Wandering
the City of the Dead
A journal of my trip to Egypt with my husband, Ron
The journey:
We start with a drive to JFK airport, discover a cancelled flight, get re-routed
through Rome, where Ron’s luggage is lost. On to Cairo, then another flight to
Luxor, and finally a cab ride to our hotel. It feels like we’ve been traveling
for days, and we’ve barely begun. But we are here! In the cab, we stop at a
light and hear the call to prayer echoing through the streets, our first real
indication that we are not in the West any longer. We pass a boy
beating a donkey with a stick, speed along the Nile, and get our first glimpse
of the Luxor Temple. The traffic is crazy. Different smells, different sounds.
I am jetlagged, but anxious to begin our adventure tomorrow!
DAY 1 – Valley of the Kings
Egypt is a very different experience than Greece. I didn't realize as I
traveled through Greece that even though the culture felt different, there was
still much of the west in it. Here in the Middle East, I feel completely
displaced. Everything about the way people look, speak and act feels different.
Sitting beside the Nile eating breakfast, looking across at groves of palm
trees, Ron comments that they look dusty, and I realize that I’ve been thinking
that there was something odd about the view, too. It looks almost like an aged
painting of palm trees at the riverside, as if the whole scene has been
colorwashed to give it an ancient texture and appearance.
We breakfast on cheeses, olives, pomegranate, Egyptian beans, and split three
huge oranges between us. Even the oranges are different, with a smoother skin.
After breakfast we arrange for a cab driver for the day, and set out to explore.
Through the city streets of Luxor, we pass donkeys everywhere, and men in robes
and turbans. We cross the Nile and drive through sugar cane fields and banana
plantations,
and watch a huge team of oxen plow a field. The poverty and dust strikes me
more than anything.
Our cab driver honks his horn about a hundred times during this journey – some
kind of signal that it will take us days to eventually figure out. He is careful
with his car, swerving to avoid puddles caused by irrigating fields and driving
onto the shoulder when he fears another car might splash his.
Our first stop is the Colossi of Memnon,
where a turbaned gentleman explains the history of the place
thoroughly, calling us Nefartari and Ramses and insisting on snapping some
photos.
He doesn’t appear to be an official tour guide, and we soon discover that he
expects a tip, baksheesh for his trouble with us. We try to tip him, but he
seems disgusted with the 50 piastres we offer and turns it down. We’re still
getting the hang of the money exchange!
Back into the cab and onto Hatshepsut’s Temple. Our driver leaves us in the
parking lot and we begin the trek toward the temple.
This amazing structure is half-cut into the limestone cliff
face. Egypt’s only female Pharaoh held powerful sway over the country and
commanded one of the most incredible mortuary temples, which looks out over the
valley toward the city.
We take a small shuttle to the base of the temple ramp, then begin the climb.
The sun is growing hot in spite of being December. There are children on field
trips singing as they walk. We encounter a tourist police officer, who suggests
he take our picture, and then asks for money.
He seems unhappy with the amount again, although this time I
offered one pound.
The temple emerges from the cliff face almost as though it has always been
there. By carving herself into the cliff face, she somehow becomes part of it,
and you feel impressed by her immensity, though part of it is borrowed from
nature herself.
We wander the temple for awhile, most impressed by the still-preserved colors of
the paintings.
On the way out we must run the gauntlet of souvenir vendors, one whom offers
three basalt statues of Bastet, Nefartiti and Tut for 100 pounds. We decline
politely and keep walking, and the price continues to go down as we walk until
he is calling “20 pounds” after us. He also offered to trade his mother and 1000
camels for me. I’m not sure if this is a good deal or not, but Ron declines.
Back into the cab, we wind through limestone cliffs toward the Valley of the
Kings. We make a stop first at the Village of the Laborers, which would have
been similar to the workmen’s village I have created in City of the Dead.
The village has one main road, with narrower alleys, and the
roofs of the homes are gone. There is a temple here, the Temple Habu, which is
very large with beautiful paintings.
An Egyptian man offers to remove some rocks blocking the
steps so we can climb to see the “panorama” from the roof. More baksheesh is
exchanged, of course.
