Safely Home

Arrived in Los Angeles @ 7:45 PM. Now home in Ojai.

What an incredible journey!

Disconnecting the phones and going to bed. It's been a very long day...

Good night!

Last Day in Egypt

Today is our last day in Egypt. It's also my birthday (57, just like Heinz flavors). We're taking it easy. No museums or sight-seeing. We went walking around Zamalek Island a bit at lunch time, window shopping, and grabbed some grub at a local cafe. Window seats, great for people watching. We'll go out again for dinner later on. Now just sort of relaxing and vegetating at the hotel.

We have to re-pack our bags for international travel. A taxi will take us to the airport at midnight. Flight is not until 4:00 AM, but ride to airport could take anywhere from a half hour to two hours. You never know. Better be there early. So we will be home-bound in a few hours.

Home? What is home? It's been over a month and I am not sure what home is anymore. In my current state of mind, home consists of a few concepts, like my cappuccino machine and my bed, but beyond that it is totally abstract. I know I'll have to hit the ground running when I get there, as the demands of professional life are already infiltrating the back door of my consciousness. But not yet.

This adventure has been everything I had hoped for, and much more. Even with the down time caused by that dreaded infection in Luxor, what I have seen and experienced here more than fulfills the dreams I held for so long. As an artist, every fiber of my being has resonated to the deep vibrations of this land, its art and history, its rich & verdant fields, its beautiful people.

Egypt is nothing like what we are used to in America. But that's the whole point, stepping out of the sterilized, streamlined North American mindset. Notwithstanding the desperate and overly rude vendors at some of the archaeological sites, I have found the Egyptian People to be warm and welcoming, full of humor and quick to share a smile and a laugh. They are also proud and hopeful for the new direction their country is taking, despite the hardships of societal change.

I do wish them a bright future, one I hope to experience again.

Signing off.

Costco

Second full day at the Museum. This time the plan was to systematically go into each gallery, scan the contents, and perhaps linger a while on some select pieces.

There is NO way someone can really SEE everything, let alone absorb the sheer magnitude of the collections. This is not so much a Museum as it is a dusty Costco warehouse specializing in Egyptian antiquities. Except that at Costco, items are better labeled and identified. I'd say that 2% of all the priceless antiquities here have an actual descriptive label, although the factual accuracy thereof is often fanciful, and written in French. Oxymoron if there ever was one...

My knowledge of many of these treasures comes from books - you know, the expensive coffee-table tomes I usually get on my birthday or Christmas mornings - and I am often surprised by what I see. Scale is one such challenge to my pre-conceptions. Many items are *much* smaller than I had envisioned, showing a level of exquisite detail that defies logic, whereas some are quite a bit larger. Monumental, really.

I spend some delightful moments scrutinizing the scale models of the middle-kingdom, miniature scenes carved out of wood that show the daily activities of a well-run country estate. Here women are weaving linen; here men are driving cattle, catching fish or doing carpentry work in a well-appointed workshop. Imbued with magic, these models insured their owners of a prosperous afterlife. Having spent much of my childhood building scale models of boats, homes and castles, I take great pleasure imagining how the craftsman created these, held this or that part while the glue dried, his choice of material or color. It all speaks to me.

I can't show you pictures of my favorite pieces. First, there are too many and, secondly, photography is not allowed inside the museum. Didn't used to be the case, but I can understand their policy. Some of the priceless artifacts are so fragile that one flash too many could turn them to crumbling dust.

We spend a good six hours at the museum, with an intermission for lunch at the Movenpick Hotel-operated cafe outside.

Again, I've turned into a babbling idiot. I cannot stand on my legs anymore, but am afraid to sit down for fear I'd never get up again.

My brain is beyond full, like a sponge that cannot possibly absorb one more droplet of artistic bliss. Total saturation. It will take months and years to process it all. After I tell Denny that I'm done for the day, we slowly stroll through some of the galleries, saying our goodbyes to our favorites.

I will be back.

Some day.

Soon.

King Tut-ed Out

The gentleman at the hotel desk tells us we can either walk to Tahrir Square and the Egyptian Museum in fifteen to thirty minutes, or take a cab and be there in an hour... Really.

We decide to walk it. Last night's foray into downtown Cairo has done a lot to allay my fears of this huge city. It's really not all that far, and the directions are rather simple. Down the street, over the bridge crossing the Nile, down the riverside Corniche and left after passing the burned out government building! See, easy!

