Blithely

You wield lies

as if they were simply

a protective shield

but they are poisoned daggers

that cut to the quick.

Long to close,

the scars are painful

and threaten to tear

far into the future.

And yet you wield them blithely.

Cairo (Finale)

Our last night in Luxor was the fanciest hotel we'd been to yet, so of course we were only there about 12 hours. Up early, yet again, we were off to the airport and, one ludicrously inexpensive flight later (270LE/$50), we were back in Cairo.

There was nothing left on the official tour. Most of the group talked with Magdolin about renting a van to take them to a local bazaar. As neither David nor I shop, we had Magdolin get us a driver to take us, along with Ryan, out to Askara, Dashur, and Memphis so that we could see the Red Pyramid, the Bent Pyramid, the Step Pyramid and the capital of the Old Kingdom.

As we headed out to Sakara we left the tumult of Cairo and entered the lush palm jungle/forest groves beyond. Gone was the uniform brown/dirty white of the city and instead all was brown or green covered in dust. The road ran alongside an irrigation/sewage canal. The farther from the capital the more ramshackle the vehicles sharing the road with us got, to the point that we passed men leading and riding camels and donkeys.

I stared at the palms. Planted however long ago in tidy rows, they had unknown green crops growing beneath. In less than 100 yards we went from the lush yet dusty palm jungle to the absolute, lifeless desert. Out there were the Red Pyramid and the Bent Pyramid. Formerly these had been in some sort of demilitarized zone. That fact is obvious as there are no vendors and no tour buses.

The Red Pyramid is named for either red graffiti that once used to be on it or the reddish-orange blocks used to build it. It was built by the father of Cheops/Khufu, the builder of the Great Pyramid. It's only 30-40 feet shorter than the Great Pyramid. Unlike it, there were no throngs of tourists. There was one car parked in front of it. The entrance was halfway up.

Up we went as an Indian family came out huffing and puffing. "It smells terrible in there. Like bat poop," the father informed us. I paused. If an Indian says something smells bad, that means something.

At the entrance sat a robed peasant. He was trying to pass himself off as an official, but I'd already bought tickets for the site at the entrance to the park. There was no ticket to enter. He wanted baksheesh. We told him, "On the way out."

Unlike the Great Pyramid, we didn't ascend at forty degrees, we descended at forty degrees, a looooooonnnnggg way. It didn't smell like bat poop to me so much as acrid urine or ammonia. It was bearable. The small corridor opened up into another corridor leading to the burial chamber. Unlike the smooth surfaces of the King's Chamber in the Great Pyramid, the burial chamber had vaulted ceilings and the floor looked like it had been dug out. I took another opportunity to Gregorian monk chant "Ice Ice Baby."

As we crawled up the shaft on our way back out, I mentioned to Dave to prep his pocket so he would have 5 to give the "official." When I exited, I handed him my 5LE. He wanted more. He wanted American money. I lied to him and, for one of the few times in my life, didn't regret it. "All my money's in the car. Sorry." I'd given LE, but Dave gave him dollars. Oops.

From there we drove over to the Bent Pyramid, so named because halfway up it changes slope. No one is quite sure why. It's the only pyramid that still has its limestone casing intact, but the sheen, if there was one, was very dull indeed.

From there, we rode over to Memphis, a still thriving metropolis that was at least 2500 years old when Herodotus wrote of it. It's didn't make it another 2500 years. "Memphis" now is little more than a garden with some statues in it. The greatest of these, a massive one of Ramses II, had fallen over long ago and was lying on its back. The guidebook said it was badly preserved; as with nearly everything else we've seen, in any other country it would be a national treasure.

From there we headed to Dashur to see the Step Pyramid, the one that started them all, supposedly designed by the great architect/magician/wise man, Imhotep. On our way, our driver tried, yet again, to convince us to stop at the "Carpet School! Ten minute tour! Good deal! You buy!" "No! No! No! La! La! La!" we told him repeatedly.

The Step Pyramid was undergoing a spot of restoration so it had some scaffolding on it, but it was still neat. We probably should have gone there first because it couldn't help but be a bit of a let down after the Red and Bent. There were tombs next to it that we walked into. "Tour guides" (aka locals) grab hold of tourists at the entrance and start blabbering and make you pay them whether you asked for the service or not. The guidebook had warned us about them so we waved them off. I figured I can make up just fine for free. I told David and Ryan how the Step Pyramid was built as a monument to Napoleon after he'd defeated the Dragon on this magical chariot driven by penguins. I guarantee that's as close to the truth as what the "tour guides" were telling the tourists.