We drive past the house of Howard Carter,
the archaeologist who discovered the tomb of King Tutankhamun and spent twelve
years here cataloguing the finds, and into the Valley of the Kings to first
wander the visitor center. The most interesting item there is a Plexiglass model
of the valley, which you can look beneath to see all the tombs that have been
discovered.
We head out into the valley and begin to explore.
Not all of the tombs are open, but we venture into many. In
each tomb we encounter men who want to explain the colorful paintings and then
receive a tip. They all act like our money is not nearly enough, as if we have
highly insulted them, but from the guidebooks I am fairly certain this is an
act. We run into some Australians and ask them how much they tip, and they
emphatically tell us NO TIPS! Still, we sometimes give a little if they have
been very informative or helpful inside.
It’s a very steep climb to the tomb of Thutmosis III, and his is the farthest we
visit. We get a picture outside King Tut’s tomb.
The entire valley is blinding white - bright sun on white rocks, but towering
behind are the orange-red cliffs, whose opposite side contains Hatshepsut’s
Temple.
(.avi
video file)
On the shuttle ride back to the parking lot, two young men who have been working
at a digsite in the Valley and are now presumably on their lunch break, engage
me in conversation. Every question begins with “Lady,” and when they hop off the
shuttle with a “Goodbye, Lady,” Ron says “what about me?” I’m realizing that my
blonde hair and blue eyes are an oddity here, and attracting attention.
We are finished with our driver for the day, and get dropped off at the Luxor
Temple. We wander up and down Cornice el-Nil, the street along the Nile, for
awhile, trying to find a restaurant the tour book recommends, and being accosted
by people selling souvenirs, offering taxi rides, caleche (carriage)
rides, felucca rides on the Nile, restaurants, tours, and probably other things
we don’t slow down to hear. They are relentless. The average salesman has to be
told about fifteen to twenty time “no thanks – la shukran” before he will
leave us alone. We keep walking, and they keep following, saying “listen,
listen” behind us. It becomes exhausting. We passed a sign that calls Luxor the
“Hassle Free Zone” and have to laugh.
We finally decide on our late lunch at the Winter Palace Hotel on the Nile,
which has been around for many years and hosted Agatha Christie, presumably when
she came to do research for Death on the Nile. There is something cool about
also being here for research for my novel, and eating at the hotel where she
stayed.
After our late lunch it is nearly 4:30. Although it’s been quite warm today, it
is December, and the sun is beginning to set. We decide on a sunset felucca
ride, and head back to the spot where we were offered a ride by several
entrepreneurs. We settle on a price (which he afterward insisted was for one
person, when we were certain he said two), and climb into the boat.
A felucca is a narrow boat with bench seats along the side, and room for about
ten people. We are the only passengers on the Sandra in the Sun, which is
run by one man, with another to help him.
Our trip down the Nile and back lasts two hours, but the boat moves slowly, and
the distance covered is very short. Our two sailors entertain us with
conversation, information, Arabic music, and hot hibiscus tea. The sun sets, the
Nile grows dark, and the moon rises, a sliver over the water.
The breeze grows a bit chilly as we return to the lights of Luxor. I mention
that tomorrow is my birthday, and they try to convince us to let them arrange a
big party on their boat with people we don’t know. They also guess my age at 25
(ha!) and I remember that Egyptian men enjoy flattering women. It has been a
relaxing and delightful way to close a busy day of touring.
Back on the street, the Cornice el-Nil, we find a caleche and get a ride
back to our hotel.
The driver insists that Ron join him for awhile on his seat,
and take the reins. The horse’s name is Susie, he tells us, and I realize that
the people here take great pride in the things that they own – the taxi driver
keeping his car clear of splashing water, the felucca owner who tells us several
times “I hope you like my boat,” which he has named for his mother, and now the
caleche driver with a horse he is proud of.
