In the high desert outside Taos, New Mexico, a cluster of otherworldly homes rises from the sagebrush. Curved walls sparkle with embedded glass; thick earthen berms blunt the wind. These are Earthships—self-sufficient buildings conceived more than 50 years ago by architect Michael E. Reynolds, founder of Earthship Biotecture.

An Earthship is designed to provide six human essentials from one structure: shelter, power, water, waste management, food, and thermal comfort. To do it, Earthships combine thermal mass (often earth-packed tires) and passive solar design for heating and cooling; rainwater collection with filtration and staged reuse (potable → greywater for plants → blackwater); and on-site renewable energy via rooftop solar (sometimes wind). Many include lush indoor greenhouses that turn wastewater into tomatoes, herbs—even bananas in alpine climates.

“After decades of trial and error, I finally feel like I know what I’m doing,” says Reynolds. “Now I’m spending the rest of my life sharing that knowledge.”

Who’s behind the movement

Reynolds began experimenting in the early 1970s—famously with can-and-bottle “bricks”—and formalized the approach as Earthship Biotecture. Today, his team’s projects span climates and countries, from luxury models like the Phoenix Earthship to pared-back disaster-relief builds.

For a Green Prophet primer from the archives, see “How to build an Earthship”.

A new virtual space: Earthship Backstage

To open up five decades of R&D, Earthship Biotecture recently launched Earthship Backstage, a members-only archive packed with original drawing sets, concept art, construction animations, engineering notes, rare books (including The Coming of Wizards), and Q&A videos with Reynolds. It’s both a living museum and a practical toolkit for builders, students, and policy-minded skeptics.

Learn it, then localize it

Earthships aren’t meant to be copied blindly from Taos; they’re a set of principles that adapt to place. If you’re Earthship-curious, start small and start local:

1. Learn the principles—passive solar, thermal mass, staged water reuse, on-site renewables, and indoor food systems. A concise intro lives at Earthship.com.
2. Check codes early—zoning and building rules vary widely. (Green Prophet has covered low-carbon building pathways across the region; e.g. adobe & straw in Israel.)
3. Get hands-on—Earthship Biotecture runs Weekend Seminars in Taos (next up: Sept 27–28, 2025) and an in-person Academy, with a condensed one-week format launching in 2026.
4. Use local materials—the “earth-first” ethic means sourcing what’s abundant and climate-appropriate.
5. Prototype—build a greenhouse, studio, or battery room to master techniques before committing to a full home.

Materials & strategies by climate

One strength of Earthship design is material flexibility. The table below suggests starting points; always tune to local codes, hazards, and supply chains.

Regional starting points

• Middle East & North Africa (desert/arid): prioritize adobe/rammed earth, deep overhangs, night-flush ventilation; study vernacular masters like Hassan Fathy and New Gourna (read more).
• Levant & Mediterranean (hot-dry summers, cool winters): hybridize stone or compressed earth with high-performance glazing and shading; consider cistern-centric water layouts.
• Europe & North America—temperate/forest: straw-bale skins over earth-tire cores boost R-value; manage vapor carefully in wet seasons.
• Cold continental/mountain: increase insulation, add airlocks/vestibules, optimize solar gain windows with insulated shutters; greenhouses double as heat buffers.
• Tropical coastal: trade some mass for ventilation and shade; specify borate-treated bamboo and lime plasters to resist pests and mold.

Why it matters now

Grids strain under heat waves and storms; water scarcity grows; construction waste piles up. Earthships aren’t a universal answer—permits can be hard, sweat equity is real, and costs concentrate up front—but they’re proof that buildings can deliver resilience rather than passively consume it. They’re also a cultural bridge: a modern system that honors vernacular wisdom, from Nubian vaults to Mediterranean stonework.

Get involved

• Explore the archive: Earthship Backstage
• Go hands-on: Weekend Seminar (Sept 27–28, 2025) or the
  Earthship Academy (condensed 1-week format from 2026)
• Primer and context on Green Prophet:
  Earthship 101 •
  Adobe & straw in Israel •
  Strawbale how-to

Further reading on natural building (Green Prophet archive)

• Hassan Fathy: the Middle East’s father of sustainable architecture
• New Gourna & Hassan Fathy’s earth architecture for the people
• How to build an Earthship
• Building with adobe and straw in Israel
• Build your own strawbale home (Canelo Project)
• The strawbale house in Israel
• Micro-financed straw houses for Pakistan (quake-resistant)
• Five innovative firms building with bamboo
• Tiny house built with diaper–concrete upcycling

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Nubian architecture, developed along the Nile River, showcases a harmonious blend of ingenuity, environmental adaptation, and community focus. Rooted in the challenges of a hot and arid climate, this architectural tradition offers timeless principles that remain highly relevant as architects strive to create sustainable, eco-friendly housing and communities today.

The Nubians are an indigenous African ethnic group native to the region along the Nile River, primarily in what is now southern Egypt and northern Sudan. They are one of the oldest civilizations in the world, with a history that dates back thousands of years. They believe in monotheism but some have converted to Christianity over the years.

The foundation of Nubian architecture lies in its use of locally sourced, natural materials. Sun-dried mud bricks, made from Nile silt mixed with clay and straw, provided excellent insulation, regulating indoor temperatures. REadily available palm tree wood and reeds can be used for roofing and reinforcement, while mud or lime-based plaster finished walls, offering durability and a natural aesthetic.

