I was especially thrilled, having taken an Egyptian archaeology course during the spring term, and I was eager to see the monuments and the tombs of these fascinating ancient peoples and their all-powerful pharaohs (as well to be a bit of a show off with my knowledge – who needs a guide when you have a student who took one semester of Egyptian history? Turns out I did!).
Cairo
We arrived in Cairo, and were immediately greeted by Mohammed (who told us about 70 % of all Egyptian males are named Mohammed, so he asked us to call him by his nickname, SaSa). SaSa handled all our visas and immigration; all we had to do was stand around and look pretty (as difficult as that was after a 5 hour red-eye). From the airport we were whisked away by air-conditioned van to our hotel, Le Meridien Pyramids, through the Cairo night (“The quietest time of the day”, warned SaSa in his Arabic accent, “prepare for busybusy tomorrow”).
The next day, before we met our guide, Hany, we stopped by the pool to catch our first glimpse of the world famous pyramids. What a glorious sight it was! My mind could not fathom the fact it was seeing, in real, vivid 3D, these monuments that I have seen countless times in movies, TV and pictures. Our first objective for the day was to visit these 4500 year-old colossal stone tombs, and get a sense of their history and importance from Hany. A soft-spoken man, Hany made us quite comfortable and amazed us with the stories and facts that would pour from his mouth with ease. After visiting the pyramids for a few hours, we moved on to that other resident of the Giza Plateau, the Sphinx. It turns out the Sphinx isn’t as large as I thought it was, but I was nonetheless impressed. After snapping some excellent photos, juxtaposing the Sphinx with the pyramids, we returned back to our hotel where I spent the rest of the day lounging by the pool, staring up in awe at our massive neighbours.
Luxor
The next day we got up early to fly down to Luxor, where we would join the passengers of the Mirage for a Nile cruise. The first thing we noticed in Luxor was how much hotter it was than Cairo, and how we yearned for the cool (in both meanings of the word) ankle-length Galabeya and white turbans of the Egyptian men. On the Mirage we met our guide, Tito, who would be responsible for the cruise portion of our trip. We all took an immediate shining to Tito; he was physically quite short, but his bubbly, outgoing personality made him seem as tall as the Colossi of Memnon, which, it so happened, we were visiting that day. Our first stop, however, was the historically romantic setting of the Valley of the Kings. It was here that Tutankhamun’s tomb with all its abundant treasures was discovered, and we were excited to see the final resting places of the New Kingdom pharaohs. Tito told us that Tutankhamun’s tomb was not all that it was cracked up to be (all the treasures are in the Egyptian museum, and the decorations on the walls are sadly worn from years of tourists’ perspiration). Instead we visited three other tombs, including the tomb of arguably the greatest pharaoh of them all, Tuthmosis III. All were magnificently preserved, with some of the original colouring still evident. I used my hieroglyphic knowledge to point out the various cartouches (circles containing the names of the king) and marvelled at the scientific knowledge that went into cutting the tombs out of the side of a mountain, and the workmanship that carved all the thousands of hieroglyphics and pictures into the walls.
Continuing our theme of ruins hopping, we moved on to Queen Hatshepsut’s temple at Dier el-Bahri, a grand palace carved into the side of a mountain (actually the same mountain on the opposite side of the Valley of the Kings). From here we visited the aforementioned Colossi of Memnon, and then headed back to our floating home.
The boats, passengers, and crews of the Nile cruise industry inhabit their own sort of sub-culture, and we enjoyed every minute of it. The boats tie up lengthways with each other, sometimes up to 9 boats on one mooring. But how, you may be asking, does one get to one’s boat, the ninth one in line? By walking through the other eight, of course! Half the fun of leaving and returning from the boats was walking through the other boats, all, like fingerprints, unique. Some boats were fancier than ours, while some were not, but it did instil in me a sense of pride and attachment to the one we called home.
Later that evening, around dusk, we visited the Luxor Temple, the only temple we would visit at night. It was beautifully lit up, and, away from the heat of the day, the task of concentrating on the information was much easier. It was with two tired legs and an expanded cranium that we went to bed that night!
