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EGYPTIAN DIARY Dec. 11. It'll wonderful to be back in Cairo; makes the grisly ten plus hour flight and the hours of waiting worthwhile. Dennis, Joel, and I arrived late afternoon Cairo time, and were met by Khaled, one of Bill's super-efficient staff, and driven straight to the hotel--though 'straight' isn't an accurate description, considering Cairo traffic. An early dinner and straight to bed, and tomorrow morning I'll be back on schedule with no jet lag. It works. Dec. 13 . Off to Dahshur today, one of my favorite sites. I had hoped to get into the Bent Pyramid; It'd the only one of the major pyramids whose interior I have not visited. The SCA is planning to open it, but when we got there the scaffolding was still up and the entrance was closed. I was not inspired to make an illegal entry, though I'm sure Amelia would have. In her day it wasn't illegal, just dangerous. The Red Pyramid is open, but I've been there, done that. Not many tourists here, though it is a lovely day. The absence of tourist amenities, a resthouse and souvenir stands, may deter some people. We ambled around the Red--circling pyramids is a tradition with us now--and then headed for the Black Pyramid. It really is an ominous looking structure, having slumped into a sort of tower after the stone casing blocks were removed, exposing the dark mudbrick core. Can't get into it either! I would love to see the subterranean burial chamber, where Amelia and Emerson were tossed by the Master Criminal, and explore the maze-like passages within (Twelfth Dynasty pyramids, unlike the earlier ones, have very complicated substructures; the tricks and traps didn't stop thieves, though.) It would probably be an impossible job to shore up the collapsing walls and roofs, which were in bad shape even in her day. Dec. 14 . Ramadan is in its last couple of weeks, which makes social engagements complicated; people have to wait until the official announcement of sundown, around five, before they can pitch into an elaborate meal, their first since before dawn. (It's called iftar, and one 'takes iftar.') So you don't invite people to dinner at seven. We had an engagement this evening with Mohammed Saleh, the charming and talented former director of the Cairo Museum, who took us to a cafe off in the city somewhere (I have no sense of direction) where we had shisha (water pipe) and coffee and plates of sweeties while we discussed a number of things. He offered to show us some of the restorations and behind-the-scenes stuff at the Museum on Saturday. In my usual state of profound confusion I called Khaled and asked him to postpone our trip to Luxor by one day, whereupon he patiently informed me that we weren't due to leave until Sunday anyhow. These senior moments are getting embarrassing. Dec. 15 , Friday. Dinner with Jocelyn this evening at the Oberoi restaurant in the Khan el Khalili. She had fed her family first; says that Ramadan is like cooking Sunday dinner every day, she starts around one p.m.. (Apparently nobody has started a takeout for iftar. This expedient would be frowned on, no doubt; I get the impression that the meal must be home cooked, elaborate, and of course prepared by the female.) So we had a good gossip and cruised the Khan, where I bought a few little things. Dec. 16. Off to Luxor and the Old Winter Palace. The W.P.
is no longer Luxor's most elegant hotel--there are several newer, gaudier,
five-star hotels. Nor is it the oldest; the Luxor, a favorite haunt
of the Emersons, is still in operation. I wouldn't stay anywhere
else, though. The corridors are twelve feet wide, the ceilings are
eighteen feet high, and it doesn't take much imagination to see the halls and
Dec 23. I had contacted Debbie, and made arrangements to go into the Western Desert with her and John. Just me. According to her, her inspector said it was okay for me to go--he remembered me from last time, but she refused to tell me what he'd said about me!--but that for the rest of the gang he would require permission from his boss. So on Saturday I hauled myself out of bed and got myself over to the West Bank by 8:30. The process is somewhat complex.