Related: archeologists find pregnant Nubian woman with late-stage fetus stuck in her womb

A hallmark of Nubian construction is the Nubian vault, a technique for creating arched roofs without the need for timber or modern scaffolding. This gravity-based, pressure-stabilized structure was not only resource-efficient but also incredibly durable.

Rounded and domed forms further optimized buildings for thermal comfort, reducing heat absorption and ensuring even cooling. See Hassan Fathy.

Design Principles and Environmental Adaptation

Nubian builders mastered passive cooling techniques long before modern technology. Thick walls and small, strategically placed windows insulated interiors from extreme heat, while buildings were oriented to harness natural ventilation. This design minimized reliance on artificial cooling, making it inherently energy-efficient.

The Nubians also prioritized community-centric layouts. And this is why modern architects like Hassan Fathy thought that this ancient building tradition could solve many problems in Egypt. Homes were arranged around shared courtyards, fostering social interaction and communal living. Resources like water wells and shaded open spaces were shared, reinforcing a sense of collective responsibility and resilience.

Integration with nature was a cornerstone of Nubian architecture. Structures were often built on elevated ground to mitigate flooding, and materials were biodegradable, leaving minimal environmental impact. This synergy with the environment ensured sustainability across generations.

Buildings were often adorned with symbolic patterns and decorations, painted using natural pigments. These artistic touches reflected the community’s cultural identity and spiritual values.

Today there isn’t such a thing as a Nubian territory but you can visit Nubian people in Egypt and Sudan, living in their villages, preserved in time. Want to find a colorful Nubian village to explore? Check out the travel vlog of Kevin and Miranda and get going.

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It’s a heard sell to live in the Middle East if you need to relocate from the US or Europe for work. There are the dusty apartments, there are the uprisings, the conflicts. There is the heat. To help accommodate for luxury tastes Cairo is getting a new development for wealthy urbanites. It’s a far cry from Hassan Fathy’s sustainable vision of New Gourna.

Mercon Developments, a leading real estate company, announced the launch of its latest project, “Nurai,” situated on 16 acres in a prime location in the Lotus area at Golden Square, the heart of New Cairo.

“Nurai” represents a breakthrough in the concept of integrated urban communities, showcasing unique and distinctive designs never seen before in the Egyptian real estate market, according to PR material, but which looks like the American dream. With a total investment of approximately 10 billion EGP ($200 million USD), the project comprises 350 units, aiming to achieve targeted sales of around 3 billion EGP by 2024.

With a mixed-use residential and commercial development, the project features dedicated spaces for sports, cycling tracks, swimming pools, and water features, alongside commercial zones, recreational facilities, picturesque landscapes, luxurious entrances, and advanced security systems, as well as hotel units boasting modern designs that blend sophistication with luxury.

Golfing at the Egyptian Pyramids. What would Pharaoh think?

From the project’s inception, the company has adopted a strategy focused on meticulous planning and continuous market research to introduce a distinct product.

Additionally, the collaboration with renowned engineering consultants, led by Omar Okail, adds further value to the project, as his visionary designs breathe life into the compound, with every unit boasting exceptional views, luxurious natural ventilation, and unique natural lighting, creating an environmental balance that emphasizes the company’s commitment to sustainability.

“Nurai” is part of Mercon Developments’ expansive plan in the Egyptian market, aligning with the company’s strategy of selecting prime locations to enhance project success. The company is committed to sustainability and upholding social and environmental responsibility, using eco-friendly building materials and designs based on renewable energy. This reflects our vision of delivering integrated urban communities. While catchphrases of sustainability are thrown around in a press release, not much details about what this really means is included in the vision.

The post Cairo gets a new $200 million neighborhood that looks like the American dream appeared first on Green Prophet.

THE CORD

A personal view by H. Masud Taj, 1980

A flight of wide stone steps. Through the ages its centre has flattened into a ramp. By the side, an ancient structure, the colour of sand, and ahead in the hazy heights the citadel touching the sky.

Turning left into a short lane, dusty and unpaved — urchins playing about in the nine o’clock heat. A little further, a massive wooden door. There is no knocker or bell so I push and it opens rather smoothly.

It is dark and cool. My eyes adjust; I am in a courtyard a Thousand and One Arabian Nights in its details. I call out the name of Hassan Fathy; no one answers. There is an earthen pot in the centre and a low arch opposite. Through it, I emerge into another courtyard, cooler and less dark.

By a stairway sways a slim white cord. I pull. Somewhere above a tinkling sound. Bells. I had heard them all through my travels. In the remote islands of Yugoslavia at the stroke of every hour; the electrically-controlled bells in Ronchamp, France; low octave ones round the neck of Swiss cows, and the usually out-of-tune Big Ben.

I pull again, and again the delicious sound. Yesterday I was in Athens, in the library of Doxiadis leafing through magazines and papers. I came across an article on bricks. It was simple and refreshing. The author was Hassan Fathy. I got his address from the librarian, it was in Cairo. Although Egypt was not on my schedule, I decided on impulse to visit it.

I pull the cord again. Perhaps he isn’t at home, but I decide to linger awhile. There is a serenity about this courtyard which I want to soak in before facing the Cairo outside — chaotic, dusty, exuberant, abounding with life and people.