The people are very friendly here, and we’ve had many men say “Ah, America,
friends,” when they hear where we’re from, but I suspect that much of the
friendliness is rooted in strategy – they have found ways to get tourists to
stop, to buy, to pay more, to tip higher. We eat a light, late dinner at the
hotel and end the day. It’s been exhausting, but incredible. I think of the
famous quote by Howard Carter, discoverer of Tut’s tomb, when he first peered
through a slit into that treasure trove. When asked if he saw anything, he
whispered, “Yes, wonderful things!” I must agree.
Tomorrow, the temples of Luxor and Karnak.
Day 2 - Luxor and Karnak
The most amusing thing happens when we exit our hotel this morning. A group of
men are sitting outside the entrance with instruments, and as soon as we walk
out they strike up a tune for us, assuredly hoping for some kind of baksheesh.
We walk across the lot, away from them, but as we walk it
strikes me what song they are playing. It is “Happy Birthday,” and today is
indeed my birthday! A delightful coincidence.
Outside the Karnak Temple Complex, which is immense (covering 100 acres), we
encounter some men offering to be guides. This time I welcome the idea, and when
a gentleman approaches us and mentions all the areas he will show us, I can tell
that he is knowledgeable. Plus he speaks English well enough to be easily
understood. We start to barter for a price, and he cuts us off. Sahmir says 50
pounds (about $9.00) when we are finished, if he “delights our heart,” and 40 if
he doesn’t. (At the end of our 90-minute tour we give him 60. He was definitely
delightful!)
The Karnak Temple complex evolved over a period of centuries, with various
pharaohs adding to it as they came to power. We are overwhelmed by the gorgeous
architecture, the hieroglyphs, obelisks, sacred lake, and dozens of alcoves and
rooms.
After Karnak, we take a caleche a few miles to the Luxor Temple. The driver
tries to get money for the horse again, which we refuse. But when we try to pay
him the 15 pounds we agreed upon with a 20-pound note, he insists he has no
change and we must let him keep the 20 pounds. In American money it’s an extra
dollar, so I feel guilty resenting it. But being taken advantage of is always
annoying.
At the Luxor Temple I find that I once again get lots of attention from old and
young, presumably because I am a blonde American. Groups of school kids pass and
all of them say hello to me.
Ron gets upset when I smile and wave at a group of teenage
boys calling to me, but he says hello to every little girl who greets him.
After one hello to a boy, however, the boy asks Ron “what’s her name?”
The Luxor Temple is just as grand, if not as large, as the Karnak Temple.
Everyone we encounter seems bent on getting us to head to the Egyptian market.
The cooperation is interesting to me. They want you to spend your money here,
even if it doesn’t go to them. Apparently the Egyptian market is having a
special “One Day Only” sale on Wednesday. Oh, and then again on Thursday. I am
growing cynical, I am afraid.
We walk the Cornice el-Nil for awhile again.
Our felucca man from last night spots us, waves, and wishes
me a happy birthday.
When we are ready to return to the hotel we find a caleche being pulled by a
large horse, with a smaller, apprentice horse attached. The driver has a young
apprentice too, a boy about seven years old who has all the tourist-pleasing
patter you’d expect from his father. The driver offers to take a picture of Ron
and me, and the little boy pulls me close with a “Let me love you, my friend.”
Halfway back to the hotel, he asks Ron how many camels he’d
take for his wife. Almost to the hotel and he mentions my lovely smile. We
reach the hotel and he asks for 5 pounds to go to school.
I’m amassing quite a list of ways I’ve been flattered here. I’ve been called by
the name of Nefartiti (reputedly Egypt’s most beautiful queen) and Mut (sky
goddess). I’ve been waved to, winked at, called to, smiled at, hugged, had my
age guessed wrong, offered to have camels traded for me, and talked to when Ron
is ignored. A girl could get used to this.
Our time in Upper Egypt has come to an end, and we head to the Luxor airport for
a quick, one-hour flight to Cairo. We take a cab to the hotel and check in. A
few minutes after settling into our room, Amir calls from the front desk where
he has just checked us in. He tells me he has called simply to wish me a happy
birthday. Wow. Later in the evening when I approach the concierge desk to ask a
question another of the hotel staff wishes me a happy birthday. I feel like a
celebrity! We go to the business center and check email, and I find more than a
dozen birthday greetings from friends and family.