Our first visit to the Egyptian Museum was over two weeks ago with Medhat, Dr. Kemp and the rest of the tour group. That visit was a great introduction, but limited in time. Now I want to splurge.

Upon entering we immediately turn right and go up the stairs. I want to go directly to the Tutankhamun section and spend all the time necessary to see all I want. Sort of getting it out of my system. I can't remember how many artifacts Howard Carter retrieved from that tiny tomb in the Valley of the Kings. I know it is thousands. Most of them are here at the museum.

I'm going to have myself a time, as our dear friend Lang would say.

The late eighteen dynasty was a high-water mark in the applied arts. The inlaid boxes and chests, stools, chairs and beds show consummate craftsmanship and artistry. Every day objects rendered beautiful beyond the necessities of function.

I work my way slowly. There's a crowd ahead, clustered around the famed golden throne. A Japanese television crew is swarming around the all-too-familiar figure of Dr. Zahi Hawass, who is mugging it for the camera, probably claiming to have discovered it all himself single-handledly...

I eventually get my own private face-to-face time with the self-same throne. There are very good reasons why it is famous. The richness of the decoration and the uniqueness of the scene on its back rest are just mind-boggling. Two additional large chairs displayed nearby are no less sumptuous to my eyes. Working my way down the large gallery I find a large display case filled with ceremonial walking sticks. There, couched rather unceremoniously, are two sticks, one of gold and the other of silver, that throw me back almost fifty years to that first trance-like encounter I had had with things Egyptian. Each is surmounted with a tiny solid metal statuette of the child King, and would have been used during the rituals of his coronation. I remember seeing the silver one as a child of nine years of age. I'm getting all choked up again.

In what I'll call the "treasury room", I work my way from the periphery, looking closely at the jewelry and other artifacts while pretending to ignore the 800-lbs gorillas in the middle of the room, namely the golden mask and the solid gold coffin. That's OK, I'm circling like a shark, getting ever closer.

Along with Nefertiti's head, Tutankhamun's golden mask is today perhaps the most recognized symbol of ancient Egypt's splendor. There's nothing else quite like it, even though about a dozen other solid gold mummy masks from various kings have survived to this day. This mask shows the idealized features of Tutankhamun as he would have appeared to the gods upon his rebirth into the afterlife. No mortal eyes were ever meant to gaze upon it after burial. We are intruding. It is also an exquisite, sensitive portrait of the young king. I try to remind myself that this is just sheet metal that's been hammered into shape, looking for signs of the artist's hand. So strong is its power that it nearly blinds me to its details.

If the mask evokes the pathos and poignancy of a young king's life cut short, the gold coffin projects pure opulence. It dazzles and shimmers. The chased decoration, covering it from head to toe, is testimony to the goldsmith's art. The inlaid cloisonné forms of Nekbet and Wadjet, spreading their wings over the king's torso, add color to the otherwise continuous expanse of solid gold. Close inspection reveals that the winged goddesses forms had been chased and incised in all their feathery detail into the body of the coffin before being added as a cloisonné overlay, as if the latter was an afterthought, or something to be done if afforded the leisure of time.

My brain is on overload.

Conga Line

Skipped a chapter here, or episode.

That of transferring from Luxor to Cairo yesterday Friday. It all went rather smoothly and uneventfully, so not much there to write about. Even the taxi ride from airport to the hotel on Zamalek Island had lost much of its original impact, perhaps due to it being on a holy day with much reduced traffic.

While on the plane the Egypt Air in-flight magazine Horus had caught Denny's eye, especially an article about Grammy Award winner musician Fathy Salama, a Cairo-born sensation who weaves a fusion of jazz, house-digital, African and Muslim genres. He was playing last night in Downtown Cairo. Once we got to the hotel, Denny looked him up online, found where he was playing and how much the tickets were and called the box office. No need for reservations. We'd take a cab there.

Friday night in downtown Cairo is like Saturday night at the county fair, on acid. I think I even saw some tri-color cotton candy sold to celebrate the revolution on Tahrir Square. The population is definitely young. All the stores are open. Vendors spill out from the sidewalks and onto the roadway, selling piles of clothes, electronics and assorted nicknacks. We go around in circles, not finding the venue, stopping thrice to ask for directions. Our driver, arranged by the hotel, neither speaks nor reads English, and the address is handwritten in English on the page Denny tore out of the magazine. Once we find it, the concert is already underway. We slip in.