I pick up a piece of paper and address it to Fathy. I am a student in search of Architecture. I’m here for two days and will be leaving tomorrow evening. I am engrossed in writing and look up to find him next to me. I greet him in Arabic and spontaneously hand over the note. He smiles. Although nearing eighty there is a childlike innocence about him. Immaculately dressed in earthy browns, it is his eyes that impress – dreamy and very expressive. I was wrong about leaving the next evening. I stayed for a month.

THE MUSICALITY

The Garden City is a modern zone in Cairo. On the map, it appears like a tangled mass of rope that some town-planner forgot to pick up. Once inside you lose all sense of direction.

Fathy and I are heading for the Arab League’s Headquarters. “What a mess,” he tells me. “These streets, like the car, are ambiguous — you can hardly tell the front from the rear. For town-planning, look at the trees. See how the main trunk flows into branches, twigs, stems, and veins of the leaf — there is hierarchy and you know where you are.”

He pauses. “Academic training is nonsense, schools turn out student machines with no imagination. It took me ten years to purge myself of it,” he says. Again the leaf, before it joins the twig there is the stem — the stem is the transition; like the musician who moves from the mode to the melody — there is a system of connection. In fact, I’m trying to introduce musicality in the teaching of town-planning in schools. A music composition has more to do with melodies than with scales; likewise, architecture is more to do with space than with shape — it is the space between the walls and not the walls themselves.

Music is important to Fathy; someone told me that he is an able violinist. In the first few days, he said he had difficulty getting accustomed to the musicality of my voice — I suppose he meant my accent. One night after dinner Fathy put a Brahms on the stereo. The western classical was not out of place in the Arab setting. He then sat down and continued to work on a township he was planning around the oasis of El Kharga. He worked late into the night. I watched. I began to understand through his drawing what I had been unable to grasp in his words.

THE GLASS BOWL

We speed towards the ancient city of Alexandria in a black six-seater. Fathy has designed a house there which I think he particularly likes. Perhaps that is why he wants me to see it. We pass a factory, a concrete box squatting uneasily in the desert sand. Fathy looks away — he does not like what he sees, and I understand.

There were certain areas, however, where I tended to disagree with his viewpoint. To give an instance, there are many structures in the West which I have seen and for which I have regard. I like Corbusier’s Ronchamp Chapel very much and he does not. Fathy also feels strongly about the car. The man behind the wheel, he says, is reduced to a mechanist being.

“But,” I interrupted, “were it not for the car it would have been impossible for us to go all the way to Alexandria to see a house you’ve designed, and return the same day.”

“Not so,” he smiles. “In that case, the house would never have been that far, it would be within a radius of half a day’s walk and then we would be strolling through breezy lanes and trees instead of being confined in a machine for three hours.”

The house; like all Fathy’s houses, is remarkably cool. The mud-brick dome is pierced with round holes that have colored glass panes. When I climb to the top of the dome I find them to be merely colored glass bowls that were fixed inverted, covering the holes. I had seen them being sold in plenty by the street side, in Cairo’s crowded bazaars. From dusty pavements to the top of the dome — such transformations are characteristic of Fathy’s style. The interior of the house is bare. Fathy is asking the caretaker what has happened to all the curtains, tapestries, and carpets. The man gives evasive answers — it is clear that he is behind it all. But Fathy does not accuse, only his eyes show his surprise. He is hurt. And so it has been throughout his life. If it is not the officialdom, it is the petty thief.

When we leave, Fathy asks me what I think of the house. I tell him, also saying that it needed looking after.

“And yet noble,” he adds. When we reach the road, a short distance away, I can no longer see the house. It is hidden by a dune.

THE NICHE

Fathy’s diet is ascetic but he dines like a king. The cutlery is a good example of Turkish silver craftsmanship. The translucent dishes and bowls, I think, are Alexandrian. Chicken broth with breadsticks. Followed by sweetened guavas. And a red sherbet from Sudan made of dried petals. We eat in silence, his cat Mish-mish at our feet. In the wall behind him is a niche with a lamp. The niche is covered by a hinged traditional wooden screen (mushrabeya) which diffuses the light. When he needs more light he simply opens the screen. Next to it is one of Fathy’s miniature paintings.

My eyes are on it while I eat. I find it puzzling. It shows a dome and vaulted building as seen from the front, and yet the courtyard of the same building is as if viewed from the top. Both viewpoints in the same scene. “Is that building in plan or elevation?” I ask Fathy.

He does not like my question. “That is irrelevant,” he says. Through subsequent discussions, I began to understand. A perspective views the world from a particular standpoint and in doing so imposes its own order. Things appear big or small, important or trivial depending on the relative position of the viewer. It is subjective. The miniature painting, on the other hand, is ‘realist’ in the sense that it strives to capture the essence of things and not merely their appearances.

A week later Fathy gives me the keys to his house in Gourna, where I stay for some time before moving in deeper into the Valley of the Dead. There I come across the ramped Temple of Deir El Bahri with a backdrop of a sheer rise of limestone mountains and the intense blue sky above. In its colonnade, I notice a bas-relief. It shows Queen Hatshepsut’s ship as viewed from the side with a row of oarsmen dipping their oars in the water which with its variety of fish swimming in it all shown as if viewed from above. Both viewpoints in the same continuous scene.