Hot-Air Balloon
The next morning (at the most excellent time of 4:30 AM) was filled with excitement: we were to partake in our very first hot-air balloon ride. The feeling of soaring tranquility, broken only by the occasional angry bursts of flame, was something I will never forget. We soared above desert, we soared above green farmland, and we even soared above some people just waking up after sleeping the night on their roofs! It was fascinating to see, from 2000 feet, the very fine distinction that exists in Egypt between fertile and infertile, life and death, at the line between desert and green that could have been drawn with a ruler. Also below us were miniature versions of Dier el-Bahri and the Colossi, beautifully coloured by glints of the rising sun. The landing took place out in the desert, with our ground crew in hot pursuit of our quickly descending balloon. Some minor bumps later, we were Earthbound once more. Our entertaining morning was finished off by a song and dance performed by the Egyptian ground crew, and we all spent a few (embarrassing) moments, hand in hand, dancing around and singing (but everyone was happily embarrassed nonetheless).
Karnak, Edfu & Kom Ombo
The rest of the morning was spent wandering around Egypt’s largest temple complex, Karnak temple, located just outside Luxor on the ancient site of Thebes. This grand ruin, added onto by many generations of pharaohs, provided another fascinating cranium-swelling tour (the thing about all the temples we visited was just how unique each one was; you might think after a while they’d all get rather, well, boring, but this is simply not the case).
We returned back to the ship by police convoy down to Esna (as the ship had started sailing while we were off ballooning), and spent the rest of the day enjoying the peaceful excitement that comes with cruising down the Nile.
The next day we continued our near-chronological path through Egyptian history by visiting two Ptolemy era temples, Edfu and Kom Ombo. The Ptolemys were the Greek-descended rulers of Egypt after Alexander the Great from 305 to 30 BC, after which Egypt became a province of Rome. We arrived at Edfu by horse-drawn carriage, jostling for place among hundreds of other carriages as the tourist rush began. This temple is famous for its dedication to the god Horus, the falcon-headed god, and indeed his depiction was everywhere. Kom Ombo temple, further down the river, is famous in Egypt as the only temple dedicated to two gods simultaneously, Sobek the crocodile God of Fertility and the Nile, and Haroeris, a version of Horus known as the God of Healing. In accordance with their godly patrons, this temple doubled as both a Nile-monitoring station and a hospital. Some of Ancient Egypt’s most important hieroglyphics are found here, depicting the instruments used in surgery, medicine and mummification, and it was quite fascinating to see just how advanced these ancient peoples were. What really struck me were the random figures and shapes carved into some floor stones, which, according to Tito, were the doodles of bored patients waiting their turn with the doctor. Some things never change, eh?
Aswan
That night we sailed on to Aswan, the final leg of our boat cruise and by consensus our favourite city (more of a town, really) in Egypt. Here the Nile, which up to this point had been flowing pretty well dead straight, as if in a final “Enough of this longest river nonsense, lets just get to the sea and be done with it” mentality. Here, however, it would appear the Nile had one of its last slithers, and as a result the river flows into a narrow s-curve populated by islands. This slows the river down into a gentle narrow crawl, and allows the city of Aswan a more circular aspect, rather than the strict east-bank – west-bank division of cities like Luxor. So it was here, in this sleepy little town, that one of our trip’s greatest battles would take place…the epic battle between human and animal, man and beast, my father and his camel
It was in searing 47-degree heat that we took to the desert in order to camel ride up to St. Simeon’s Monastery, an early ascetic community of Coptic Christians. When I say ascetic, I should really be saying crazy, because these people actually decided to build a stone community on the top of a large sand dune. No doubt most of the day was spent, not in prayer, but in desperate fan-waving frenzy. But it’s not like they didn’t plan for the heat - the inside was a cool, breezy 36 degrees. Anyway, we melted our way over to the camels, where my fifteen-year-old sister decided that she would not be riding one of these beasts by herself, so I had the honour of sharing her camel (an experience one should probably avoid, unless one enjoys having someone’s sweaty back pushed into one’s chest while desperately trying to hold and see where one’s going). We were about third in our line of camels (my mother and Tito in front) when suddenly we saw my father bound past us as his camel, named Lulu, made a dash for the lead. A few minutes later we heard an almighty honk, and turned to see Lulu angrily mouthing off to Tito, who had (in good-humour) given her a bit of a whack with his rope. Dad, with his glistening sunburned face, appeared the epitome of discomfort. However, beneath the grimace I could sense the adrenaline and fun that he, and all of us (except my sister, who had liquefied into a puddle in front of me), were feeling. After 20 minutes, and 300 L of collective perspiration later, we crested the sand dune.