The music is very good, I think, but not a genre we would go out of our way to attend a concert of if it were in our hometown. The musicians are excellent, especially the drummer and the tabla player - divine. I appreciate stepping out of our comfort zone and am grateful Denny suggested it. After the concert, we still have a bit over a half-hour to kill until midnight when our driver is to pick us up, so we stroll the human carnival that's moving like a conga-line on both sides of the street, leaving little space for vehicles in the middle. Methinks we're the only Westerners in this sea of Egyptians. We do stand out.

Intense.

Sennedjem

I was not going to leave Luxor without having seen the tomb that Sennedjem -- "Servant in the Place of Truth", master draftsman and architect for Pharaoh in the Valley of the Kings -- had carved and decorated for himself and his family some 3,400 years ago. A simple courtesy call between artists is the way I see it. He has provided me with such inspiration over the years, I was not going to miss this.

Which is to say, Denny and I have resumed regular programming today, albeit at a reduced scale, part of which is due to the sudden turn to summer-like temperatures after a rather mild spring. Now it oscillates between HOT, TOO HOT, and WAY TOO HOT.

The ancient village now known as Deir El Medina was tucked in a separate valley away from the cultivated floodplain, a few hills and ridges over from the Valley of the Kings. There lived the stone workers, carvers, artists and painters that dug out and decorated the magnificent tombs of the Kings, Queens and high nobles privileged with burials near their Kings. The workers lived separately from the general population, given the sensitivity of their work. We'd call it high-security clearance stuff nowadays. They were well-paid and taken care of (though they are known to have staged the first recorded workers' strike in history), with wages being distributed in foodstuffs, clothing and other necessities of life. Here they lived, worked, taught and trained their progeny, prepared their own tombs, and died.

And what incredibly beautiful places of eternity they prepared for themselves!

When the cream of the crop of funerary art architects and artists get together on their free time and collaborate on their own private sepulchers, the results are bound to be outstanding.

We first visit the burial chambers of Inherkhau. The place is tiny -- by pharaonic standards -- but the paintings are so lively and fresh, devoid of the formality found in the royal hypogeums. The painted ceiling of the antechamber is a delight, reproducing what I believe would have been woven textiles in a rainbow of colors. One can almost do a thread count...

The burial chamber itself is a pure joy. Yes, there are funerary themes explored on the walls, but the general atmosphere is that of a family celebration, and we are invited to join the party. A fleshy harpist plucks the strings of his instrument and one can almost hear the guests clapping their hands in approval while the children run around the room.

Wow.

And this was just an appetizer.

When we start into Sennedjem's tomb next door, a guard at the entrance tells me that there are 'officials' in the tomb, but that it's OK to go in. Climbing down, I do indeed find four men in suits and one woman in the already small chamber. They are engaged in rather animated discussion. With my non-existent knowledge of Arabic, I cannot tell whether they're congratulating themselves into a frenzy or chewing each other to pieces and spitting out the bloody bits. I suspect the latter. Eventually they stop and leave. The last one to exit turns to tell me: "Sorry about that."

Sennedjem was probably Inherkhau's boss, or father-in-law, or both. They may have worked on each other tombs. Sennedjem's burial chamber is the most beautiful painted space I have ever seen. It was found intact and piled to the rafters with high quality funerary equipment -- which I will be looking at very closely at the Cairo Museum in a day or two.

On the walls of the simple vaulted room, the colors, composition and draftsmanship all speak of the highest care and dedication. One is transported into the vision Sennedjem had for his afterlife and that of his loved ones. It is a serene, peaceful yet responsible life he is preparing for, as we see him and his beautiful wife harvesting wheat and flax, tending a garden or sailing the cooling waters of the canals that encircle the Elysian Fields. Even Sennedjem's judgement and encounter with Osiris is treated in joyful colors, the great God of the afterlife surrounded by festoons of flowers and placated with heaps of offerings. The ceiling is mostly reserved for scenes of Sennedjem encountering various deities of the afterlife, and apparently satisfying their curiosity, as he and his wife are last seen meeting the Lady of the Sycamore, who greets them and offers them libations of refreshing water.

This is the stuff many dreams will be made of.

Two Moustaches And No Woman? Marry Me!