THE TWILIGHT

It is one of my last meetings with Fathy, and he is rather silent. The sun begins to set. “Come,” he says, “I shall show you my piece of sky.” The sight from his terrace is stunning. The house is at a height and we stand level with the top of the gigantic ancient mosques. The sun’s rays are bursting from behind a minaret.

“The Earth must meet the Sky,” he says, “the body with the soul. Look at the crestings running upon the length of the wall. The shape of their Earth-mass is a replica of the shape of the sky-void between them. The shape itself is that of a tri-foil lily (brides of the sky’ the Arabs call them). With the cresting, the contact is made on an individual level, with the minaret it is on a community level.”

The sky was now a spreading red, the silhouette of the mosques and minarets stood defined dark and powerful. “See how the minaret accelerates your vision upwards. It is divided into sections that rhythmically shorten the higher you go, like an accelerando in music. And the sections keep getting narrower and their shapes also change — from square to octagonal to cylindrical, adding to the acceleration.”

Fathy talked on till twilight merged into darkness and the stars gathered their intensity.

A personal view by H. Masud Taj, 1980, Inside Outside Magazine. Reprinted with permission. 

H Masud Taj is an award winning adjunct professor at Azreili School of Architecture & Urbanism with both his studios and seminars being premised on the ethics of alterity. His lecture courses at Carleton’s Centre for Initiatives in Education are on topics of Muslim Civilizations. He delivered the Keynote Address on the Ka’aba at the 2nd International Conference of Islamic Art and Architecture, Jamia Millia Islamia University, New Delhi and was the series’ invited speaker in Lahore and Isfahan (he has since circumnavigated the globe on a lecture-tour). He has delivered annual talks on the occasion of the Islamic History Month Canada (2017-2021); including a cross-cultural reading of Leonardo da Vinci in a triad series during Carleton University’s Cinquecento Celebration. His involvement with the ‘other’ extends to animals: his book Alphabestiary (with exegesis by Bruce Meyer) featured at the International Festival of Authors in Toronto 2011.

His post-professional dissertation analyzed insightful moments of “the other ” in scholarship, chess, films and architecture via the oeuvre of Stanley Kubrick. As an architect licensed in India, he was mentored by the visionary Hassan Fathy in Egypt, and as a calligrapher by the Italic master David Hosbrough. His book on Nari Gandhi (2009) apprentice to Frank Lloyd Wright, is archived in MacOdrum Library’s Special Collections while his intercultural and interdisciplinary tri-lingual book Embassy of Liminal Spaces (2009), that synthesized his poetry, calligraphy and architecture, is a permanent installation at Canadian Chancery in Bangalore, India and inducted into the Library of Parliament, Canada.

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Ad Madam’s Ghostly Chronicle:

Ad Madam, meaning “the home of the widows” in Arabic, weaves a tale of a once-thriving oasis settlement that succumbed to the ravages of time and unsustainable practices. The village, abandoned in the 20th century, stands as a stark testament to the perils of over-exploitation of natural resources, economic shifts, and inadequate waste management. Its deserted streets and dilapidated structures beckon tourists to reflect on the broader implications of such neglect, prompting the crucial question—how can we ensure our towns and villages stand resilient against the threat of abandonment?

Sustainable Lessons from the Past:

As we delve into the haunting beauty of Ad Madam, its ruins become a classroom where the curriculum is written in the remnants of a once-vibrant community. The village’s demise wasn’t just an isolated incident but a symptom of a global issue: unsustainable urbanization. Over-exploitation of resources, lack of environmental foresight, and economic instability are the ghosts that haunted Ad Madam, and they continue to haunt many communities today. The lesson is clear—sustainable development is not an ideal; it’s an imperative. It’s a great place to visit like the haunted Ottoman buildings in Lebanon, and the Disney village of palaces in Turkey.

The Visionary Legacy of Hassan Fathy:

Enter Hassan Fathy, an architect ahead of his time. In the mid-20th century, Fathy envisioned a radical departure from conventional urban planning, advocating for the creation of planned villages that harmonize with nature and culture. His ideas stand in stark contrast to the sprawling urban jungles that dominate our landscapes. Fathy’s model emphasizes compact, self-sufficient communities that integrate traditional building methods, locally-sourced materials, and sustainable technologies.

Fathy’s vision extends beyond bricks and mortar. It envisions a shift in mindset—a departure from the shortsightedness that led to the abandonment of places like Ad Madam. By decentralizing urban hubs and empowering communities, Fathy’s model seeks to create environments that are not only environmentally conscious but culturally rich and economically viable.

The Future in Planned Villages:

Fathy’s vision gains new relevance as we grapple with the challenges of the modern world. The haunting beauty of Ad Madam serves as a cautionary tale, urging us to reconsider our approach to urbanization. Planned villages, as envisioned by Fathy, may hold the key to a future where towns are not just structures but living, breathing organisms that adapt and thrive in harmony with their surroundings.

These villages, with their emphasis on sustainability and community engagement, offer a promising alternative to the sprawling, impersonal cities that often lead to the abandonment of smaller communities. By adopting Fathy’s principles, we can create environments that are not only environmentally sustainable but also socially and economically resilient.

Ad Madam, in its ghostly stillness, calls for responsible tourism that goes beyond mere observation. Tourists are not just visitors; they are custodians of the lessons embedded in the village’s ruins. Responsible tourism in Ad Madam involves engaging with local communities, understanding their challenges, and contributing to initiatives that promote sustainability.