St. Simeon’s was actually a fascinating place filled with frescoes, stone architecture and beautiful views across the desert to the Nile and Aswan. When the time had come to return down the dune, I decided to try a camel by myself. Dad gamely volunteered to share Lulu with my sister, who was gallantly trying to raise her spirits, unsuccessfully, above utter resentment of all things camel, desert, and abandoned stones. Lulu sulked happily away to herself.
This time I led the charge down the dune, and what an exhilarating adventure it was. After nearly giving myself a hernia trying to hold on to the descending camel, we reached the flat, and my most memorable experience of our whole vacation began. By this time I was well in the lead, no one else around, and I had time to think just how fantastic this whole situation had become. Here I was, riding a camel through the glowing Egyptian desert, the sun shining down as if to say, “Global warming? I’ll show you global warming!” and I tell you, I felt so at peace.
Next on the itinerary was Philae Temple, another Ptolemy-era construction. This temple had the unique distinction of being accessible only by motorboat, and we had a delightful time skirting the cool Nile waters. Dedicated to Isis, revered in both Egyptian and Greco-Roman mythology, this temple was filled with plants and trees and colours of all sorts, a pleasant contrast to the stark, inhospitable environments of previous ruins.
We finished the day by visiting the highly contentious Aswan High Dam, which was built under President Nasser in 1970. This dam prevents the Nile from flooding, like it has been doing over millennia, putting a stop to the drought and high-flood disasters that racked Egyptian life since its culture began. Unfortunately, the dam has also dramatically changed the Nile eco-system, creating Lake Nasser behind the dam and preventing the Nile from depositing its highly fecund silt during the annual flood. Now, as a trade-off for a year-round growing season, the farmers have to use fertilizers in place of this silt. The dam also would have covered many historically priceless archaeological sites under water, were it not for the concerted efforts of an international recovery team that painstakingly removed the ruins piece by piece and moved them to higher ground. One of these temples was the world-famous Abu Simbel, which we were to visit the next day.
That night on the cruise ship would be our last, and the cruise had a traditional send-off for its guests: the hallowed Galabeya Party. This evening consisted of all the passengers on the cruise (a United Nations cacophony of Italians, French, Poles, Germans, Spanish, and us, the only English speakers on board) getting into their assorted colours, shapes and designs of galabeyas (previously bought at one of many outfitters along the tourist path, or at the onboard retailer’s), and then going upstairs to the lounge for an evening of collective embarrassment. After a brief draw of door prizes (the centrepiece of which was a bottle of “Gordoon’s Cairo Dry Gin”), the lights went low, the disco ball came out, and the party had begun. I discovered a whole new sense of freedom in my galabeya [read: dress], and thoroughly enjoyed, after a sweat-inducing rendition of “Walk like an Egyptian”, the drafty feeling that it provided (which, on a side note, begs the question “What do Egyptian men wear under their galabeyas?”).
The next morning we got up bright and early (again) for our flight to Abu Simbel. Abu Simbel is a New Kingdom temple dedicated by Pharaoh Ramesses II to, well, himself. Also located in the vicinity is a smaller temple dedicated to Ramesses’ favourite wife (of hundreds…he was also the father of around 150 children) Nefertari. Abu Simbel was magnificent, filled with huge statues and wall depictions, all in Ramesses’ likeness. I especially enjoyed the depictions of Ramesses smiting his enemies, particularly the reliefs surrounding his triumph in the Battle of Qadesh against the Hittites.