Capitalizing on our steadily improving health, we took the ferry across the Nile this morning to go and conduct some much needed financial transactions at the Thomas Cook office located just outside the Old Winter Palace in Luxor. This also meant having to run the gauntlet of taxi and horse-drawn carriage drivers, private boat operators, fellucca sailors and other such entrepreneurs plying their trade.

Being cooped up sick in the hotel room for a week had sheltered us from the daily onslaught.

Some are discreet, some are rude, many are simply not understanding that we may actually want to walk the half kilometer between the ferry landing and the grand Victorian-era hotel.

I mean, if they need the money, how could we possibly not want to ride with them?

I know, I know, we Californians are so illogical.

Also, and most importantly for me, this half-kilometer stroll happens to skirt the west side of the Temple of Luxor, giving a clear view into the temple itself and the later period constructions that are being excavated and conserved by teams of archaeologists. I want to walk it slowly and take pictures.

Fortunately for us, a large influx of fair-but-soon-to-turn-pink-skinned tourists seems to have requested the services of -- or fallen prey to -- the horse carriage drivers this morning, as most are trotting along the Corniche with full payload. Not that we totally escape attention, however.

There's still the taxi and boat operators to deal with...

Just before we reach the hotel, this tiny, attractive younger woman swathed in black linen greets us on the sidewalk, complimenting us on our beards and saying: "How come? Two Moustaches And No Woman? You should marry me!"

We just burst out laughing.

Of course she's trying to sell some merchandise, following us, she's got a bagful of nicknacks she's already digging into, but we keep walking, daring not to slow our pace for fear of the consequences.

How would we explain the Egyptian wife to our friends and families back home?

The Dreaded Sixty-Seven Steps

What the hell was I thinking!?!

Obviously, I wasn't.

One would assume that, given the realities of a slowly-but-surely deteriorating hip and related messed-up knee, not to mention the taxation imposed on those self-same joints by two glorious weeks of scaling hillsides and sand dunes, climbing in and out of tomb shafts and corridors, and trekking for kilometers across the desert, I would have given more consideration to the wisdom of reserving a room on the top floor of a country hotel. It didn't even occur to me to check if there was a lift or elevator.

To my defense, the reservations were made over three months ago. I had no idea.

I guess I was lured by the romance of the roof top terrace, the views across the Nile to the great temples and beyond.

When we got here ten days ago, I thought "Wow, that' going to be interesting!" We'd just have to take it slow, and by the end of our stay here we'd be stronger and have glutei maximi made of steel! Yeah, right.

Now that both Denny and I have been sick and weakened by this debilitating infection, climbing up or down has been a sometimes near-insurmountable challenge.

I must admit that I have skipped a meal or two these last few days, just because trying to muster the strength to face the dreaded stairway was not going to happen.

SIXTY-SEVEN STEPS...

We pause and catch our breath at each of the six landings, looking forward to crash on the bed once we reach the bedroom.

But we are improving, no longer threatening to pass out before we reach the fourth floor.

Who knows, I may yet get those glutes of steel afterall.

While on the subject of delirious dreams

Six or seven years ago I was laid down by some bronchitis and experiencing high fever. I had just received the large coffee table book "Luxor and the Valley of the Kings" (ordered on Amazon), and was reading it in bed, before falling asleep with the book open at the aerial photo of the temple of Medinet Habu. That night I dreamed that my body was the temple. The next morning the fever had broke and I wrote down the dream as a poem. I just found it in my online email archives. Enjoy!

********************

I am the Temple and the Temple is in me,
Alive and breathing, alert and conscious.

The towering pylons of my gateway heave as I draw air,
While in the great court of appearances,
Lotiform columns dance around my middle.

My halls are vibrant with the spells of long forgotten Gods,
Potent talismans, and irrefutable truths.

I am Temple.

Perfectly ordained and symmetrical, sacred architecture turned into flesh.

I am Maat.

A great tremor brings down my hypostyle halls,
Uproots my flagpoles and reveals my crypts.

I cry: 'Why are thou destroying my walls, laying waste to my sanctuary?'

Fear not, for you are the seed of new worlds!

Burning wind scatters my stones.

The exquisitely carved reliefs of my sacred processions
Float away with increasing speed,
Gods of stone and precious inlays forever broken,
No single block ever to find its match again.

