Edfu and Kom Ombo

Another early wake up. Though chilly, I wear shorts and flip flops. We debark at the temple at Kom Ombo. Our boat got off earlier than the rest of the flotilla so we get the temple mostly to ourselves. Even the vendors aren't there; praise Jesus.

Kom Ombo is dedicated to the crocodile god. It's another Ptolemaic/Roman temple. It has more paint. It's bigger than Philae. Somehow, at the end of each day here, I think that I can't be dazzled any more than I already have been. And yet, sure as rain, the next day I'm overwhelmed by something else. It's nigh on ridiculous.

Back on the boat we go. Back to bed I go. In a few hours, just before lunch, we arrive at Edfu. I've never heard of Edfu. We pile into a van. Carriages line the street next to where we debarked, but Magdolin explains that the tour company stopped using them because the carriage drivers mistreat the horses and don't maintain the carriages and then race them. We note the protruding ribs of the horses as the drivers whip them to run on the asphalt. I'm glad I'm not, but there are times I wish I were a(n expressly) violent man.

Edfu is gigantic, even compared to the places we've been so far. My words will fail describing it (as they fail at describing most everything I've seen so far). There are a few gods we haven't seen so far. When Magdolin points out the goddess of Mathematics and Building, I, of course, can't resist making a joke.

"Yeah, yeah, even as enlightened as the Egyptians were, they still didn't let women drive. Notice all the chariot drivers are male."

Krista takes the opportunity to attempt to knee me in the crotch. I jump back and squeal like a small child.

Back on the boat, David isn't feeling well, so I leave him to sleep and I get into the scotch and start catching up on this journal. Mid-afternoon, a decent head of steam going, I go up to the bar to get a cappuccino. I'm chatting with the barista when one of the porters loitering behind the counter joins in and brags about being strong. I am unimpressed.

"Man is weak. Smarts are what matter. Killing from a distance. Sub-Saharan 12 year olds kill lions and they don't punch them to death. Weapons. Kill from distance. Smart."

He summarily dismisses me.

"I am army! Body builder!" he tells me.

Still unimpressed, I say, "I am warrior." I motion with my trigger finger. "Smart. That's what matters. Not strong. Man is weak. Animals strong."

And then I walk off with my cappuccino.

Surprisingly, I get back into the scotch. Some of the others get into some hooch as well. Like an idiot, I start trying to be magnanimous and expound my expansive, inclusive religious views. Kim, the Australian lawyer, a wisp of a woman, has had enough beer to have a go. She's an atheist. On an unrelated note, I don't remember much of what happens next, except for her indignantly and incredulously asking, "You think I'm a fool to raise my kids that way??!!"

Even in my condition, I know this isn't the best situation, so I vamoose back to my cabin and put myself to bed. I wake up in the middle of the night, uneasy about how things had played out and my mind swirling (not from the scotch...) and write what I cleverly name the Luxor Trilogy.