A few hours of awe-struck stupefaction later, we flew back to Aswan, where we settled into our hotel for the night. Our rooms had a magnificent view of Aswan, the Nile and its islands, the desert, and even St. Simeon’s monastery off in the distance. In the tranquil air of late evening, as the sun descended into the western desert, I imagined myself 3000 years earlier, staring at almost the exact same scene (trading a few metal buildings for mudbrick and stone, of course). I could sense the peaceful wonderment these ancients must have felt, their lives as simple and uncomplicated as the land that stretched out before me. It truly was a special time and a special place to have lived, and that evening in Aswan really brought to life for me the people behind the ruined temples and ancient monuments we had so recently tromped through.
That same evening we went to a restaurant outside Aswan for an evening snack and the opportunity to aquaint ourselves with the exotic delights of smoking a shisha. This was my first up-close encounter with a shisha (a hookah-type instrument for inhaling flavoured tobacco through water) which I had seen and smelled previously on roadsides throughout Egypt. The shisha was brought to our table, whereupon Tito deftly picked up the smoking hose and started puffing away. The air became perfumed with the smell of apple (the nice thing about shisha is that it leaves very little smoky odour), and I got a chance to try this unique device. Upon my first few tentative drags, my parents, anxious for the preservation of my virgin lungs, asked Tito how harmful the shisha is. Lying back in his chair, Tito quickly responded, with a smile, “Yes, about ten times worse than cigarettes”, to which we all gave a hearty, “Oh-Tito-and-his-jokes” type laugh. However, when we were confronted with silence by Tito, it dawned on us that perhaps he wasn’t joking. In fact he wasn’t, and it turns out the shisha gives off about ten times more nicotine than a regular cigarette. Still I forged ahead with reckless abandon, confident in my teenage knowledge that I will never die.
Cairo
The next day we waved a sad goodbye to Upper Egypt, and continued on our journey back to Cairo. It was quite a shock to suddenly jump from sleepy provincial town to bustling metropolis of 16 million, but I must say I really enjoyed Cairo and its milieu of honking cars, street hawkers, and Islamic culture. We caught up once again with our first guide, Hany, and started our tour almost immediately, visiting the highest point in Cairo, and its most visible structure (even more so than the pyramids, lost in the smog of Giza), the Citadel of Salah el-Din. This fortress, built in the 12th Century, contains the famous Mosque of Mohammed Ali (not the boxer, of course), built by the eponymous founder of the royal line of kings that ruled Egypt from the early 19th Century until King Farouk’s deposition in the 1950s.
This was my very first time in a mosque, and I thoroughly enjoyed the exoticness of it. We had to remove our shoes, and my sister, who was scandalously displaying her bare shoulders in a tank top, was given a green wrap in order to uphold the general modesty. Being used to overly ornate and decorated Christian churches, I was quite surprised to see how simple it was inside this mosque. Decorated with carpets and a small altar and pulpit, it was the walls and ceiling that made this place truly stand out. Beautifully painted and filled with elaborate geometric designs (Islam forbids the representation of people or animals), the mosque’s crowning glory was a huge chandelier that hung from the mile-high ceiling and filled the space with light from its thousands of candles. Outside the mosque we were able to get a fantastic panorama of Cairo. As far as the eye could see (well, until the smoggy haziness enveloped the horizon), the skyline juxtaposed minarets with office buildings, slum-type dwellings with international hotels.
From the mosque we headed into old Cairo, where the three major world religions, Christianity, Islam, and Judaism, can be found inhabiting the same block. Egypt, as we would learn, was a predominantly Coptic Christian country until the Muslim invasions and subsequent conversions from the 7th Century to the 12th. Still, there remains a Coptic community of around 8 million (10% of the population) in Egypt, and we were able to see some of it in action. I especially loved how the churches were familiar yet very different, with exotic touches such as the prominence of Coptic writing and language, and the separation of male and female. I especially enjoyed the Coptic art, which is simple, yet remarkably eye-catching and colourful. From the church we walked over to a Jewish synagogue, wonderfully restored and also very interesting. Although no longer in use, the site remains an interesting historical monument, a testament to the cosmopolitan, tolerant atmosphere of early Cairo.