On the way in from the Cairo airport we saw the pyramids for the first time. The
Sound and Light show was going on, so the Great Pyramid was lit up. Awesome! I
can’t think of a better birthday present than to see the pyramids for the first
time. I am so excited to explore there tomorrow.
One thing that has surprised us: Whenever you see pictures of the pyramids,
they are taken from an angle that catches the Western Desert in the background.
You never see how close the city has crept to the pyramids. As we were driving
through what felt like a bad part of the city of Giza, I looked down one crowded
street, and there at the end of it was a pyramid, where it seemed like the next
traffic light should be.
Day 3 – the Pyramids
We take a cab through the crazy streets of
Giza to the pyramid plateau.
We want to be left off at the entrance, but the driver’s got
another idea. He stops to let a guy jump in, after telling us that it is 15 km
to walk around the area. The man who jumps in tells us it’s 20 km but he’ll
drive us around for a good price. We keep saying we want to walk. This goes on
for several minutes as we drive, then the guy gives up, jumps out of the cab and
the driver brings us back to the place where he got in.
We try to make our way toward the pyramids but get stopped again by someone who
claims to be tourist helper not a guide, but he also wants to to drive us
around. This one tells us that where we’re headed to buy a ticket is only for
the Sphinx, and it is a long walk to the ticket area for the pyramids and Sphinx
together. Sounds fishy. We keep walking, he follows. Finally he gives up. We get
to the ticket booth and find that it is for the whole area. By ticket booth, I
mean a little stone building with one tiny window and one tiny woman. Nothing
like the grandeur waiting beside her.
My first impression of the pyramids by day – they are bigger than I expected.
I’ve waited so long to be here, and tried not to get my expectations too high.
It worked. I’m awed.
The place is crazy with tourists and school groups. People everywhere are trying
to sell us memory cards and lithium batteries for our camera, a little girl with
postcards taps my leg, but her eyes are distant, barely registering on me. While
I sit and type these first impressions, the call to prayer again rings out over
the area. It is Friday, their holy day.
An old man gives Ron two blue pieces of something that look like bazooka gum. We
have no idea what it is. He tells Ron to put them in his pocket – one for me and
one for him. Eventually we figure out that they represent scarab beetles for
good luck. Ron gives them back, even though the man insists he doesn’t want
money for them, since we know that this is not true.
We head first to the Valley Temple of Khafre, at the base of the second pyramid
built here, all pink Aswan granite and white limestone floors.
A steep ramp up out of temple becomes the causeway to the pyramid. I guess that
it’s a five to ten minute walk from the Valley Temple up the causeway to the
pyramid, the route Khafre’s sarcophagus took to be buried.
Along the causeway is the best place to stand and marvel at the Sphinx.
I am amazed at the thought that the sphinx has been at least
twice buried and cleared. How could anyone lose something so immense and
wonderful? Doesn’t it’s mere existence insist that SOMEONE be responsible to
keep it up? But things fall into disrepair no matter how wonderful they are.
After the sphinx the Great Pyramid. We head up past it and around. I am totally
knocked out by its size. I had told myself not to expect much, not wanting to be
disappointed. Apparently it worked, because I’m wowed. In this picture, you can
see a small black shape in the lower corner of the pyramid. It's actually a man,
bending over. It gives you some perspective on the size.
We walk to the east side, all in shade now and climb to the entrance. Tickets
don’t go on sale until 1:00 and it’s only about 12:30, so we are just checking
it out. We take a few photos and climb back down. In spite of my lifelong
issue with claustrophobia, I am totally excited to go in,
I definitely convinced myself that I can do this. What’s the worst that can
happen, I ask myself? I can freak out, have a panic attack. So what? I’ll live.
It’s not a death-defying feat. I think back over the rollercoasters I’ve ridden
and the horror movies I’ve watched. Being scared silly isn’t such a bad thing.
It’s worth it. Once in a lifetime. I can do this.
We have some time to kill, since we’ve gotten here early thinking there might be
a long line. There’s no one, assuming that the tiny little hut with bars on a
window is truly the ticket booth for one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient
World.