I cry: 'Why are thou dispersing my bones, crushing my head, turning me to dust?'

Fear not, for you are a new beginning!

The fire is in my eyes and my eyes are fire.
Great swirls of burning aether glow with the colors of cosmic birth.

I reach out to embrace the void,
Each finger separated by eons of time,
Grasping matter yet to exist.

Thus the Temple expands into the realm of the Gods, filling space as it creates it.

I am the Temple and the Temple is in me.

I cry.

Still sick

Hopefully the antibiotics are doing their work. Denny seems to be improving, slowly.

Nothing else to talk about.

Yellow room.

The room is painted in two or three shades of pale yellow. With the domed ceiling it is quite lovely. Might as well enjoy it since I will be bed-ridden for a couple more days at least.

Yesterday was glorious with high fever-induced dreams and associated hallucinations. By contrast, today I am just plain sick and hurting like I've been the victim of a baseball bat beating.

Started the antibiotics yesterday, just have to let the thing run its course.

Denny is starting to get better, cautiously. By Monday we will all be strong, hale and hardy and resuming our explorations.

The Revenge of the Pharaohs

I guess no extended foreign travel to exotic lands would be complete without some form of medical situation to spice things up and allow for meaningful interaction with the natives. Whether it is Vishnu, Montezuma or King Tut's revenge, when one feels the all too familiar tummy rumblings, the stage opens to a wild roller coaster ride.

Khaled, the owner of the El Fayrouz with his German-born wife Susan, kindly offers to drive us to the doctor's office at six o'clock. The road to Habu is much more quiet than it was earlier in the day. The near-riot at the one gas station has mostly dissipated by now and we ride unencumbered in Khaled's dusty old Mercedes sedan. Arriving at Habu, he takes the dirt road around the back of the village, skirting the perimeter of the great temple, to avoid the area where the mourning families are still gathering. I'll learn later in the evening that traditionally, funerals used to last a full week -- and still do in some of the more remote rural areas -- but now are mostly reduced to a three-day period, allowing for a long procession of friends and relatives to come pay their respects to the grieving family and bring offerings of food. It does remind me of the millennia-old carved and painted scenes I have seen in the tombs...

We enter the waiting room. Three men and two women are already sitting on low benches, waiting for their turn. Khaled sits and waits with us. A television tuned to what must be Egypt's version of C-Span shows corpulent men in their pinstripe suits and Rolex watches caught in the act of law-making. I wouldn't trust any of them, and the other sitters in the room seem equally unimpressed. True democracy is still a far-fetched dream here. US Secretary of State Hillary Clinton briefly appears on the screen, with Arabic subtitles. Someone needs to tell her to fire her hair dresser immediately.

Through the door opening in the thick plastered mudbrick wall, I see slender men in their elegant galabeyas balancing huge platters of food on their heads, walking slowly towards the wake. It seems like an image from a surrealist movie. Indeed, this whole day unfolds like a movie.

It's our turn and I go in with Denny. Dr. Boutros is a handsome man of Coptic background, probably in his fifties, intelligent, animated and straightforward. Highly educated, he comes from a well-to-do Cairo family, but has chosen to come practice in this rural area, charging a nominal fee for consultations. By contrast, he tells us of his brother who practices psychiatry in San Francisco, California, making all sorts of money. He quickly diagnoses Denny's ailment. It is an intestinal bug, most likely food-borne, that is spreading to his other systems. By this time Denny is very weak, having not retained any food in over three days. We're getting up to go and Denny immediately needs to sit back down on the bench, looking like he's going to pass out. He's all gray, cold and clammy and the last time I ever saw him looking this good he was having a heart attack six years ago... I am freaking out, yet with my best measured and composed voice I mention that earlier medical event to the doctor. He's already taken Denny's pulse and blood pressure, which were fine, so he dismisses that possibility and instead puts a salt tablet on Denny's tongue. With all the fluids he's been losing -- and replenished only with water -- his electrolytes levels are just plain depleted. Dr. Boutros adds fizzy electrolytes packets to the prescription.

We swing by a pharmacy on the way back, where we find all the necessary antibiotics and supplements on the list.

The consultation and prescriptions cost us all of £145 LE, or about $24.00 US dollars. Local villagers only pay a fraction of that. No wonder they love him to pieces.