Sharjah’s efforts to balance tourism with conservation in Ad Madam set a precedent for responsible development that respects the delicate balance between preservation and exploration.

In the dance between the ghosts of Ad Madam and the visionary legacy of Hassan Fathy, we find a roadmap for sustainable urban development. Ad Madam teaches us the consequences of neglect, urging us to rethink our approach to town planning. Hassan Fathy’s vision offers a hopeful alternative—a future where planned villages, rooted in sustainability and community, stand resilient against the ghosts of abandonment. As we navigate the challenges of the 21st century, Ad Madam and Fathy’s legacy beckon us to build not just structures but living, breathing communities that endure the test of time. It’s a call to embrace the past, shape the future, and ensure that the ghosts that haunt our towns are echoes, not warnings.

Above images except Hassan Fathy village via Bayt.com

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Why was New Gourna built?

In the heart of Egypt’s arid landscape, nestled on the west bank of the Nile, lies a village that defies convention. Its story begins around 1940 when an Egyptian architect with a vision named Hassan Fathy set out to redefine the way we build and live. New Gourna, as it came to be known, was born from a noble purpose – to provide a better life for the people who called it home.

Hassan Fathy, who we have featured over the years, embarked on this ambitious mission to address the dire living conditions of the impoverished residents of Old Gourna. Its inhabitants lived in abject poverty, crammed within mud-brick houses that were falling apart. Instead of living in ramshackle slums, Fathy’s vision was to create a sustainable, self-sufficient, and culturally sensitive community that would uplift the lives of the villagers while preserving their heritage. He was hoping to build them homes they could build and repair themselves. A proud place to call home.

Fathy drew his inspiration from the vaulted Islamic architecture of historic Cairo and the traditional mud-brick houses that could be found all over Egypt, from the Nile valley to the desert oases. The synthesis of these two styles became the foundation of Fathy’s designs, and were his way of protesting against what he saw as an invasive and concrete-heavy wave of modernism influenced by the West. We learn here about one of the problems of concrete.

Why wasn’t New Gourna a success?

Despite the noble intentions, New Gourna faced numerous challenges that ultimately prevented it from realizing its full potential. More than 10 years ago Arwa Aburawa reported here that New Gourna was in shambles. Several factors contributed to its lack of success:

1. Limited Resources: Fathy’s commitment to using traditional, locally-sourced materials and techniques meant that the construction process was slow and resource-intensive. This, coupled with a lack of funding, hindered the completion of the entire village. Only parts were ever completed.
2. Government Bureaucracy: The Egyptian government didn’t fully support Fathy’s unconventional approach to architecture and urban planning created obstacles. They were more inclined towards modernization and urban development, which didn’t align with Fathy’s vision. This is still true in all parts of the Middle East. While the United Arab Emirates was proud to fund Masdar, a zero energy city near Abu Dhabi, no residents from the region wanted to live there. A great idea that failed to launch.
3. Socioeconomic Factors: The future inhabitants of New Gourna were resistant to Fathy’s ideas, as they required them to adapt to a new way of life.
4. Maintenance Challenges: New Gourna’s low-tech architecture made from earthen materials requires maintenance, which the villagers struggled to afford and do.
5. Incomplete Vision: Some say that Fathy’s ambitious vision for New Gourna was never fully realized. Only a portion of the planned village was constructed before funding dried up and the project was abandoned. Hassan Fathy also used dome ceilings which were linked to spiritual buildings and houses of worship, such as mosques. (Related: 5 beautiful and sustainable mosques). This made the local resist living in such homes.

What can vernacular architects learn from New Gourna?

While New Gourna may not have achieved the success Hassan Fathy initially envisioned, it offers valuable lessons in sustainable architecture and community development:

1. Cultural Sensitivity: Fathy’s commitment to preserving the cultural heritage of the villagers by using traditional building materials and techniques is a testament to the importance of respecting and valuing local culture in architectural projects. Every outsider coming to build a new “vision” even if they are from the place and speak the language needs to really listen and understand the needs of the future inhabitants.
2. Sustainability: The village’s eco-friendly design showcased the potential for sustainable architecture long before it became a global concern: this was before environmentalists understood the role of the circular economy and the impact of sustainable building. Lessons from New Gourna can be applied to contemporary efforts to create eco-friendly and energy-efficient structures. New Gourna is more relevant than ever especially when crimes against nature are about to be built – see the Neom project in Saudi Arabia.
3. Community Involvement: Involving the community in the design and construction process is crucial for the success of any sustainable development project – especially in low-income areas. New Gourna’s struggles highlight the importance of garnering local support and participation. If you look to natural builders like Bill and Athena Steen in Canelo, Arizona, they have recruited a global following and community who come to learn and share natural strawbale building techniques. Or Nadar Khalili, a refugee from Iran who lived in California, working at Cal-Tech. Khalili was an Iranian-born American architect, author, and educator. He is best known for his inventive structures that incorporated a range of atypical building materials to provide shelter in the developing world and emergency contexts. Superadobe homes are potentially the solution for sustainable housing around the world. See how they are used by Palestinians here.
4. Resourcefulness: Fathy’s ability to create innovative solutions with limited resources is a testament to human ingenuity. It underscores the importance of finding sustainable, cost-effective solutions to modern urban challenges.

What materials were used in the construction of New Gourna?

