This is going to be a long one – so go get a cup of tea first
“Going to Egypt” has been a dream of mine for as long as
I can remember. The mystery, the history
– the TIME. Walking where the Pharaohs
walked, where magic was part of life; going to the one place on our planet where
alchemists and academics and thinkers and adventurers and dreamers went in
search of inspiration and truth and eternal life - for centuries. To say it was an obsession of mine, would not
be an understatement. At some point, because it was such a great dream, I
thought ‘going to Egypt’ would be the last thing I do in this life. This is why, when Tinus said: “let’s go to
Egypt,” a thrill of excitement – and a tiny thread of fear – ran through my body. Strangely enough, the fact that the news
media was painting a grim picture of the current state of affairs in Egypt did
not deter me at all. Remember: “I’m from
Africa, dahrling;” we don’t see a bit of civil unrest as reason enough to
change our plans.
“Who sits by the window” has been negotiated and I drew
the last leg, coming in to Cairo. As the
view in my tiny window changed from desert landscape to city, I literally held
my breath. And then it was there –
hundreds upon hundreds of brown buildings in a brown landscape – like some
alien slave camp – it stretched out below as far as I could see, disappearing
in a murky brown sludge of foggy haze on the distant horizon.
Where was the Nile, shimmering blue against the green
banks laden with crops? The Egypt of my
dreams had blinding white buildings, populated by proud people – the children
of the gods, who painted their houses in bold colours. As we circled and landed the realization
slowly came to me – this is not the place I dreamt about. Where did it go? What happened? How did it get to be like this?
The tour representative, Abdul, met us as we stepped out
of the bus and walked into the terminal building. He greeted us like old friends and with a
friendly relaxed manner guided us through passport control, got our luggage and in no time had us
standing outside in the huge - shades of murky brown and gray -parking area where
we and our bags were loaded into a minibus.
Abdul sat in front with the driver, and as we left from the airport he
turned around to us and asked: ”Have you heard about the traffic in Cairo?”
“Yes,” we said. He, smiled, and as he
turned back he said, “Whatever you’ve heard – it’s worse.”
And it was. It
took us two hours to drive from the Airport to our hotel in Giza. The traffic was unbelievable, but entertaining. Any mode of transport you can imagine, bicycles,
motorcycles, horses, donkeys and little motorcycle-car-thingies crammed
together on what I think is possibly a three lane highway – no regard is shown
for road markings. The road traffic
people possibly know this because we only saw one road sign – Tinus took a
photo of it. The cars are all old –like 1950s old. For someone who lives in a country where one
regularly sees at least three Maseratis each time you go out on the roads and Porsche
SUVs are common, this fact stuck out like a pentagram on a Christmas
pudding.
The passing scenery seemed to have been
de-saturated. The buildings are mostly
unfinished, with reinforcement steel cables sticking out at all angles, you can
clearly see where the inside staircases runs and just about none of the
buildings have been plastered – let alone painted. There was even a mosque, with the dome
hanging precariously off one completed wall.
But then I started to notice it:
These unfinished buildings are occupied.
People live in them, and where there’s life, there are little bits of
colour, as if the people are rebelling against the ‘great nothing’ threatening
to take over their city by splashing bold colours around them. And as I looked I saw more and more colours,
blue and green, purple and orange, yellow and even a touch of red, bravely
crying out against the mind numbing brown and beige murk I saw from the sky.
I thought I am going to tell you about our holiday, but
it seems that I’m telling you about the truth I found instead of the splendor I
expected. Egypt is a place where the
true face of humanity has been carved in stone through the centuries. We saw testimony to the human traits of fear
and hatred; the remnants of destruction caused by Christians and Kings, as they
have attempted to destroy the faces of the gods and enemy pharaohs. We saw testimony to the human traits of
pride and greed; where the occupants of tombs have listed – walls and walls
filled with hieroglyphs – telling of what they owned, what great deeds they did
and how wonderful they are. We saw
testimony to the barbarity of the great pharaohs, which still lingers in the
warmongers among humankind today, as we saw temple walls covered with battle
scenes, where enemies are killed and great mounds of decapitated heads and
other unmentionables are depicted with great precision and scribes are shown
counting severed hands to determine how many enemies have been captured.