Usually we hire a boat and a car and driver for the West Bank and keep
them for the entire stay. So 'The Mubarak' was waiting
for me at 20 past eight, its captain up above on the embankment to make
sure no other boatman would steal me away. In order to reach the boat you
have to go down a series of ramps and steps, then along a cluttered, rusty
sort of pier, stepping over coils of rope and various debris. Then
the 'captain' puts out the gangplank--a piece of wood about eight inches
across, with a few strips of wood nailed across it--at a precarious angle
and anchored equally precariously. I do not scruple to grab at any
hand offered me. (Every time I come back from Egypt I think, 'Well,
I've done that forty or fifty more times, and I haven't fallen into the Nile
yet.') Once There were six of us in the Landrover--John and Debbie and
me, their inspector, the driver, and a guard. Foreign archaeologists
are required to have an Egyptian inspector with them, and the guard is de
rigueur for those going into remote areas. It's remote, all right; I
never know where I am anyhow, but this terrain would baffle most people.
There are some roads of sorts, but a good deal of the time one bounces
over rocks the size of toasters, up and
down slopes and into and out of "I sit high on the gebel at the Place of Horses--a defile at
the top of a steep climb. How I got here I don't know; with great
difficulty is the right answer. Remains of crude workmen's huts at
the base of one cliff, graffiti over a stretch of the rock face.
(The barking dog is cute--arabic words meaning 'woof
woof' come out of its Dec. 24. Christmas Eve. Had a fancy dinner at the restaurant in the Old W.P., having made our reservations a couple of days before. It was all tarted up with electric candles in holly rings on the tables. Lots of cutlery. (I had a knife left over.) Music by a blond, French chanteuse with silver sequins down her front, mostly Beatles and Elton John, except for "Santa Claus is coming to town," which he did, tacky red suit, very dark face framed (sort of) in strips of dangling cotton wool. From his red bag he presented each guest with a few chocs wrapped in red cellophane. He was adorable. Stumbled off to bed at eleven, having eaten too much and drunk just enough wine. Dec. 25 . Hard
to believe it is Christmas Day, with the shutters wide open and the sun
shining on the western cliffs, and palm trees along the corniche.
The gardens are bright with flowers-- tall poinsettias, roses, coral vine,
jasmine, bougainvillea and other tropical blooms. The Winter
Palace has a number of Christmas trees, in front and in the lobbies, nicely decorated
ones too. Everyone wishes us Merry Dec. 26 . I leave for Cairo this p.m. on the third of eight flights I will be taking this trip. The Expedition arrives tomorrow, and I want to be there to greet them. I'm sitting on my balcony, eating breakfast. What a way to live. The western cliffs form what appears to be a single massif directly across from Luxor. Paler paths winding up and across the face, clefts like parallel vertical strokes of a gray pencil. (Will I ever be able to describe it accurately?) What must the Winter Palace have been like in Amelia's day? No taxis, no paved road, but still directly below the terrace paved with ornamental tiles; to the right, the balcony of the Khedival suite; beyond it, the pillars of Luxor Temple and the minaret of the mosque. The British flag would have been flying instead of the red, white and black of Egypt. Tour boats certainly, though perhaps not as many, and the office of Thomas Cook at the end of the curved arcade on the first level, where it has been for over a century. The newspaper that is delivered most mornings is
The Egyptian Gazette--gives me a
kick to be reading the same paper the Emersons read back in
1914. Admittedly the service is erratic; energetic attendants
keep taking things like glasses and laundry lists away, and never bring
them back. (In fact most people don't stay longer than a few
days; my two week stays throw everybody off base. They look
astonished every morning to see me still there.) The plane left an hour
and a half late. Arrived at the Mena House Hotel (where Amelia and
Emerson and Ramses dined with Howard Carter before the Master Criminal
stole Ramses from off the top of the Great Pyramid) at about eight (Giza
is a long way from Heliopolis) to find I had been upgraded to the
Churchill suite. This place must be seen to be believed. Takes
five minutes to walk from the living room to the bedroom, through dining