Hassan Fathy’s architectural philosophy revolved around using locally-sourced, sustainable materials to build structures that were in harmony with the environment and culture of the region. In the construction of New Gourna, several key materials were employed:

1. Mud Bricks: The primary building material in New Gourna was mud bricks, also known as “adobe.” Famously used in Mexico and New Mexico, entire towns can be made from mud bricks as we see in Yemen. These bricks were made from a mixture of clay, sand, and straw, and they were dried in the sun. Mud bricks are not only eco-friendly but also provide excellent insulation against extreme temperatures.
2. Palm Wood: Palm wood was used for roof structures and beams. It is a readily available, renewable resource in the Egyptian desert and provided a natural aesthetic to the buildings.
3. Stone: In some cases, stone was used for foundations and structural support, providing stability and durability to the buildings.
4. Reed: Reed was used for ceilings and as a shading material in the hot desert climate. It allowed for ventilation and reduced the need for energy-intensive cooling systems.
5. Natural Pigments: Natural pigments were used to decorate the buildings, adding colorful patterns and designs to the exteriors. If you have ever travelled to Sinai you will see sand and rocks that range from a dark black to pinks, mauves and purples.

Fathy’s choice of materials was not only sustainable but was also rooted in the vernacular architecture of Egypt, ensuring that New Gourna seamlessly blended with its surroundings.

Who was Hassan Fathy?

Hassan Fathy was a visionary Egyptian architect who left an indelible mark on the world of architecture and sustainable design. Born in 1900 in Alexandria, Egypt, Fathy studied architecture in Cairo and later in France, where he was exposed to modernist architectural trends. However, he felt disillusioned by the disconnect between modern architectural practices and the needs of his homeland. You could say it was the time. A lot of new spiritual movements were gaining momentum. There was Rudolf Steiner in Austria and Germany and spiritualists like Viktor Schauberger. working on water.

Fathy’s architectural philosophy was deeply influenced by a reverence for traditional Egyptian architecture, a commitment to social equity, and a concern for the environment. Spanning thousands of years, Egyptian architecture is not one style, but a set of styles differing over time but with some commonalities. He believed that  Egypt’s architecture should be accessible to all and that it should be in harmony with its cultural and environmental context.

Throughout his career, Fathy championed the use of local, indigenous materials and construction techniques, advocating for sustainable architecture long before it became a global movement. His most famous work the village of New Gourna, exemplified his dedication to these principles.

Fathy’s legacy extends beyond his built works. He wrote extensively, with his influential book “Architecture for the Poor” (originally published in 1969) outlining his architectural philosophy and principles. His ideas continue to inspire architects and designers worldwide who seek to create sustainable, culturally sensitive, and socially responsible architecture.

What is the status of New Gourna today? 

Today, the village of New Gourna is a mixture of both success and stagnation. Many of the original buildings still exist, bearing the architectural and cultural marks of Fathy’s vision. These structures continue to attract architectural enthusiasts, historians, and tourists who come to appreciate the unique blend of tradition and innovation that characterizes the village.

It was open to the public around 2018 and you can visit it on the way to the Memnon Colossi, the Ramesseum or the Hatshepsut Temple. The mosque is easy to see from the end of the main village road. Look for a sign to the Hassan Fathy architecture in New Gourna. Some parts are only open in the mornings, so travel early.

However, New Gourna remains a divided community. Some of the residents have embraced Fathy’s ideas and have maintained their homes in the spirit of his vision, while others have gradually abandoned the traditional mud-brick houses in favor of more modern dwellings. The maintenance and upkeep of the adobe buildings have been a significant challenge for the residents, leading to the decay of some structures.

The Egyptian government has recognized the cultural significance of New Gourna and its potential as a heritage site. Efforts have been made to preserve and restore some of the buildings, but financial and logistical constraints have hindered comprehensive restoration projects.

Despite its challenges, New Gourna continues to serve as a source of inspiration for architects and urban planners worldwide. Back in 2010 the World Monuments Fund expressed support in preserving New Gourna. A PDF report of the site was created by the World Monuments Fund with the support of the Robert W. Wilson Challenge to Conserve our Heritage, and in collaboration with the UNESCO World Heritage Centre and the Luxor Governorate of Egypt. You can get the 2010 report on New Gourna here.

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Getty Conservation Institute partners with Department of Culture and Tourism-Abu Dhabi to teach conservation best practices

Local and international experts will gather in Al Ain, United Arab Emirates and Nizwa, Oman from October 22 to November 19, 2022 for the International Course on the Conservation of Earthen Architecture. This follows a similar and recent course on mosaic restoration.

This one-month training course will use Al Ain, UAE as an open-air laboratory for participants to learn practical, hands-on methods for preserving earthen buildings and archaeological sites. On a study trip to Oman, participants will carry out an exercise on the conservation of urban settlements made of earth in Nizwa’s al Aqr neighborhood, an ancient, fortified city built with earthen bricks.

Earthen Architecture Course topics include:

• Conservation theory and principles
• Laboratory and field analysis of earthen materials
• Earth as a building material—use and construction techniques
• Mechanisms of decay—material and structural
• Methods of recording for documentation and analysis
• Conservation methodology—Planning of conservation and rehabilitation interventions
• Practical conservation methods—structural and non-structural
• Conservation of earthen archaeological sites and decorative surfaces
• Maintenance and preventive conservation
• Developing rehabilitation and adaptive re-use projects for earthen buildings

A study trip to Oman where participants will carry out an exercise on the conservation of urban settlements made of earth (Manah village, near Nizwa, Oman)

A four-story castle made from mud and sand

Earthen architecture is one of the oldest and most widespread building types in the world. Despite its long history, however, it faces many threats to its preservation. It’s also not earthquake proof.

