Changed yet again, for dinner this time, anything goes from jeans to smart suits, from mini skirts to long dresses. I decided to stick with the foreigners, mostly German but also Chinese, American, South African and Italian being spoken.
Greeted by a spread of hot and cold Egyptian food. I could have stayed with the soup, the tastiest lentil ever. Decided to by-pass the cold section, opting for roast lamb, spiced meat balls, potato in spicy tomato sauce, pasta with lentils and onions, aubergine with rice and beans. Delicious. Chose the lightest-looking dessert, omali again. The cake selection looked similar to those in the Greek Bakery back home, dripping with honey, exceedingly sweet.
The waiter excused himself, could he ask just one question? “Where it is you come from?” “Wales.” “Where it is Wales, in England?” I corrected the location. “I thought it is you English so good speak.” He was no doubt confused because I wasn’t dining with the English crowd.
The ‘Egyptian Night’ continued with a ‘galabea’ evening, everyone supposedly dressing up in their recent purchases, each national group then supposed to put on a ‘Pharonic’sketch. I couldn’t face it.
Joined by Patrick at breakfast, he had participated. Only the British had produced a sketch which was much appreciated by their own group in the audience. The other nationals had remained very detached.
We were joined by the German guide in a discussion about languages. According to him the Coptic language is the closest living language to resemble, in sound, the language of the hieroglyphs, since the Greeks had mingled their own language with that of the Ancient Egyptians they’d come to rule over.
For the first time the sky was overcast. Found ourselves moored alongside a sister ship of the Sheraton fleet filled with French and Spanish tourists, far fewer than ourselves. Someone mentioned one hundred and forty passengers on our ship plus seventy-five crew and domestic staff. It’s not evident where the latter live, must be in an even deeper level of the ship below the Nile’s surface.
We were moored in Kom Ombo, just outside the temple grounds, a temple less well-preserved than the others we’ve visited so far. It was damaged by earthquakes generations ago and more recently. A system has been devised to break the shock of an earthquake by inserting wooden poles at intervals in the stone walls.
The temple had twin entrances, one dedicated to Sek, the crocodile god, an evil force to be conquered, and the other dedicated to Horus, another falcon god, different from the Horus of yesterday. Crocodiles and falcons were very much in evidence in the hieroglyphs spreading around the temple walls.
I found it impossible to follow all the explanations, and take photographs, without getting caught up in the multitude of other groups edging around those hieroglyphs and carvings which were of particular interest.
The main focus of interest in Kom Ombo temple was medicine. Horus was a healing god and Egyptians came from all around for his healing help. Some hieroglyphs depicted early medical and dental instruments, and the ears of the listening god were represented in a small shrine. Holes had been gouged in the stones of this shrine, so often had it been touched by the fingers of the sick.
Two tiny hieroglyphs showed women about to give birth, squatting in a way still used in many countries. Also very evident was the ‘eye’ of Horus, which I’d guessed represented ‘Good Luck’, a jewellery symbol in all the tourist shops. But no, it’s evidently more significant as the more ancient symbol for medicine, in use before Asclepius, the Ancient Greek god of medicine, took up a snake as his symbol.
I hadn’t appreciated the length of time the Greeks ruled over Egypt. They must have absorbed so many ideas from this infinitely superior society, and then recycled them into their own culture back in Greece. Time to dip into a guide book.
Back at the ship our departure was delayed since one of the groups on board had, inadvertently, climbed aboard out ‘sister’ ship which had been moored alongside. It, alas, had already set sail. Much manoeuvring needed to retrieve the wayward passengers.
It was still surprisingly grey and chilly at 10.00am but an hour later the sun broke through and bodies collapsed to sleep on sun chairs, temple lag had already set in for some. Photographers clicked away as the scenery changed from reed-covered islands to thick groves of date palms, occasional villages topped with telegraph poles, backed by higher, undulating hills of rock and soft yellow sand.
