Cairo Magazine - Dream of a baron

The freshly painted Ibrahim Al Likkany Street.

Ahmad Hosni

A hundred years ago a city was built in the desert outside Cairo. Enormous, luxurious buildings of whimsical architectural style were erected in the middle of uninhabited sands. A tram line was extended out to this middle of nowhere to connect the utopian settlement with its “flawed” urban mother, and Heliopolis was born.

It was 1905 when Belgian industrialist and financier Baron Empain went into business with Boughos Noubar—son of the country’s first prime minister—and bought 5,952 feddans of desert land from the Egyptian government at the price of LE1 per feddan. They formed the Cairo Electric Railways & Heliopolis Oases Company (known to all simply as “the Company”) and set about building an “oasis” city that would be spacious, healthy, full of attractions and linked to the capital by public transport.

Many thought the idea risky and ridiculous. As novelist Robert Sole wrote in his novel The Tarbouche, “everyone called him [Empain] insane. How many people would want to exile themselves ten kilometers northeast of Cairo for the sake of clean air and low rents? Would an electric train linking Heliopolis with the capital be sufficient to attract the crowds?”

The building baron

What's in a name?

Oral history

Whether it was the train alone or not, crowds certainly came. The population of Heliopolis grew from an original 300 in 1909—mostly Company workers—to 7,000 residents in 1916, 11,000 in 1922, 28,000 in 1930 and 40,000 in 1940. By the 1950s, the empty spaces between Heliopolis and Cairo had been filled with new buildings and residents, and the area was transformed from satellite to suburb.

Although it has been absorbed into Cairo and seen many changes (most of its foreign population fled after 1952, and Empain’s company was nationalized shortly thereafter), Heliopolis retains its distinct character.

“In my point of view, it is unique in its beauty, architecture and planning,” says lifetime resident Lilian, 34, who owns a hair salon and lives in the Roxy area. Certainly, it is rare to find such an ambitious and minutely-planned urban development—the Baron and his colleagues designed all the central edifices, set out specifications for all buildings, laid out the major arteries and even zoned the city according to different uses and socio-economic statuses.

Furthermore, Heliopolis has always been a seat of power, the glamorous residence of much of Egypt’s foreign (and indigenous) elite, and a cosmopolitan environment that witnessed and was marked by key developments in the country’s history.

On 5 May, the area started celebrating its centenary with a series of summer-long public events, expositions and lectures (see schedule page 27). The Heliopolis Development Association, the Ministry of Housing, the District of Heliopolis, the Cairo Governorate, the Belgian Embassy and the French Cultural Center in Heliopolis have all participated in planning these events. Francois Pradal, the head of the French Cultural Center, says there are three reasons why it is important to celebrate Heliopolis: “to celebrate the inhabitants and the image of an open society ... a model for the meeting of civilizations; to talk of contemporary architecture and the rehabilitation of Egypt’s 20th-century architectural patrimony—there aren’t just the pyramids; and [because Heliopolis can serve] as a model for new cities around Cairo.”

Some of the old Heliopolis landmarks have disappeared, some you can still visit, and some may be open again to the public soon. Following is a selection of the sites that have made Heliopolis famous. The list is obviously incomplete, but all of the places on it can be visited in the course of one afternoon’s walk.

Qasr Al Baron—The Baron’s Palace

Like Katamiya Heights today, buildings in Heliopolis had to be designed according to stringent Company regulations, which determined height, proportions and sometimes color. Plans were sent to a Belgian architect for approval, and his critiques were not always welcome. Of course, these rules were promptly ignored for the home built by the city’s creator, Baron Empain. Built between 1907 and 1911, the Baron’s Palace, also known as the Hindu Palace, was the work of architect Alexandre Marcel (who built much of early Heliopolis). The building is a dream-like concoction modeled on a Cambodian temple and adorned with busts and statues of elephants, snakes, Buddhas, Shivas and Krishnas. It used to be surrounded by lush gardens, and Heliopolis families would come to play in the park or pose for photos in front of the striking gateway, but after the Baron’s death in 1929 the villa was auctioned to Saudi buyers and left to decay. The garden died when the municipality cut off the water. The mirrors, frescoes and gilded doorknobs disappeared. Bats moved in, and rumors circulated that the abandoned palace was home to drug dealers, satanic cults and orgies (it was also supposedly haunted by the Baron’s nonexistent mad daughter, and connected to the Basilica by an underground tunnel). This, of course, only encouraged young people and curiosity-seekers to get into the grounds by paying a little baksheesh or jumping the fence at night—as decades of trash and graffiti scrawled on the dilapidated walls attests. The palace crumbled in the middle of its dessicated field on the edge of Salah Salem Street, an out-of-place curiosity visible to all coming and going to Cairo International Airport.

