Baksheesh, or tipping, is a pervasive part of daily life in Egypt. It’s expected for any service or favor performed, no matter how small, for tourists and locals alike. It’s more common than a handshake. Westerners are generally amazed at how extensive it is.
Tips are a big deal to the average Egyptian whose income in 2015 was 28 percent likely to be below the poverty line, 32.5% in 2018. To add insult to injury, Egypt had an annual inflation rate of 10% or more for years, peaking at a staggering 28% in 1989, which did nothing but increase the ranks of the poor. In 2016, when the IMF made it a pre-condition for getting a $12 billion bailout, the exchange rate of the Egyptian pound was floated and promptly lost half its value, which was disastrous for an economy that depends on imports. Traditional subsidies on food, fuel and utilities were also cut in recent years. Poverty is getting worse, not better. It will explode with COVID-19.
With a situation this bleak, is it any wonder that anyone would rub fingers together or ask for baksheesh outright? It was never begging. Some service was always performed, even in the line of duty, such as a security guard walking with us on pyramid grounds or housekeeper on a Nile cruise who created whimsical towel art. This also happened with an airport luggage handler, alabaster shop employee, attendant at a temple entrance, the list goes on. Even after our tour guide Waleed collected a lump sum from each of us to take care of tipping on our behalf, the requests for tip were still made.
Before the trip, my wife and I amassed as many $1 bills as possible, taking the advice of travelers who on the internet claimed Egyptians would be ‘happy’ to accept foreign cash as eagerly as their own. Well, maybe. I found out more than once that Egyptian banks don’t do locals any favors by refusing to exchange $1 bills for pounds or piastres. One family in Abusir asked if someone on our tour could swap five ones for a five dollar bill for this reason.
To me as an American, an Egyptian pound (£E), which might be given to a toilet attendant, is equal to about $.06 (6 cents). Most tips are in the £E 5-10 range (32-63 cents). So it seems appropriate that I, as an American (for instance), be generous to those far less fortunate.
And I was willing. But there was one big problem.
It was a headache getting my hands on small bills. The problem was this. When I made an ATM cash withdrawal, it would be for a few thousand pounds (equivalent to a few hundred U.S. dollars), which would primarily be dispensed in £E 100 notes. Since £E 100 is a large amount for baksheesh, it brings up the problem of making change. (Rather than repeating how hard this is, I refer you to a similar post here.) Even when exchanging £E 100 at the hotel bank, I got back a fifty pound note, two twenties and a ten. In this respect, the infrastructure doesn’t support tourists and indirectly the people who rely on baksheesh. Egypt is not alone in this. I found the same problem in Morocco and I suspect it’s true in many other places of the world.
For the average Egyptian, everyday business is conducted in transactions much less than £E 100. There is a scarcity of small bills in Egypt, or it’s more likely that tourists like me can’t get our hands on them. I imagine that locals hang on to them dearly so they can function in the informal cash economy.
I don’t know what the solution is for anyone who wants to travel to Egypt. Not everyone will have a tour guide like ours to help ease the frustration. Am I discouraging travelers from visiting Egypt? Absolutely not. Baksheesh is a cultural phenomenon that tourists should acknowledge and accept. Egypt is a wonderful place. Sadly a visit, for now, will have to wait until the world returns to normal, insha’allah.
Calling a woman a cow nowadays is asking for trouble, but the Egyptians of yore depicted Hathor as a cow, a woman with cow’s horns or woman with cow’s ears. She was one of Egypt’s most important deities, a primordial goddess, daughter of Ra and Nut, goddess of joy, female love, sex, destruction and rebirth, just some of her many aspects. She was so venerated that a cult developed around her in Dendera where a temple complex was dedicated to her. Construction of the temple began in the Ptolemaic period (Ptolemy XII and Cleopatra) and ended with additions made by Roman emperor Tiberius.
The Temple of Hathor was easily the most beautiful I visited in Egypt. It’s considered one of the best preserved. The still vivid paints can thank the desert sands that covered the temple for millennia and the result of meticulous restoration. The temple also impressed me with gorgeous wall carvings and the Great Hypostyle Hall.
Aside from its beauty, the temple has some remarkable features.
The temple’s dedication to Hathor is obvious just by looking up. Her image as a female goddess with cow’s ears appears throughout the temple, most conspicuously as capitals on its 24 columns, the most striking I saw in Egypt. Her face is on all four sides, gazing out at the cardinal points of the universe. I wondered if it was religious zealousness that defaced all 96 of her faces.
The temple has two distinctive zodiacs, one which may be the oldest in the world. It’s known as the Dendera Zodiac. Visitors casually walking through the temple will never find it on their own. Our tour group was led up a stairwell to the temple roof. No one else was up there except guards. On the ceiling of a chapel dedicated to Osiris is the zodiac, the only one shaped like a circle in Egyptian art. I couldn’t make out details at first because it was covered in black soot from centuries of wood-burning underneath. With some effort, the figures of the constellations gradually became more visible. The planisphere corresponds to the modern zodiac although some constellations have Egyptian forms.