Headed into the sun and a vast stretch of sparkling grey water, mirroring distant hills of a deeper grey. Two large grey boats chugged along side by side just ahead of us. We must look like floating tower blocks to those living in the tiny mud brick huts on the river bank; blocks of world capitalism from which the locals hope to squeeze some cash during our brief visits ashore. The contrast in life style is immense.
The sounds of life on the water were suddenly disturbed by the chugging of a train! A long, dirty brown snake-like structure, it travelled along a track running parallel to the river. I guessed it to be the Cairo to Aswan express.
Unexpected also were small tower-like structures near the bank of the river, each marked with a vertical series of circles. Maybe something to do with measuring the height of water in the river. The last few temples have had ‘nilometres’ to do just that.
Suddenly aware of cars hooting. As the train moved ahead of us into the distance, the north-south highway could be seen running parallel to the rail track. I certainly don’t regret making the same journey by boat, more peaceful although much slower.
Spoke to the main guide on board who threw some light on the fishing technique we’ve seen on the water at regular intervals. The two men in each boat first fan out their huge net. One man then thrashes the water with a stick to frighten the fish while the other starts to row, so drawing the net through the water where it catches the trapped fish. The net is then hauled in quickly before the fish can escape. A technique which has stood the test of centuries.
Another brown train, thirteen carriages long, suddenly hooted and rattled on its way towards Cairo. I wonder how many local people travel around the country?
A young chap I spoke to yesterday stopped to exchange more travel information. He too is in teaching, History and Drama, in an independent school in Manchester.
Now there was very little agriculture on the increasingly sandy ground alongside the Nile, just half dead date palms and white walled villages sitting on the hillsides.
At 12.00 the Germans left for lunch. I hadn’t digested breakfast so decided to eat later. Behind me a couple of Scots nattered to a couple of Manchunians, the focus of their conversation being weight and diets. They’ll certainly put on weight and need a diet after this trip!
The huge cruise ships suddenly looped across the river in a change of direction. It looked as though they were avoiding some kind of pipeline being laid.
The Scots couple left. The Manchunians deliberated on what work the newly departed man did. Meanwhile, on the river below, fellucas filled with sunbathing tourists were sailing into view indicating our arrival in Aswan.
Time for lunch. The now familiar array of salads was followed by warm grapefruit topped with nutmeg and a cherry-like fruit, beef sliced in a sauce with peppers alongside a pyramid of white rice, beside my favourite white cheese and yoghourt dip. As the crème caramel was served we slowly docked in Aswan.
Large modern buildings appeared on the skyline, large cruise ships lined the river bank as in Luxor, whilst beyond them the river narrowed and clumps of rocks began to appear in the water in a way not previously seen. Rocks also rose high on the bank to our right, a Greek-like church topping one of them, whilst fellucas sailed into the narrower stretch of water . Only the ugly cement tower of the Oberoi Hotel ruined an otherwise beautiful view
Lunch over, we immediately climbed aboard a coach for sightseeing in Aswan. The immediate impression was of a town quite different from Luxor. There were fewer carriages on the roads, which appeared to be in better condition, but many more taxis and private cars. The bazaar area was only partly situated along the waterfront, therefore, there was less hassling by traders. The architecture was more attractive, we even saw a department store.
The first stop was at one of Aswan’s world-famous granite quarries from where so many obelisks were cut. I’d imagined the quarries to be huge areas like open cast coal mines but far from it, and quite unsuitable for the glut of coaches hooting and trying to find a parking place nearby.
The prime attraction was the largest obelisk ever cut, forty-two metres long , weighing about 1168 tons. Alas, it had cracked during the cutting process. Since no-one wanted a cracked obelisk it was abandoned in 1500 BC and there it still lay, at our feet, like a giant sardine in a tin of stone, a mummy in a sarcophagus, attracting as much attention as if it had been polished, carved and erected.
