For the Love of Temples (Luxor)
Soon it was time to say goodbye to Elephantine Island. I actually didn't want to
leave the island so soon, but the detriment of planning ahead is you never
know what place you'll take to and what places you wish you skipped.
I hired a driver for the transfer, as Egyptian roads are near impossible to
navigate. Invisible speed bumps, with some odd object such as an old tire or a
metal gasoline can, are markers put up by the locals so that cars don't end up
losing half their body parts. No road signs, no street names, sometimes the
road isn’t even paved. Every manner of transport, occasionally overloaded past capacity, shares the road. And much security, with army guards writing down
something cryptic in their paper notebooks. It makes them appear busy, because surely no one goes back through those notebooks.
This is the real modern Egypt. Farmland exists on a narrow line on both sides of the
Nile. Farther than that is just desert. Sometimes mountains, sometimes rocks,
with the weather app showing a brutal 45 degrees Celsius and "dusty" as the
chronic forecast.
Gray or red cement blocks stacked on top of each other as
houses, in various states of being finished. It seems houses are never
finished, the sticks to put another level are always sticking out. The houses
are built for the present need, when they need more space they will build
another layer. Same rules apply to fences and everything else. Starting
something is by no means a good reason to finish it. An inadvertently perfect economic demonstration of sunk
costs?
Along the road I stopped at a few temples, though none as
spectacular as Abu Simbel. Ruins always make me ponder what we will be
remembered by. Probably plastic. Mounds and mounds of plastic. Not grand
skyscrapers, nor reliefs, but the plastics that last for all eternity. Maybe
we should start building using plastic water bottles so that the monuments can
stick around for longer.
Ruins of Kom Ombo
The ruins of Edfu City
Its only at the architectural sites that i encounter what I affectionately
call the geriatric cruisers - the old, mostly white, retired tourists cruising
up the Nile in tour groups. They flit from sight to sight, seeing only the
best curated version and otherwise staying in the comfortable Egyptian branded
bubble of their vacation life. They don't see how people really live, and they
cannot say that they saw the country in both its glory and its pain. But maybe that's not what they are looking for in the first place.
I can’t deny that bubble is comfortable. My hotel in Luxor (a 4 star for $50 a
night) was a green oasis, populated with birds and flamingos, perfectly
manicured, quiet. Outside its walls is a totally different situation. It can
be uncomfortable.
Walking is the best way to really get a feel for a place, so I always make it
a point to walk as much as I can. As I walked through a neighborhood in Luxor
I found myself surrounded by a gaggle of kids with their hands out, yelling
“money, money give me money". Looking at their clothing and well-roundedness
they were not that poor, just opportunistic. I didn't give, but merely moved
on. The image that all white foreigners are rich is alive and well. I've found
that its more particularly alive in city dwellers, maybe because they live
next to that shiny 5 star hotel and can peek over the walls. They don’t know
it’s just a benefit of currency conversion.
Seeing how animals are treated is nothing short of horrifying. I saw a badly
malnourished horse slip and fall, not getting back up. I don't think it had
any will to live left. Its owner jumped out of the carriage and along with
some locals helped it up. I held my breath. I didn't want the poor creature to
get up so it could be forced to go on. Not giving the horse any rest, he
pushed the horse up. Poor soul. I can only hope that poor animal's next life
will be better than this one.
Another particularly infuriating discomfort is the overt sexism. Being without a male
keeper is an apparent invitation that anything breathing with the necessary XY
chromosome will do. I lost count of how many strangers found no issue with
asking me if I was married, where my husband was, or why I didn't have one.
I’d been in other Middle Eastern places alone, but never had I been asked the
same question around every corner - in a taxi, at the check-in counter, in a restaurant, on the street. Why are women treated like exotic parrots - to get
captured and locked up in a cage? I suppose one of the few things to look
forward to in aging will be that cloak of invisibility when you're officially a spinster and everyone loses
interest in your marital status. And with that will come the same freedom that
men get to enjoy at any age.
On a happier note, here are a few more remarkable temples in Luxor.
Mortuary Temple of Hatchesput
Now Hatchesput was a bad b**** in the most endearing way, and naturally her temple is also a masterpiece.
Karnak Temple Complex
A large complex of temples and chapels right inside Luxor
Luxor Temple
Dedicated to the rejuvenation of kingship (not death, for a change). The colors of the hieroglyphics are remarkable.
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