Luxor

There was a lot to see in both Luxor and Karnak, so the next two days were full, maybe too full. Or maybe I should say that they would have been if I hadn’t slept in. I did that first day. We had our costume party the night before, after crossing the Edsa locks; there was a lot of booze and, I didn’t know it then, but I was starting to become a morning person. This is not to say that I wasn’t hung-over, because I was. Too many late nights were hard on me. You’d think I’d have learned that the year before while in South Africa, but I’m tenaciously stubborn when I want to be. I’d always been a nocturne, most young adults are, but I wasn’t a young adult anymore, no matter how much I wanted to believe otherwise. I went to bed late, and I slept in. By the time I woke, the group had already left the boat, off for a dawn felucca sail up and down the Nile. I was a little angry with myself at first, but when I thought about it, I really didn’t mind that much. Aside from being able to say that I’d sat in a felucca, the excursion didn’t appeal to me that much.

I took the time to recover, I drank liters of water, and I lazed about the top sun deck, trying to get a bit of a tan. It was not ideal tanning weather. A relentless cool wind had risen up that morning, and I found myself clutching the beach towel around myself for much of the time.

The others returned long before lunch, joining me on deck for the bit of free time allotted us before lunch and filled me in on what I missed. It wasn’t much. They said they’d have preferred to sleep in. There was nothing to do once they boarded the sailboat, just sit about watching the banks flow past and the sun rise higher. And like I said, it was cold.

We took the time for another time-honoured tradition while lazing about, we got to know each other a little more. The Californians told me more tales than I really wished to know. I knew that John and his “friend” had a somewhat complex relationship. I had no idea how complex. There were drugs; apparently a lot of them. And, there was an accommodation. According to John, they were just friends; but watching her, I could see that she was of a different mindset. It was obvious to me that she was in love with him. Madly in love with him. And they shared a room. They had sex. It should have been a cut and dried relationship, in my opinion; but I’d never heard of friends-with benefits before.
But on a positive note, John’s luggage finally caught up with him. He’d been living out of his carry-on for days, and he said things were getting a little funky, despite his washing a couple things in the sink in the evening. I was happy for him, if a little confused as to what to think after his friends had tattled their tales. Personally, I think they should have kept them to themselves. It’s well and good to seek solace for one’s self, it’s quite another to tell stories out of turn.

We boarded a large minibus that took us to what we were told was a spectacular restaurant. This was going to be a real treat, we were told. We shuffled in, took our table, and I left for a bio break.
Washrooms can be a bit of a shock when travelling and this one was no different. There was a little brass bidet spout sticking up in the dead centre of the toilet bowl, strategically placed so that the user wouldn’t need much paper. Water pressure can be problematic in Egypt, despite its being typically nestled up against a river. Whether that was because the pumps were old or whether the pipes were insufficient to the task, the end result was the same. Egyptian toilets didn’t swallow much paper. The least they could have done was ensure that little brass spout was clean, but they hadn’t.

I returned in time to order. Much to my surprise, there was only one thing on the menu: chicken. You could order a quarter chicken meal or a half chicken meal. I hated chicken. Couldn’t stand it. Not my mother’s, not KFC’s. I ordered a quarter chicken, hoping for more starches and veggies. They must have mixed up my order, or didn’t bother to honour it since everyone else had ordered a half chicken and the final quarter would have gone to waste had they not served it to me, because they brought me a half chicken, too. I decided to nibble at the offending bird, lest I be starving the rest of the day.
Oh my God! It was fantastic! I’d never tasted anything so good in my whole life. I gobbled the whole half down, wishing I had the other. I came to the conclusion that my mother must not cook chicken very well. Sorry Mom. Maybe it was just a spice thing.

After lunch, we were bused to the Valley of the Kings. The morning’s cool breeze was only a memory by then. The sun was high, its baking begun. Shadows shrunk to toe marks. We were happy to descend into the tombs after Ahmed gave us the first part of the lecture, how the Pharaohs had abandoned building pyramids for the easier to hide subterranean tombs. The pyramids were too big, too conspicuous, and too easy prey to tomb robbers. I noted the roughly pyramid shaped hill that loomed over the valley, earning me more brownie points in Ahmed’s eyes. Like I said, I knew a lot about Egyptian history. University and television documentaries are thorough, if you pay attention to that sort of stuff.

I did not enter Tut’s tomb. I’d already seen Ramesses’ (III) and Seti’s (I), and since Tut’s had been stripped bare, I couldn’t see myself through to paying another forty American to see another empty space, no matter how famous. More than a few of us came to the same conclusion, joining together for an iced tea under the café canopy, instead. Those who did pay tried to convince us that the extra entry fee had been worth it, but their enthusiasm rang false in their eyes when they spoke about what they’d seen.

Before returning to the boat for supper, we visited the Amun Temple. It was immense. It was spectacular. But the day was waning, the sun had worn us down and we were tired. Ahmed left us for a few minutes, trusting that we’d wait, which we did, but we were growing bored, so our host took up the slack and spoke on what we were seeing when asked, warning us not to say anything about it. Only Egyptians can lecture on Egyptian history in Egypt. It’s the law. Really, it’s a crime for any non-Egyptian to do so. That creates employment for the locals, but in truth, Egyptians aren’t the only people who know a lot about its history. Our host did alright; he’d listened to enough of those lectures in the time he’d been guiding tours to not speak with some authority on the subject. He could have been fined though, so none of us ratted him out.

By the time we boarded the bus for our return to the boat, we were half frozen again. The wind had picked up after sunset, funnelling between and whisking around the temple’s pillars, and the temperature plummeted with it, the Libyan Desert being, well, a desert.

I was pleased to see the boat again, even more pleased to bask under a hot shower.