But we also saw testimony to the greater of humanity’s
traits: that of love and the need to
create beauty, the in the way in which the artists of the village of craftsmen created
the temples and tombs, carved the figures of gods and men out of stone so
perfectly, that you almost expect the figures to step out of the stone walls. And the colours! Bits of colours remained everywhere, and one
can easily imagine the breathtaking site these temples must once have
been. I always felt as if I was
trespassing whenever we entered into a sacred space, where once only gods and
priestesses where allowed.
The testimony to another one of humanity’s most beautiful
traits, that of the need to worship and believe in something greater than
yourself, by different names and in different ways, is evident all over Egypt,
in the great temples built to honour the gods.
We saw testimony to humanity’s adventurous spirit and the need to
explore in the hieroglyphics telling us of Hatsheput's missions to the far
reaching corners of the world, and with her we also see the strength of Women
with an unbreakable spirit, doing what needs to be done, in spite of the cost
to us personally.
Egypt’s modern history reads like the biography of a
popular slave girl, passed from king to king to general, never loved, never
cared for but greedily coveted, used and abused. I was struck by the humongous monument at
Aswan built in gratitude to the Russians.
But it made sense when I heard the story behind it: The Egyptians wanted to borrow money to build
the Aswan dam. Nasser (one of many
Generals in the biography) went to the Americans and Brits in the 1950s to try
and borrow the huge amounts of money needed to build the dam. Our guide told us it was around 530 million
US dollars; Wikipedia says it was $1,120,000,000. One thousand, one hundred and twenty million
US dollars! Whichever one it was, it was
lots and lots of dollars, and apart from something like 6% interest they also
wanted to have the Egyptians make friends with the Israelis – we all know how
that turned out, so instead Nasser went to the USSR, who said sure, they’ll
give them the money at only 2% interest and they can pay them back in
‘produce.’ If someone borrowed me
millions and millions of dollars in return for some onions and watermelons I would
also build him a monument too.
Today the dam/lake behind the huge wall stretches for
about 350km south from the wall to the border of Egypt and carries on for
another 150km into Sudan. Personally I would never have built the damn
dam. It seemed to have messed up
everything, but that’s just me. As we
all know, after the Egyptians built the dam the rest of the world jumped in to
save the priceless legacy of temples flooded by the Aswan dam. We visited the Temple at Philae dedicated to
Isis and I hurt physically to think that all of that would have been lost, has
it not been for the great human trait of generosity. I think if one has to calculate it: the cost
of moving all the temples, it would probably be more than the construction cost
of that damn dam. There were more than
20 temples I think, which were flooded, or would have been flooded, including
the magnificent temple at Abu Simbel that Ramses the 2nd built for
the love of his life, which sadly we didn’t see – next time.
Our guide described the process of moving a temple to
us: First a mini-dam was built around
the temple, usually with two sets of walls, and then the water was pumped
out. The temple was then moved – stone
by stone – to higher ground. Statues and
larger blocks of stone were cut into moveable pieces and reassembled in their
new locations, all of this done with money donated and by volunteers from all
over the world. At many of these sites
there are still pieces left over, I guess it’s a bit like the last few mystery
screws remaining after you took something apart and then put it back together
again.
Travelling on the
Nile was one part of the dream that was exactly as I imagined it to be. The cruiser itself was luxurious and I can
well imagine a Pharaoh drifting down the Nile on his or her barge like this,
looking at the people working their small fields, tending to their goats,
looking pretty much like I imagine they looked thousands of years ago. On the cruise we were brought in close
contact with the local Egyptians, in the form of the staff/waiters/barmen on
board the cruiser as well as the hoards of extremely irritating, in-your-face-
street vendors who wanted to sell us stuff.