We realize that one of the queen’s pyramids is open for us to go inside. It
seems like it would be a good idea for me to try it out as a sort of trial run.
We head to the entrance, a small opening in the crumbling pyramid which is
dwarfed by the Great one beside it.
The entrance shaft slants down steeply. The ramp is covered by wooden planks
with metal bars spaced about 18 inches apart to serve as a sort of step as you
descend.
I start down. I get about four steps down, maybe five feet, and panic. I
don’t know how far it goes down. I don’t know how long it will take, all I know
is that people are coming in after me and I’m trapped in a very small space with
what feels like half the air I require to fill my lungs. Get me out now!
Breathing apologies, I climb past a few people, escape into the light and take a
deep breath. Then I start to cry. I’m so angry with myself, that something
that’s only in my head could keep me from going inside the Great Pyramid,
something I badly want to do. But if I can't even make it down into this small
pyramid...
I know I only have a few minutes to decide. The ticket booth opens in three
minutes and only has a certain number of tickets they will give out today. I am
angry and frustrated.
But the crowds seem light, so maybe I have a little time. We go over to three
tourist police to see if they can give us information about the inside. These
three prove to be more interested in being charming and taking pictures,
so they can get some money out of us, but they are a bit
helpful. They assure me that I am a small woman and won’t have any trouble
inside the pyramid. They tell us it takes about 20 minutes to get up inside and
back.
I’m still debating. Twenty minutes of horrible freaking out could be pretty
terrible.
Ron suggests we try the queen’s pyramid again. He’s heard someone say that
looking at your feet helps. I also think if he goes ahead of me, it will help.
We get over there, and I hear the first American since we arrived speaking to
someone outside the tomb! Glory! I pounce, asking him all kinds of questions. He
thinks I’ll do fine, but he says he’ll stay up top in case I need someone to
come in and get me. I can’t see how this would be needed, but somehow the
thought gives me comfort.
Down we go. Backwards, like descending a ladder, which helps because my face is
toward the open air. Ron first. Me looking at my feet. Turns out it is 45 meters
down, then we step down into the burial chamber, which is large enough that I am
quite comfortable. I shout up a “no problem” and a thanks to the American at the
top. I made it the whole way without a touch of panic! We stay a couple of
minutes, then I climb back up jubilantly. I did it! I can do the other, I’m
sure!
We head straight to the ticket booth, purchase two tickets for the Great
Pyramid, and we’re off! We take a few shots on the pyramid, and also of the city
beneath us. All across the plateau, the calls to prayer regularly drift up from
the city.
(can
you spot me in this picture?)
We climb to the tourist entrance
(which is actually a spot the Arabs hacked into a millennia
ago), and head in. We walk a few dozen feet through gouged rock, and then
encounter the shaft of the Ascending Corridor. Here we go.
Ron goes first, so he can warn me of any changes. I have to bend at the waist to
climb it, and it is not too much wider than my body. I watch my feet. Count my
steps to distract myself. One hundred steps up there is a small landing, then
another one hundred steps, even steeper. But after that first one hundred steps
the Grand Gallery begins, with the lofty corbelled ceiling. It is narrower than
I pictured, about four feet wide here too, but also much higher than I imagined,
at least forty feet. This second set of steps is physically hard because of the
steepness, but not hard on my breathing because the ceiling is so high. I’m
doing okay! We crouch for a few feet to pass through a doorway, then it opens up
into the King’s burial chamber.
Sweating and panting, we lean against sarcophagus to catch our breath. And then
I start to cry.
I pull out my Neo (the word processor I take everywhere), sit down with my back
against Khufu’s sarcophagus, and type the following:
I
did it! Right now, as I type this, I am sitting on the floor of the burial
chamber, with my back against the 4500 year old granite sarcophagus of Pharaoh
Khufu. I cried like a baby when we got here, my sobs echoing in the vaulted
chamber. Did Khufu’s queens cry for him in this chamber? Did the priest’s chants
echo in the same way?
The floor and walls are as smooth as any modern builder could create. Huge
rectangular slabs that seem impossible to have been brought to this height and
placed with such precision.