Back at the hotel, we met up with most of the group for one last meal at a restaurant nearby. Local men kept offering to escort us but that was only so they could get baksheesh from the restaurant for bringing customers. A plain-clothes police officer, decked out with a walkie-talkie and pistol, shooed away our unwanted escorts and walked us to the restaurant, even though we told him we knew where we were going. He tried to get baksheesh from the restaurant and then us. Someone gave him money and he went away.

Most of us weren't really hungry so we just dabbled with appetizers. We really just wanted to have one last time together. As David and I agreed, the trip had easily surpassed our wildest expectations and the only way we could have gotten a better tour group was if we got the Swedish Bikini Team.

To finish, I feel it must be said: The Bangles are dirty liars. All over Egypt and I saw no one, living or engraved, "walk like an Egyptian."

P.S. As I told the group: other people tend to want to talk about majestic antiquities seen when they recount fantastic vacations, but I'm the ur-American so I stick to sexy body parts, alcohol induced antics, and looking down on poor people who are simply trying to make a living. I'm a travel writer the way the proud owner of a crushed velvet painting of dogs playing poker is an art connoisseur

Valley of the Kings and Hatshepsut's Temple

Up early, we made our way to the Valley of the Kings, burial ground for many pharaohs of the New Kingdom, including, most famously, Tutankhamun. Though virtually all but Tut's have been raided (though isn't Carter a glorified tomb raider?) they are still marvels for their artwork.. Unlike the outdoor temples, the tombs don't have a little bit of paint; they're awash in colors. There are over a dozen tombs open to the public, but the admission ticket only got us into three (any three) of our choice. I paid for an extra ticket to see Ramses VI tomb because Magdolin said it had good paintings. Others paid to see Tut's tomb, but I'd heard the treasures (which we'd seen in Cairo) are great but the tomb isn't worth seeing.

Though we could all pick different tombs, we all, as a group, went to Ramses III tomb on Magdolin's advice. We'd been told photos were prohibited (as they were at Abu Simbel) so we didn't take our cameras. Monica, our Australian movie producer, took a photo with her iPhone and some bastard American tourist ratted her out to security. Supposedly, the fine is 1000LE ($200) per photo taken. The guard made Monica get Magdolin and extorted 100LE of baksheesh from her to get the phone back. We teased Monica often after that.

As for the tombs themselves, same as I've said before: words can't do them justice. I went to Ramses III, Ramses IX, Merenptah, and Ramses VI.

I had my own moment with a guard when the peasant watching Ramses VI tomb thought he might be in line for some baksheesh of his own. He saw me listening to my iPod (before you judge me; I was in there w/o anyone from my group and I didn't want to hear the incessant drivel of the other tourists) and somehow decided it was a nefarious camera with headphones coming out of it. Fortunately, a tour guide was in there and told the guard to sit back down because it obviously wasn't a camera. Foiled, he angrily motioned for me to put it away. I did.

Just from the other side of the mountain from the Valley of the Kings is Queen (King) Hatshepsut's Temple. Hatshepsut was the daughter of Thutmose I, who ended up not having any sons with his royal queen. Thutmose II, Thutmose I's son through a concubine, was married to Hatshepsut, his half-sister, and derived his authority through her since she was fully royal. Thutmose II and Hatshepsut only had daughters, so like their father, Thutmose II had to put forward Thutmose III, his son from a concubine, to succeed him as well. Of course Thutmose II had one of his royal daughter with Hatshepsut marry III to legitimize him as well.

When Thutmose II died while III was still a child, Hatshepsut decided it was all a buncha bullpuckey. Her husband ruled through the legitimacy of her purely royal blood; she was gonna be damned if his non-royal son was going to rule. She was regent for III but ruled as though she were a king, even making her statues look male. When the regency should have ended, she tried to retain rule. Unfortunately for her, her step-son/son-in-law/nephew (Egyptians were apparently proto West Virginians) turned out to be "the Egyptian Napoleon," their greatest warrior pharaoh. Sometimes you catch a bad break. Thutmose III took back his crown and proceeded to destroy every image of Hatshepsut he could find, the Egyptian equivalent of sending her to oblivion since images/engravings were essential for the afterlife/immortality.

Uppity usurper that she was, Hatshepsut had built a colossal temple which Thutmose did not destroy (he only tore down her statues and chiseled out her likeness). That's where we went. Time had not been so kind to the temple so, while it was impressive enough, it was all virtually modern reconstruction.

After we left Hatshepsut's Temple we stopped at the Colossoi of Memnon, famous in antiquity, but the first objects we've seen here I can truthfully call "ruins." They'd be treasures and top of the list of must-sees in most any other country.

On our way back to Luxor, we stopped off at another planned shopping opportunity, this time at one of the myriad "Alabaster Factories" on the road. Thoroughly sick of vendors, I was the one to stay on our minibus.

Luxor

Amazingly I didn't get off the ship horrifically hung over. Oh, I felt peculiar for sure, but better than the others as they stumbled down for breakfast. I apologized to the group and Kim and her husband, but they said it was nothing and I was fine. Pfew.

