Approaching the shores of England, it would
seem. We left Cairo a few hours ago and
flew across Eastern Europe and now from somewhere near Rotterdam off and across
to The U.K. I spent the flight till now,
reading Naguib Mahfouz book “Khan al-Khalili”
which I impulse bought in the Cairo Airport, along with four plates that have
silly Nile maps placed upon them and the David Roberts book I got that which
I’d considered pinching form my hotel suite but later thought I was more likely
to enjoy over time if I actually purchased the collection rather than always considering
the book, the prints, the subject, as something tainted. The Mahfouz book was a wonderful read
through, though not as artful as the Cairo Trilogy work which seemed to glisten
from the pages. This was, regardless, a
tale well told, of two brothers who both fall for the same beautiful young neighbor. If there was anything more wretched than being
a lonely man in that world, it would certainly have been being cast as a woman
who is only allowed to gaze out windows and then look swiftly away. This was apparently one of, if not the first,
novel by this Nobel Laurate. Set in the
very neighborhood we were bouncing around in last week, I should have bought
the second Mahfouz book they had at the airport too, the reading of this first
one went by so swiftly.
I learned
something on the first Air Egypt flight which was that they do a very poor job
on that carrier of channeling any of Egypt’s remarkable culinary tradition into
something that can be served on a tray.
Preparing to board the ten-hour flight I decided it would be a fine day
for a fast. I wouldn’t be missing
anything. Indeed, the last two nights of
R&R at the Marriott Hurghada were relaxing. We all agreed the food we ate the first
night at the Italian restaurant ‘Tuscany’, was wretched. The great name had no power to evoke anything
substantive. I was making great pains not
to demand anything of anyone else on the trip, beyond getting home safe. I couldn’t help myself though and I mentioned
that there were three or four of what appeared to be reasonable restaurants there
in Hurghada town, but we went instead last night to the hotel buffet, which was
acceptable if uninspired as smorgasbords go.
I woke up at two, early in anticipation of our 5:30AM connecting flight,
with a return of the runs and decided that today would be a fine day, to cease
all eating for a while.
To my left, my
wife is reading the biography of Omm Sety (a.k.a. Dorothy Eady), which I enjoyed
much more than I figured I would when I read about this reincarnation and
impulse-bought it the other day at Abydos where the Ms. Eady, the Irish-English
woman of mystical Egyptian cognizance lived out her later years. I had gobbled it up on the car ride out of
the temple compound, down to Qena. It is
the sort of story that would be ruined very quickly in the age of Youtube and
Instagram. But one-hundred years ago, in
another era, she worked as a convincing Egyptologist with some of the best
names in the field, she could read hieroglyphics and liaise convincingly with
the great mind’s of the field. All of which
cast her, as a much more formidable figure.
The biography is entertaining early on and then gets bogged down with a
lot of journal entries and speculative diagnosis that don’t add to what had
otherwise flown well as a short biography at least for the first one hundred
and forty pages’ worth. I’ve encouraged
her to see if she could at least make it that far.
I had hoped the
girls would read it as well. I suspected
that if they make it in the first twenty-pages they’d likely get hooked. The more time passes from our trip at Abydos,
the less likely the connection will ever be made, I suspect.
Reflecting on
Egypt, there was a wonderful buzz in Cairo that can only come from confronting
a famous city of that stature with its five-thousand years of extant
architecture present. I could have spent
weeks more exploring that city, retuning at a quiet time to see more of the
pyramids, rounding out an understanding of the Coptic period and spending most
time, I’d suspect rounding out an understanding of the long period off Islamic
rule and all that these strata of
different rulers meant in terms of the city’s extant architecture. Ra’s piercing sun found it’s green-dolphin
blue up at Alexandria. An overnight
train that seemed to make everyone very grateful that it would only be one
night that they spent on the train.
Luxor with so much to see and kids who could only take so much temple-hopping
in 107-degree heat. Our boat cruise
slowed everything down for our entire party. A temple per day would do. Waking up with the morning time Nile birds,
waking up with the call to prayer and generally succumbing to the slow pace of
boat life with its consistent boat personalities. Aswan where the hotel was a tourist attraction
unto itself. And the Elephantine Island out
across the porch. Abu Simbel ultimately
worth the long drive down to the very boarder of the Sudan. I hadn’t been sure we’d have actually make it
there and I’m very glad we did. The next
section the one-last-temple gesture, where we returned all the way to Luxor and
the pleasant young receptionist at the Winter Palace hotel whose face I was
imagining when they described Nawal in the Mahfouz novel just now. I got to see Luxor Temple all by myself that
afternoon, which allowed for more reflection and less lecturing and Abydos the
next day took us deeper into what Egypt is probably most like, off the tourist
run, into conservative cities and eggplant vendors who didn’t want those
boiling eggplant photographed. Hurghada
bright and uneventful enough. We passed
on snorkeling and submarines and jet skis and just relaxed in the water. We’ll see if we are able to do another such
journey next year. If so, that would be
grand. What I’d really like to find just now is a
map, but I can’t figure out how to have the in-flight one turned on. The overhead screen has au one hundred
kilometer out from Glencolumbkille, in Donegal.
Monday, 07/15/19
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