The Dire Warnings of Ramses II, The Rescue of Yesterday, and The Dinner Guests

Aswan, Egypt

Unlike the old-world charm of the Winter Palace in Luxor, our hotel in Aswan was the very modern Movenpick Resort situated on the island of Elephantine in the centre of the city. Eric managed to get a very good price as a result of the value of the Egyptian Pound and the fact that we were visiting during the shoulder season. Requiring a ferry to take you across from the downtown core, the location was a blessing and a curse. Away from the vibrancy of the city, but a quiet refuge for an introvert like me.  The ferries were frequent, though, and the journey across was very brief.

We were in Aswan for two full days before we would return to Luxor, and it promised to be a busy time.

Our first day was a day trip to Abu Simbel. Built by Ramses II at the border of Kmt (the two lands of ancient Egypt) it served as a warning to southern hostiles. It depicted the might of the pharaoh and his armies by demonstrating that they could not only repel any southern attempt to invade, but also that it could do so while also repelling any northern forces. In short, it was a clear signal to not even try.

Ramses was many things, but humble was not one of them. Ruling 67 years, fathering around 150 children, and presenting himself on the same level as the gods Ramses’ quest for eternal life was not only targeted for the fields of the gods, but also for here on earth. After reaching a very old age, especially for his time, he began to think he was actually immortal. Boy, he must have felt like a doofus when he finally died.

His most favoured wife was Nerfertari, whose image is everywhere at Abu Simbel. She is the small figure next to his legs on the temple’s famous façade. To the right you will see the smaller temple dedicated to her. She was his most favoured wife and he demonstrates this by building this temple for her memory in which he filled images of just how fantastic he was. Again, hubris incarnate.

But his high opinion of himself has provided us with a marvel to behold. Abu Simbel is a monument to behold. There is a great deal of hype about this particular spot in Egypt, with all kinds of sources indicating it is worth the effort to visit, and it does not disappoint. I felt dwarfed as we approached it, it massive faces gazing serenely over Lake Nasser only added to the sense of awe.

Carved into the mountain itself, it has a relatively small footprint in the interior when you compare it to such sits at the Ramesseum or the Temple of Karnak. But it is by no means a tight, claustrophobic space. Great columns reach up more than twenty feet before holding up an elaborately carved ceiling. No piety in this hall, however, as Ramses II towers above us in relief demonstrating his strength over his enemies. He offers gifts for the Amon-Re most of all, who embraces him like a brother.

The innermost chamber is the smallest and consists of four figures. Three, Amon-Re, Re-Herakhti, and Ramses II himself, are bathed in light from outside. One remains in the shadows. He is either Ptah, as god of darkness, or Khonshu, the moon god. I have heard both named. It is said the rays of the sun penetrate into the temple of bathes the three statues of Amon-Re and Ramses II only twice a year, to celebrate the cultivation season in February and to celebrate the flooding season in October. This is also supposed to be the birth and coronation dates of the king. By pure coincidence I am certain. Our guide ruefully admitted that this phenomenon occurred not just on two separate days each year, but, rather, during two different weeks of the year, give or take.

The other story of this site, of course, is the impressive efforts it took to move the two temple complexes to safety from the flooding waters resulting from the building of the Aswan Dam. There is a wonderful National Geographic documentary about this that was made in 1964 that provides a witness account of the process that can be found on YouTube. I remember seeing this in elementary school many years ago and the exact same film, complete with narrator and music, was playing in the visitor centre at the entrance.

Despite the hubris of its creator, I found Abu Simbel to be quite humbling. It is a bold statement that has been emphasized by the equally bold endeavours of those who moved the very mountain in which it is carved. Such was their skill that you would be hard pressed to find the lines that are present as a result of them cutting the structure into puzzle pieces and then reassembling them. Abu Simbel is a testament to our ability to demonstrate our commitment to what we value deeply. For the ancients, it was the security of the homeland. For us, our commitment to our common heritage.