Unable to meet the Saudi owners’ reported $50 million asking price, Cairo authorities reportedly did the best they could to obstruct any development plans. A plan to turn the palace into a health spa was nixed because it would fall under the supervision of the Ministry of Social Affairs and would require an Egyptian partner with a 51 percent stake in the project. In 1993, the palace was accorded protected status, and became subject to Law 117/1983, which stipulates that the building cannot be altered in any way. Finally, in 2005, the palace was bought by the Ministry of Housing in exchange for an expanse of land in Al Qahira Al Gedida (New Cairo) satellite city, and now teams of gardeners are busily at work cleaning and re-planting the garden.

The Heliopolis Palace Hotel in its heyday.

Lehnert and Landrock, Cairo

Nagwa Shoeb, of the Heliopolis Development Association (headed by First Lady Suzanne Mubarak), says the long-awaited acquisition of the palace is “the icing on the cake” of the centennial celebration. “The centennial and Mrs. Mubarak herself gave a big impetus” to the decision, says Shoeb. “People were saying: OK, it’s the centennial, great, but what are you doing about the palace? It’s the symbol of Heliopolis and you let it go ... Mrs. Mubarak was very aware of this and said: We have to do something about it.” Hoda Mikhail, an official at the Ministry of Housing (which will be administering the palace) says the cost and time for repairs haven’t been estimated yet, nor the conditions under which it will be eventually open to the public. For now, you can see the palace in all its faded glory by simply looking to your right as you approach Heliopolis along Salah Salem Street.

Baghdad Street

The colonnaded Baghdad Street has always been one of Heliopolis’ most elegant promenades. It is here that the historical photo exhibitions organized by the French Cultural Center of Heliopolis are being held. This street is the heart of the chic Korba neighborhood, whose name has a particularly whimsical derivation from the French and Italian words for “curve.” Mercedes Volait, a French researcher who is an expert on Heliopolis and a contributor to the book Mémoires Héliopolitaines, writes that as the tram arrived to the area along its old line, it would take a sharp turn along Baghdad Steet, and “its approach provoked loud enthusiastic exclamations—‘Al korba, al korba!’—of which the place has indirectly conserved the memory.”

Wandering along the quiet streets of Korba is a wonderful walk and offers a view of some lovely private villas, many of which were built and owned by illustrious Egyptian and foreign families. At the end of Baghdad Street there is also the imposing striped building that used to be the headquarters of the Company. This building has been renovated and will house an exhibition of historic company documents and photographs, which will be inaugurated by the First Lady on 12 May.

Heliopolis Palace Hotel

At the end of Baghdad Street, a tall wall encloses the edifices and grounds of the Heliopolis Palace Hotel, now the residence of President Hosni Mubarak. The hotel was reportedly the biggest hotel in the world when it was built. Decorated in marble and gold, adorned with gigantic Persian rugs, Damascene lamps and other luxuries, the hotel was famous for its daily “dancing teas,” balls and high-society weddings (at which Umm Kalthoum might sing). It had 400 rooms, a 55-meter-tall dome and a gigantic dining hall. The day’s most famous bellydancers would perform at the underground club, while the Baron and King Farouq were known to meet at the hotel’s bar for sundowners. The hotel was greeted with enthusiasm and wonder. “It’s a marvel!” exclaimed the King of Belgium during a visit in 1911.