As our stomachs growled, we headed to the Khan El-Khalili bazaar, where we sat down for lunch at the old stomping grounds of Egyptian author and Nobel Prize recipient in Literature, Naguib Mahfouz. After lunch we all headed in different directions throughout the bazaar. I was very interested in purchasing my very own shisha, which I was able to do after much bargaining and general heave-ho. I thoroughly enjoyed the whole bazaar environment, with the hustle and bustle through narrow, crowded streets, and glimmering wonders and cheap plastic pyramids winking at you from all sides. I rather fancied myself a smart buyer, and I perversely delighted in watching hapless tourists being lured in by the shark-like vendors (which, more often than not, turned out to be my parents). To me it was more of a game, with the vendor trying to make his product seem more than it was (a favourite was to put a lighter to cotton products without them burning, showing us they were pure cotton and how trustworthy this silver-toothed smiling face really was), while it was up to me to display nonchalance and be non-committal, forcing the price down. I finished the experience happy, thinking that I had scored some good deals (later I was to find shishas at much cheaper prices at the airport duty-free shops, but I justified my purchase by claiming the bazaar had an “experience” surcharge).
The remainder of the day was spent at the world-famous Egyptian Museum, a massive (and curiously enough, pink) colonial building in the heart of Cairo. This building was so large and filled with so many wonders that I really don’t have the patience to discuss it at great length here. The highlights included Tutanhkamun’s treasures, the absurdly caricature-esque statues of his father, Akhenaten, and the eerie hall of royal mummies. To behold the death mask of Tutanhkamun, an image fixed in my memory seemingly from birth, was quite surreal. I have to say, seeing the treasures far surpassed any expectation I had of them, and it really brought home to me the exquisite handiwork and detail of these ancient artisans.
That night we went back to the Giza plateau to watch the sound and light show. This wonderful show of lasers and colours, performed in front of the sphinx with the pyramids behind, depicted the story of the pharaohs who built them. Unfortunately, due to the nature of our sleep-cycle (going to bed late and getting up early), and not to the performance in front of me, I managed to fall asleep. However, the parts I do remember were quite fun and visually stunning, especially when the Sphinx, with the aid of cleverly situated lights, was given a face!
Saqqara, Dahshur & Memphis
We woke up slightly melancholy, as this was to be our last day in Egypt. Before we left, however, we were going in a timewarp back to the earliest period in Egyptian history, the Old Kingdom, to visit the ancient sights of Saqqara, Memphis, and Dahshur. First up was Saqqara, which, situated in the western desert about 30 minutes outside Cairo, houses the Step Pyramid. Built under Djoser, a Third Dynasty pharaoh, by his famous vizier, Imhotep, this stepped structure represents Egypt’s first foray into pyramid building. Before pyramids, Ancient Egyptians would be buried under square stone mounds called mastabas, and this Step Pyramid, is, in effect, seven mastabas built on top of each other. As we wandered around this enormous complex, we eventually came to the most exquisite art we would see on our whole trip, found in a Middle Kingdom nobleman’s tomb. We were absolutely awe-struck by the simple, everyday scenes carved out in front of us. Unlike the tombs of pharaohs, which are wholly dedicated to religious images, this tomb showed us what life was like for an Ancient Egyptian. From fishing in the Nile, to dancing courtiers, to farming the land and the preparations of a feast, the depictions pulled us into to this arrestingly peaceful and uncomplicated time.
From Saqqara we headed to Memphis, where we meandered around an open-air museum filled with the treasures of this ancient capital. Unfortunately, a present-day village covers ancient Memphis, so we couldn’t see the remnants of this grand city known as “White-Walls”.