and dressing rooms. The terrace is about the size of my whole
downstairs, with the Great Pyramid looming. Bougainvillea in pots,
incl the white one I admire. Over the living room couch is a huge
circular mirror; the head of the bed is an equally immense gilded sunburst
which reaches to the ceiling. All wood is carved, lamps are antique
pierced brass, oriental rugs (laid over wall to wall carpeting), also
antiques. Bowls of red roses and baby's breath in every room, plus
huge arrangements of glads, etc; two plates of sweeties and fancy chocs,
fruit bowl. The fittings in the bathrooms (one is really only
a powder room) are gilded, swans and stuff. Marble floor and surrounds. I seem to have a personal
butler, or so his Dec. 27. It was
very foggy this a.m. Strange how guilty one feels about
loafing. I swore I'd take it easy today but it has been something of
an effort to stretch out on a lounge chair on the terrace and just lie
there. (I think I'm getting the hang of it, though.) I can see the Great Pyramid from where I recline. Twelve noon and it is
Dec. 28. The Expedition arrived last evening, but I didn't get a chance to greet them since they didn't come into the lobby of the Palace and I was....er...in the bar with several friends who had dropped by. This a.m. they went to Giza. Reclining on my elegant terrace, I watched the busses roll up the hill, starting before eight. Dozens of them. It was understood that I wouldn't accompany the group on all their trips; by the time I leave Egypt I will have been away for a solid month, and I am forcing myself to take it slow. I am now sitting on a balustrade outside the hotel waiting for Salima and Nick. Later. A super day. We went to
Kerdasa, a suburb a few miles north, noted for its fine weavers.
Many shops have been replaced by more modern establishments selling
galabeeyahs and the inevitable t-shirts, but we found one place (after
making a few minor purchases elsewhere) that was great. The owner
had the jolliest laugh. Listening to Salima and him bargain in
Arabic was wonderful; at one point she lowered her hand, indicating that
the price was too high, whereupon the man instantly squatted. So did Salima. Big whoops of
laughter from everybody. He When the bargaining was completed the jolly chap wound round me a lovely woven scarf I had rejected--a present. (This is often done.) I thought the overall price was dirt cheap, but I suppose it represented a good day's take. Foreign tourists don't come here often. They were intrigued by my interest in the genooine dresses. One middle-aged lady in a similar frock and a close-fitting black headcloth (I haven't seen a face veil since I got here, but all except "mod" city ladies wear the headcloth) darted out and came back with another--maybe she took it out of her closet, or her mother's. Then on to Abu Roash, for a day that combined frivolity
(shopping) and Egyptology in exactly the right balance. The site is
about five miles north of Giza, the northernmost of the pyramid
sites. We bounced off into the desert, along bumpy tracks,
back and forth and around and around. If I were only sixty again we
could have taken a shorter route, climbing up the escarpment, but my dear
buddies didn't want to send me home in a cast or with terminal shortness of
breath, so we finally We walked round the structure and then
I managed to get to the top, with a lot of help from my friends. We
had a picnic lunch atop the "pyramid" and then headed back, since I had to
clean up for my first meeting with the Expedition members, drinks and dinner at one of the Mena House's
excellent restaurants. I went round from table to table, trying to say a
few words to everyone. It will take me awhile to get to know them
all, though there were a few old friends among them. Ali, our driver, and I went on to Deir el Bahri, after a brief stop at the Bedouin shop near the colossi. It'd owned by Ali's daddy. Everybody on the West Bank is related to everybody else. After browsing a bit, on to Deir el Bahri, where I visited the restroom (some day I must write an article on Egyptian toilets). It's in a building that was the old Cook's rest house; I do hope they will restore it one day, since It'd a historic building and was well known to Amelia and Emerson. Before long Ali let out a shout and pointed, and there they were, descending after the hike across the hill. The walk takes about an hour. Coming down looks trickier than going up, if not as hard on the lungs. Certain slopes are fairly steep, with only pebbles and debris underfoot. There are three terraces at Deir el Bahri, Hatshepsut's