People used to think that the obelisk was detached from the surrounding stone by hammering wooden wedges all around it, pouring water on these causing the wood to expand and the granite to crack. Now a different theory suggests they were cut out with hammers made of a harder stone.
The traders in the tourist shops near the quarry were darker skinned than those in Luxor, and wore the white turbans of Nubians, who originally came here from the south of Egypt bordering Sudan. Many of their villages were drowned when the Aswan dam was built.
We left the quarry and drove on towards the dam. The road rose above fertile orchards and gardens alongside the first cataract, a very rocky area which impeded the steady flow of water in the now much narrower river. To our right the rocky river bed of the Nile was dry, as the water was channelled into a narrower flow by the sluice gates of the first dam. It was a bumpy drive along the top of the two kilometre long, granite cobbled, dam wall, the water of the lake on our left stretching calmly to its distant rocky boundaries.
We passed a signpost to the ‘SAHARA’. The desert stretched from here for hundreds of miles to Alexandria in the north, soft brown, yellow, rolling dunes heavily populated with electricity pylons carrying power generated by a large hydro-electric power station , one of the successes of the Aswan dam.
The dam was built by the Egyptians and the Soviets in the 1960s. The wall at its base is nearly 1,000 metres wide, narrowing to 40 metres at the top. Its shell of cement is filled with sand, rock and clay. The hope is that nothing but a nuclear attack can break it.
Lake Nasser stretching beyond the wall of the dam is beautiful , pale grey water rimmed with decorative hilltops. In contrast, the walled dam area is peopled with lean, lethargic, sandy brown coloured dogs. Maybe they too live on tourist offerings.
Drove back to a small lower lake and chugged, in a flotilla of small boats, to the island of Philae with its temple of Isis dating back to the Greek era. It was moved brick by brick from the Nile flood area to this rocky sanctuary. Today it forms a near united whole still with many carvings of Isis but also many Coptic crosses , carved at a much later date when the temple became a church.
The sun was setting as we returned to the ship for afternoon tea. Amidst things ancient some things modern are very desirable.
Soon after that came dinner, a beautiful display of cold meats and salads surrounded by elaborate fruit and flower decorations. I opted for chicken soup. Saw the most beautiful Beef Wellington ever, golden flaky pastry enclosing steak and pate with a sauce, accompanied by artichoke hearts, roast potatoes, carrots and courgettes, together with more meat, fish and pasta dishes. I couldn’t look at them! Similarly the desserts, just like a pastry shop. I opted for a vanilla flan with passion fruit, mangoes and some small green fruit like hard grapes but tasting of gooseberries.
Went for a stroll along the waterfront to ease the digestion. The lights from the moored vessels made it look like an English seaside resort. Young soldiers walked around in pairs, their uniforms very shabby compared to those of Europe. Other groups of young men sat talking under the trees but apart from an occasional, “Welcome, how are you?” nobody showed much interest in a lone tourist, so different from Luxor. Perhaps the bazaar area would be different but I’d had enough of shopping.
Back at the ship I mentioned to one of the crew how different I found Aswan and Luxor. “In Egypt we have a saying,” he replied. “The difference is like the five fingers of the hand.”
My anticipation of the next day’s events , and their reality, could also be described as ‘ being like the fingers of the hand’ for later that evening my life hit its own ‘first cataract’ in Egypt when troubled waters began to flow.
I couldn’t find the key of my suitcase. Too late I realised that I must have inadvertently locked it inside the case!
Fortunately, when in Sheraton Care nothing is too great a problem. At 10.00pm along came Room Service with an Engineer carrying a long pliers, a hammer and a huge piece of metal. Like shelling a walnut, my lock cracked open at the first hammer blow.
More seriously, I began to feel sick and by 2.00am was regretting my gluttony in eating that FRESH fruit salad! By 5.00am I thought there might be another death on the Nile but I lived, shakily to see the dawn though, sadly, not my final luxury breakfast nor the morning tour of Aswan.