The Dendera Zodiac isn’t without controversy. In 1820, the original was removed and taken away to France where it is now displayed in the Louvre. The one in Dendera is a plaster replica. While the zodiac’s transplantation may have been legal and sanctioned by Egyptian authorities at the time, there is a bigger moral issue of its return, just as the bust of Nefertiti that rests in the Neues Museum (Berlin). Still, I was grateful to the tour for including a special visit to this facsimile.
The other zodiac, in the common rectangular form, appears on the ceiling of the main hall. I had to squint to see the figures because the architrave on which they’re carved is over 50ft (15m) above the floor.
Show Me Your True Colors
The colors in the main hall are gorgeous, as if they defied the ravages of time. There’s a reason. Like the Dendera Zodiac now, the ceiling and walls used to be covered in soot from centuries of burning fires inside. But after meticulous cleaning efforts, some of the original vibrancy of the colors has been beautifully restored.
So why hasn’t the Dendera Zodiac been restored? My guess is because it’s a replica, waiting for its replacement with the real one that France needs to return.
Shedding Light on a Mystery
Depending on one’s inclinations, the biggest attraction might be the so-called Dendera light bulbs. These are controversial panels in which figures appear to be holding giant ‘light bulbs,’ complete with ‘filaments’ (snake forms) and ‘cords.’ So, these guys had electricity? Hold on. Archaeologists counter that the ‘bulbs’ represent the creation of the universe emerging from lotus flowers, which are symbols of death and rebirth, the ‘cords’ are their stems and the snake, another symbol of resurrection and creation. The choice, it seems, is between symbolism and realism. These depictions are found in two places, in the main temple area and in an underground crypt. They don’t appear anywhere else in Egyptian art.
Rite of Passage
I don’t mean to titillate but many women touch it in the hopes of becoming pregnant. Near the Dendera light bulbs is a relief of a snake that symbolizes fertility, procreation, creation, resurrection. And like the ‘light bulb’ image, it too emerges from a lotus plant. The figure is well worn from countless touches over the years, not necessarily only by ladies who want children.
The Protection of Nut, the Sky Goddess
To me, the most symbolically striking image in Egyptian art is the celestial goddess Nut who is frequently depicted as the sky goddess, covered in stars and arched in exaggerated form on her hands and feet, like the vault of heaven, to protect the dead and through whose body the sun traveled in its daily cycle. In the depiction here, the sun shines its rays on Hathor’s temple.
Precision of Faith
I recently read a book by Christopher Dunn. Highly experienced in engineering, tool making and precision machining, he makes some intriguing revelations about Hathor’s temple. After analyzing photographs, he concluded that the builders manufactured the Hathor column capitals that today can only be made with advanced machining tools. The capitals include not only Hathor’s head but two cornices and sistrum, a rattling musical instrument associated with her. What amazed him are the complex transitions from one kind of three-dimensional surface to another.
Dunn also discovered that the columns in the Great Hypostyle Hall (including orthogonal projections of some critical points on the capitals) are parallel or perpendicular to each other. He took a digital image of four columns with camera on tripod aimed straight up, making sure that the center of the image coincided with the geometric center of the columns in order to avoid angular distortion. Using computer-aided design (CAD) software, reference lines were drawn along cornice edges and through certain intersections of Hathor’s head and cornice. The result indicates that the capitals are exactly aligned.
This is an incredible quality a visitor could never imagine. One would think that something a little less than perfect would hardly be noticeable; the overall effect of the temple would still be amazing. So I wondered, why the exacting standards? Is the achievement of perfection a manifestation of religious devotion, of sacredness? I wonder if other Egyptian temples show this kind of care and building prowess. I wouldn’t at all be surprised.
To walk through the Temple of Hathor was an exquisite experience. Its beautiful architecture and carvings, celestial allusions—and colors—affected me like no other temple. That the builder applied an esoteric craft in its design and construction makes the temple all the more wondrous.
I ignored it in Egypt for the first few days, not so much that I don’t like falafel (I do), but I can get it in Seattle where I live. How many ways can it be made, I figured.
That’s before I knew there was a distinctive Egyptian version. How is it different? Instead of chick peas, it’s made from fava beans. They take on a nice shade of green from any number of herbs that can be mixed in the batter, like parsley, cilantro, leek, dill.
The first sample I had was just down the street from the hotel where I was staying in Giza, a restaurant called Felfela, where our tour guide Waleed ordered a plateful. He told us the restaurant is known for its ta’ameya, which is what the falafel is called.
The best I’ve ever had without question. Why? Favas don’t absorb as much oil as chick peas do, according to Waleed, which makes them extra crispy on the outside. Because they’re not as mealy as garbanzos, the texture inside is a tad chewier. In addition, the falafels tend to be flatter than the spherical shape made throughout the Middle East and Levant.
On our third day on tour, while visiting the pyramids of Saqqara, we stopped in the town of Dashur where Waleed got everyone a falafel sandwich from a local stand. It was lightly dressed (if at all) and packed with fresh vegetables, falafel and roasted eggplant. Simple but delicious.
The Egyptian diet also includes ful medames (mudammas) which my Giza hotel served every morning. Their version of these beans was more smashed than usual, looking more like Mexican refried beans. Condiments on the side included minced red onion, lemon, salt, ground cumin and ground chiles. I had them every morning until I noticed their effects later in the day. Still, if there weren’t friends around me, I wouldn’t have worried so much about their after-effects.