In the Middle East and North Africa region, earthen buildings are under threat from a variety of factors including abandonment and population displacement, earthquakes, and climate change.

Unreinforced buildings made of earth can be extremely vulnerable to earthquakes, subject to weakening and even collapse, especially if they are poorly maintained. Similarly, climate change and erratic weather events such as monsoons and floods are especially destructive to earthen structures and settlements.

Located in the Emirate of Abu Dhabi, Al Ain is known as the “Garden City” of the United Arab Emirates. It is also a UNESCO World Heritage Site with a 5,000-year history of settlement in oases, archaeological sites and buildings constructed with earth.

Sites that will be visited by participants include Al Jimi and Al Qattara Oases and Hili Archaeological Park.

“Al Ain is the ideal setting for the earthen architecture course because of its rich heritage, central location in the region, and the expertise of DCT Abu Dhabi in heritage management and conservation,” said Susan Macdonald, head of Building and Sites at the Getty Conservation Institute. “Participants will gain theoretical and technical experience needed to preserve their home country’s earthen heritage.”

Yemen’s mud city of skyscrapers

Yemen, for instance, is home to one of the most impressive, one of the oldest and also one of the tallest mud cities in the world. Before the city scrapers of New York, the city of Shibam had built high rise apartments out of mud which tower to over 100 feet and are between 5 and 11 storeys high.

Dating back to around the 2nd century CE, the city was built using local clay and is still home to around 7,000 residents who live in the fortified city.

Although it is over 2,000 years old, rain and erosion necessitates constant maintenance, which efforts are now supported by restoration and urban development programmes. Nicknamed Manhattan of the Desert, the city is testament to the durability of mud not just for single structures but also for modern high-rise living.

While attendance for this class is now closed, be in touch with the Getty Institute to learn about future earth architecture opportunities. If you want more inspiration from the Middle East, see more on Iran’s Nader Khalili, and earth architect Hassan Fathy. If you are in the United States, learn more about local straw building through Bill and Athena Steen. I had the pleasure of staying with them for a week about 20 years ago. Their strawbale building projects at Canelo are still going strong. And are more relevant than ever.

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Working with NASA as part of an initiative to design homes fit for space, Iranian architect Nader Khalili conceived the dome home, pictured above, as an affordable, accessible, easy to build, and environmentally sensible housing solution. This works in dry desert climates such as Iran, Israel, Yemen, Saudi Arabia and the Palestinian Authority.

Nader first presented his Superadobe construction method, which involves stuffing bags full of readily available dirt and then stacking them in a circular form. The bags are held together with barbed wire, and then covered with lime plaster. Any holes are filled in with grout.

The resulting homes are so well-insulated, no air-conditioning is necessary in summer, and in winter, the thick walls retain enough heat to keep the interior space comfortably warm

In 1991, Khalili founded the California Institute of Earth Art and Architecture (Cal-Earth), which continues to provide workshops and empower people around the world with these low impact structures.

Related: Nader-Khalili inspired eco resort in Oman wins big accolades from WAF

For SharmsArd, a Palestinian firm that Ahmad Daoud commissioned to build his home in Jericho, building with Earth was an obvious choice that allows them to feel empowered in the context of the nation’s ongoing struggle towards a peaceful unification with their neighbours.

One of the firm’s partners, Danna Massad, expresses their collective desire to operate independently of the foreign aid that so many Palestinians have to rely on to make any kind of respectable living in Palestine.

“I think the Palestinian society is oversaturated with international aid,” she told NPR’s Emily Harris several years back.

“Of course, we’re not the only example of a local business that refuses any kind of aid, but we can see how excited people get … to see how you can actually do something without being dependent.”

Despite some skepticism from his community, Daoud is chuffed with his new home. “It’s an environmentally friendly house,” he told NPR. “I can tear it down and nothing will remain. In the summer, I don’t need air conditioning, and in the winter, I don’t need heat.”

More photos of Super Adobe in Jericho:

Photos of the construction process taken from SharmsArd Facebook Page.

:: NPR

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Neder Khalili (1936 to 2008) was an Iranian-born architect whose vision of sustainable building for the relief of the poor has been realized in communities around the world.

Like the Egyptian architect Hassan Fathy before him, Khalili built homes of earth with thick walls, curves instead of straight lines, and consideration for the needs imposed on residents by their climate. But where Fathy’s system proved unsustainable over the decades, Khalili’s technology seems likely to endure.

Khalili escaped Iran as a young man and established his office in California, where he was licensed as an architect in 1970. He taught his theories around the world, reaping recognition and awards for his work. 

At the request of NASA in 1984, Khalili  developed a technology that could be used to build on Mars and the moon.  Eventually it became known as SuperAdobe, a form of architecture using dirt-filled sandbags, barbed wire, plaster, and very little else. Although it first remained a theory, NASA published the plans, which were awarded the Aga Khan Award for Architecture in 2004. We reported more on Khalili’s works and awards, here.

