where surprising and original work comes to life. From its 18th-century
origins, Somerset House has been a centre for debate and discussion – an
intellectual powerhouse for the nation. Somerset House is today a key cultural
destination in London in which to experience a broad range of artistic activity,
engage with artists, designers and makers and be a part of a major creative
forum – an environment that is relaxed, welcoming, and inspirational to visit
while providing a stimulating workplace for the cultural and creative
industries. 

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WHY EGYPT SHOULD PARTICIPATE IN THE VENICE ARCHITECTURE BIENNALE



لماذا يجب على مصر المشاركة فى بينالى فينيسيا؟



كان هذا سؤالى منذ حوالي خمس سنوات في ندوة نظمتها لجنة العمارة في المجلس الأعلى
للثقافة. فى مناسبة حلقة نقاشية حول مشاركات مصر السابقة فى البينالى (و أظن أنها
كانت تمهيدا للنقلة التى حدثت فى طريقة اختيار القومسير و العمل الممثل لمصر)
الجواب الذى أتانى كان أن مصرمن مؤسسى هذا المحفل الدولى و لديها مبنى و يجب أن
نشغله.

لم تقنعنى أبدا هذه الإجابة و بالطبع هناك نقد كبير للمعارض المبنية على أساس
 تمثيل قومى ( مثل  الإكسبو) و أعتقد شخصيا ان مثل تلك المحافل الدولية ان لم تتطور
بصور جذرية فمصيرها يكاد يكون معروفا. في اول تنظيم للمسابقة المعمارية لاختيار ما
يمثل مصر و هو ما لاشك فتح أبوابا للشباب خاصة لتحدى أنفسهم .و اختبار قدراتهم و
أفكارهم و كانت دوره يقودها المعماري العالمي رم كولهاس المسبب لكثير من الجدل و
الإعجاب و أيضا السخط لدى البعض لم أودّ ان أشارك لاننى ضد هذه المشاركة بصورتها
المطروحة. ربما لم يكن تمثيل مصر فى تلك الدورة كما تمنى مسؤلى وزارة الثقافة و لكن
بالطبع لم يدر نقاش نقدى حقيقى ( فيما اعلم على الأقل ) عن هذه المشاركة بما قد
يساعد في تعلم الدروس الضرورية استعدادا للمشاركة التالية لها.

في الدورة التالية لها طرح المعماري ارافينا تناول نضال العمارة لتحسين حال
المواطنين ذلك الكفاح المضنى الذى يضع الهم و المعاناة الانسانية في جوهره وفى
الوقت نفسه لا يتنكر لقيم العمارة النبيلة.( وكانت هذه فرصة جيدة جدا لنقاش ذلك
التعارض الذى قد يكون ظاهريا أو قد يحمل ضمنيا بعض الحقيقة بين التزام المعمارى
بقضايا المجتمع و الصالح العام فى مقابل ما يريده أو يسعى إليه العميل)

هذه المرة قررت الا اكتفى بالفرجة و سالت نفسى ما ذَا يمكن للمعماري المصرى ان يقدم
و بالطبع كانت هناك بعض الأسئلة التى طرحتها سابقا وما تزال تدورفى عقلى : ما نخسر
بغياب النقد؟ و قلت علينا اذا الا نسارع بالاحتفاء بالمحاولات الناشئة هنا و هناك و
لكننا يجب ان نساعدها في التبلور والتطور. يجب ان نفهمها اولا و هذا لا يتم الا في
وضعها في سياقها و يجب أيضا يوفر هذا السياقالأشمل فرصة لبداية نقاش نقدى عن
الجوانب المختلفة لتلك المحاولات. ولكن ما أهمية ان يتم هذاالنقاش النقدى في
فينيسيا الا يكون ذلك منافيا لابسط شروط الإجابة على سؤال ماذا نخسر؟ من يخسر هنا
ليس فقط المجتمع المعماري المهنى فى مصر و لكن أيضا مجتمع الطالبات و الطلبة
و"الناس في بلادى" على كافة ألوانهم. الا يجب ان يتم النقاش و الفهم و التحاور
الجاد هنا فى مكان ليس بعيدا عن الناس و الأماكن و السياقات الاخرى التى ولدت فى
إطارها الاجتهادات التى نود كثيرا لو تطورت و ازدهرت.

لو كنّا حريصين فعلا على تطور الاجتهادات التى تستحق التشجيع و النقد لقمنا بنقل
النقاش عندنا هنا فى مصر.

كان هذا فى النهاية جوهر اقتراحنا. عمل يوفر سياقا لفهم و نقاش المبادرات المعمارية
و العمرانية في مصر. يستهدف ان تكون غايته هى أن يبنى فى مصر و يسهم في إطلاق شرارة
فهم و نقاش معمارى و عمراني نقدى. و تكون المشاركة فى فينيسيا الخطوة الاولى في
إطلاق هذا النقاش ثم يعود العمل الى أرضه و يوضع في مكان ملائم  مثل جامعة عريقة
ظهرت من رحم مبادرة شعبية مثل جامعة القاهرة ثم ينتقل لعدة أماكن في داخل مصر
لتوسيع دائرة النقاش التى توقعنا ان تكون مفيدة للغاية كما انها استفادة ممتازة من
الاستثمار الذهني و المالى الذى تساهم فيه وزارة الثقافة اضافة الى ممثلى العمارة
المصرية. ونعتقد ان هذا الطرح سيوفر مكانة متميزة لمشاركة مصر فى هذا المحفل الدولي
و اعتقد انه كان سيلاقي احتراما كبيرا و يخطوا خطوات في الابتعاد عن استهداف
التمثيل المشرف الى المشاركة والمساهمة فى الحوار الدولي عن العمارة و المجتمع .و
كان عملنا أيضا فى جانب منه نقدا لهذا المعرض الدولى الذى قد يشارك فيه البعض بغرض
المباهاه و التغنى أو أن ينقلب إلى معرض فنى قد يرضى رغبات البعض.

لم نوفق و لكن عاد السؤال مع طرح إيفون فاريل وشيلي  المسؤلتان عن تنظيم بينالى
2018 لفكرة هامة تحت عنوان الفضالحر.