There are no tour guides, no security here. Just Ron and me, and a few tourists
who come and go and take illegal pictures. We’ve smuggled our camera in here,
but I don’t feel right pulling it out. To be able to record my impressions this
way is enough.
The few tourists with us get quiet for a moment as they pause to have their
picture taken, and I feel the silence for a moment, and sense the enormous
amount of rock bearing down on me. How these people ever figured out they could
build a chamber in the center of a mountain of rock without it collapsing is
amazing.
I know we have to leave. We’ve been here 15 minutes already and Ron’s probably
bored to death. I’ve typed all I need to, and there’s nothing else to do here.
But I find myself longing to prolong this truly once-in-a-lifetime experience.
Hemiunu was here. Khufu was here. Dead and alive. One more moment. We are alone
in here now.
The smells – musty, dry and hot. The sound – echoing of work outside. Voices
keep going for a long time. Conversation is hard to distinguish because of the
echoes. Ron yells and scares me. His voice goes on and on.
I wonder how many people have sat here and typed? Probably not many!
We end up taking a few pictures – who can resist?
And then, reluctantly, we climb down and out.
Back on the plateau, we begin to explore the mastaba tombs
alongside the pyramid, where I know Hemiunu's tomb is located.
I'm not overly hopeful about finding it. This is not America, and there are no
bronze plaques everywhere, explaining the sites you're seeing. From up here on
the mastaba tombs, I realize for the first time that Hemi and Khufu could see
the pyramids their fathers built in far-off Saqqara from here.
We are "stalked" by an Egyptian man who offers several
times to unlock a tomb for us to see inside. Well aware that this will cost us,
we decline. Until... he makes the offer again, this time saying, "would
you like to see the tomb of the engineer?" Hemiunu! I try to appear
nonchalant, but am thrilled that I'll get to see the inside of the tomb of the
main character of City of the Dead.
It turns out to be a complex of family tombs, so we are able
to see more than just Hemi's tomb.
Very cool!!
Back outside, we find the basalt base of the Khufu's mortuary temple.
Then succumb to the requisite camel ride across the
desert.
The drivers take us farther and longer than we want, practically holding us
hostage so they can get a bigger fee. We
refuse to pay them more than agreed upon. But the ride is fun, and gives us some
great shots of the pyramid from a distance.
The
camel driver proves to be just as adept at taking photos as everyone else we
encounter, and does a little impromptu photo shoot with the two of us.
Though we would like to stay longer, and
haven't had a chance to see the solar boat museum, the pyramid plateau is
closing, and it is time to leave. We walk out of the pyramid complex, cross the street, and head into
KFC for some dinner. It’s surreal, the juxtaposition of old and new here.
People are talking at us the entire way across the street:
Taxi? Postcards? Bookmarks? Camel ride? Money for nothing? Even as we eat our
dinner, children wave to us through the glass and make motions of hand-to-mouth
as though they are starving and desperately need our money in order to eat. It’s
hard. I feel compassion, but by now it is tinged with a healthy dose of
cynicism, especially when an older man comes into the KFC and starts making a
deal with the owner to allow “his kids” to beg on the street in front of the
restaurant. Shades of Oliver Twist.
We want to see the Sound and Light Show, which doesn’t begin until after dark,
so we walk the streets a bit and find a little café. Ron chats up the boy at the
counter, Gazaly, who speaks almost no English, as I type notes from the day.
(Just before Ron snapped this photo, Gazaly slipped his hand across to rest on
my thigh. These people crack me up!)
The Sound and Light Show is cheesy and fun,
but we are glad to return to the hotel after another long
day.
Day 4 - Downtown Cairo
This morning after breakfast we get the hotel’s shuttle bus to downtown Cairo.
It takes a little asking around but we find our way to the Egyptian Museum. We
have to walk across several narrow streets, which feels death-defying. We are
almost there when we are stopped by a nicely dressed man who wants to help us.
He tells us that he works for the museum and used to live in NYC. Later we
doubt that any of this is true. He tells us that we can’t get tickets into the
museum right now because they are closed for prayers. Another 15 minutes. While
we are waiting we should feel free to do some shopping here. This is where the
locals shop, not like the bazaar (where we are later headed) where they take
tourists’ money.