The staff on board was beyond good.
They were always friendly and our favourite among the crew was our
barman, who gave us a riddle every time he brought us our drinks.
Sadly, we didn’t buy anything from the vendors, we never
even looked at their ‘wares,’ as they were apt to descend on you like a flock
of hungry vultures the moment you looked interested in anything. We quickly learnt not to make eye contact
with them. What I have seen though, is
that in spite of the ‘hunger’ in wanting the sell you things, they had an
incredible zest for life, there was exuberance and joy in everything they did,
and laughter in their eyes. They are
beautiful, old and young, their faces are full of expression and whatever they
do, they seem to do with everything they have.
One of the
highlights of our holiday was the hot-air-balloon ride over the Valley of the
Kings. None of us have ever done it and
I think it is something everyone should have on their bucket list. There is no way to describe that feeling of
being part of the breaking day, soundlessly floating over the waking landscape
as nothing more than a shadow in the morning mist.
The four days on the Nile slid past way too quickly and
before we knew it we were back on the classic old train, taking us to
Cairo. The train looks just like it did
in the 1950s, and I can absolutely imagine Agatha Christy sitting on the very
same chair I sat in, in the lounge, surrounded by (less faded) gold and green
brocade. We have done and seen so much, temples and tombs flowed into each
other but the incredibly artistry never ceased to amaze and enthrall me. I am so glad that we did get to see Deir El
Medina, the village where the craftsmen lived.
It is impossible to try and describe their artwork. If I had to tell you about everything it will
take me another three pages, no, more, and I didn’t even really take photos of
it – not even a photo can capture the perfection of what they did. I guess that is where the magic still lives,
hidden in their work.
As much as Dubai is a testimony to modern man’s ability
to create, Egypt is testimony to what we always were capable of. The pyramids are beyond words and I am so
glad that Skye’s adventurous spirit inspired me to join her in going into an
actual pyramid. We two girls also took a
camel ride along the pyramids, dusty and smelly as they were, the camels,
Mickey Mouse and Michael Jackson, were actually really sweet. Our last night was spent in the Mena House
Hotel and that was an experience in itself.
Situated at the foot of the great pyramid of Cheops it was built in1869, around the same time as our house in
Hopefield J Agatha Christy and Winston Churchill are
among the people who stayed at the hotel.
I love the Moorish décor and the plush carpets you sink into as you walk
along the dimly lit passage ways, and the smell – I cannot explain it, but it
smells like home. As a grand finale to our holiday we went to
see the laser and light show at the great Sphinx and pyramids on our last night
in Egypt. It was as spectacular as I
imagined. The show ends with the
narrator in his very Omar Sharif-y accent saying: “It is said that man fears time, but time
fears the pyramids.”
She decides to answer the letter; Claire then comes to Verona accompanied by her grandson (whose name slips my mind) which, predictably, becomes the love interest of the letter writer and of course after a few tears and misunderstandings they all end up together, living happily ever after. But it is only at the wedding of Claire and her Lorenzo (Claire is played by the elegant Vanessa Redgrave and Franco Nero (playing Lorenzo) is her real-life love – there is one place in the movie where she looks at him with such love and trust - and I thought, this is either real – or real good acting, that’s why I Googled it,) anyway, it is only at the wedding that the letter writer’s letter is read: 
That saying about what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger… well, we’re not dead yet :) … have you noticed that wonderful little “it’s never too late” in the letter from Juliet? It really, truly never is, as long as you are alive, it is not too late, even if someone passed away. You may not agree with me, but I always think when we mourn the loss of a life, we mourn for ourselves, because we have been left behind. And I think the reason why we have been left behind, is because it’s never too late. It’s never too late to follow our hearts, to muster the courage to seize the next day, it’s never too late, to live happily ever after. 