Luxor. Karnak Temple. Our first purely Egyptian temple (ie. not built by Greeks or Romans) and we get the Grand Poobah. The temple complex covers 65 acres. The site was continuously added to for something like 1700 years. I honestly don't know what I can say. Immense. Spectacular.

Oh. Wait. I know. On the way in, we saw vendors hocking cheapo statues, one of which was missing an arm and the opposite leg, but then had an erection so large I thought perhaps the gods had used his missing arm and leg to make it.

Sure enough, there in the temple, there was a massive engraving of the pharaoh presenting Mr. Impressive with gifts.

"Here, this is all I got! Please don't rape me!" I joked to myself.

Crass tour group that we are, we had Magdolin tell us who he was. At some point, when the army took all the men to go off to war, they left one guy back to look after the women. The army was gone so long he and the women figured they'd been killed in the war so he felt it was his duty to repopulate. After he unleashed that thing, apparently the women were on board with his plan, because he impregnated all of them. Then, of course, the army showed up.

Understandably annoyed that Mr. Too-Weak-To-Fight-So-We'll-Leave-Him-To-Watch-Over-The-Women was actually Mr. Tripod, they cut off one of his arms and one of his legs, but didn't kill him, supposedly out of respect for his incomprehensible fertility. They were so impressed, in fact, that they made him the fertility god.

Personally, I think they thought better of killing Old Kickstand because an entire generation, his kids, were probably not going to take too kindly to their daddy being offed. I think the lesson to be learned is this: if the guy seems scrawny and constantly complains of a bad back, you take him on campaign, dammit.

That night we were treated to a "belly dancer". I put belly dancer in quotes because she wasn't a belly dancer like you'd think. She didn't gyrate her hips lasciviously in the usual way. She had a pretty good sized belly, covered in panty hose material, and she was dancing. That would be how she could claim being a belly dancer. Sorta. Mostly it seemed like she was trying to slap her shoulder blades with her boobs. Her top, thankfully, kept her from achieving that particular goal.

I had an amused smirk on my face the entire time. This was apparently the Egyptian version of Naughty Time, but it was very tame. I'm not bragging about US strip clubs, but back home I can get a woman to degrade herself for a solitary dollar. Just saying.

I'm not sure if it was the dancer or the fact that I'm 31 years old, but I was actually much more impressed with the guy whaling away on the bongos the entire time. "Boobs. Yawn. Man, how does he keep that rhythm up?!"

A Paraphrase (Luxor Trilogy: 3 of 3)

Jesus was from Nazareth.

He said, "Love God and love each other" and many other things that he said were all variations of that.

Though he didn't lie, cheat, steal or harm anyone the authorities beat him senseless, whipped him, and held him down and drove sharp metal spikes through his hands and feet (or ankles and wrists, but having that whole debate sort of isn't what matters). Then, they watched and waited for him to die. He did.

Apparently that's what happens when you tell people many variations of a simple idea.

Jesus was the Son of God.

Jesus was just a man.

Jesus didn't exist.

Everyone who's heard of Jesus thinks one of those three things.

Paul had heard of Jesus. But Paul was then Saul and Saul hated people who worshipped Jesus. He wanted them dead because they tried to live by Jesus' idea.

Saul became Paul because he said God told him Jesus was His Son. And so Paul worshipped Jesus and tried to live by his idea. He wrote and wrote and wrote and preached and preached and preached, doing his best to explain "Love God and love each other" in an astonishing number of ways without just sticking with "Love God and love each other" and repeating it ad nauseam.

Apparently, people won't listen to a simple idea if it's presented as a simple idea. It needs to be made more opaque and confusing so they can feel smart if they get it and so their minds can take hold of it. Simple ideas don't leave much for a mind to hold on to. Paul wasn't doing anything wrong, by the way. Jesus made his variations of "Love God and love each other" very opaque and confusing too sometimes, even though he had given people the key of "Love God and love each other", and they debated what Jesus really meant even though he'd told them. People really are quite silly sometimes.

Back to Paul. Paul existed, or at least there's not the argument that Paul existed like there is over whether Jesus existed. That argument sort of isn't what matters either. Jesus' idea was alive. Paul had sharp metal spikes driven through his hands and feet and was hung out to die too because he tried to live by that idea and wanted others to as well.

People who tried to follow Jesus' idea and believed he was the Son of God are called Christians. For a long time, Christians were hated, beaten and killed because they tried to "Love God and love each other."

Then, they became the majority in their world and everyone lived happily ever after.

Except that the Christians felt that people who didn't believe that Jesus was the son of God needed to be hated, beaten and/or killed (mostly killed). Though that somehow really didn't seem to be a part of "Love God and love each other."