ترى المعماريتان ان الفضالحر هو وصف سخاء روح العمارة وحسها الانساني الذي هو من
صميم جدول اعمالها ومهامها، حيث يركز هذا المفهوم على جودة الفضاء نفسه وقدرة
العمارة على ان تمنح مستخدميها هبات فضائية يمكنها ان تستوعب رغباتهم غير المعلنة.
حيث يحتفى الفضالحر بقدرة العمارة على تحقيق سخاء اضافي غير متوقع في كل مشروع، حتى
في أكثر الظروف خصوصية أو تقييداً.

على مستوى آخر يمنح الفضالحر الفرصة للتأكيد على هبات الطبيعة من الضوء؛ ضوء الشمس
وضوء القمر، والهواء، والجاذبية، والمواد سواء الطبيعية أو المصنوعة. وهو في ذلك
يشجع على مراجعة طرق التفكير التقليدية، واعتماد طرقاً جديدة لرؤية العالم، لابتكار
الحلول التي تقدمها العمارة لرفاه وكرامة كل مواطن من هذا الكوكب.

الفضالحر يمكن ان يكون فضاءً للفرص، فضاءً للديمقراطية.

بالنسبة لى كانت الكلمات متحدية و تولد الكثير من الأفكار و لكن كيف نفهم و نتعاطى
مع طرح فاريل و مكنمارا فى مصر و هل نستطيع وضعه فى السياق المعمارى العام فى مصر و
هل يمكن توليد أو بدء نقاش هادف عن “الفضالحر” فى مصر. يركز الطرح على العتبة بين
المدينة و المبنى و الطبيعة و المبنى و التى تمثل فرصة و تحدى هام  خاصة من ناحية “
المسئولية طويلة الأمد”  للمعمارى و التى أرى أنها يجب أن نتساءل حول معناها و مدى
واقعيتها. حيث أنها تفترض أن يكون المعمارى مسئولا عن عمله فيما يتعدى السياق الذى
يعرفه.



هذا هو ما سبب لنا قلقا فى مشاركتنا فى مسابقة الاختيار هذه المرة حيث لم نرد
الوقوع فى فخ التعبير عن الفضالحر و لكننا أردنا الاستجابة النقدية لهذا الطرح
الهام. و لكن كيف نتناول “ فضاء الفرص و فضاء للديموقراطية” كانت هى المعضلة
الحقيقة. ما أردنا أن تناوله هو غياب مثل هذا الفضاء لدينأ و لكننا نعتقد أنه من
المهم للمعماريين و المجتمع و العمارة المصرية مناقشة تلك القضية و لكن كيف؟ و كيف
نفعل ذلك فى مصر؟

استعدنا مرة أخرى الفكرة الأصلية باستخدام بينالى فينيسيا كما أسميناه فى الدورة
السابقة أرض الأختبارات لنجرب و نفكر و نطور ما نريد أن نستخدمه عن انتهاء فترة
المعرض و عودة العمل إلى مصر. كان طرحنا هو عمل يسهم فى استكشاف هبات الطبيعة فى
مصر من خلال ترحال مبرمج للأماكن المختلفة فى ربوع مصر و يسهم هذا العمل ليس فقط فى
استكشاف تلك الهبات و لكن أيضا استكشاف قدرة عمل معمارى على تمكين و بلورة و الرقى
بهذا الاستكشاف أى يصبح الاستكشاف متبادلا ليس فقط لهبات الطبيعة و لكن أيضا لقدرات
العمارة. و بعد هذه الجولة المبرمجة التى قد تستغرق شهورا أو أكثر اقترحنا بوضع
العمل فى تماس مباشر مع المبانى العامة و خاصة التعليمية لكى نستطلع و نستكشف
امكانية وجود هذا التواصل بين عمارة المبانى العامى التى تستهدف المجتمع ككل و
الأماكن الطبيعية بما يخلق حيزات من التفكير فى تلك الفرض المهدرة فى تصميم و صياغة
المبانى العامة حين نقوم بقطعها عن محيطها المجتمعى و الطبيعى بداعى التأمين و
خلافه.

فى طرحنا ايضا اعادة استكشاف لمادة مصرية هى الغاب كمادة للعمل و التشكيل و ما
ترتبط به هذه المادة من صناعة القوارب المصرية الأولى والتى ساهمت بشكل حاسم فى ربط
القرى المصرية معا و هو ما مهد لقيام الحضارة المصرية القديمة. كما خاطرنا بالتعامل
مع التشكيلات المصرية القديمة للمعبد و خاصة صالة الأعمدة و حولنا الأعمدة إلى
كائنات شفاف يمكن لشخص أن يدخلها و يتطلع من دائرة سقفها المفتوح للسماء.

اقترحنا بناء معبدا للحرية

نبيل الهادى

معمارى بجامعة القاهرة

ملاحظة الطرح الذى قدمته فى دورة 2016 ساهم فيه المهندسون عبد الرحمن   , هشام جمال
أما الطرح الخاص بدورة 2018 فشارك فيه المهندستان منه الله مسعد و هاجر محسن و
المهندس محمد عبد المنعم و فاز هذا الطرح بأحد الجوائز التقديرية.

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EGYPTIAN MUSEUM TURNS 115

Yesterday marks 115 years since the opening of the Egyptian Museum in its
current building, the first purpose-built public museum in the Middle East and
Africa.


Here is an excerpts from Revival of the Egyptian Museum Initiative. Here is the
full text.

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For more than one hundred years, the Egyptian Museum has been a landmark in the
centre of downtown Cairo renowned for housing the world’s largest collection of
Pharaonic art. The Egyptian Museum was built at a time when museums were
established in urban centres to foster greater sensitivity to national identity.
The notable density of artefacts in this one-of-a-kind museum attests to the
staggering cultural heritage of Egypt’s first civilization, continuously
attracting visitors from all over the world. Equally significant is the museum’s
19th century Beaux-Arts architecture, which provides a dignified setting for an
exceptional collection.


