We went back to the Great Pyramid. It was time for the crawl inside. Tourists from all over the world were near the entrance, but few were going in. An American woman loudly and persistently complained because other people had the temerity to walk through her attempt at a photograph of the only surviving Great Wonder of the Ancient World. I hate American tourists.
The entrance was a grotto/cave-looking hole cut into the pyramid. No cameras allowed. We showed our tickets and went in. It was dimly lit and the tunnel passage was craggy and cave-like. Then we got to a forty degree (ish) shaft going up. Hunched over, we entered. It was surprisingly warm. I'm out of shape, thus the crab walk/lunging up the fifty or so yards to another chamber was painful and moderately unpleasant.
The new chamber had much higher ceilings so we could stand; unfortunately, I didn't stop being out of shape so, since it still went up at forty degrees and did so for fifty or more yards, it too was painful and, not surprisingly, unpleasant. At the end of that chamber was a leveled off platform at which we took the opportunity to pant and perspire. Then we ducked into a corridor and emerged into the King's Chamber.
They hadn't developed funerary carving when Cheops/Khufu built the pyramid so the King's Chamber is a smooth-walled, dark, granite room with an open, empty sarcophagus in it. There wasn't much to see, but I liked the idea that some day, should I ever propagate, my issue can go there and experience exactly what their forebear did. I had to be me, so I tested the acoustics of the room (excellent by the way) by Gregorian-Monk chanting "Ice Ice Baby," an appropriately immortal song. If that sacrilege didn't release the curse of Cheops, nothing will.
We clambered back down and when we exited, legs throbbing and worn out, I peg-legged to the other side of the pyramid, where Cheops/Khufu's 4800 funerary barge (Palestinian Cedar wood) was housed. What else can I say but "remarkable"?
We went to the Sphinx and the temple beside it. Vendors, carrying trinkets and post cards, descended like a swarm of mosquitos. I'd learned "Shukran" is "thank you" earlier. I quickly learned "la" is "no." I tried "la shukran." That didn't work so I got blunt. "La!" Then, I ignored them. That worked best. I felt like a rude Yankee. One of the vendors was wearing a purple, orange-pawed hat. My SC came flooding back.
"Your hat sucks! Boo Clemson! You need a new hat! I hope you die!" I unleashed on him.
Common decency and international norms of etiquette do not apply when it comes to my Clemson hatred.
"Your hat sucks! Your hat stupid! You die!" he shouted back to my Carolina hat and me.
"Go Cocks!" I yelled.
David, also a gamecock, was slightly taken aback, though amused; the rest of the group was in turns horrified/flummoxed. Whatever. When you dump as much money into something as I have into the University of South Carolina, you can handle that situation as you see fit. I was pleased.
There isn't much to say about the temple. Old. Impressive. I got so sick of the vendors I tore out a page from my note pad and wrote
"To: Vendors
From: Me
Subject: No! La!"
I tore a small hole in the center, affixed it on my shirt button, and wore it proudly. The vendors probably can't read English, but they can see sullen crazy, so they left me alone.
I people-watched the Eastern European tourists, men and women, strutting around dressed as though they were going to, coming from, or were, in fact, at a disco. Hot pants, tight pants, low-cut pants, pants that didn't cover modesty, all variations of pants in shiny or bright colors. Boobs, pecs, biceps, triceps, abs, legs, butts. Very intelligent and appropriate in an Islamic country where there have been major bombings. People are dumber than hammers. Myself included, of course.
We piled into our van, flabbergasted. We were also going to the Egyptian Antiquities Museum, home of Tut's treasures, and taking an overnight train. I'm not sure where else in the world you can see that much in one day. Paris, I suppose (Eiffel Tower, Arc de Triomphe, Notre Dame, the Louvre, Musee d'Orsay, etc) but this culture is so alien and exotic to me it's hard to compare.
We stopped at a restaurant for lunch. Complete tourist trap. I knew from all the other vans and buses and you know what? I didn't care. Especially after, while walking in, a man holding a lion cub asked if I wanted to hold it.
Um. Yes, please.
I handed him the 30LE and he handed me an apex predator, two feet long and about 30-40lbs. I was so excited I didn't wonder if it were defanged and declawed. It was gorgeous, adorable, and amazing. All of which makes me a hypocrite. It's a freaking lion. If it ripped open my abdomen and spilled my guts onto the ground and then bit out my neck, as I died a horrible death, I wouldn't have cared it was majestic and my death fittingly ironic (in light of my nearly mauling a small kid not three hours earlier).
As it was, the cub just seemed annoyed at how undignified it was to be passed around like a party favor. Lunch was great. They brought out small grills with sizzling pieces of chicken and lamb, which I promptly devoured. Ordinarily I'd focus more on that experience but when you've carried a king of the jungle, a good meal doesn't stack up.
I don't mean to gloss over the Egyptian Antiquities Museum. Really, I don't. But words can't properly express what it's like to be seeing many thousands of years worth of objects that were ancient and spectacular over a thousand years before the Romans went into Britain.
As I looked at King Tut's funerary cache, I paused to consider what had happened to all the other pharaohs. Tut's tomb was a spectacular find. Rich beyond measure. But he was a king of little note who died around age 19 rather suddenly and so his tomb was probably unimpressive by pharaonic standards. What on earth was in Pepys II tomb? He ruled, not lived, ruled ninety-six years. What was in Ramses II tomb? Ozymandias. King of Kings. Look on my works, Ye mighty, and despair. Reigned sixty seven years. Left awe inspiring temples and statues everwhere. What soul-stirring treasures did he accumulate to accompany him to the afterlife?
No one knows. All stolen millennia ago. I would wonder what happened to all of it, but I already know. Having a priceless work of art doesn't mean anything to the uncultured. History, craftsmanship, majesty, artistry, all melted down or broken up into comparatively worthless ordinary gold. I hate people sometimes.
Some of the others paid for the extra ticket to see the royal mummies. Dead bodies. Ho hum. In my opinion, the passage of a certain amount of time doesn't make it uncreepy to look at someone's dead body, especially the body of a person who did pretty much all that was humanly possible at the time of his death to make it so no one could disturb his corpse. Something about paying a fee and doing the voyeurism in a museum doesn't legitimize it for me.
Instead, I went to the animal mummy room. It was free. Dogs, cats, crocodiles, cows, monkeys. I thought of the story of the Monkey's Paw, got creeped out, and left.
We made our way to the train station and got on the overnight train to Aswan. In my berth, I drank scotch, read parts of a history of the Crusades, and tried to process what I'd experienced.
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