I like vegetables with meals. Egypt didn’t disappoint. Every lunch and dinner included many salads and vegetable side dishes that I’m not entirely sure were Egyptian. But many were. Vegetarians need not worry in Egypt.
Eggplant dishes are bountiful in Egypt. Every meal at hotels and on the Nile river cruisers served them in one form or another. The most abundant is baba ghanoush, roasted and charred eggplant mixed with spices.
A dish similar to dolmas is called mahshi, eggplant or zucchini stuffed with rice, herbs and spices.
We loaded onto the bus after an all-morning visit to the Cairo Museum. It was lunchtime. “Americans love McDonald’s, Egyptians love koshary,” Waleed told the group. Then, he distributed takeaway containers from a renowned place specializing in it (Abou Tarek in Cairo). Koshary is a savory, filling carb-loaded dish: rice, lentils, chick peas, fried onions, spaghetti-like noodles cooked in two ways, topped with a chunky tomato sauce.
A few places served kofta, a dish popular throughout the Levant, minced meat (beef, lamb, chicken) with spices, formed into cigar shapes around skewers and grilled.
While in Egypt, I knew I had to try pigeon, which as a delicacy is not nearly as popular here in the U.S. The flesh is reminiscent of dark chicken meat and is fattier like duck. The squab is typically stuffed with rice (or freekeh).
Egyptian pita, called eish (aish) baladi, was served at almost every meal.
No account of my culinary journey in Egypt would be complete without mentioning Turkish coffee flavored with cardamom. It’s a beverage to be savored by itself (or dessert). Powdery fine ground coffee, sugar (optional) and water are heated in a small pot (cezve) and poured unfiltered into demitasse cups. You take a small sip at a time and leave the coffee sludge at the bottom. The cardamom gives it an exotic taste, which I much prefer to cinnamon (which I find too ‘sweet’). Sometimes ground ginger and nutmeg are added. At home, I’ve adapted it to my electric coffee machine.
Recently, the Seattle area’s only Egyptian restaurant opened. My wife and I have yet to try it. But no matter how good, the food won’t be as unforgettable as when we ate it at communal tables, in Egypt, with our newly made touring friends with whom we shared this culinary adventure.
It was deja vu all over again, as a famous American Yogi once said. I gawked at the Valley Temple of Khafre in Giza and the Osireion in Abydos. Though they are in Egypt, they reminded me of monuments I saw in Peru, halfway round the world. Cyclopean blocks of unadorned stone were cut and tightly fitted to one another. Their sizes hint at an accomplished civilization that knew how to manipulate gigantic stones in ways that we can’t explain.
Here’s where current thinking becomes unbelievable, if not ridiculous. Stones of gigantic size were said to have been quarried, dragged or ferried over great distances, lifted into place and fitted with precision by sheer muscle, hammer, pounding stone and copper chisel. In places like Peru, where mountains and valleys present insurmountable obstacles, this explanation severely strains credibility. Was there a method of transportation and masonry that we haven’t yet discovered or identified? In our scientific and rational age, we think of historical engineering achievements relative to our own, that technology evolved from simple tools (Neolithic Age) to today’s advanced industrial technology in a linear fashion. Surely, the ancients didn’t have the wherewithal to use anything but unlimited human labor, rope and crude tools to build their magnificent edifices, did they?
And yet, we can’t prove, let alone reproduce, how some of the greatest ancient monuments of the world were built.
The Valley Temple and Osireion are such examples.
Valley Temple of Khafre
The Valley Temple sits a stone’s throw away from the Sphinx. We nearly didn’t have time to see it after a full day of taking in the Sphinx, Great Pyramid and Solar Boat Museum. With the second pyramid and the Great Sphinx, it forms a complex whose construction is attributed to King Khafre (4th dynasty). The sole evidence given to Khafre’s provenance is the famous statue of him, now in the Cairo Museum, that was found buried in the Valley Temple. (That the statue was carved from diorite, a very hard igneous rock, is wondrous in itself.)
This is hardly proof, as some point out, only that the statue was found there. A New Kingdom stone slab called the Inventory Stela (factually disputed by some), found in Giza and dating to the 26th dynasty, claims the Sphinx and Valley Temple (the pyramids are not mentioned) were built before Khufu, Khafre’s father. Some dispute its claim, complicated by the fact that it was written roughly 2,000 years after Khafre. If it is true however, the temple’s construction would be pushed back to pre-dynastic times, or at least the Early Dynastic Period.
Whatever the uncertainty regarding dates, its physical characteristics are quite amazing. There are two layers of stone construction, granite and limestone. Limestone was laid first. Hundreds of them in the form of megalithic blocks form a surrounding wall. Some weigh 200 tons and some were lifted as much as 40ft up the temple’s eastern side. Physical evidence suggests they suffered long-term damage from former, heavy pre-dynastic rains, much like the weathering around the Sphinx and its enclosure. The limestone had been extremely eroded before granite casing stones were molded onto the softer rock. Incredibly, they were cut (or manipulated?) to conform to the limestones’ erosional patterns, all their peaks and troughs, to become the temple’s inner and outer walls. How was this renovation, or restoration, ever done? Again, hammer and copper chisel aren’t the answer. This type of dressing is quite similar in technique to shaping casing stones over the Great Pyramid’s roughly cut limestone core blocks.