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The 1798 French expedition to Egypt under Napoleon Bonaparte was the first to
bring to general attention the value of Egypt’s ancient heritage, catching the
interest of Khedive Mohamed Ali, who issued the first decree in 1835 regulating
the excavation of archaeological sites. His decree also prohibited artefacts
from being sold and exported out of Egypt without permission. In 1848, the
Khedive established the first antiquities storage warehouse, situated in the
Cairo district of Azbakia. This storage space soon became congested with
antiquities and was broken into by robbers several times.

In 1851, under the reign of Abbas I, the antiquities were transferred from the
Azbakia warehouse to one of the halls within the Citadel of Saladin.
Regrettably, however, in 1854, Khedive Abbas gave all of these Pharaonic
artefacts to the Prince of Austria, who had shown great interest in them during
his visit. The Prince returned to Austria with this incredible treasure.

In 1858, Khedive Said appointed the French Egyptologist Auguste Mariette as
Director of the newly established Antiquities Service, acknowledging his care
for Egypt’s cultural heritage, and his systematic supervision of many
archaeological excavations across the country. The same year, Mariette was
awarded a modest house in Boulaq, located close to the present-day Television
Building and Ministry of Foreign Affairs. This house had originally accommodated
the River Navigation Company of Boulaq, one of Cairo’s ports, and became the
nucleus of the first museum of Egyptian antiquities. This is where Mariette
transferred the antiquities discovered during his excavations.

In 1863, Khedive Ismail approved the construction of a museum of Egyptian
antiquities in the city centre, but the project was postponed due to financial
constraints and Mariette was merely granted more space in front of the house in
Boulaq to expand his museum. During the same year, the Boulaq Museum was
officially inaugurated and opened to the public. In 1878, an unusually high Nile
flood caused much damage in Boulaq; many artefacts were destroyed, as well as
some of Mariette’s books, drawings and excavation documents. The Boulaq Museum
was closed for renovation and repair until 1881, after which it was reopened.
Mariette passed away that same year and was succeeded by Gaston Maspero as
Director of the Boulaq Museum and Department of Antiquities.


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In 1890, as the overall size of the collections at the Boulaq Museum increased,
they were transferred to the Ismail Pasha Palace in Giza, which was located at
the present-day Giza Zoo. Upon his appointment as Director of the Museum and
Department of Antiquities, the scholar Jacques de Morgan reorganized these
collections in the new museum, which was then known as the Giza Museum. Victor
Loret temporarily assumed responsibility between 1897 and 1899, before the
return of Maspero from 1897 to 1914. The palace contained many rooms, but their
relatively small size and the intricate and rather complex design of the
building made the display of the artefacts and the management of the museum
awkward, if not difficult. The palace was simply not adapted to function as a
museum, especially one where monumental sculptures could be exhibited.

After several calamities in the Boulaq and Giza Museums resulting in huge
damages and even losses of invaluable artefacts, the construction of a new
Egyptian Museum building became urgent. Display space had to be enlarged to
accommodate the constantly increasing number of antiquities varying from small,
medium to massive sizes that were discovered almost daily by archaeological
missions across Egypt. Object conservation and security issues, a constant
problem in the Boulaq and Giza Museums, had to be solved. The lack of space for
adequate storage, laboratories, a library and administrative offices imposed
huge restrictions on establishing a well functioning institution. Proper
ventilation and lighting could not be provided in buildings that had not been
designed as museums and also made the movement of the artefacts to a new home
unavoidable.

[Unbuilt proposal by Ferdinand Martin submitted to the 1895 competition for the
new Egyptian Museum.]

In March 1893, the supervisors of the Public Works Council met to discuss the
issue of whether to establish a new museum of antiquities, or simply to keep the
collections in the Giza Palace after undertaking some renovations to the
building. It was Jacques de Morgan, at that time Director of the Antiquities
Service, who urged for the construction of a new museum of antiquities. The
approval came from the Board of Supervisors, headed by the Khedive and his
entourage, on the 6th of May, 1894. After that meeting, the location 8 on which
the new museum would be built was identified. An announcement for a competition
for the best architectural design was made, granting a prize award of one
thousand Egyptian pounds.

It was the first time that a competition of this kind was held on this side of
the Mediterranean Sea, and it received much commentary, as evidenced by the many
press articles that were written on the competition and its outcome. The main
source of information on the competition was the London newspaper The Times: its
Cairo correspondents gave special attention to all phases of the competition
from the outset.

The jury of the competition envisaged a functional building that would meet
modern standards for the professional preservation and appealing display of its
contents, provide favourable work conditions for the museum’s staff and
accommodate laboratories and a research area. Detailed specifications were
provided by the Egyptian authorities as guidelines for the competition. With
respect to the architectural style, however, the designers were free to choose
whatever they considered would match well with the antiquities.

Between 80 and 116 design proposals were submitted, only 73 of which were
presented to the public. Several applicants submitted designs influenced by
Ancient Egypt, featuring a temple or pyramid shape. Many proposals did not
adhere to the competition guidelines or exceeded the available budget. In 1895,
the winning prize went to the French architect Marcel Dourgnon for his Beaux
Arts, neoclassical design.

The Egyptian Museum, in Arabic “El Antikkhana”, was established in the newly
designed Cairo Ismailiya quarter (or just Ismailiya for short), Cairo’s European
district, named after Khedive Ismail, who launched an ambitious urban
development plan for the modernization of Cairo between the 1860s and 1870s.
According to an official document written by Nubar Pasha, Egypt’s Prime Minister
at the time of the competition for the new Egyptian Museum, the land for the
Egyptian Museum was located between the Nile and the British military barracks
of Kasr El Nil. The document refers to a plot situated behind the military’s
existing horse stables in this area. The order was given to remove part of the
stables for the purpose of expanding the land on which the new Egyptian Museum
was to be constructed. This was actually not a very convenient site for the
museum, given the number of existing buildings around it, but it had the
advantage of being available, being close to the Nile and located in the modern
area of Cairo established by Khedive Ismail.


