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Date:
November 27, 2002
Mark Twain visited the pyramids of Giza in 1866. He reported:
A howling swarm of beggars followed us -- surrounded us -- almost
headed us off. A shiekh, in flowing white burnoose and gaudy headgear,
was with them. He wanted more baksheesh [tip, bribe]. But we had
adopted a new code -- it was millions for defense, but not a cent for
baksheesh. I asked him if he could persuade the others to depart if we
paid him. He said yes -- for ten francs [a fortune]. We accepted the
contract, and said:
'Now persuade your vassals to fall back.'
He swung his long staff round his head and three Arabs bit the dust. He
capered among the mob like a very maniac. His blows fell like hail, and
wherever one fell a subject went down. We had to hurry to the rescue
and tell him it was only necessary to damage them a little -- he need
not kill them. In two minutes we were alone with the shiekh, and
remained so. The persuasive powers of this illiterate savage were
remarkable.
I can report that 136 years later it is still the same. I spent a great
part of the day avoiding similiar scams. I did pay baksheesh to one
guard to photograph me when, for a few moments, we were alone in the
Great Pyramid. I laid in the red granite sarcophagus with my arms
crossed like King Cheops 4000 years earlier.
And, another very sneaky Egyptian who claimed to work for the pyramids
had the gaul to take my ticket as I entered the Queen's tomb. I was
momentarily trapped in the bottom when the power went out. When I exit
the man leads me to another tomb. 'Hurry,' he says, 'We close in a few
minutes.' My guide points out two deeps shafts. One is a secret passage
to the sphinx and the other leads to the Great Pyramid. Offerings of
money, beads, scarabs and food were thrown into the pits for the souls
of the Kings. I know this tour is going to cost money but I am tired of
looking at stone monuments. He leads me around a few more bends and
block structures of the Eastern Cemetary, then disappears into a small
hole, about about 50cm by 100cm. I crouch and crawl through, dragging
my backpack behind me. Like the the Tomb of the Doctor and the Great
Pyramid the tunnel is irregular having been ripped through the stone
walls. We emerge behind an iron gate. 'Shh. This area is closed. But
for you I make special trip.'
I am in a bit of a pickle. I analyze the situation: In Egypt, there
seem to be no rules except the survival of the fittest which is
generally governed by money. I judge that I am the one with the
advantage in size, strength and money, besides the ground is covered in
footprints. I am not the first. I follow him down another level, over
five sarcophaguses. They are blocks of white granite with small mummy
shapes carved into them.
To one side, a path hewn through the stone leads to the bottom of the
secret tunnels. And, I am led to believe the engineer built this super
secret passage so that he could rob the sacrifices.
We go down another level crawling over more sarcophaguses, some of
children and near the sarcophagus of the engineer, the largest one with
a lid ajar. I duck walk through the childrens' sarcophaguses and peer
inside the engineer's grave. It is recessed in a hole in the wall. 'The
mummy,' my guide says. But, it appears to be a box full of dust and cow
bones -- I have seen thousands of cows rotting alongside the road. In
fact, I happen to know the mummy of the engineer is in the Cairo
museum. Still, it is tantalizing to think that some of his dust
remains. In fact, I am covered in dust and probably have inhaled a
handful of the engineer himself.
There is still more levels and passages beneath us. The guide permits
me to go a bit farther just to look. 'It is not safe.' And it doesn't
look safe. The passages are flooded in dust and blocks of stone having
collapsed long ago and, of course, garbage. Even here there are
abandoned Coke bottles.
On the way back to the surface, the guide stops and seats himself in a
sarcophagus and motions me to sit in one opposite him. I think he will
expound a bit of history but he merely begins the haggle. I start to
panic being 3 levels below Giza in the tombs of the slaves blocked by a
greedy Egyptian with a lack of respect for the written law. My only
goal is to negotiate exiting the tomb. After several minutes, I
convince him to return my ticket and that I will pay him once he leads
me safely outside.
We duck walk back through the sarcophaguses. I am tired and still a bit
panicky, twice banging my back against the ceiling. I resort to just
sitting and dragging myself through the dust. I am surprised how little
sand there is in the desert here. It is mostly gravel and rocks with a
bit of sand piling in the shallow spots. It seems the over the
millenium that the tombs has filtered all the dust out of the desert. I
pop out of the tomb like a prarie dog, covered in Giza colored powder
indistinguishable from the desert. Or so I had hoped. In front of me
riding a camel is a guard dressed in a ragged uniform, a rifle propped
upon his shoulder and grinning like a monkey. Of course, he's as happy
as an Egyptian fly on my sweaty white ass.
Luckily, this experience cost me only a dollar. I paid with smile and
ran off into the desert.
A few notes:
Spell check is not working.
My last letter was a bit melodramatic. I guess I still had some dust
stuck in my head. I could have summarized by saying that I know
everything I need to know and I am just content to live. My friend Anja
summarized my feelings well, 'I'm now wishing you all the people and
difficulties you need to grow and 'develop' further.'
The mystery city is Cairo.
A short summary on Egypt: Here in the Islam world people pray 5 times a
day in a ritual repeated 5 times. So, 25 times a day the Muslims touch
their head to the ground during prayer. Some devote Muslims wear a
badge of honor, a bruise on the center of their forehead from
repeatedly bashing their head into the ground. It is an even higher
mark of honor if you have a lump of scar tissue. The pinnacle of faith
is actually wearing the flesh right of your skull. This ritual may be
the center of problems between Islam and the Western World, rather than
knocking some sense into them it must give them a lot of funny ideas,
for instance: starving themselves during Ramadan (Muslims are not
allowed to eat or even drink water during daylight hours.),
circumsizing their daughters, kidnapping their wives, throwing so much
garbage in the canals that rats can run from one side to the other,
fertilizing their crops with human waste, eradicating any hint of
Western culture, cheating people out of money, even their own friends,
etc. I feel close-minded saying I really dislike Egyptian culture.
Aren't all travelers supposed to say: I loved the food, I loved the
music and the people were fantastic. I was sick twice on the food.
Even the Arabs say their music sounds like a camel farting in the
desert. I experienced this firsthand and can say it is an accurate
assessment. As for the people: mostly I was either being cheated or
harassed for being American. Turkey was very nice. So, I can't
attribute my distaste of Egypt for the religion of Islam, just the
Egyptians' interpretation. I was hoping, in light of the present
political situation, to have some nice things to report.¾ Perhaps, I am
not the epitome of a traveler, but if having traveled through 45
countries gives me any authority, I say don't bother with Egypt.
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