However, the worst was over, eased by a regular supply of hot lemon juice from Room Service. Finally, left the life of luxury with a degree of reluctance, climbed aboard a coach and drove out towards the desert to Aswan Airport. It had been built for a domestic market rather than the current large numbers of tourists pouring out of their coaches, looking for the nearest air conditioned departure lounge.
They didn’t find one. People were guided to queue on green benches under the few shady trees. Sheraton picnic boxes were opened whilst 'Bob', actually Ihab, most tourist guides operate under two names, went in search of our boarding passes.
Passes issued, we moved inside the small terminal building to sit in rows on hard plastic seats alongside the lavatories. On entering the lavatory one was given a sheet of toilet paper, payment was made on leaving. I thought uneasily about the previous night. The temperature began to rise despite fans whirring overhead.
As the group ahead of us boarded their plane, we in turn moved past the metal detector guard into a marginally larger waiting room where tourists, becoming physically and mentally heated, had their attention attracted by an interesting film on Egypt. It depicted the removal of the Nubian temple of Abu Simnel, stone by stone, away from its location on the bed of the proposed Lake Nasser to a new resting place, safe above the Nile waters.
It also told the recent history of papyrus. I hadn’t realised that the plants had died out in Egypt following the invention of paper by the Chinese. It was reintroduced from the Sudan by a Frenchman in the 1960s.
Interesting though these documentaries were, it was a great relief to finally move on board the plane. A spacious Egyptian Airways flight with window view over more desert scenery, beautiful swirls of brown shading to black, probably high mountain ranges, impossible to tell from above.
Only half an hour flying time from Aswan to Luxor, the plane suddenly swerved to the right and there it was again, Luxor, the mass of little white houses in a sea of greenery stretching out on either side of the Nile to the bleak desert boundary. It felt like coming home.
Back at the Emilio hotel, I received a warm welcome from the porters and the waiters up on the roof café. Found German friend Karen looking pinker and decidedly less calm than three days ago.
Her ‘oil’ business had not gone as planned. The trial oils were indeed beautiful to rub into the skin but their aroma resembled codeine or, possibly, morphine. The possibility of being caught carrying drugs and ending up in an Egyptian jail did not appeal, hence, the oils would not be travelling.
She had also become tired of the hassle with poolside waiters at the five star hotel with the heated pool in which she’d been swimming regularly. Alas, the discretion one usually finds in such luxury hotels was not apparent when one was female and obviously alone. A great disappointment.
She listened with interest to the details of my cruise and borrowed my ‘letter home’ for bedtime reading. I took to my bed early, still feeling off colour.
Joined by Karen at breakfast bearing not only my ‘letter’ but also German newspapers full of travel articles. She encouraged me to select some of my more unusual experiences and send them off for publication.
Still not feeling well enough to go in search of more unusual experiences, so headed back up to the roof to sun myself at leisure for a few hours.
Later in the day I strolled along the Nile to Dr Ragab Papyrus Museum. This floating exhibition and shop had attracted other curious passersby. Jimmy Carter, Sophia Loren, Prince Charles and Lady Diana had all wandered before me, stopping to have their names engraved in a royal ‘cartouche’ on a sheet of papyrus alongside some appropriately regal image, such as the young Tutankhamun with his lovely wife.
Most large hotels or papyrus shops will engrave your name in this way but, more interestingly, this museum described in more detail the researches of its founder, Dr Ragab was both an intellectual and an internationally well-connected man.
His aim was to find a way to grow, once again, the papyrus plant in Egypt. He wanted to rediscover the technique of manufacturing sheets of papyrus . The longstanding belief was that glue must have been extracted from the Nile water otherwise there was no way that the split then woven leaves of the plant could have remained stuck together. Dr Ragab proved otherwise, the pith of the plant produced its own glue. From his initial research, a large domestic papyrus industry has grown, reproducing beautiful temple drawings with hieroglyphics, to meet the large tourist market.