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The cornerstone of the Egyptian Museum was laid on the 1st of April, 1897 and
construction began in 1898 by the Italian company Guiseppe Garozzo & Francesco
Zaffrani. Upon completion of the construction works, the artefacts were
transferred from the Giza Museum and other storage facilities to the new
building in around 5000 boxes. On the 15th of November, 1902, the Egyptian daily
newspaper Al Ahram announced the official opening of the Egyptian Museum that
same day at 4 pm by Khedive Abbas Hilmi II, in the presence of members of the
royal family, Egyptian ministers, the Head of the Upper House of the Egyptian
Parliament, high ranking officers, foreign diplomats and their spouses, the
Egyptian elite, businessmen, hundreds of other guests and the Museum Director,
Gaston Maspero.

The Egyptian Museum was managed by foreign directors until 1950, when Mahmoud
Hamza became the first Egyptian Director. By 1949, the British military barracks
to the southeast of the museum were removed, creating a larger public space
within the museum’s grounds. Five years later, in 1954, the Cairo Governorate
took a large section of land west and south of the museum to construct the
headquarters of the Arab League, the Nile Hilton Hotel and a building for the
Cairo Municipality, where, in the early 1960s, Egypt’s President Gamal Abdel
Nasser established the headquarters of his Arab Socialist Union. The Union was
converted in 1978 to the National Democratic Party by Nasser’s successor, Anwar
El Sadat. The Nile Hilton, which was opened in 1958, is now the Nile
Ritz-Carlton Hotel.


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Inaugurated in 1902, Egypt’s first state museum owes its fame not only to its
rich contents, but also to its splendid architecture, which provides a
marvellous backdrop for Pharaonic antiquities. Based on European architectural
models, the museum is typical of the large public and institutional buildings -
libraries, theatres, and city halls - built at the end of the 19th century and
the beginning of the 20th century all over Europe and America. Such buildings
were most of the time isolated, monumental, and designed in a classical style,
known as the “Beaux Arts Style”, that triumphed during this period.

The French architect Marcel Dourgnon, winner of the competition, was among those
applicants whose proposal closely met the requirements outlined in the
competition programme. His architectural design of the Egyptian Museum was wise
and simple, reminiscent of the neo-classical style, combined with Greek and
Roman decorative ornaments on the façade. The museum’s main entrance is flanked
by two columns in Ionic order and two female sculptures in Greek style
personifying the goddesses of Upper and Lower Egypt. The museum’s portal is
decorated with the head of the Pharaonic mother goddess Hathor. An inscription
above it commemorates the opening of the Egyptian Museum by Egypt’s ruler Abbas
Hilmi II.

The Egyptian Museum was the first museum in Egypt to be designed with massive
internal spaces to house the large number of Pharaonic monuments. The 12
building features a symmetrical and T-shaped composition along a main and
perpendicular north-south axis with the Grande Galerie Centrale in its middle,
accentuated by rows of arches and columns on its longitudinal sides. The Galerie
d’Honneur runs perpendicular to it and parallel to the museum’s south facade. It
is designed as a sequence of double-height rectangular and circular spaces from
east to west, with a Rotunda in the centre, located right after the museum’s
main entrance.

Along each side of the Grande Galerie Centrale is a series of seven rooms, the
Atriums. These are double-height rooms topped by a skylight and connected by an
outer and inner ring gallery on both floors which surround the whole edifice. It
seems that the proposal for this type of room, which offered a brilliant
solution in terms of natural lighting, was decisive in the final choice of the
jury.

Today, a total of 89 spacious display halls occupy two floors, although the
museum was originally comprised of more than 100 display halls. The lost halls
are a result of the gradual conversion of exhibition space into storage
facilities due to the tremendous lack of space. The inner ring gallery on the
Ground Floor is no longer accessible to the public and has been used as a
storage area. The library and administrative offices have separate entrances and
are located on the western and eastern corners of the museum’s south facade.

The Egyptian Museum is one of the first buildings in Egypt where concrete was
used extensively. It was built on reinforced concrete and steel foundation
pillars and comprises four levels. The basement, which provides extra storage
space, features a concrete slab for flooring and successive stone masonry arches
that support its ceiling. The ventilation system relied on natural air flow
through windows which open out to the surrounding area near ground level, as
well as air shafts going through the ceiling to the first floor.

The whole architectural composition is very impressive, with its succession of
low and high spaces, which were originally, and are still, lit by natural light
through the impressive dome above the museum’s Rotunda at the entrance, the
glass panes of the Grande Galerie Centrale, the skylights of the Atriums and the
many windows on the ground and first floor.

The project presented by Dourgnon for the competition in 1895 was a bit
different from the one that was subsequently built. Two phases were scheduled:
the first for the construction of the museum itself, and the second for further
extensions located along the western and eastern sides of the building, which
included extra exhibition rooms, the housing quarters of the Director, and the
administration offices. The Director’s house and the administration were
designed as independent 13 buildings placed at the western and eastern corners
flanking the garden in front of the museum. However, these two buildings and the
scheduled eastern and western extensions for additional display space were never
built.

Furthermore, Dourgnon had to improve the design and a second, somewhat
simplified, project was presented. In this new design, the building was more
compact, and the Grande Halle in the centre of the museum, which would have had
a rather industrial aspect, was replaced by the Grande Galerie Centrale,
intersecting the Galerie d’Honneur.

The Egyptian Museum at Ismailiya Square, now Tahrir Square, presented from the
outset a series of architectural and construction challenges for the building
contractors. These problems were mainly related to the complex nature of the
design made by Dourgnon. According to available documents, they had not been
resolved by the time of the museum’s inauguration in 1902. Thus, from 1907 to
1909, the roof of the building was modified for ventilation, lighting and
structural purposes. Repair works had to be realized to ease the weight burden
off the concrete roof, as the reinforced concrete construction system, pioneered
by the French engineer François Hennebique, had not been mastered at the time.

The terrace had to be almost completely reconstructed, and the original glass
skylights covering the double-height Atriums, which allowed too much sun and
heat inside the rooms, were transformed into skylights used in the traditional
houses of Cairo, in Arabic “shoukhshekha”. The topmost horizontal glass panes of
the skylights were replaced by wood covered with thin metallic sheets.
Furthermore, it was decided to lower the ground floor level of the Grande
Galerie Centrale, which was not high enough and its floor too weak to
accommodate the monumental sculptures and artefacts.