In addition to the retaining walls, there are two rows of gigantic, parallel granite posts that are topped with equally gigantic lintels that define the temple’s core structure.
The workmanship on the granite walls is exquisite, fitting tightly together with seams scarcely able to admit a needle point.
Other incredible features of some stones are their irregular shapes. Some are shaped like parallelograms, others are notched, yet others curve around corners at right angles.
I stood there in amazement. What could possibly be the reason for manufacturing stones with odd dimensions? Some say it was for earthquake-proofing. Maybe so. It surely wasn’t for simplicity.
The Osireion, which we visited several days later, is a complex directly behind the Temple of Seti I in Abydos. It is currently regarded as a cenotaph for Osiris. It’s striking that it has a stylistic similarity to Khafre’s Valley Temple, not only because of the megalithic stonework but its design of two parallel rows of pillars flanking a central hall. As far as is known, these two structures are the only ones in Egypt built in this massive post-and-lintel style. It also is the monument that at its base may sit in greenish water depending on the Nile (also see below). There is physical evidence that the floor of the Valley Temple likewise was submerged in water for a time. Today, the Osireion looks like an open-air structure. It used to be roofed over by two rows of thick granite stone slabs, before they collapsed, were removed by stone robbers or were destroyed by a natural catastrophe, damage that was curiously spared Seti’s temple.
I was disappointed that visitors aren’t allowed to get close to the Osireion. Our tour group had to be content with gazing at it from an overlook. It’s roped off for now, unfortunate for those of us who want a closer look.
Both the Valley Temple and Osireion reminded me of stonework I saw in Peru, if not in the details. While the Egyptians favored horizontal lines, Peruvian courses of equally large stone were often laid non-linearly yet with the same, exacting fit tolerances. There are similar examples all over the world. Echoes of a common stone-working technology seem to have reverberated across the ocean.
And, for good measure:
What the Nub is Going On?
The image below shows casing stones at the entrance to Menkaure’s pyramid in Giza, the smallest of the three. (Unfortunately, our tour group didn’t have the opportunity to visit it.) The stones have different characteristics than the casing stones used on the other two Giza pyramids, namely, their surfaces are not flat and knob-like appendages (nubs) protrude along the bottoms of many.
One wall of the Osireion shows the same kind of nubs.
What’s intriguing is that this same stone feature is found abundantly in Peru.
No one has been able to figure out what those nubs were used for. They randomly appear along the bottom edges of some (not all) stones, which means they weren’t used for lifting or any other utilitarian purpose. They are a complete mystery. It’s safe to say they weren’t decorative and it would shock me if the masons went to the trouble of purposely carving them that way. Rather than a design element, they must be the by-products of an undiscovered process?
What’s intriguing is that nubs like these also appear on stones in India, China, Japan, Syria, Turkey and elsewhere, including Micronesia.
Am I missing something, or are there hints of a global phenomenon, a worldwide architectural legacy? A common, megalithic stone-shaping (and transportation) technology was being practiced, or handed down, all over the world that was lost long ago. Our current global, cross-pollinating culture was not the first in human history, it appears.
Because rocks don’t lend themselves to carbon-dating, we don’t know for sure when the Valley Temple and Osireion were built. They look (and likely are) contemporaneous. They probably are Old Kingdom works, but they could conceivably be older. Nevertheless from plentiful circumstantial evidence (from the fields of geology, astronomy, geometry, written and oral history, lichenometry, masonry), the ancients had a level of advanced knowledge and technologies that were sophisticated beyond measure.
The Temple of Karnak in Luxor rivals an amusement park in size. The grounds are so big that it can easily surround the great cathedrals of Europe: Notre Dame, St. Peter’s, Milan and more. Started in the Middle Kingdom and added to over a period of 2,000 years into Ptolemaic times by thirty pharaohs, it is a complex mishmash of smaller temples, hypostyles, courts, chapel, pylons, storerooms and living quarters. It even contains a lake.
With this kind of cornucopia, it isn’t surprising that it’s the most visited site in Egypt second only to the Giza pyramids. In its day, it would’ve looked splendid, judging by its colossal scale and whispers of color that still remain. Now, the patina of old age hints at an ancient civilization long gone. I could have walked around here for hours.
At 50,000 sq ft/4,600 sq meters, the Hypostyle Hall is the largest religious building in the world. The largest of its 134 columns is 79ft/24m high with diameters of 10ft/3m, dwarfing mere humans who walk among them. It isn’t an experience easily forgotten. If the roof survived, the interior would have surpassed the greatest religious structures in the world.
The hypostyle halls were the first I saw in Egypt. For that reason, the Temple of Seti I will have a special place in my memory. What for me conjures up ancient Egypt as much as the Giza Plateau are these halls and their towering and beautifully inscribed columns, bathed in mysterious, diffuse light.
Seti I may principally be known to history as being the father of Rameses II, who overshadowed his father by being the second longest ruling pharaoh in history and the greatest temple builder, but Seti’s temple in Abydos is considered one of the most beautiful and best preserved.