Requisitioned as a British military hospital during the First World War, the hotel was subsequently nationalized and served as the headquarters of the Federation of Arab Republics before becoming the current Presidential Palace. Its legendary interiors have been inaccessible to all but a very privileged few since then.

Heliopolis House, now Groppi’s

Right across from the Heliopolis Palace Hotel, near the intersection of Al Ahram Street and Ibrahim Al Likkany Street, is its smaller and still accessible counterpart, Heliopolis House, which later became Groppi’s. The café’s spacious, elevated terrace gives a sense of the old city’s lively social life (Groppi was just one of many popular cafes and destinations; the city was also notable for its great number of movie theaters, its skating rinks and its amusement parks). Also, from here you can admire the “Moorish-style” architecture for which Heliopolis is famous, and which defines most of the buildings on nearby Ibrahim Al Likkany Street. Founding architects Ernest Jaspar and Alexandre Marcel created a unique style, a mixture of French Beaux Arts with references to Fatimid, Mameluke, Ottoman, Andalusian and even Indian architecture. It is due to this style that “Heliopolis is unique, it doesn’t look like any other place,” as 23-year-old resident Ghad Ahmed says.

Keneesa Al Baron, or the Basilica

After a coffee at Groppi’s and a look up and down Ibrahim Al Likkany Street, stroll up Al Ahram Street—along which one of the city’s electric tram lines still runs, and which takes its name from the fact that, incredibly, the pyramids used to be visible at its end. You’ll soon see a large, domed, freshly painted structure. Officially named Notre Dame de Tongre by the Baron (after a sacred site near his hometown), Heliopolis’ central church has always been called “the baron’s church” or “the basilica.” Built between 1911 and 1913 in the middle of Al Ahram Street, at the geographical heart of the city, the Basilica was also the work of architect Alexandre Marcel and was financed by the Baron himself.

The edifice was modelled on Santa Sophia in Constantinople and was one of many churches in early Heliopolis, which was home to Armenian, Syrian, Greek, Italian and English communities. By 1930, there were 10 churches, three mosques and one synagogue. While this unusual ratio has slowly shifted over time, to this day Heliopolis has a higher percentage of Christian residents than the rest of the city.

Following his wishes, the Baron himself is buried—along with his son—in an underground vault in the basilica.

Midan Al Gamaa

If you continue walking past the basilica, you enter Haroun Al Rashid Street (flanked by two large colonnaded buildings whose ornamental minarets were damaged in the 1982 earthquake). A few blocks down is Heliopolis’ first mosque (built in 1911). The surrounding area was allocated to housing for company workers and the “indigenous” population, and remains one of the more crowded, lively and popular areas of Heliopolis to this day.

Many of the workers who lived in these buildings were foreigners—Greeks, Australians, South Africans, Belgians and Italians (who were interned by the British during World War II). After 1952, when the Oasis Company was nationalized and most foreigners left, Egyptians moved into the area, which acquired the name of “Ezba Al Muslimeen” (ezba usually refers to the lodgings of agricultural workers on large rural plantations).

Ibrahim Al Bayoumi, 30, has lived all his life on the rooftop of a building in Haroun Al Rashid Street. He remembers when crowds from the neighborhood used to come up to the roof to watch movies projected at the open air theater across the street (the owner of one of the buildings closed a staircase with cement to keep this from happening.) He can also remember the view. “You used to be able to see until Darrasa, until Muqattam,” he says. “You used to see the Baron’s palace and the pyramids. Heliopolis was the outskirts of Cairo. There was nothing else.”

Merryland

If you turn left at Midan Gamaa and walk downhill, Merryland gardens appear, bordered by Al Mahad Al Eshtraki Street. Originally a grand hippodrome (the Baron, Omar Sherif and the Aga Khan could all be seen cheering in the stands), this area was transformed into Merryland in 1960—a park with a large artifical lake and an entertainment center (where writer and Heliopolis resident Sonallah Ibrahim went on a first date with his future wife). During the 1970s, the youth of Heliopolis went to hear either the Petits Chats at the Merryland disco or the Black Coats at the Verde Luna club across the street (the Black Coats were more “metal”). The park fell on hard times in the 90s, but received a face-lift in 2000 when it was leased to a new company, and it is now home to a chain of restaurants around the lake and the duck pond, as well as a small fun-fair, a disco and a dolphin aquarium. Although real estate developers periodically attempt to acquire the area (and it is bordered, on one side, by a wall of colossal high-rises), Heliopolis residents have fought to keep the park’s large avenues, green areas and old trees intact.