The architect made a point of installing an iron mesh beneath the glass windows
of the skylights, both to secure the roof from illegal entry and for aesthetic
reasons, to hide the metallic structure of the skylight. Unfortunately, however,
due to lack of funding, their installation was not completed in the northern
part of the building. The only part where the mesh still remains today is in the
southern wing of the Galerie d’Honneur and in the Grande Galerie Centrale.

The upgrading and development of the Egyptian Museum and surroundings, according
to the original plans, continued until the 23rd of July, 1952 Revolution. Since
then, political instability, heavy bureaucracy and lack of systematic planning
have led to an array of negative impacts over the years that have threatened 14
the National Museum’s position as the world’s largest establishment dedicated to
Ancient Egyptian artefacts.

 * museums
 * Egyptian Museum

 * Permalink
 * 12



One in a million (2006) - Short film with English subtitles.


Directed by Nadine Khan

Synopsis: On a stifling night in Cairo, a wedding party drives across a bridge
honking loudly; roaming adolescents comment on people they encounter; two guards
play cards while a third sips tea and watches a soap opera. A brief meditation
on the arbitrariness, fluidity and intensity of lived experience.

 * Permalink
 * 5




NOT A MATTER OF NEED: BICYCLES IN EGYPT.

العجل فى مصر: نحتاجه أم لا , ليست هى المسألة

من منتصف فبراير ٢٠١٣ بدأت فى جامعة القاهرة تدريس مقررا دراسيا عن العمارة و
العجل. و يستمر المقرر فى كل ربيع ( ما عدا ربيع ٢٠١٥) فى محاولة لفهم كيف يمكن أن
نتعامل مع العجل ليس بوصفه ترفيها أو رياضة و لكن بوصفه أحد و سائل ما يسمى بالتنقل
النشط. و ركزنا فى جميع الدورات الدراسية الأربع حتى الآن على فكرة الربط بين محطات
المترو و ما حولها و خاصة فى منطقة جامعة القاهرة. و الفكرة ببساطة تتبنى مفهو
الربط بين الدراجات و وسائل النقل العام الغير ملوثة بيئيا و الأكثر استدامة. و فى
إطار الفكرة نتعامل مع مسار للعجل لا يتجاوز العشر دقائق أو أقل من ثلاثة كيلومتر.
و الفكرة ببساطة شديدة لها تحاول التعامل مع الوضع المتأزم للتنقل فى المدن فى مصر
و كيف أن وسائل النقل العام المستدام مثل المترو يمكن أن يكون لها دور رئيسى فى
التعامل مع المشكلة القائمة و أنه بدخول العجل للمعادلة سنربح الكثير فى الحقيقة.
فأولا و نظرا للتكلفة المهولة لإنشاء مترو الانفاق فى القاهرة و قد وصلنا الأن للخط
الثالث و الخط الرابع سيبدأ العمل به قريبا و التصميم و التخطيط النهائى بدأ أيضا
للخط الخامس و لا أدرى موقف الخط السادس تحديدا. تتيح مسارات العجل فى إطار دائرة
نصف قطرها أقل من ثلاثة كيلومترات من كل محطة مترو فى القاهرة تغطية كاملة لكل سكان
العاصمة و هو ما يعنى أن المترو العالى التكلفة أصبح فى متناول الجميع بفضل مسارات
معقولة للدراجات. و لو قسمنا التكلفة فى على كل السكان و ليس فقط على من هم قريبون
من محطات المترو فإن التكلفة تصبح مبررة أكثر. ثانيا عمل مسارات العجل الآمنة
لمحطات المترو يعنى الاستغناء عن جزء كبير من السيارات الخاصة و الميكروباصات و
وسائل النقل الملوثة الأخرى مما يعنى هواء أفضل للجميع من سكان المدينة. و يعنى
أيضا طرق للسيارات أقل ازدحاما لأولئك المضطرون لاستعمال السيارات. ثالثا أثبتت
العديد من الدراسات التى قامت بها جمعيات دراسات القلب فى استراليا و الولايات
المتحدة بالإضافة إلى منظمة الصحة العالمية المردود الإيجابى للنشاط العضلى خاصة فى
الهواء الطلق. كما أشارت أيضا إلى أهمية جودة الهواء لحياة صحية للجميع و هو ما
نعتقد أن ركوب العجل لمدة عشرين دقيقة يوميا سيحققه و هو ما يعنى أيضا من ناحية
أخرى تقليل الانفاق الصحى فى مصر. رابعا يحتاج العجل لمسارات آمنة تفصله عن
السيارات و ايضا عن المشاة و تصميم تلك المسارات كما توضح التجارب التى قمنا بها لا
تحقق فقط الأمان لراكبى العجل و لكنها تساهم فى تنظيم و تحسين جودة الفضائات العامة
فى شوارعنا و هو ما نحتاجه بشده. خامسا أظهرت دراسات اقتصادية متخصصة أن تكلفة
المواطن الراكب للدراجة أقل ( على المدينة) من تكلفة راكب السيارة الخاصة بعشرات
المرات و هو ما يعنى أن من مصلحة كل مدينة أقتصاديا أن يقود العجل فيها أكبر قدر من
السكان و لا أعتقد أن لدينا فائضا من المال نريد انفاقه لدعم راكبى السيارات الخاصة
التى تلوث البيئة ( أى موت و خراب ديار)