Aside from its artistic and design qualities, the temple’s curiosities lingered in my mind longer.
Who’s Who in the Pharaoh Zoo
If it weren’t for king-lists, very little would be known about the chronology of the pharaohs. The most famous one was compiled by Manetho, an Egyptian priest who lived in Ptolemaic times. His grouping of pharaonic history into dynasties is still used today. I had the opportunity to see the one in Seti’s temple inscribed along one wall of a passage between two halls. If it weren’t for Waleed’s explanation, it would have been just another beautiful wall of inscriptions. The list identifies 76 kings, including the names of pharaohs missing from other lists. However, for political reasons, it also omits the names of others considered illegitimate, some of them notable, including Akhenaton, Tutankhamen and the Hyksos rulers, which contributes to the problem of king-lists as a whole not being entirely consistent.
Rotorcraft and Submersibles of Ancient Egypt?
It was something I had to see for myself. Its fame has been circulating in alternative history circles for years. The temple has a controversial bas-relief panel depicting objects that look like modern vehicles, one of which has been called a helicopter. Another looks like a submarine. What in the world! you wonder. The more mundane explanation is that it’s a combination of two layers, the underlying one carved in sandstone, the other carved in an overlay of plaster. On the limestone is inscribed an epithet of Seti I, the plaster, of Rameses II, overlaid in just such a way as to cause a stir today. Fair enough, but why this modification was made only in this spot in the temple and then resemble modern-day conveyances thousands of years later are curious, to say the least. By themselves, the ‘vehicles’ are not hieroglyphs and therefore don’t mean anything other than firing up the imaginations of vimana and ancient alien fans.
But then, what about those Vedic flying ships?
What the L?
Curiously, Seti’s temple is designed in an “L” shape. No other Egyptian temple, before or since, was built in this way, a clear departure from tradition. The thing is, a structure now known as the Osireion was directly behind it. It’s been suggested that the design was changed to make a left turn, so to speak, when Seti uncovered a buried Osireion, but this is unlikely since the central axes of the main temple and Osireion are aligned. It’s likely that Seti didn’t build the Osireion but wanted to incorporate it in an overall temple plan. But the project couldn’t be completed for some reason and the L-shaped revision had to be made.
The Osireion was another monument I wanted to see. There is something profound about it, the sense of being very old. Seti is regarded as the builder, but its design is completely different from the rest of his temple. As beautifully embellished as the temple is in a classically Egyptian style, in contrast the Osireion is megalithic and austere. It also was constructed 50 feet lower than the level of the main temple in sand saturated with water.
I questioned as others do if the two sections were built at the same time. The Osireion bears much closer resemblance to the Valley Temple of Khafre on the Giza Plateau, which would put its construction date at the latest to the reign of Khafre in the Fourth Dynasty, some 1,300 years earlier. Like the Valley Temple, the central hall consists of massive granite posts and lintels. Granite is found nowhere else in Seti’s temple. The central hall at one time was roofed over by thick granite slabs that are now mostly gone. The stones used in the rest of the Osireion are limestone and sandstone.
Incredibly, the base upon which the central hall sits is over 40 feet high above the bedrock, most of it submerged in water. Did Seti have the time, skill and wherewithal to build the Osireion and its colossal foundation underwater, along with his other building projects in Egypt? Estimates vary but his reign lasted approximately 11 years.
Yet, there are New Kingdom inscriptions on the walls that surround the older structure, including many cartouches of Seti I, which conceivably were added later. The only etchings on the granite are two flower of life symbols on a single post (the source of which is unknown and possibly added in modern times).
If Seti didn’t build the Osireion, who did? The mysteries surrounding the Osireion to this day don’t have definitive answers. Nevertheless, I was in awe of yet another example of ancient Egyptian achievement that wasn’t diminished for the lack of personal exploration.
It was almost dusk when we arrived at Luxor Airport from Cairo. The Temple of Luxor was illuminated by the time we got to the hotel. The city was the start of our journey up the Nile to see the temples and tombs of New Kingdom and Ptolemaic pharaohs. (When I say “up the Nile,” I mean in a southerly direction, which I’ll explain later.) I had no idea that Luxor would be as large as it was, inhabited by a half million people. Good, bad or indifferent, this part of the city along Khaled ibn Al Walid looks to be developed for tourism. I could see the Nile just behind our hotel, the Sonesta St. George.
The easiest way for tourists to see the ancient sites of Upper Egypt is to take one of the many Nile cruise ships that they can call home anywhere from a few nights to as long as a week. The sailing on our first vessel, the Steingenberger Legacy, was for four nights from Luxor to Aswan. I have to pause every time to fix in my mind that Upper Egypt refers to the southern part of the Nile because the river flows northward toward the Mediterranean. The designation turns my convention upside down of visualizing upper with top, lower with bottom. We also moved to another cruise ship later (Steigenberger Omar El Khayam) that sailed on Lake Nasser from Abu Simbel to the Aswan High Dam.