We saw this commitment recently with the pledges of money to support the restoration of Notre Dame in Paris. UNESCO is a testament to this commitment. If only we had such commitment in the areas of peace, hunger, and equality. We have proven we can literally move mountains if we so desire.

Our second day in Aswan was spent touring the sites of the city. We visited the unfinished obelisk, a failed attempt by Hatshepsut to build the larges obelisk ever, during the heat of the afternoon. Walking through the remains of the quarry was oppressive to say the least, but it was worth it to see the process of cutting a single piece of rock in order to carve out an obelisk. Well, it was worth it for me. We also toured the Aswan High Dam, a modern miracle of engineering.

The Temple of Philae, a Greco-Roman temple to Isis, was the highlight of the day. Also saved from the flooding of the dam, the cutting marks on the stone are a more evident here. Nevertheless, it is a lovely temple with some great reliefs of the goddess Isis.

Eric and I stayed at a resort hotel on the Island of Elephantine right next to a Nubian village. We had tried to visit a restaurant called The Nubian House earlier but failed. We ate at another small restaurant instead. While the food was good and the experience interesting, Eric was determined to check out a highly praised local spot to eat. So, we decided to leave the touristy confines of our resort and walk through the village to seek out this restaurant again.

The differences were apparent almost immediately after passing through the rear gate of the resort. Paved walkways abruptly ended at dirt paths that disappeared into the foliage of the island. We wandered through a maze of crumbling homes, fields, and smaller pathways winding in every direction. We saw a building we presumed to be a school based on the pictures painted on the exterior walls.  Some children said hello to us and waved as we passed by but the adults, which were few in numbers during the late afternoon, simply watched us walk by if they acknowledged us at all. We passed goats, and chickens and evidence of work abandoned to the heat of the day. Laundry was strung up and windows were shuttered. Every so often a door was open and we caught glimpses of every day life in the village. A naked mattress in a stark room. Old furniture piled up in a corner. Cooking utensils neatly stacked on a shelf. A common area with a dirt floor scattered with toys and tiny chairs.

We made our way slowly and eventually hound ourselves at the ruins of a temple. A old man approached us an invited us to his café. We declined saying we were seeking out a specific place. He spoke to us for a bit in broken English and kept asking to come to his place for tea. Just tea. Feeling sad for him we agreed to visit after our meal. He followed us a bit but we kept going. We paid our entry into the temple, which included a museum that was currently under restoration. Because we were the only ones there, someone decided it was there job to give us a tour. We tried to ignore him, but this is difficult when you really are the only three people in the joint. We asked him to take us to the Nubian House. Smelling a tip, he agreed and we followed him out the gate back into the village. He enlisted his friend to help and the four of us turned the corner only to be met again by the old man. He insisted it was time for tea. We insisted it wasn’t and we followed our guides.

The old man began a heated argument with our guides, clearly he felt they were robbing him of his customers. They waved him off and we could tell they were saying that they were following our requests. The old man insisted but they became firm with him until he stopped and stepped away.

We found ourselves at the back of a house and they were knocking on the door. Eric and I began to protest. Clearly this was someone’s private home. A woman and child came out and a conversation in Arabic began in earnest. She looked confused, then amused. She turned to us and stated in relatively good English that her brother owned the Nubian House but that she was the cook.

We tipped our guides and she led us to the house that Eric saw on Trip Advisor and had us sit in the front waiting room. She kept calling for her brother but he didn’t answer. She asked us what we liked to eat and we told her chicken for me and fish for Eric. She smiled and called around the house again. She eventually left to find him and we were in the house alone.

Just as we were looking at each other and wondering what we had gotten ourselves into we heard a voice call out from outside: “Hello?” We stood up and looked out the window, a square hole in the mud brink without glass, and saw the old man had returned with the exiting of our guides. He asked us to come to his house for tea after dinner and we agreed and waved him off firmly. We felt bad for him but he was starting to become a bit much.