Still, sometimes people gotta die.

Christians, who believe Jesus is the son of God and a host of things that all go back to "Love God and love each other", also hated, beat, and killed other Christians, who believed that Jesus is the son of God and a host of things that all go back to "Love God and love each other", but in a way that is slightly different. That latter group of Christians hated, beat, and killed the former group of Christians right back. This hating and beating and killing over slightly different Jesus has been going on for millennia.

None of the disagreements among the Christians are over if they should "Love God and love each other."

None of the Christians can know if their version of Jesus is right until they die.

All the while, there have always been people who decidedly do not believe that Jesus was the son of God or that he existed. These other people believed in other things or nothing at all even. Some of them hated the idea of Jesus being the son of God so much that they thought people who follow his idea are bumbling idiots (actually worse) and so they hated, beat, and/or killed because of "Love God and love each other." Something about this seems amiss.

Somehow, a good many Christians forget to live by Jesus' idea, which he died for telling people. These Christians make the Christians who try to live by "Love God and love each other" look very bad. So bad, in fact, that non-Christians lump them all together and say that Jesus' idea was an awful one since the Christians who don't follow it don't follow it and hate, beat and kill. This is known as "throwing the baby out with the bath water."

Jesus didn't tell his followers to hate, beat or kill anyone and that wasn't a part of his idea, but, because a good number of his followers don't get that, a good number of people, critics, think anyone who tries to live by "Love God and love each other" are simpletons and that the world would have been better off if Jesus hadn't told people "Love God and love each other." The critics consider themselves enlightened.

Jesus' idea is "Love God and love each other."

That's pretty much that.

A Boy and A Computer (Luxor Trilogy: 2 of 3)

There was a boy.

There was a computer.

Everything the boy saw or heard or smelled or felt or tasted, the computer recorded.

Computers are logic based. Boys are not.

Even though the computer has all the information that the boy has, in the order that the boy got it, it will not be able to predict exactly what the boy will do. Even though the boy has all that information, the boy himself will not be able to predict exactly what the boy himself will do.

People who believe the computer can predict what the boy will do tend not to believe in God. People who believe the computer can't predict what the boy will do tend to believe in God. These guidelines are handy, but they're by no means absolute. You can't predict them.

The computer does not predict if the boy believes in God. Or does it?

The Normal Ordinary Thinking Fish (Luxor Trilogy: 1 of 3)

There was a fish.

It was a normal, ordinary, thinking fish. It was not smart, per se. It was not good at calculus like the mathematical fish. It did not know the history of the castle as well as the historical fish, which could recite various events of fishdom in relation to the castle all the way back to the myths of the Great Feeder, who'd supposedly placed the castle. No, as mentioned, it was a normal, ordinary, thinking fish, who was not smart, per se.

The normal, ordinary, thinking fish did think, however, that it had a perspective that made it, apparently, quite unique. It was aware that it was in an aquarium.

It couldn't necessarily tell how it was aware it was in an aquarium, but aware of that idea/fact, it was. That idea/fact had just sort of struck it. Before the aquarium idea/fact struck it, it was perfectly content to be a normal, ordinary, thinking fish. After, for good or for bad, nearly everything was colored by its awareness.

The normal, ordinary, thinking fish could not prove it was in an aquarium.

The mathematical fish and the historical fish had heard of the "aquarium" belief before (indeed, it was quite pervasive), but the thought hadn't taken root. "Quite silly", they thought when the normal, ordinary, thinking fish had mentioned it. "I'm plumbing the depths of the square root of negative one," explained the mathematical fish. "I think I may have found the cipher for the hieroglyphs that the 3rd Fish Dynasty left on the castle," admonished the historical fish.

Indeed, other fish had long before told of the time of the Great Dumping and had all sorts of fantastical tales in relation to it. The normal, ordinary, thinking fish didn't know if any of those stories were true. It didn't know what was outside of the aquarium. It didn't know if the Great Feeder had blue scales or white scales or green scales or what have you. It didn't know if the Great Feeder was even a fish.

The others who'd told of the Great Dumping didn't know anything about the Great Feeder either, but had factionalized nonetheless. Thus, there was the Fish Church of the Green Scales. There was the Fish Mosque of the Blue Scales. There was the Fish Temple of the White Scales. A good many fish had eaten each other over the color of the Great Feeder's scales.

The normal, ordinary, thinking fish didn't want to eat the mathematical fish or the historical fish. They were perfectly good fish. The normal, ordinary, thinking fish was not smarter than they were, per se. They couldn't see that they were in an aquarium was all. The normal, ordinary, thinking fish was simply aware that it was in an aquarium and it tried to content itself that it couldn't know more than that, no matter how much it might want to, or not.

The normal, ordinary, thinking fish swam.