In the span of ancient Egyptian history, the period of pyramid building was very short, confined to the Old and Middle Kingdoms. The greatest and most enduring pyramids were built during the fourth dynasty, lasting over a hundred years. But the glories of Egypt are not limited to the pyramids or else visitors would mostly be staying in Cairo. Millions see the grand and beautiful temples and tombs of Upper Egypt. My grandson, who is 10 years old, was envious that we would be going to Abu Simbel, for he had been reading about it and found it fascinating. He also strongly recommended we go to Alexandria, but it was not on our itinerary.
Of the sites we visited and experiences we had along the Nile, the following stand out. Rather than write a post for each, I’ve chosen to aggregate them in one (longish) post. Although I can include them as part of the Nile experience, I’ve posted about the temples of Seti, Hathor, Karnak and Edfu separately.
I felt the majesty of the Nile as soon as I boarded the Steigenberger Legacy in Luxor that I didn’t feel whenever we got a glimpse of it from land. It was something to realize I was on the longest river in the world. There was the feeling of wonderment, too, that it was so historically important that Egyptian civilization as we know it would never have existed.
Outside the Nile’s narrow verdant zone, ninety-five percent of Egypt is desert. I was glad I wasn’t here in summer. Since it was February, our tour experienced very pleasant weather. Aswan, which soars into the 100s in June through August, was in the comfortable 80s.
Cruising on the Nile made me imagine the millions who sailed on it before me for subsistence, commerce, war and pharaohs. I saw farmers tending to their fields, boys jumping into the water, mud brick homes, papyrus, palms and domesticated animals hugging the shore. If it’s true that giant blocks of red granite were transported downriver from Aswan, how did they do it? How must it have looked?
From the balcony of our stateroom, I saw a cluster of other cruise ships in front and astride, like a convoy headed to the same place. Millenia ago, boats made of papyrus, cedar and acacia, some with sails, would have been plying these waters.
The Nile was ever serene. Thank goodness, the mosquitoes warned by some previous travelers were only a minor nuisance. On partially cloudy days, the sunsets were spectacular.
Waleed, Papyrus Maker
Among many of Waleed’s talents is his ability to make papyrus paper. At least, he did so in the past. At the Isis 2 Papyrus Museum in Luxor, he demonstrated how the paper is made. And how thoughtful of him to give us who didn’t buy anything a sample papyrus painting.
Valley of the Kings
In a way, entering the tombs of the New Kingdom pharaohs in the Valley of the Kings is like entering a pyramid. There is a descending passage in all of them, as if symbolically going down into the underworld. The dimensions though are much larger than those of the pyramids, accommodating two-way human traffic and requiring no stooping over. There are 63 known tombs; only 20 of them contained the mummies of kings (the others were tombs of other royal personages, including wives, and high priests). They were all carved into the hillsides with varying degrees of complexity, depending on the ambitions of the kings.
One ticket allows visits to three tombs. Not all are open at any given time; only 18 can be visited at all. King Tut’s requires a separate ticket. I entered the tombs of Rameses III, Rameses IV and Rameses IX. In all of them, I stared in amazement at the ceilings and walls, beautifully decorated with religious images and texts. The colors are still vivid after thousands of years.
In Rameses IX’s tomb, Andrew pointed out the engraving of Amun that Egyptologist René Schwaller de Lubicz established was a Pythagorean 3-4-5 right triangle. This means that the Egyptians mastered geometry before the Greeks. Andrew (in his book The Cygnus Key) argues this classic triangular shape was important in siting the three pyramids on the Giza plateau. The depiction does draw attention to itself in the odd way Amun is tilted backward at an angle (36.9o, to be exact) with arms outstretched and a snake bent at an equally strange 90o, not to mention the defilement of Amun/Min’s phallus.
We visited the Temple of Hatshepsut. She was the most powerful and influential female pharaoh in Egyptian history. Near the Valley of the Kings, the temple is located in Deir el-Bahri, where the 1997 massacre of tourists took place. The temple is quite impressive with two long ramps that bisect three levels of wide terraces with double colonnades. Carved into the towering hills behind it, the complex is all the more visually impressive. Her tomb is the longest of any pharaoh at nearly 700ft/200m.
Even stripped of their riches by tomb robbers, this UNESCO World Heritage Site is a treasure that I was fortunate to visit.
A policeman hopped into our tour bus en route to the Saqqara necropolis and occupied the passenger seat. Waleed informed us that he was a kind of security escort who could occasionally become a passenger on any given tour, usually accompanied by a police lead vehicle. There was quite a ruckus when our tour bus drove through a town north of Saqqara. Police vehicle sirens were blaring, I’m guessing to let the townsfolk know to make way so the bus could get through quickly. I never felt unsafe anywhere in Egypt but, of course, very few of us ever do until something happens.
The closest we ever got to a problem happened when we were headed to the Nabta Playa stone circle in the Western Desert near Sudan. After we stopped for a break at a cafe literally in the middle of nowhere, there were reports that a ‘suspicious vehicle’ had entered that area. This wasn’t to be taken lightly since extremist groups in the past have smuggled arms from Libya and launched deadly attacks on the army and police in this desert. As a precaution we were not permitted to continue on to Nabta Playa.
Instead, we went on to an area of rock outcroppings and mesas where we just wandered, looking and picking up rock samples, and meditated. I doubt if we could do this in the summer.