موقف للعجل أما أحد المصالح فى اسيوط من تصوير أحمد طارق صيف ٢٠١٧


العجل كوسيلة لتتنقل ليس جديدا علينا فى مصر فأول دراجة هوائية دخلت مصر لها من
العمر ما يتجاوز المائة عام و بالرغم من أنه ليس لدينا دراسة دقيقة لتاريخ العجل فى
مصر لكن العديد من الاماكن فى مصر لا يزال يستخد العجل بكثرة كويسلة للتنقل. أجزاء
من مدينة أسيوط هى مثال جيد مثل الصورة المرفقة. و لكن العجل كان له ايضا وجود هام
فى الستينات و السبعينات و حتى الثمانينات مرافقا للمصانع التى انشأت فى العديد من
المناطق فى مصر و حاجة العمال الساكنين فى القرى المجاورة الوصول فى وقت محدد يوميا
للمصنع و العودة منه ولا تزال فى مخيلتى صورة جماهير راكبى العجل القادمين من القرى
التابعة للحوامدية والبدرشين عبر المعدية النهرية كل صباح متجهين للمصانع الموجودة
فى منطقة المعصرة و أعرف أن تلك الصورة تواجدت فى العديد من المدن المصرية حتى وقت
قريب و الامثلة فى شبين الكوم و المنوفية و الفيوم و غيرها. و ساهمت فى نهضة العجل
تلك تصنيع العجل فى مصر ( اعتقد أن اصله كان تصميما هنديا). و للأسف الشديد تتغلب
الأن الدراجات النارية ( حتى اسمها مش لطيف) الواردة من البلاد التى تصنع لنا ما لا
يجب أن نستورده.
هناك احتياج واضح للعجل يدعمه تاريخ و منطق و لكن كيف نروج للعجل ليس كوسيلة
للترفيه و هو بالطبع لا غبار عليه و لكن كوسيلة آمنة للتنقل؟ انه السؤال الأهم و هو
ما نحاول استقصاؤه فى جامعة القاهرة.
بالرغم من تطور التعامل مع العجل كوسيلة للتنقل فى انحاء مختلقة من العالم و خاصة
فى هولندا و الدانمرك و لكن التعامل مع أى قضية تنموية كالتنقل يجب أن يوضع فى
السياق المجتمعى و الاقتصادى الخاص بنا. و افكارنا هى ان نستخدم حرم الجامعة كإطار
للتجارب و الترويج و استنباط الاسس التى قد تعمل فى السياق الخاص بنا.  فحرم جامعة
القاهرة يحده من الغرب محطة مترو كما أن حرم الجامعة يتكون من مجموعات مختلفة و إن
لم تكن متباعدة تماما مثل حرم كلية الزراعة و كلية الهندسة و المدينة الجامعة
المتقاربين معا. كما يقع حرم كلية الطب و الصيدلة على مسافة ليست بالبعيد و ايضا
القريبة جدا من محطة مترو السيدة زينب.


رسم تخيلى لشارع الجامعة بعد عمل مسار العجل الآمن   رسم سامح سعيد و نهى الهادى

رسم تخطيطى للفكرة الرئيسية لربط محطات المترو بالجامعة نطاق مسار العجلة يعادل
حوالى ١٠ دقائق


و قمنا فى الخمس سنوات الماضية بعمل تصميم على عدة مراحل يشمل تصورا ليس فقط
تخطيطيا و لكن أيضا تفصيليا للمسارات المحتملة و تصور للشوارع واضعين فى الإعتبار
العوائق و الوضع الحقيقى القائم. كما اقترحنا مسارا داخليا فى داخل الحرم الرئيسى
للجامعة يتيح للطلاب و الطالبات التنقل بالدراجات من محطة المترو لكلياتهم فى إطار
أكثر أمانا و يمكن له أن يروج لثقافة ركوب العجل بصورة آمنة بين الطلاب. و نعتمد فى
المقرر على فهم للمعرفة مبنى أساسا على المعاومات الموثقة و الدلائل العلمية فمثلا
قمنا بعمل استبيان لعينة من الطلاب لتقدير حجم الطلب المتوقع و بالتالى حجم انتظار
العجل المطلوب كما قمنا من خلال معمل كلية الهندسة بقياس الغازات الضارة فى الهواء
على طول المسار المتوقع و للمفاجاءة جاءت النتيجة جيدة ربما بسبب وجود حديقتى
الحيوان والأورمان و مزارع كلية الزراعة. كما قمنا بقياس معدلات الضوضاء على طول
المسار و هى تحتاج لعلاج أكيد. و بالإضافة إلى المعلومات و الدلائل و الاستبيانات
فنحن نعتمد على الملاحظة لما يحدث فى الواقع و مثلا نقوم بقيادة الدراجات فى المسار
المقترح كل اسبوع حتى نتفهم الواقع و نضع تصور واقعى للحل. و لى انا شخصيا تجربة مع
التنقل بالدراجة بصورة مستمرة من حوالى سنتين حتى اتمكن من فهم الوضع الحقيقى
للدراجات و حتى لا أقوم بتدريس شىئ بينما أنا أقوم بشئ آخر. و توضح الصور المرفقة و
الفيديو تصوراتنا التى قمنا بها و التى أعتقد أنها ممكن أن تكون بداية حقيقة ليس
فقط للعجل كوسيلة للتنقل فى إطار إمكانياتنا و ثقافتنا و لكن لتطوير مدننا لتكون
اكثر انسانية. و نتطلع الآن لمحاولة جادة لنقل الافكار إلى الواقع.

نبيل الهادى nelhady@gmail.com
قسم العمارة –بكلية الهندسة جامعة القاهرة

اشكر جميع المساهمين فى تطوير تلك المشروعات عبر السنوات الخمس الماضية  وهم حوالى
ستين طالبة و طالب كما أشكر المهندس احمد طارق و المهندس سامح سعيد و أيضا اشكر
زميلى مؤمن الحسينى لمشاركته لى فى تدريس المقرر فى ربيع ٢٠١٦ و ربيع ٢٠١٧


 * عربي

 * Permalink
 * 7




BIDDING FAREWELL TO THE TERMINALLY TROUBLED CITY

Mohamed Elshahed

“You insist to live in the past and lament,” says Hanan, a dance instructor, to
Khaled, the protagonist of In the Last Days of the City. “I want to live in the
now,” she continues, “the city is alive.” Khaled wallows in indifference, he
feels betrayed by Cairo and he is frustrated as to how to film the city and
convey its atmosphere. He is also failing to find a new apartment he can call
home. Khaled is disenchanted with Cairo’s condition: its contemporary life
uncomfortably, often paradoxically, inhabits the shells of a past modernity. 