We sat down and waited. And waited. And waited some more. Eventually, a young man, no more than 25 years old came in and looked at us.

“Hello.”

We both stood up and greeted him by introducing ourselves. He regarded us a moment, then said, “This is my house.”

We laughed and told him we knew, that his sister brought us here and that she was already cooking our dinner. He smiled and brought us further into the house and sat us in a room without windows and a large air conditioner in case it was needed. It wasn’t. The room was very comfortable. He asked us what we would like to drink and then left.

We were alone again, thinking we were knee deep in something, until the sister returned with our food. Eric had about six or seven medium sized fish while I had three small pieces of chicken. There was also hummus and bread. The brother returned with our drinks, canned pop, and the two left us to our meal.

While Eric’s food was quite good, mine was clearly just out of the fridge and recently warmed up. It was ice cold in places. I was startled as this place had a high rating for its delicious food. Maybe we needed to make reservations?

The sister eventually returned to see how everything was and we told her it was great. Eric stated that the bones in the fish were quite plentiful, simply as conversation, and she took it upon herself to tear apart the fish with her hands and remove all the bones for Eric.

“I do this for my children all the time.” She smiled as she finished and handed Eric back his dinner.

When we left the house, the old man was waiting for us. Not surprised at all, we sighed in unison and walked the short distance to his café. He, and his friend, led us upstairs to a remarkable patio that had a great view of the Nile and city of Aswan on the other side. The old man disappeared and we were left with a middle aged man who served us some bottled water and regaled us with his opinions of the plight of the Nubians in Egypt since their villages and lands were lost to Lake Nasser after the dam. Having been told that the relocation efforts were welcomed and that all was well, we were not surprised in the least that a Nubian account of the past fifty or so years was quite difference.

The gentleman also showed us around his patio full of curiosities, but his favoured specimens could be found in rickety cabinet that had doors that could no longer close. Instead, stuffed haphazardly on the shelves were all kinds of things. Gas lanterns, military issued gas masks, empty bottles, empty cans, teeth from an alligator, and coins from all over. He took great pride in his collection and we listened attentively to each word.  As we started to make our exit, he gently attempted to sell us something but quickly acquiesced when we declined.

Outside we were not surprised to see the old man who wanted money from us and followed us to the boat launch by the closed museum. Our dinner hosts had, at our request, arranged to get us a boat to return to our hotel.

As the waves of the Nile rocked us gently we reflected on our experience that day. The village, the abject poverty, so very close to the affluent and bustling resort town, was a stark contrast. To listen to the majority non-Nubian population you would think that the resettlement is a thing of the past. This is not so. It certainly wasn’t to our second host for the evening. The village, isolated on the Island of Elephantine, with its population living there but having to leave the community to find work, reminded me of our Reservation system for the indigenous in Canada.

Later, Eric would look over his Trip Advisor research and find a surprise. The restaurant we were looking for was not The Nubian House, it was Nubian Dreams. The former was a place specializing in arts and crafts with some snacks, the latter was a restaurant that was across the street from where we were eating and a place we passed when we were looking the first night!

This meant, we realised, that we showed up unannounced at someone’s home expecting to be fed. The sister, realising we had it wrong, improvised on the spot and took this as an opportunity to make some money. She must have rifled through her kitchen and collected the hummus and fish and leftover chicken, hence the refrigerator-cold I experienced, and whipped something up. Probably the dinner of the kid we saw.  This explained why the brother was nowhere to be seen. He wasn’t expecting us. This is why he said “This is my house”. Not to welcome us, but to let us know we were…well…in his house. He must have run out of the house looking to buy sodas. This explained the long waits. This explained a lot.

At least we paid them.

I suppose it is a little embarrassing, but it’s a good story about cultural differences, the grace of our hosts, an the adventure that can be found in walking past the iron gates and into the unknown.