This desert had to have been in a marine environment millions of years ago, judging from the manganese nodules scattered everywhere. It was odd to see these black spherical formations, none more than an inch wide, all over the desert floor.
It’s unfortunate that security is found to be necessary to protect tourists. In 1997, Egypt was rocked by a terrorist attack at Deir el-Bahri that killed 62 people, most of whom were tourists. The country has an uncompromising policy against terrorism. There was security everywhere we went. It was obvious that the number of men occupied by this sector, which includes the military, is very high. It explains why Egypt has one of the world’s largest standing armies. Soldiers and guards carried weapons, which may make some tourists feel edgy, others reassured.
Rameses II, a Megalomanic?
Rameses II is considered the greatest pharaoh who ever lived. He ruled Egypt at the height of its power for 66 years, the second longest in pharaonic history. However, he liked to have big statues made of himself. For instance, the Ramesseum, his mortuary temple, features a colossal syenite statue. Now broken apart at the waist, it otherwise would have been 56ft/17m high and weighed a stupendous 1,000 tons. Fragments, including a single piece consisting of his head and upper torso, are scattered nearby.
Rameses had more statues made of himself than any other pharaoh, all enormous. The most famous, of course, are at Abu Simbel, four of his humongous likenesses at 69ft in height in a seated position, while his wife, mother and children are miniaturized at his feet.
Rameses was not content to immortalize himself in statuary. He commanded that his cartouches be deeply engraved in stone so they couldn’t be easily vandalized, not only at the Ramesseum but wherever he built temples or whenever he added his cartouches at existing ones.
His tomb in the Valley of the Kings is the most elaborate, containing some 50 rooms. It is the largest in terms of area at a staggering 8,800 sqft/820 sqm. Are these examples of a giant ego or simply one-upping what previous pharaohs did before? I am leaning toward the former.
Built in Ptolemaic times, the Temple of Kom Ombo is different from other Egyptian temples. It commemorates two gods (Sobek and Horus the Elder), each with his own dedicated half. As if not to favor one over the other, there are two separate, identical entrances, Horus’ on the left, Sobek’s on the right. Each half of the temple is a mirror of the other, a unique design in Egyptian temple architecture.
What I found very interesting was a relief toward the rear of the temple that depicts ancient Egyptian surgical tools, including what looked like scalpels, bottles and scissors. Egyptian medicine was far advanced for its time.
Ever wonder how those huge architectural stones in ancient Egypt were held together? At Kom Ombo Temple, I didn’t expect to see a smoking gun, but there it was. The builders used metal clamps. Adjacent stones were hollowed out in dovetails. Metal clamps were used throughout the ancient world, including as far away as Bolivia (Puma Punku). A few of them I saw at Kom Ombo had wooden ones inserted in the cavities. But those have neither strength nor longevity to be remotely useful, so they must have been put in at a much later date (as a practical joke?).
We arrived at ‘Nubian Village’ in the late afternoon by motorboat, after having spent the earlier part of the day visiting the Temple of Philae and stopping at a local market in Aswan. The boat ride from Aswan let us see several interesting things along the river.
It’s generically called ‘Nubian Village.’ Organized tours don’t use its actual name, Gharb Seheil (or Soheil), for some reason, but I suspect it has to do with marketing. Located opposite Seheil Island on the west side of the Nile, a visit to it or another village might be included in a Nile cruise package.
The village had to be created when the Aswan High Dam was built in 1964. The project displaced 50,000 Nubians in Egypt (and likely more in Sudan). Villages like Gharb Seheil were peopled by Nubians who refused to leave for government-sponsored resettlement houses in Kom Ombo. The loss of ancestral lands must linger in the hearts and minds of Nubians old enough to remember the diaspora.
We passed open-air shops in the marketplace area selling all sorts of merchandise, including fabrics, clothing, food products, scents, jewelry, spices and crafts. The hawking was as vigorous as anywhere else in Egypt.
Besides shopping, camel riding is very popular with tourists.
Although the market stalls and buildings were awash in color, as if an enthusiastic artist had free rein, the predominant color was deep sky blue that seems to suggest the Nile, a river as historically important to Nubians as Egyptians. In its way, the blue color scheme reminded me of Chefchouen in Morocco.
Crocodiles were visible, too, skins mounted on walls and live ones kept captive. One was languishing at the bottom of a pit in a Nubian family’s home while we were served tea in the courtyard. Whoever thought I would hold a baby croc?
At the end of the visit to Gharb Seheil, I sampled a delicious glass of doum juice at an outdoor restaurant.
It must be an art form that housekeepers on cruise ships learn. I first encountered towel art on a cruise ship to Alaska. A bath towel and/or bed cover would be folded to create whimsical figures, typically animals, and placed on your stateroom bed. Anything else in your room to augment the main creation would be fair game. Our Egyptian counterparts didn’t disappoint.
It so happened that Waleed’s birthday fell on a date during one of our cruises. Alicia arranged for a celebration at dinner. As it did for other birthday observances, the wait staff entered the dining room while singing the birthday song and got Waleed to dance with them. Our group happily joined in to honor our tour leader who was like a family member to us. In fact, he called us Family from the beginning, a name we’d hear time and again when he needed our attention or in casual conversation. He took care of us and made sure we had everything we needed, including ministering to those of us who had ailments of one kind or another. How could we not show our love and respect for someone who became a huge part of us?