Max Weber’s 1917 essay “Science as a Vocation” posited disenchantment as the
essence of modernity. Many theorists, philosophers and writers in 19th and early
20th century Paris, Vienna and Berlin often lamented the birth of the modern
city. These were cities where new notions of the modern self were authored in
direct contrast to the status quo. In these European centers congregated
colonial wealth manifested in urban and architectural forms and transformed the
physical and psychological experiences of the city in unprecedented ways.
Architects and urban planners designed structures for power and capital to
reside in stone, concrete, glass and steel. Being modern was to dress, behave,
inhabit space and walk the streets differently than before. The modern city was
alienating because of its new rational logic. 

Modern urban forms and practices in Cairo, Beirut and Baghdad took a hybrid
route; the old and the new were often integrated in a layered experience of
urbanity. New urban plans were implemented in a piecemeal fashion, not following
the methods of their imposition in European cities. The religious and secular,
the modern and traditional were not situated in dualistic oppositions. 

So what does the artistic, literary and philosophical sense of disenchantment
with modernity as experienced in the particular urban geographies of Europe tell
us about the experience of the modern city in Egypt, the Levant and Iraq?


A century after Weber’s statements, the residents of cities in the old Middle
East are experiencing far more violent psychological states than disenchantment.
However, this mental state is not a reaction to the making of a new rational
urban order, rather the opposite. The undoing of what came to be modern Cairo,
Beirut, Damascus and Baghdad by war, corruption, the insatiable real estate
market and the everydayness of destruction have left the artists, filmmakers and
would be philosophers little choice between death, imprisonment, exile or
lamenting in silence. The modernity that created the rational cities of 19th
century Europe has irrationally devastated the cities of the old Middle East
over the past decades.

In the Last Days of the City, directed by Tamer El Said is a self-referential
film. It follows a filmmaker wanting to make a film about Cairo. He wants to
capture the noise, the pedestrians, the feelings of place, he doesn’t know if he
likes the city or if he hates it, but he is certain about his desire to film it.
El Said worked on the film for a decade, its scenes are filmed in his apartment
and in the building he frequented where he helped establish Cimatheque, Cairo’s
alternative film center. The streets of Cairo’s downtown where El Said spends
much of his time are the streets where Khaled, his filmic self, walks, meanders
and observes daily life. 

This is not a narrative film; the story is subordinated to the atmosphere of
Cairo, its colors, sounds, and its multilayered incremental decay. Scenes blur
the line between drama and documentary. Screen time is evenly split between
actors and anonymous pedestrians and urban characters: a homeless woman, the
milk delivery man on a bike, the bread delivery man on a bike, the street
vendor, the child selling tissues to drivers waiting at a traffic light, an old
woman roaming the streets holding flowers, a man selling newspapers on the
sidewalk, a man cleaning windshields of cars at a traffic light, the street
sweeper, and numerous policemen clad in black uniforms. By watching the film we
involuntarily become flâneurs and voyerists, observing the people who give Cairo
its character and who shape its experience. The buildings stand as blurry,
ghostly containers and boarders of social life.

“A real city offers its citizens the freedom to be what they want to be,” writes
Deyan Sudjic, director of London’s Design Museum. Following this simple
requisite, is El Said’s Cairo a real city?

Cairo is not presented on the screen as a physical place but as a state of mind,
a mood. In the Last Days of the City captures a frustrated sense of belonging,
the helplessness of watching decline with hands tied, the inability to
participate in the making and building of the city and its politics. The film
depicts the filmmaker’s lack of agency in stopping the banal process of undoing
the urbanity associated with the modern city. He is witness to the destruction
of the potential Cairo once offered for a certain kind of sociability, political
consciousness and cultural production. Two scenes encapsulate this feeling: in
one scene Khaled sees a man brutalizing a woman on one of Cairo’s dusty
rooftops. His only response is to pick up the camera and observe through his
lens. On another occasion Khaled sees undercover police beat a protester as they
kidnap him into the back of a police vehicle. He watches helpless.


The frustration and disenchantment felt in Cairo is not about the destruction of
the old city to make way for a modern, ordered, sterile one. This is about the
destruction of Cairo, Alexandria, Beirut and Baghdad to make way for nothing
recognizable as the promised modernity Khaled is familiar with. No creative
destruction here, only destruction. The city is turned on its head. A metaphor
illustrated on the screen by a lens hanging by a window in Khaled’s apartment
where the city spreading into the horizon is reproduced in a miniature, flipped
image trapped within the circular boundary of the lens. There is no modernist
vision or a new urban horizon that requires the systemic erasure of the city to
make it more legible by the modern state or more hospitable to its citizens.
There is only the undoing of the partially realized modern city of the recent
past, its architecture, its social networks and the anchors necessary to foster
belonging. 

While watching the film the viewer bears witness to how 21st century aging Arab
cities are ridding themselves of their 20th century selves. Cairo is
cannibalizing its already dead parts, its districts, buildings and those who
live in them. There is no room for romance, and the space for the secular middle
class life once possible disappears. Where even a kiss must be concealed behind
closed doors. All around are fragments and remnants of another possible way of
being urban and middle class, another possible city. Once banal everyday
experiences become fantasies. “We loved Beirut more during the war” Khaled’s
friend says. “Simple things acquire deep meaning… going to the barber, buying
bread.” The ghosts of these unfulfilled and disrupted modernities haunt Khaled
and his fellow filmmaker friends from Beirut and Baghdad.

Sitting on a rooftop overlooking Tahrir Square, Khaled’s Lebanese friend says
“Look at this disaster, but it is honest,” referring to the city below. In
another scene he says, “Cairo has such images, so many images one after the
other, you stop seeing.” The notion that the city overwhelms the senses is
repeated in another scene when the sound designer for Khaled’s film sends him a
musical sample before which he says, “How can you hear silence in the noise of
Cairo?” Throughout the film the image blurs combined with the film’s complicated
yet subtle soundtrack present Cairo as fleeting, ephemeral and contingent.

What makes a home? Is it the way light enters a room or kitchen at a certain
hour of the day, the colored floor tiles, the routine sound of radio from the
neighbors? Is it the textures of the walls and the old windows? Is nostalgia
killing Khaled’s ability to inhabit the city of the present as he longs for the
city his parents inhabited? Hanan, the dance instructor, is from Alexandria but
she left it, she belongs in Cairo where she has a purpose. In an intimate scene
filmed in the claustrophobic space of a car interior, Hanan describes “the
Alexandria house.” The house will turn to rubble to make way for a mall.