In practice, SuperAdobe has been used to create homes, community centers, playgrounds and more, in 49 countries and counting. The projects built in the States pass global safety requirements and earthquake code tests in California.

The Los Angeles Times reported, ““The city (of Hesperia) conducted tests, under the supervision of the International conference of Building Officials, and found that SuperAdobe stood up to twice the amount of weight that would crush a pitched-roof house.”

In 1991 Khalili founded the California Institute of Earth Art and Architecture (Cal-Earth), a non-profit school where he taught the SuperAdobe building technique with the aim of showing ordinary people – not only students of architecture – how to build their own homes from filled sandbags. His daughter and son now run the organization and train teams in theory and practice.

How SuperAdobe works is explained on the Cal-Earth site:

“Long or short sandbags are filled with moistened earth and arranged in layers or long coils. Strands of barbed wire are placed between each layer of sandbag to act as both mortar and reinforcement. Stabilizers such as cement, lime, or asphalt emulsion may be added. Similar to how a potter stacks coils of clay to make a vessel, builders stack coils of earth to make a structure.

The structural design uses modern engineering concepts like base-isolation and post-tensioning. The long coils of sandbag provide compression (vertical) strength. While the barbed wire adds tensile (horizontal) strength. In addition, the sandbags add flood resistance. The earth itself provides insulation and fire-proofing.”

Supplies needed to build SuperAdobe structures are synthetic, UV resistant degradable sand bags, four-point, two strand, galvanized barbed wire, shovels, tampers, dirt and water.

This beautiful domed village was created on the island of Hormuz, in Iran, by the architectural firm Zav Architects,  based in Teheran. The residents have traditionally been involved in illegal activities, but the hope is that, having been trained in SuperAdobe construction, they will turn to more acceptable ways of making a living. This is similar to the vision of Hassan Fathy, whose New Gourna village was created to house residents of the original Gourna and guide them to farming and construction trades.

Until the Covid pandemic appeared, Cal-Earth offered courses, hands-on workshops, youth programs, field trips and lectures. All possible classes have been moved online and are available as videos or Zoom sessions now. Visit Caltech for details. 

What does Pablo say?

Green Prophet’s friend and advisor, environmental artist Pablo Solomon says: 

“People in our part of Texas have made adobe bricks from caliche clay for centuries. It is a naturally occurring mixture of clay and limestone gravel (often small fossils). When it dries in the sun it is incredibly hard. Like all adobe, you must plaster over it to keep the moisture out. 

“Also, you might find this interesting–a guy out in Marfa, Texas (near Big Bend National Park) mixes cement, shredded paper and sand to make a light weight concrete for construction by blocks or pouring. The really unique aspect is the way he mixes the composition. He pulls a mixer behind his pick up truck as he drives around and gears attached to the trailer wheels cause the mixer to turn.”

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A new “green” teaching and research center in the Israeli-Arab town of Sakhnin showcases some of the best traditional approaches to construction in the hope that it will inspire modern building practices. And on a less concrete level, the building is seen as a “green bridge” between the Arab and Jewish communities. The Union of the Mediterranean recently awarded it first prize in a competition on energy conservation.

Architects anywhere can pick up on traditional Arab building techniques as a means to improve building efficiency, says Hussein Tarabeih (who we’ve filmed here), director of the Towns Association for Environmental Quality (TAEQ) for the six Arab-Israeli towns in the Beit Natufa Valley in the Lower Galilee. This is the association that commissioned the building.

“We have a lot of energy-saving elements built into the building,” Tarabeih says. “And it was important for us that we use the community. We conducted a survey asking them what they wanted and involved the older people quite a bit. The truth is that much of the knowledge on the traditional elements has been lost so we had to learn from the beginning. But this is one of the purposes for creating this building. We wanted to preserve the old traditional techniques.”

Traditional Arab building secrets

Tarabeih (pictured below) says many of the 20 features incorporated in the building could easily be applied to hot, desert climates anywhere, including California or Arizona, to keep edifices naturally cool in summer and warm in winter.

Constructed from adobe bricks made from mud and straw, the building in Sakhnin was designed by architect Abed Elrahman Yassin, a student of the late Egyptian “architect for the people” Hassan Fathy. Typical of Arabic homes throughout the Middle East, it has a wall and window covering called a mashrabiya. This feature, usually decorated with a geometrical design, serves as a sunshade and privacy screen.

Most traditional Arabic houses have a large patio, either on the exterior of the building or in a central courtyard. When paired with long, high windows and doors, and draft windows in the right orientation, the patios cool the circulating air and offer a pleasant seating area throughout the day. If a water fountain is placed in the center of an enclosed patio, the cooling effects are even greater.

Dome-shaped roofs are a traditional symbol of Arab architecture found in mosques throughout the world. On the practical side, they maintain cool air in the building. At the base of the dome, as in the Sakhnin structure, four small windows remove the hot air while channeling the cool air into the room.

Traditional skylights called tezana are made from glass spheres and tubes that allow natural sunlight to penetrate the rooms without the need of electric power in the daytime. When the glass is colored, the amount of direct sunlight into the rooms can be controlled.

Also central to traditional buildings, and seen today widely in countries like Iran, is the cooling wind tower. “Our water circulation tower, called a malkav in Arabic, is 12 meters high, and you can spray water in the top of the tower to cool down the air circulating through the building,” says Tarabeih.

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