Our group was one of the last to travel to Egypt before the global pandemic shut everything down. When this post was published, the world was abiding by a long and extremely cautious social contact and masking protocol that can’t help but shape our future behaviors, even toward travel. For something this crippling, memories will not be short. I know I won’t go anywhere soon. It’s sobering to realize that tourism as we know it, or rather as we knew it, may not recover for a long time. Countries like Egypt that depend heavily on tourism will suffer a great loss from a very important economic sector. I feel regret toward a country that welcomed me with open arms and allowed me to experience its treasures.
We were driving past groves of Sitka spruce, Alaska’s state tree that’s everywhere in SE Alaska. The bus driver/guide made the remark in passing: “A tavern in town serves a local sour beer made with the tips of these trees.” I was immediately intrigued. Spruce buds in the making of beer?
He added that this unusual ingredient is foraged by area locals and sold to nearby Baranof Island Brewing in early spring when the tender, lime green tips are ready to pick. As an historical side note, the guide also said the buds, because they’re high in vitamin C, cured early British and French explorers in North America of scurvy.
Sitka spruce tips (image from medcookingalaska.blogspot.com)
Curious and eager, I found said tavern back in Sitka town where Baranof Island Brewing’s Sitka Spruce Tip beer was on tap. The beer was herbal and citrusy, a profile I’d never tasted before. I was pleasantly surprised. My wife didn’t care for it much, put off by what she said was too strong a piney flavor. It reminded her of retsina.
Baranof Island Brewery’s Sitka Spruce Tip Beer
By chance, I stumbled on another spruce beer in Skagway a week later, Skagway Brewing Company’s Spruce Tip Blonde Ale. This was lighter in style with spice notes, creamy with a floral nose. My wife enjoyed this more.
Skagway Brewing Co’s spruce tip blonde ale
After returning home from the cruise, I had to find out more about this beer additive. So, I did some research.
It happens that adding spruce tips is not new. Centuries ago, Scandinavians brewed with Norway spruce tips. When the Vikings got to North America, you can imagine the high-fives after finding spruce trees in abundance. In 1773 Captain James Cook made his first beer in New Zealand using spruce. Even Benjamin Franklin made one that I could easily imagine his quaffing while flying a kite on a stormy night.
Spruce needles’ curative property has been historically recorded. For example, a tea made by the St. Lawrence Iroquois from spruce bark and tips saved the scurvy-afflicted men of Jacques Cartier’s second expedition to Quebec in 1536. For nutritional reasons, the British added spruce tips to beer when exploring the West Coast of North America.
In colonial America, the tips were used in place of hops for flavoring since hops imported from Europe were too expensive. Nowadays, there’s a renaissance of spruce beers, no longer crafted to combat disease but to add any of a host of flavors. The most widely available is probably Alaskan Brewing Company’s seasonal Winter Ale that’s released in the fall. Curiously I detected no hint of spruce; instead it was sweet and had berry flavors. Alaskan’s Spruce IPA follows in January.
Sitka spruce tips (image from nawwal.org)
What started out as an informal statement on tour led to a project of mine to learn more about one of beer’s most interesting ingredients.
Strolling along historic Creek Street is not much different than any modern-day boardwalk of shops and restaurants. It has obvious appeal to tourists who pour through here in the summer, the cruise hordes numbering nearly a million this year alone. It’s conveniently located only a few blocks from the cruise terminal.
You would never know that it used to be a bunch of buildings erected along Ketchikan Creek to appeal to a different clientele, a red light district in the first half of the twentieth century.
At one end of Creek Street are a fish ladder and rapids that salmon need to get past in order to spawn upstream, the inspiration for the humorous aside on Dolly’s House.
Salmon negotiate the rapids along Ketchikan Creek to spawn
Spawning salmon in Ketchikan Creek below Park Ave
I find it amusing that many preserved buildings were once brothels and that tourists titter at the innuendos. Creek Street is now on the National Register of Historic Places.
The first I saw Hubbard Glacier was from the upper deck of the cruise ship. The captain announced its approach over the PA system. Passengers positioned themselves wherever they could get a good look. I estimated that the vessel got no closer than a few miles because the glacier, the largest in North America at 6 miles wide at the terminus and 400 feet above sea level, seemed far off. (The images on this page were taken with a moderate telephoto lens.) Even with binoculars, I couldn’t see any activity. Still, even from a distance, Hubbard was impressive, living up to its reputation as one of the most spectacular attractions in Alaska. The cruise company didn’t offer a small boat excursion to get closer. I would love to have seen the calving of icebergs as they groan, crackle and thunderously collapse into Disenchantment Bay.
Hubbard Glacier is an astonishing 76 miles long, the upper part in the Yukon Territory of Canada. Unlike most glaciers, it is still advancing, contrary to worldwide melting of icefields because of global warming. The ship stayed in the bay the entire morning, doing two 360s so all passengers could see Hubbard from anywhere onboard.