What makes a city? Sudjic offers several answers in his 2016 book The Language
of Cities. “There are ways in which cities can start to lose the qualities that
make them urban, rather than merely random collections of buildings.” Cities are
about vitality and opportunities, when a city loses these potentials its
“cityness”, to use Saskia Sassen’s term, is muddled and lost.


Perhaps the most poignant and direct scene of the film, one that delivers an
emotional punch coupled with a sense of numbness, is a scene that documents the
painstaking demolition of an early twentieth century building. Tall shuttered
windows and colorful cement tiles are disassembled piece by piece. Everything is
precarious. The demolition men stand on the edge of the building that could fall
beneath their feel at any moment. The partially demolished structure is a
microcosm of the city it sits in.

In the Last Days of the City quietly delivers a difficult critique of the
current state of affairs: Cairo today is an honest reflection of the state of
modernity. It has degraded into a collection of buildings inhabited by
disconnected situations and ephemeral experiences. By 20th century definitions,
Cairo is unbecoming, no longer a city.

In the Last Days of the City is currently playing at select cinemas around the
world. The Egyptian censor has yet to permit the screening of the film in Egypt.

 * film

 * Permalink
 * 25




FROM THE CITY TO THE PLATE AND BACK

Ahmed Zaazaa

> “Cooking, like architecture, manifests itself in building. The cook, like the
> architect, draws on an infinite array of creative resources, which make it
> possible to create wonders from basic construction materials. … Architecture,
> like cooking, evolves and lasts in the form of memories, tastes, and
> temperatures.”
> Horwitz, J. and Singley, P. “Eating Architecture”, MIT Press, 2005.

It is a fact that architects are good cooks. Or at least, a great number of
architects have a gourmet taste in food. Probably the passion for details,
colors and textures are among what architecture and cooking have in common. Even
the perception of forms of different scales, are described by a similar
terminologies between the production of space and the preparation of meal.

I’ve always perceived a city like Cairo as koshari. Mixing rice with pasta and
lentils, hummus and fried onions, all soaked in tomato sauce and garlic vinegar
can hardly be described as a sane idea, but does it taste good? Amazing! To me
this resembles Cairo a lot; it is delicious, unhealthy, and heavy enough to keep
you full the whole day. 

As a reason of the continuous frustration of working in the urban planning
field, especially in upgrading informal areas, I partnered with two equally
frustrated engineers, fellow architect working in aluminum manufacturing and a
mechanical engineer from oil industry, to open a restaurant. The idea has been
on the table since 2010, a good 7 years ago and went through drastic changes,
ups and downs, before we agreed what kind of restaurant and cuisine we want to
open.  


Finally we agreed on a kind of a diner/café introducing creative cuisine and
third wave coffee. The space we found was made for the idea, a nice villa with a
huge garden embodying the lush Maadi green with more liberal folks who can
appreciate the concept. But things hardly work out that smooth in Cairo, the
beautiful space lacked license to be a restaurant, or any commercial activity
for that matter. Getting a licensed space was crucial for us so our choices
turned out very limited for there are only few licensed places in Maadi and
started to get nervous.  

And then we found our perfect place, beautiful enough to make us re-think the
whole concept. A tiny hidden space in Degla that used to be a branch of Cilantro
Café for the past 14 years. Such a tiny space forced us to pick a niche, go for
a specialty missing in Cairo’s culinary landscape. After another long
brainstorming, a homemade pasta place took shape. Who doesn’t like pasta? But
Not the processed, tasteless and ugly packed pasta. We are talking delicious,
home crafted pasta made with basic but best quality ingredients! 

No one tells you that but naming your own place can be one of the hardest things
ever. We had a huge list with different names and we hated all of them! All the
suggested names were relating to pasta one way or another (we had ideas like
Pasta-tarian, Forks and Spoons, Made in Pasta, The Basil Bush, I know). Our PR
manager suggested thinking of something else and after a long discussion,
options related and unrelated with pasta, the word Owl came up. The PR manager
suggested “The White Owl” and told us to come up with story somehow relating
each of us with a white owl to take off the negative connotation an Owl has in
Egypt and making it into something positive. I wasn’t impressed but at that
point I was tired enough to accept.

[Barely a week after naming our restaurant, I saw a real white owl landing on my
balcony! Taking a break over my laundry holder! And this is a true story! People
were saying that it is a sign, but I but I think it was much more, I see it as a
blessing our place.]


Once we got the name, we headed straight to designing the place. Having a
concept such as homemade pasta requires a space with a view. Watching your food
being cooked is such an important concept but entirely missing in most of
Egyptian restaurants. We too the decision to keep our kitchen open to the
dinning area so that our guests can watch their dinner being prepared and make
because we have nothing to hide!

This concept of transparency in the kitchen, affected the rest of the design. We
wanted the ambiance of the place to be distinctly urban with a hint of vintage.
An unfinished wall exposing lighting tubes and an open façade creating
continuity between the outdoor and indoor spaces were the key points to reflect
transparency in design. 

A good restaurant design should give its guest feeling of home away-from-home.
One of the main features of a home is being organic and full of random objects
brought together by the personality of its owner. That was exactly what we
wanted to achieve and it is reflected in the irregular floor pattern and various
chairs designs. 

Finally, we never wanted to be perceived as an Italian restaurant. We are more
into the urban life full of experimentations and this directly reflects our
kitchen and the food we serve. The artwork in our place is a key piece to
reflect this urban and hip lifestyle. It is the first thing you see the moment
you enter the place a large wall piece by The Mozza, a street artist we know,
that includes all the different objects that come to form a the city, all in one
place.

This is the full story of our new experience.  It is not a career shift, rather
than it is a space to sit back and enjoy personal passions and rethink our main
fields in a more critical ways. Personally, I love cooking, food and
restaurants, as much as I love architecture and urban design and I am really
glad to get the chance to do both.


Partners: Abdel Rahman Kaiss (Mechanical Engineer) - Ahmed Zaazaa (Researcher
and Urban Designer) - Aziz Mitry (Architect).

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