The end of school
After a month of Egyptology intensiveness, 7 tests, 5 presentations, and a lot of temples (seriously, me and Greco-Roman temples are tight like whoa), I have survived finals. The worst parts of finals were a) the sheer stupidity of much of the subject matter, especially that related to Ancient Egyptian history, b) the freezing temperatures of the Rare books library, where I spent hours translating French excavation reports, and c) the fact that I wasn’t out in the beautiful mid-80s Cairo weather. Ma’lish. It’s finished and I never have to care if the 22nd Dynasty kings ruled from Bubastis or Sais.
So the end of school is here, Shan and I have managed to not kill off any of our roommates (though we’ve come close) and it’s time to pack up. Wait, pack up? But how? How can the amount of junk inside this apartment (remember, there are 8 girls living here) possibly fit into 2 checked pieces of luggage per person? Answer—it can’t. Not a chance in hell. So Katie leaves a litter box for the stray kitten we adopted and then had to give to a surrogate mother for a month, Laurie leaves enough clothes to clothe a few families of haram females, Sam leaves all those scarves she dragged us off to buy in Luxor when really, we just wanted to go visit temples, and enough food is left to feed a large Egyptian family for two weeks. The amount of unused pasta noodles and rice is astounding. And guess who’s the last one to leave, who has to do the final cleaning? Oh, that’s right, yours truly.
But bitterness over… Mom and Dad have arrived for a little 2-week vacation and we are off to see Egypt. The destinations are Cairo and the environs, Aswan and Abu Simbel, Luxor and the Upper Egypt Nile Valley, and Bahariya Oasis.
And, as usual in Egypt, nearly everything that can go wrong or change at the last minute will both go wrong and change at the last minute.
Giza is amazing, but isn’t it always, but my Dad extends his hatred of horses to all 4-footed beasts of burden when he and my mother are spectacularly rolled off of a camel that decides enough is enough. The look was priceless—don’t worry, I have photos of him on it for all posterity, but I’m highly surprised that he didn’t beat the dumb creature to death. Probably, he is too busy trying to hustle me away from the camel driver, who is trying to buy me for half a million camels. Traveling with my father is an interesting experience—I have ascertained that I am worth at least 6 million camels. However, considering the beduin are in decline and this isn’t a native camel stronghold, I think that might be more camels than are in the entirety of Northeast Africa. This experience has also taught me that my Arabic is woefully inadequate as I am incapable of saying either “If you don’t stop trying to buy me I will feed you to a Nile hippopotamus and watch it crush your skull” or “Please leave. If you don’t, I will strangle you with your own small intestine and leave you in the sun for the flies to consume”. Anyone with a strong knowledge of Arabic is welcome to fill me in on the pronunciation and proper grammatical emphases of these two phrases.
Khan el-Kahlili is my dad’s personal version of hell—row upon row of men selling STUFF and being aggressive and in-your-face and making eyes at his baby girl. (just glad he never sees the 10-year-old who will later spend 10 minutes blowing kisses at me, asking me “how much—just for one night—you’re my sexy baby”). But, despite the inexplicable closure of Sultan Hassan’s mosque, we go to the Citadel and either my limited Arabic, the pity of the guards, or my extensive pouting gets us and a group of British tourists in to see the Mosque of Mohamed Ali. The sight? Beautiful! The last of the truly monumental mosques of Cairo, complete with a Turkish “crucifix” plan; a painted ceiling high enough that the colors almost disappear into one another, leaving vague impressions of dull gold and jeweltones; shiny alabaster walls, transparent calcite with thick whitish-yellow veins of opaque color; a spotless, dustless stone courtyard; the unbeatable (albeit smoggy) view over Cairo from the heights of Muqattam; a trompe d’oleil fountain in the highest (or tackiest, with pastoral vignettes that are overtly European) of French 1800s fashion.
Tomorrow, we will leave Cairo and that is when the day’s real adventures will begin. I think my family’s not to bad at this “roughing it” business, but we are American, let’s face it. We like AC with our hot weather and anyone who has ever stepped in a vehicle with my father is well aware that he believes defensive driving to be a quality next to godliness. Unfortunately, the Egyptians are not aware of this preference and are more accustomed to the methodology of “drive as fast as you can until something large is in your way, at which point slam on the brakes and test out those 10-year-old brake pads”. Giving foreign passengers a mild heart attack is considered bonus. Learn more about these exploits in tomorrow’s installment…
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