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Dinner Cruise
On The Legendary Nile Cairo, or Al Qahirah as I learned it in it's native tongue, was a unexpected juxtaposition of soaring wonderment and the sadness of decay. While I have heard tales of the depths of emotion evoked by visiting the Pyramids, and have long wanted to experience it, I was not prepared for the depth of poverty and magnitude of uncleanliness beseiging this momentous place. A place that feels to be the center of the world, where the thought passes through your mind that perhaps, of all that exists in the solar system, you have arrived at the most signifcant place of all that has been.
To be before the Pyraminds of Giza and in the presence of the Sphinx, one is aware of the historical figures who have gone before, experiencing the same powerfully moving sense of awe and mystery. The undefined thing that has woven its way into all of human consciousness becomes effulgent and real, and loses none of its potency.
Photos within the confines of the Great Pyramid are not permitted, but those that can be seen show only the dark, narrow passageways and do not tell of the quality of the air, barely breathable as the
The Great Pyramid of Giza
A local man's robes blow in the hot breeze with a camel rider in the distance thought arises that this passage was not meant for the living, for those who have need of air. It is sealed to the elements for the entombed to remain through the ages. The upward climb is steep, and must be accomplished with all the strength of both hands and feet, arms and legs. Arriving at last in the great hall, with towering walls, the sense of the ageless, and the generations which once passed this way, looms in high relief. The senses are struck like a string instrument and stretched to their fullest capacity at the magnificence of this achievement of the ancient spirit. In the final resting place, where there lays an empty tomb, I finally speak in a mere whisper, but find that my voice takes flight in an echo of such intensity that no cathedral I have been in even approaches it.
Out in the streets, rusting cars of nameless manufacturers compete in the dead, rainless heat alongside donkey carts, their horns struck up like a band, and women with urns balanced on their heads pass through the traffic. A policecar breaks down, and the officers emerge and begin pushing it, for there is no tow
truck to call. Garbage is strewn in piles on the roadside, cups used only once while those used by the kings of old are untouched by thousands of years of time, and the mistakes made by the supposedly intelligent modern mind become apparent. Windows of a single building are each different in size and composition, pointing to the difficulties caused by lack of funding, and tattered clothing flaps from them in the breeze. In the meantime, the goddess Cleopatra and her sphinx look on relentlessly. In a stream of water that flows alongside the road, filled with disease and filth, men, women, donkeys and children, bathe and take refuge from the dry heat. When I comment to the taxi driver that they will become sick, I am told that they already are sick. On an afternoon walk we stumble upon a woman clothed in black, with a baby in her arms. A toddler tries to sell us a handful of tissues and we give but will not take the tissues.
At the pyramids I try to give money to a little boy who wants to sell me a trinket, and I argue with our guide who insists I should
Emerging From The Pyramid
Emerging together from our journey inside the first Wonder of the World not give to the peddlars. I do not realize the guide himself has designs to later sell to me. I ride a camel with a peasant man who offers, but the policemen, who watched, later beat the camel with sticks to my horror.
At the museum, I gaze upon the Egyptian Book of the Dead, the first sacred manuscript ever written by the hand of man, and my guide and I once again argue as he insists we cannot stop to look at anything extensively. I later return alone for a day. And I even gaze upon the bodies of kings, laid in glass, their hair and teeth, and fingernails, still preserved.
I purchase an ankh of gold with the arabic negotating skills of a relative of a colleague. I pick up a stone at the Pyramids, and buy pure musk and perfume bottles and statues. Much negotating is involved. My husband finally manages to convince the salesman to accept a price for which our change would be a fifty pound note. It so happens, later that afternoon, that our taxi ride with the tip would come to fifty pounds. We give the driver the note, and begin
Camel Riding
And wearing the hat of the driver, who I hung on tightly too when the camel jolted us off the ground to get out. "This is piasters!" He screams in despair.
"No, it isn't plastic," my husband insists, "it's good currency, there's nothing wrong with it!"
"This is piasters!" The driver repeats, indignant and angry, and apparently insulted. It's only then that we find out that fifty piasters is only a one-half pound, which comes in a note in Egypt, instead of a coin. I find a fifty-pound note and hand it to the driver. We've been taken at the souk, but no matter, for we are laughing so hard we can barely get out of the cab as we realize we were trying to pay a half pound for our entire ride.
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