The prospect of crossing the crazy-busy street to get there is more than enough
to deter us. Our friend will help us across, though. He takes my hand, and in a
stop-and-start dash across eight lanes of traffic where there should be six, we
play a game much like the old Frogger video game, complete with the constant
honking of cars. I truly don’t think we’ll make it. But we do, and our friend
kindly directs us into a ‘government’ shop where they will treat us fairly, he
assures us. Later we are certain he gets some kind of kickback here. But the
papyrus is nice, and they have something I am looking for, so we make a
purchase. We also get a quick demonstration on papyrus making, so we can chalk
the whole thing up to research. Fortunately the shop owner’s helper is there to
take us back across the street.
Papyrus roll in hand, we reach the Cairo Museum.
I really cannot begin to describe this place effectively. I have never seen a
museum with such a display of riches. It is packed from wall to wall, floor to
ceiling with statues, figurines, sarcophagi, tools, implements, jewelry,
fragments of tombs and doors and lintels, beds and chairs, vases and pottery. It
goes on and on and on. Two and half hours later I am so exhausted from trying to
absorb it all that I think I may cry again.
The highlight was seeing the contents from King Tutankhamun’s tomb, of course,
including his gorgeous gold coffins and death mask, but I think I was equally
impressed by simply the staggering amount of things this culture left behind for
us to find and study and wonder about. I take as many audio notes as I can, and
we stumble back into the light, eyes blurry.
We wait only a few minutes until we find Michael entering the courtyard to meet
us. He is an American living here with his family, and we have mutual friends in
the States who have arranged this meeting. We make quick introductions, then
grab a taxi to the Khan el Khalili market. It is so enjoyable to hear Michael
converse in Arabic with the driver, and to hear the VERY cheap price he pays,
compared to what we ignorant tourists have been paying.
During lunch with Michael in a street café along a square, a cat runs in, jumps
up, and steals a huge chicken breast from the counter just as I’m finishing my
chicken shwarma. Ick! My Coke costs more than the sandwich but is worth
it. (Side note - In February of 2009 we were saddened to hear that a bomb was
detonated in this very square, just feet from where we ate lunch, killing one
tourist and injuring many other people. Another reminder that the world is
different here.)
We head into the market, and into total overload again. The alley is about four feet
wide, shops spilling into the alley.
Constant talk is aimed at us. More compliments for me. Today
it will prove to be my eyes that get the most attention, with four or five men
telling me how beautiful they are. From the first day we got here, I have been
entranced by the eyes of the Arabic people, so deep and dark. It occurs to me
that perhaps I am a bit exotic to them. Funny thought.
“How can I take your money today?” “What do you want to spend your money on
today?” They have funny lines. We spend the next two hours haggling with
merchants. After watching Michael for a couple purchases, we try it ourselves,
and after a while, we get quite good at it. We are willing to walk away, and we
do. It’s not that hard, when there seem to be a thousand shops selling the same
things. In all the times I say no, hand back the purchase and walk away without
it, I am never allowed to truly leave. They always admit defeat and give me my
price. I start to get a little intoxicated with the power of it. You can see the
respect in their eyes when you get the final word. They seem surprised by the
strong Americans. I can’t take the credit. Michael has shown us the best way.
Time flies, and we need to catch the Metro (subway) to Michael’s house. But
first a taxi. We hop in, but there seems to be no arguing over price. Later
Michael tells us that when we got in, he explained to the driver that he was a
local, he knows the local prices, and he has guests with him, so don’t try to
take more than what it really costs. The driver laughs and agrees. I wish I knew
Arabic!
The Metro is crowded like a NYC subway. We reach the station, take a quick taxi
ride to his house in an apartment building. We spend the evening with his lovely
family, eat a delicious dinner, and have some good conversation. Also, some time
well spent with their 12 year old daughter who is an aspiring novelist, also
working on a novel about Ancient Egypt. It is great fun encouraging her, and
before the night is over we exchange email addresses and promise to keep in
touch.