Anon, we headed off to Dahshur, to behold the pyramids of Sneferu, father of Khufu (he of the Great Pyramid). Sneferu was an interesting fellow, obviously quite stubborn, and over the course of his life managed to build three pyramids (only one “true”), in all using more stone than any other pharaoh in history. Dahshur was home to two of Snef’s pyramids, the Red Pyramid and the Bent Pyramid. The Bent Pyramid, off at a distance from where we were, is exactly as the name suggests. While working on the pyramid, the planners discovered that if they continued at the angle they were building, the pyramid would collapse. Instead, they ordered a quick angle revision, and so now we have the pleasure of viewing one of history’s biggest blunders. The Red Pyramid, however, was finally the “true” pyramid that Sneferu obviously craved, and, fittingly, became his burial place.
We were excited to see the Red Pyramid, because this was finally our chance to go inside one of these ancient tombs. Contrasting to Giza, Dahshur was relatively empty, and so we could easily descend into the pyramid without having to battle our way through hordes of other, obviously sweatier and smellier, tourists. Leaving my sister, who was quietly evaporating, behind, my parents and I started the steep climb up the side of the pyramid. Reaching halfway up, we stood in front of the tiny black shaft that would lead us 60 metres into the middle of the pyramid, and we suddenly felt very unsure of the whole situation. Gallantly, in the name of exploration, we pushed on and started the backwards descent into the yawning abyss. As we moved deeper and deeper (and darker and darker, more and more humid, smellier and smellier), I couldn’t help feeling very eerie, especially when I contemplated the fact that, 4500 years before, the dead pharaoh was moved along this very passageway to his eternal resting place. If there had been room to shudder, I would have.
Finally we reached the bottom of the shaft where I was quite surprised to find, thinking I was alone in the pyramid, a smiling face looking down at me. I picked myself up to discover, somewhat embarrassingly, that I was in the middle of a ring of humming, handholding French people. They all smiled at me with the sort of smile that only a group of humming, handholding French people inside a 4500 year old pyramid could give, and then continued their communal chant. Even more embarrassingly, I could hear my parents’ loud, excited murmurings as they reached the end of the shaft, blissfully unaware of the pyramid-cult we had managed to stumble upon. I was beginning to worry that these people required some sort of human sacrifice, but luckily they just seemed content to hum. We quickly moved across the room to the next antechamber, relieved to be away, but also slightly anxious that the only way out of the pyramid was through the previous room. You can imagine how the aforementioned sense of eeriness had by this time erupted into full-blown creepiness, and the butterflies that inhabited my stomach were having a rather out-of-control rager. It was in this stage of heightened terror when suddenly, out of the stillness of the tomb, came the most blood-curdling scream I have ever heard. This woman would have made Janet Leigh from Psycho jealous. Obviously if I had been any less of a man I would have fainted right then and there, images of a linen-trailing mummy and his magical curses flying through my mind. Of course there was no Curse of Sneferu; it turns out the woman, one of the cult-members, had suffered a deadly attack of claustrophobia, and was literally unable to move. Unfortunately for her she still needed to climb 60 metres up a dark, form-fitting shaft. I suppose the moral of this story is: “Don’t climb into the middle of a pyramid if you suffer from intense claustrophobia!” (Which in itself seems rather obvious, but who am I to say?).
Many tense minutes, and several breakdowns later, she emerged into the safety of the wide-open desert, meaning we could finally leave as well. Relieved to be out, but also as adrenaline-filled as I have ever been, I quietly thanked Sneferu for providing me with one terrific adventure!
We left the Old Kingdom and headed back to modern Cairo, where we would wait at our hotel until the time came to jet to the airport. As the sun began its descent, colouring the pyramids beyond my window a deep red, I reflected back upon my previous week. It felt as if we had been in Egypt for a month: we had done so much and seen so many things that time had seemingly slowed down to a crawl. I was also very happy to have fulfilled my childhood ambition of visiting Egypt, and confident that I would return one day, anxious to re-live and explore all the wonders this fantastic country has to offer.
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