lovely temple. The lower two are open to the public, but the third
is still being reconstructed. Bill had gotten permission for some of
us to swagger past the barrier and go up all the way. They have done a lot
since I was there two years ago--more of the Osiride colossi of Hatshepsut
in place, some of the paving laid, some of the little shrines nicely
cleaned. Much Egyptological gossip, then we went down and found Ali
and dropped Bill and Nancy at the taftish (checkpoint) before stopping at
the shop, where I bought a few little things. Jan. 2. One of the reasons why Luxor feels like my home town is that I keep running into old friends . Yesterday it was Bob B; he was coming into the hotel as I was leaving it, both of us on our way to different places, so he and his wife and I agreed to have dinner this evening. It's misty tonight. The western cliffs are almost
invisible behind a cloud, and the sun was white before it sank behind said
cloud bank, with no pyrotechnical display. Now the lights are coming
on along the west bank, including two lonely stars that mark the location
of the guard posts high on the hill. Must be a lonely job--and a
cursed long climb. What a contrast below, in the twilight. A tourist
steamer heads Tour busses whiz past (well, they go fairly slowly, in fact,
the traffic on the corniche includes bicycles, taxis, and carriages); two
caleches filled with Egyptians singing and chanting and beating a drum;
the muezzin's "Allahu Akhbar." I do so love this place. This
is the last night in Luxor for this trip. In Assuan, later. On the homeward stretch and glad of it, though I seem to have gotten a slight second wind lately, partly because I haven't done much except sit around, and partly because I am looking forward to spending more time with the Expedition. I will be on the boat with them from Assuan to Luxor, and then we have one more day in Cairo before flying out. Yest. had lunch with some of the ladies from the tour and then wandered over to the arcade by Abouti's to look for a slip. (I lost mine in Cairo, don't ask how.) No luck of course. Abouti's is the best bookstore in Luxor for Egyptological
stuff, but its selection of fiction is pretty limited. Have seen my
French editions at two places in Luxor, plus one German. None of the
English. Transitions are a pain--packing, looking for missing articles,
cashing
travellers' checks, paying bills, tipping everybody. The
I'm getting to know Luxor airport (excuse me, International
Airport--there are direct flights from Gatwick in England) only too
well. The plane was on time, meaning it left only half an hour
late. (U.S. lines don't do any better.) You're barely up before you
come down; flying time is only about twenty minutes. There was an
interminable wait for baggage,
so by the time I got to the boat Khaled and Bill had After lunch (the food is fatteningly good and hard to
resist) we took feluccas to Elephantine Island. More damned wobbly
eight-inch gangplanks! The old museum, once the home of the engineer
who designed the first dam, looks odd with its Victorian trim and wide
veranda. We visited it a couple of years ago, poor shabby neglected
place, and the curator was pathetically grateful for company. So I
didn't go in. Most of the good stuff has been removed to the new
Assuan Museum. Wish I could say something sensible about the
excavations, which were closed to visitors last time I was here; they are
extensive and fascinating, but it was a maze to me. There's no
guidebook and the only publications are in obscure
(to me) German professional journals. It's a splendid museum, beautiful architecture, objects well displayed, and John and Debbie were wonderful guides. We went back to town about eleven and found a place on the corniche--lower level, actually on the water. They had lunch and I kerkedah (a deep red, sweet, ice cold drink made from stewed hibiscus blossoms. Resisted the urge to purchase the blossoms in the suk this year - in Egypt it is delicious, when I make it at home it tastes awful!) The boat was to sail at 12:30. I figured I might have some difficulty finding it, since I had been warned it would be moved, preparatory to sailing. I was right, but we did find it eventually. John and Debbie saw me to the gangplank of the innermost boat (docked where ours had been this morning) where we met a couple of other people from the tour, who greeted me and I them with shouts of joy. We had to go through three boats to reach ours; they tie them up so that the lobbies adjoin, and it's kind of interesting