It is 11:00 PM, and we do not yet realize that the night is not nearly over for
us. A taxi ride back to the metro station, then the subway for nine stops, then
a transfer to a different subway for another five stops, then we come out of the
subway to try to catch a bus. We say “catch a bus” in America, when we really
mean “stand in one established place, usually a shelter, until a bus stops for
me.” In Egypt the catching of the bus is a bit more literal. Firstly, you stand
anywhere along the highway, and for the bus to notice you, you must stand far
enough out in the road for the bus to also run you over. A catch-22. The buses
are actually more like 12-passenger vans, which careen all over the place,
whizzing past about every thirty seconds, with their doors open. Nothing on the
bus identifies where it is going. You simply yell your destination into the bus,
and they say yes or no.
This would have been quite impossible if I hadn’t asked a woman about my age
along the road where we could get a bus to our town. She directed us to stay
with her and her mother.
Bus after bus passes us by, with her yelling “October?” into each one. (The name
of the town where our hotel is located is named 6th October, to
commemorate victory in the Ramadan War). One bus after another says no. Finally
someone tells her that we should take another bus to somewhere we can’t
understand. She tells us to stay with her. We get on the bus and try to pay, but
she smiles and shakes her head no, and says “you are our guest.” She is lovely.
Her name is Lamya. We are so grateful.
The bus travels for probably twenty minutes through some of the poorest streets
I’ve ever been in. Lamya and her mother remain on the bus past their stop, just
to help us. We’re overwhelmed by this kindness. When we finally get to the place
where we can catch the next bus, they get off with us, help us cross several
insanely busy streets, and spend another ten minutes trying to find us a bus to
6th October. At last, one comes along. With many shukrans for
Lamya, we cram ourselves (literally) into the bus.
Ten minutes later when we are still bumping along, the extent of our situation
hits me. I am the only woman in a 12 passenger van with about 15 Egyptian men
and Ron. I am in a poverty-ridden section of a foreign, Muslim city at 1:30 AM
and I have no idea where I am. And I have blonde hair.
Strangely, I’m not the least bit frightened. It just runs through my head that
I’m probably crazy.
We start to recognize our surroundings and know we’re heading in the right
direction. When our hotel comes into view, we start calling out “Hilton” and the
driver slams the brakes in time for us to tumble out at the foot of the hotel
parking lot. We made it! I say to Ron that I think we can do anything now. There
is a quite a sense of empowerment at having accomplished this, although I know
we owe much to Lamya and her patient mother. Still, we knew enough to ask the
right questions and attach ourselves to the right person, so that counts for
something, I think.
It is 2:30 now as I finish chronicling the day. Our plan was to rise early and
head two hours north to Alexandria. That plan doesn’t look as attractive at the
moment. I think I will open the curtains and let the sun wake me when it will.
Alexandria will still be there.
Day 5 - Alexandria
We spend the day in Alexandria, on the north coast of Egypt, where the
Lighthouse of Alexandria stood as one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World.
But I will save the details of this excursion for another journal, when it’s
time to explore the location of the third Seven Wonders novel, Guardian of
the Flame (October, 2009).
When we get back to Cairo at about 10 PM, we decide to revisit the Khan el
Khalili market tonight, rather than come back tomorrow.
The place is closing down, but we find a few more
things to purchase, haggle a bit, try to avoid the commission-seeking street
people, and then find a taxi to take us all the way back to our hotel, about 45
minutes away.
Another late night, but much accomplished today. We gratefully sink into bed,
knowing that tomorrow we won’t even be leaving the hotel. Our last day will be
devoted to rest and relaxation around the hotel pool and spa.
What a trip! It’s been more of an adventure than I expected, trying to navigate
our way through this foreign country, and its customs, money and culture. By the
end we have become experts at ignoring the badgering tourist trade, at getting
the best price for the things we need, and we have even begun to trust the cab
drivers as they careen through the streets clogged with cars driving across
lanes. But more than an adventure, it’s been a widening of horizons as well,
feeling what it is like to be a minority, touching some of the oldest structures
on the face of the earth, and discovering yet another beautiful place in the
world, with people who at the core, are people just like us.