Across the street from the Merryland, the dilapidated stands of the old hippodrome—complete with Moorish turrets from which flags can easily be imagined flying—can still be seen. This may be one of the most charming remainders of the old Heliopolis, and is well worth walking by. Although the site—which belongs to the government-owned Heliopolis Company—is not open to the public, you can get a good view over the low surrounding wall. After the race track was paved over, the structure housed a night club and an open-air theater. Plans are reportedly afoot to renovate it, as with the Baron’s Palace.

Future preservation

Further renovation and maintenance may be the most beneficial side-effect of the centenary. Already, many buildings have been restored and repainted, their wires grounded, their air-conditioning units covered (the work cost an estimated LE2.5 million—of which 80 percent was given by private business—and was undertaken by local businesses and building owners under the directives of the Heliopolis District).

Nagwa Shoeb of the Heliopolis Development Association says the centenary and the attention to Heliopolis’ architectural heritage “is a golden opportunity to really see if the governorate of Cairo can put together a handbook for rules and regulation for restoring and remodelling old buildings. There should be rules and regulations within which they operate: the colors, materials they use.” The only rule currently in effect in Heliopolis is one governing height—although judging by several high-rise eyesores, there are ways to circumvent it.

Heliopolis residents interviewed by Cairo were proud of the city’s architecture and several expressed distress at recent development projects. “The tunnels and bridges they did a year ago are ugly,” says Khaled Said, an army officer who has lived his whole life in Heliopolis. “Maybe they made traffic better but they also made the place ugly.”

Al Marghani Street is particularly unpopular. “It looks like Mohandiseen,” says Said, while another resident is more blunt: “I wish they’d blow up Al Marghani bridge.”

Shoeb says, “The governor and Mrs. Mubarak think [further regulations are] a very good idea. Maybe they will be able to come up with something and enforce it.”

Shoeb also says the association already has plans underway to put up plaques identifying a certain number of historic buildings. But a lot will depend on the residents of Heliopolis. As 24-year-old Heliopolis resident Hesham Hassan says, “I hope people maintain these renovations and don’t spoil them.”

The Baron's Palace will be renovated in time for the centenary.

Arnaud du Boistesselin

One thing that might help is the awareness promoted by the centenary events. “People are really excited,” says Shoeb, although many of those interviewed by Cairo in the weeks before the 5 May kick-off date didn’t know much about the planned celebrations.

Other centenary organizers believe that the celebrations are a way to re-capture a bygone cosmpolitanism, which they see as badly needed in these times of strained East-West relations. At a press conference announcing the events, the French ambassador touted the “cooperation and partnership” between the agencies of different countries that had gone into planning the events.

Pradal of the French Cultural Center says Heliopolis was and remains a more “open society” than others areas of the city. This may be a nostalgic and slightly inaccurate view, considering the rigid spatial hierarchies according to which the city was developed (the segregated workers’ housing compound used to be surrounded by a wall and reportedly locked up at night) and the fact that, for example, many Egyptians were only able to gain access to the city’s different sporting clubs after the events of 1952 had driven most of their foreign patrons away. Heliopolis’ sense of itself as an exceptional place—one in which the “best families” have always lived—is also somewhat at odds with the romanticized narrative of an open, embracing community. Heliopolis resident Moustafa Kamel sums up common sentiment when he says that “this place has its own taste and a different feeling than any other place in Cairo, the architecture is wonderful and the people are high class and different.”

What’s certain is that Heliopolis’ conception, with its emphasis on planning, open space and public transportation, could be an example to follow for future development around Cairo. And its re-generation is a useful model for other areas of Cairo—notably Downtown—where many jewels of Egypt’s 20th century architecture are at risk of being lost.