Luxor, Egypt
We returned to the Winter Palace in Luxor for a few more
days after our visit to Aswan. Two days, though, were designated tour days that
would take us out of the city and into the country. Or, the Egyptian version of
the country. There is not hinterland in Egypt.
First we went south, about halfway back to Aswan to visit
the temples of Edfu and Kom Ombo. Despite evidence of tourism infrastructure,
these places were basically empty. Cruise ships were only just beginning to
return to the Nile after the 2011 revolution. We were told that Wednesday was
the day to avoid as that is when the ships docked. But our day was quiet.
Kom Ombo is a small temple dedicated to the god Khnum who is
purported to have created humanity on his potter’s wheel. But the crocodile
Sobek plays a key role and the two deities share the space. The Greeks restored
and added to the temple creating a temple within a temple effect.
Edfu, sacred to the god of royalty, the falcon-headed Horus,
is famous for its dramatic pylons and the most preserved falcon statue in
Egypt. It is not a large statue, which means one has the opportunity to gaze
upon it with a semblance of intimacy, making it easier to create a connection.
When I was eleven, I received a book of ancient Egyptian
history for Christmas. I have no doubt it was my mother who picked it our. Paul
Johnson’s Ancient Egypt was a very detailed tome with university level
vocabulary (one of the chapters is names ‘A Totalitarian Theocracy’.) and a
great many pictures. My mom, bless her, picked a great book for serious study
whilst allowing for serious photo-gazing for allowing a young mind to wander.
She clearly took my interest as seriously as I did.
In this book there is a picture of this well-preserved
falcon statue. Walking up to it, I couldn’t help but think about the countless hours
staring at the photo. I have come to realize that I have chosen many of the
sites we have visited based on my initial reaction to that book. Obviously, it
is a bit more complex than that, but this book, given to me in the early days
of this passion, has clearly had an impact. I still have it. It survived my
recent purge of my library for purely sentimental reasons. I cannot wait to
flip through it again after this trip.
The colours of the ceiling are well preserved, and the
temple itself is in remarkable condition. But it was the staircase that did me
in.
You may recall that there were bets about when I would burst
into tears. The good money was at Hatshepsut’s temple but that didn’t happen.
Neither did it happen at the Valley of the Kings. And certainly not at the
pyramids. Oh sure, I will admit to a few tearful moments, but not actual
crying.
The staircase, and accompanying narrow passages, are quite
intent. The walls are covered in beautiful relief of the god Horus and pharaohs
of the Ptolemaic period. When you walk up the gentle incline of the stairs you
must work to no brush up against the walls. The passages are lit with natural
sunlight beaming through narrow slits. You twist in a wide circular motion as
you make your way up to the roof. At Edfu, the roof is inaccessible, but the
effect is still strong.
When I visit an archaeological site, and I have visited
many, I am always attracted to stairways. These are places where you can
guarantee a person has trod. Often you can see the effects of thousands of
years of stepping on stairs, providing witness to this high traffic area. So,
walking up the original stairs within the intense artistry of this ancient
passageway reserved only for the priests, I was finally overcome with emotion.
I felt the tears beginning to well up and I looked down to concentrate on
stopping them. We reached the top and Eric turned around. I instinctively
looked up to face him and then it finally happened. It took two weeks, but I
did openly weep in Egypt.
I know. I’m pathetic. And if I had any sense at all I’d be
too embarrassed to admit this moment. But there you have it.
The next day found us north of Luxor to visit the temples of
Abydos and Dendara. Abydos’ small exterior belies a complex and well preserved
temple. Dedicated to the Osiris, ancient Egyptian king of the underworld, this
was a very influential cultural and religious centre. This is reflected in the
depictions of the god in his mummified form and of his wife Isis. We followed this visit with our final temple
visit. One that was, in my opinion, the best preserved.
The Temple of Dendara is famous for the high level of
preservation of the original colours still surviving after over two centuries.
Rich greens and brilliant whites and flashing gold create a ceiling of vibrant
colours that carpet the surface. And the blue! The lapis lazuli colour
throughout the complex brings a texture that is unique in this place. The
pillars are not immune to these dazzling displays, the capitals seemingly fresh
painted.
Like Edfu, there are passageways and stairs leading to the
rooftop, equally overwhelming and this time the passage to the roof is clear.
