DAY 10 - INTRUSIONS
SYNOPSIS: This was the big sight-seeing day in Aswan which has a number of noteworthy historical monuments. No political news but a few interesting encounters.
Captain Meme insisted to arrange for a taxi for me for the day – this is the Egyptian way of getting a friend a job. I didn’t’ mind. But when I arrived at the meeting time, after ferrying across the Nile, facing a young, cocky Nubian in tight-fitting Western clothes, excessively accentuating his admittedly very athletic body, I had my doubts. And when I got in the car and realized that all the windows were covered with black velvet curtains from the inside, I had second thoughts. And when Mohammed sped off with a howling engine, I knew we would not be a good match for the day, but it was too late. How laid-back captain Meme with his traditional Nubian values and with his gentle and kind nature would have a glitz and bling friend like this is beyond me.
First stop was the High Dam. A cooperation project between the Soviets and the Egyptians in the 1970’s, it has been controversial ever since its conception. The intrusion into the environment and the damage it caused is enormous; but of most concern for an art historian is the cultural damage. Hundreds of temples were flooded when Lake Nasser rose to be the largest lake in the world. Only dozens could be saved. The statistics of the dam are impressive: 18 times more stone was used in its construction than in the Great Pyramid – just picture that. You have to pay entrance fee (as a foreign visitor) to drive on the dam and to take pictures. Peacock Mohammed drove me to the middle of the dam and declared that that was it; but it wasn’t. One could drive all the way to the end and then turn around, but I guess, he was in a hurry. But I insisted on seeing the dam from all angles and so we had our first discord within minutes. I don’t understand much about the workings of a dam and not much was explained. Unfortunately, it is also not possible to enter the dam as is the case with some dams in the US. I knew from my guidebook that there was a marker commemorating the building of the dam. I asked to see the marker. “Market” asked the Peacock? No, the marker, the monument. “Money”? It was hopeless! Peacock was all feathers. No English, no imagination, no historical knowledge or interest. I gave up.
PHILAE TEMPLE SIDE AISLE
My second stop was the island of Philae. When you hire a taxi for the day, the driver is supposed wait patiently until you are done. Peacock wanted to know exactly how much time I would spend so that he could go away in the meantime. “I don’t know”, I said. That was unacceptable. Finally, I estimated 3 hours – twice the time most people take. I felt that was close enough. Philae is not the most ancient of all temples, but it is a text-book case of temple architecture with all the prescribed courts and features. It was one of the lucky ones, rescued in its entirety. It had to be moved from an island nearby which now is completely under water to the current island.
I checked off another Nilometer. How the pharaoh could impress his people if he was just measuring and then passing on the information? I guess, I did not make that clear before – he measured the Nile way in the south and passed on the information all the way throughout the country up north. Flood inundation was very slow. He was way ahead of the game and could warn people days, if not weeks before the actual flood occurred. Therein lay the miracle. I was shocked by the many intrusive images I found: graffiti carved into the temple in the 18th and 19th century. Christian crosses inserted over ancient imagery when temples were appropriated as churches after the 4th C.
The temple was empty. Guards were asleep. Souvenir booths were closed and the restaurant had nothing stacked up. The horizon was filled with small felukas which ordinarily transport tourists to the island. My boat was the only one in use. When I left after 2 hours, one more boat with some locals arrived. A very, very slow day at Philae.
My feluka captain was a Nubian guy who lived in the nearby village. He offered to take me on a detour to have tea with his family. I accepted. It was fun to see a “real” Nubian house from the inside. Baba Dool, where I live, is a Nubian house, but his decoration is geared to foreign guests and is, I think, a bit overdone. This Nubian house had a similar layout, but was completely barren of any of the handicraft items Baba Dool has on display. Instead, a few family photos adorned the walls, a picture of the Ka’ba and nothing much else. People seem to live with very few belongings.
Here, a three-generation extended family lived under one roof. All rooms were empty except for 2-4 low beds per room. One room had a TV were three women and a child gathered. I intruded in their day unannounced, but was welcomed and offered tea and cookies. I apologized for having to leave rather quickly, but I knew my Peacock was waiting and most likely already angry with me, for this detour made me half an hour late. And angry he was. When I just shrug my shoulders and reminded him that he was on my clock, he changed demeanor 180 degrees and started flirting with me! “For you, I will wait…”, he said, smiling a very seductive smile, fluttering his eyes. Oh, brother, who does he think he is?! Since I wore my big, dark sun glasses, I pretended I did not notice. This rebuff sealed our mutual dislike and we continued in total silence to our last destination.
The last stop on the way was the obligatory visit of an ancient quarry in which a giant obelisk lays abandoned. After who-knows how many thousands of man hours, a crack developed in the stone and the largest granite obelisk ever had to be left unfinished. It is mind-boggling to me how simple tools such as wood, water, soap, ropes, and chisels combined with unwavering determination by the people built all of the magnificent Egyptian monuments. There is nothing that beats will power!
After I paid the Peacock, I strolled through town to get to my falafel place and the store where I have bought my daily bottle of water. “Are you Muslim?” I heard a voice behind me. I turned to face a young, bearded man wearing the traditional white cap. No. “Thanks for wearing these nice clothes. I wish all tourists would do that and respect our culture.” His English was impeccable and we started talking a bit. I explained that I just like these baggy clothes because they are comfortable and yes, I know this is the custom around here and yes, I am happy to show respect, that’s why I cover my arms and legs. But I also believe that you should be able to wear what suits you. Mustafa, a Salafi Muslim, invited me to sit down and chat. Before long we both sipped a cup of tea. Here was my chance to talk to someone who did not want Mubarak out. He is a strictly religious man who is quite dismayed with the majority of the Egyptians who show so little interest in the daily 5 prayers, and disregard religion in many other ways. If he could, he would make Sharia (Islamic law) the law of the land. But he distanced himself from the Muslim Brotherhood, which surprised me.
As we were talking, a middle-aged man in Western clothes - he looked a quite like an academic or scientist - passed us. As he was behind Mustafa, he turned around, pointed to him and formed with his mouth the silent words “He is lying!” I gave him a big smile and kept on listening to Mohammed. How funny and how indicative of the wide range of political and religious opinions across Egypt, this little exchange was.
Good night.
P.S. There is trouble with picture processing. Please be patient. They are coming.