Back on the Nile bank it was too late to go for a felucca sail, but I was persuaded to give baksheesh to an articulate youngster who persuaded me that there was nothing he’d like more than to go to school to study to become a doctor or a teacher if only he had the money to buy the necessary shoes and books to be allowed in. Odd how history repeats itself in different countries.
Walked along the Nile bank towards another beautiful sunset and decided to explore the gardens of the Winter Palace hotel, so far viewed only at a distance from Julia’s balcony.
Discovered beautiful clumps of tall old date trees mingled with other tall unknown trees forming an oasis around a pool with sparkling water surrounded by GRASS! Not a common feature here.
In a large cage a clutch of monkeys leapt around desperate to escape. Exotic birds, flaunting their freedom, flew in and out of a large oriental white dovecot whist beneath them, small tables covered with pale yellow cloths with matching parasols overlooked the most inviting, deep turquoise waters of a rectangular racing pool, alongside it, a more shapely model for ‘splashers’ extended into yet more deep greenery.
A lone figure hailed me from a poolside table, Karen, cursing the cost of food of such rotten quality! Food apart she had had a relaxing day sunning herself and talking to other ‘guests’.
We took a carriage back to the bazaar where, in a hole in the wall, she introduced me to her tailor. He produced two lovely made to measure galabeas, £2.00 to make, £8.00 for the fabric. She’d also given him all her old clothes to dispose of which had hugely pleased him.
Passed a street filled with about fifty black-robed women squatting infront of a house. We concluded that there must be a funeral taking place although nobody was showing any sign of emotion.
I popped in to visit Karen’s hotel just a few doors away from mine. Inside found a very similar layout in the foyer but without a carpet or my now familiar, variegated paintwork. However, it was clean with fresh sheets provided daily, a copious breakfast in friendly surroundings, and a clientele of younger independent travellers rather than older package tourists.
After dinner, decided to go for a stroll but was leapt upon by ‘my’ carriage driver crying, “193! 193!” Agreed to a short ride to the shops and a longer one tomorrow.
Two weeks is really too long to be wandering around the same shops. The vendors remember those “Maybes” and “I’ll be back tomorrow”, and assume that the day of purchase has finally come. Some can be totally exhausting in their attempts to sell, whereas those who stand back and let you look in peace often end up with a sale. I finally bought a little silver ankh sign, it symbolised ‘life’ for the Pharaohs of Luxor, and represented the same for me.
I was having a final browse in a papyrus shop when the lights went out! Blackness all over the town apart from a few car and motor bike headlights. I hadn’t noticed that carriages, donkey carts and bicycles all travel without lights. Everyone stood still in this almost total blackness for what seemed like ages but was probably only five minutes when, to a great cheer, life became illuminated again.
The following morning, sat outside the hotel in bright sunshine waiting to go for a sail with Karen. I could have had my shoes cleaned twice over by two small boys aged about nine but, unfortunately, trainers and brown shoe polish don’t marry well. Dressed in shabby galabeas , shoeless themselves, the boys appeared very business-like with their shoeshine boxes. I wonder what line of business they’ll be in in twenty years time.
Serendipidy : * Find "Egyptian Hieroglyphs" by W.V.Davies on mu bookshelf.
* BBC iplayer "The Secret History of Writing" Series 1:1 Hieroglyphs * A familiar bird noticed recently on a local pond, an Egyptian Goose.
And belatedly remember Spring last year at Ally Pally lake, a beautifully coloured strange bird, identified by someone as an Egyptian Goose.
And belatedly remember last Spring at Ally Pally lake, a beautifully coloured, strange bird, identified by a passerby as an Egyptian Goose.
And in subsequent weeks, such delight!
Next Week - Egypt Part 6 - THE END!
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