We find a small chapel, another smaller room and a view of our surroundings
that transport us back in time. The three of us, our guide, Eric and myself,
are alone. The place is ours and we wander on the roof looking about us in
wonder.
One of the sheltered spaces looks like a small hut, complete
with a window looking out onto the rooftop terrace. The blackened walls and hole
cut into the ceiling tells me this was a home at times. Used for shelter and
for a cooking fire. There were probably many residents here throughout the
ages, including early Christians evading persecution. Once again I am reminded that the relics of a
time in history that has kept my attention all these years has a rich and
vibrant history that takes place after the thirty dynasties that ruled the two
lands of Egypt.
Our guide, fed by my enthusiasm and a kindness that runs
deep, has made arrangement for a surprise for me. It will cost me a minor tip,
but one of the ‘guards’ will open up the crypt for me. Was it really closed to
begin with? Probably not. But I would not have known about it had he not made
us aware.
It wasn’t a crypt per se. There were no bodies here. It was
used for storage for the most part. But it was a secret underground passage
that required us to climb deep into the earth. Once I was able to swallow my
fear and wriggle my way through the small crawlspace, I found myself in another
passageway that was just as narrow and tall as the ones before. Eric and I
wandered through the passageway, taking in the myriad of reliefs that
surrounded us. It was deathly quiet, but calm. It seemed like we were alone in
the world, secure in the ground from the passage of a two thousand years.
As I stood there in the shadows of this passageway, with
only some light coming in from the passage leading to the outside world, I
became aware of how my most profound moments were manifesting in this trip. It wasn’t
the grand spectacles, the giant monuments, the vast footprints of temples, the
majesty of the pyramids, that impacted me emotionally the most. It was the
subtleties that moved me. The face of a pharaoh seeking immortality with the
head of his statue face down in the dirt. The vibrant blue night sky painted on
the ceiling of a tomb for a beloved wife. The back passages of a temple for the
practical use of the priests. These small witnesses to the motivations and
aspirations of the people behind the ruins were the things that most touched
me.
After over forty years of gazing at the splendours of this
place in books and in films, these very splendours have helped me see the
humanity of those who built them. And when all is said and done, it was this humanity,
a boy king, that drew me to this place to begin with.
We returned to Luxor and I would return to visit the Valley
of the Kings one more time. I visited all of the tombs I had not seen before,
including that of Tutankhamon’s.
If I am to be honest, I initially had no intention of
visiting the most famous tomb of the valley. I knew it was small, I knew there
was not much to see, and I knew that everyone would expect me to see it. It was
that latter point that finally convinced me to go. I didn’t want to constantly
justify a decision to not see it that would go against most tourist’s
rationale. It would be, in most people’s eyes, like going to Vegas and never
gambling. I just didn’t want to deal with it. So I went.
It was very small, and there was not much to see, and it
cost extra because it was famous. The boy king is the only mummy found in the
valley that still rests there. Too fragile to move, he rests to the left after
you exit the passageway. I am ambivalent about human remains. I find it often
disrespectful, appealing to morbid curiosity. Some places do it better than
others. Some place, like Pompeii where they have a display of the plaster casts
of corpses of varying decomposition displayed in their eternal agony like
butterflies, I find reprehensible.
Tutankhamen lies within a glass case with only his head and feet
visible. The rest is covered in linen.
As we left the tomb, I paused and I gazed upon him. I admit
it.
I like going to celebrity grave sites. I’ve seen the resting
places of Maria Callas, Houdini, Anne Bancroft, and many others. Why? I assure
you it’s not about some lurid sense of morbid curiosity. I wish to pay my
respects for their contributions to entertainment, to history, to providing me
with an escape in film or music or whatever. For Tutankhamen it was something a
little different.
This boy king whose only real historical importance is
having his tomb found intact, who did not live long enough to complete a
restoration of the status quo that was needed in Egypt at the time, had had a
profound affect on me. He had fired my imagination. He had given me a role
model of a young boy who had power, had agency, had value in his very presence.
Sure, the details were lost on me at the beginning, but the effect was true. He
had provided me with a focus upon which to train a mind that allowed me to
explore and discover an entire three thousand years of history. And, in so
doing, brought a sad, lonely boy, immense pleasure.
So, silently as others walked past me, I thanked him profusely.
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