to see what other boats are like. I've gotten to know most of the people by now and have chatted with most, though I will never get everybody's name straight; I'm hopeless about names. This is a great bunch. Phil and Kathe came back from shopping with a bottle of gin for me. That's what you get when you expose your vices and complain aloud (there is no gin at the bar of the boat.) It'd Egyptian gin and probably quite vile, but what a sweet thought. (N.B.: I brought it down to the bar next night and made everybody sample it. Tasted like grappa or anisette! After I had swilled some down someone told me I shouldn't have because sanitation is questionable; but I figured 90 proof alcohol would kill most everything.) Lunch on the upper deck, then departure. I do like
sailing. The weather is perfect, sunny and not too windy. My
window faces east; there\'d5s not much village life, only lots and lots of
palms, with the golden brown hills behind. Road and railroad on this
bank from Hammadi south; sometimes they run close to the river, so you can
see a car or a train. It's all part of the Egypt experience.... Bill has certainly kept the gang busy. When they aren't rushing around at odd hours seeing sites, they are being entertained. The first night at Aswan it was Nubian dancing--a lot of horseplay (pun--part of it was two guys in a horse suit) but some was quite splendid and the drums and tambourines were expertly played. For one song a little old gent in a turban strode in and tootled on a pipe along with the drums. Part of the fun is dragging the tourists up to dance--I'm
sure the locals find it very funny--and I finally got dragged up too and
made, I am sure, a perfect idiot of myself, but I got lots of
applause. I wore my Nubian lady's black dress with a deep ruffle
around the hem. Everybody was supposed to wear Egyptian garb, and
some of the outfits were great. These people are really good sports,
they'll try anything. Some of these nice people have brought books all the way from the states for me to sign. Others packed voluminous fancy garments--Victorian gowns and Edwardian blouses and extravagant hats--so they could participate in the various entertainments. People get confidential in such surroundings and I've heard more than once that a particular book "helped me through a bad time." I'm so pleased if that is true. I just wrote the way I felt, not with any aim in mind except entertainment, but it makes me feel great to hear such comments. Several of them have done Amelia tributes during our amateur
talent hours; one, a Gilbert and Sullivan takeoff, got huge cheers (esp.
from me) and I hope I get a copy of it, as I requested. Another time
a bunch of them got together and did a "sound and light" performance, with
friends in the audience shining flashlights, and deep voices intoning "Emerson! Peabody!" from
the shadows. It was marvelous. I The locks at Esna are the big sticking point for boats
travelling between Aswan and Luxor; low water levels and congestion make
it impossible to schedule arrivals at Luxor. We got through late at
night, and were in Luxor next a.m.. After some strolling and (guess
what) shopping, we left for the airport to catch a ten p.m. flight.
Arrived in Cairo about eleven but didn't get out of the airport for a long
time; they are very touchy about security, esp. for large groups on busses
and we had to sit while they collected an escort, or swept the surrounding
streets, or something. Nice room at the Nile Hilton--my
usual--balcony on two sides, overlooking the river. Salima came by for a final drink and put me
together--repacking bags, collecting scattered objects--and then I got on
the bus with the gang for dinner and a visit to the Khan el Khalili before
we caught the plane at, oh, god, one thirty a.m.. I love the Khan el
Khalili. It may not look exactly as it did when Amelia went there,
but It'd close enough for me. I almost always get lost, but that's
part of the fun; one is never in the slightest danger and there's always
some amiable soul around who will respond to pleas for
directions. Elia, Mahmud's pretty wife, went with me this
time. Maybe she was taking no chances on losing me at the last
minute! We found a shop.... Enough about my extravagance. Epilogue. I wish I could describe in
detail just how enjoyable this trip was for me. I've never met a
nicer group of people--unfailingly courteous, thoughtful, intelligent,
interested, and full of gusto. I hope to keep in touch with all of
them. Return to MPM Home
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