This morning Denny seems to have a bit more spark in his eyes, whereas I've had obsessive dreams all night (arranging and re-aligning countless unidentified carved stone blocks, over and over again, trying to make sense of them). Sisyphus pushing his boulder uphill... I'm trying to convince myself that the aches and pains are due to all sorts of hitherto unknown muscles that were awakened by my day of digging in the trench. But over breakfast I have to confront the evidence: I too have a fever, chills and feel like crap. I barely make it up the stairs to the room, running out of steam halfway.

I guess I'll get to see the good doctor Boutros again...

A Village in Mourning

Before I got to the temple at Medinet Habu this morning, I had a mission: that of finding the office of Dr. Boutros and making an appointment for Denny who doesn't seem to be getting the upper hand on this respiratory/intestinal bug he caught. Dr. Boutros comes highly recommended. Even one of the hotel guest, a French woman who is also a physician, told me he was the man to see. He lives and works in the little village right in front of the temple enclosure. The cab driver who took me there knew him well, saying he is a good doctor, kinda crazy, but a good doctor.

I find the office alright -- his name is painted above the door -- but Mr. Boutros is not there. He usually opens his office at six in the evening, or so I am told...

Meanwhile the little village of Habu is in turmoil. A woman died unexpectedly yesterday. We even heard about it at the hotel. Details are missing but apparently she collapsed quite suddenly, having shown no signs of illness. When we arrive at Habu the place is crowded with people, cars, motorcycles and camels. Everybody came to honor the life of a daughter, sister, mother and wife who was well loved. Men and women dressed in black crowd the dusty road. I stick out like a sore thumb, but fortunately nobody pays me any attention.

Later, after visiting the temple, I come back again to see if by miracle the good doctor would be back already (he is not). The streets are now deserted, except for a lone donkey, too young to be put to work. His coat is thick and fuzzy like a plush toy. He lets me pet him on the head and stroke his furry ears.

We will be back at six this evening.

The crush of humanity

With my legendary luck, I arrive at Medinet Habu as five busloads of high school children, augmented by one each of German, French and British tourists, are spilling their contents at the entrance. It will be just peachy to try to see anything, let alone take photographs...

I take my time and wander off into the smaller adjacent temple of Amun, started around the time of Hatshepsut and Tuthmosis III, and added to through the Ptolemaic period. Interesting to see how the style evolves from New Kingdom to Late Period. Crews from the Chicago House are conducting conservation work there and a large part of the temple is cordoned off, which doesn't prevent two young pubescent women in their brightly colored scarves from going over the rope to take cellphone pictures of each other in provocative poses in front of the carved reliefs. The photos are probably already uploaded on their FaceBook pages. Speaking of which, as I brave the crush of humanity to enter the main temple, at least a dozen kids ask to be photographed with me. I have to wonder what they see in this middle-aged bearded foreigner...

My patience pays off, and after maybe 30 minutes a teacher blows a whistle to summon the kids back to the waiting buses. How far did they come from to spend such little time here? Cairo? Alexandria? I can't help but wonder what, if anything, they will retain of their visit. Just one more obligatory school trip perhaps.

The monumental fortified gate at the entrance of the precinct is unique in Pharaonic architecture. It is called a Migdol and is said to be inspired by fortifications in the Levant. It was the point of entry into a massive enclosure wall made of unfired mud brick. Within that enclosure is the aforementioned temple of Amun, the chapels of the Adoratrices of Amun, the memorial temple of Rameses III proper, its adjacent palace and a number of ancillary buildings, store rooms etc.

Most impressive to me is the perfect alignment -- en enfilade -- of the buildings. From the Migdol gate one can see all the way into the vanishing point of the Holy of Holies. Strangely enough it reminds me of Versailles or the Louvre seen from Les Tuileries in Paris. I guess royal architecture from all eras find their common ground in the grandiosity of their perspective.

The kids are gone and the tourists have splintered into smaller groups. I venture into the main temple, which is the most complete and well-preserved of all the memorial temples of the West Bank. Many column, wall and ceiling decorations retain much of their original color. Use of color was very symbolic in ancient Egypt. Skin color in particular. Men had reddish skin while women were represented with more of a golden tan. As far as the gods were concerned, however, skin tones ran the gamut. I already knew that Amun had blue skin (sky color), and Osiris was green (regeneration), but I am here surprised to see that the lioness-headed Sekhmet had the loveliest turquoise as a foundation.

There used to be an early Christian Church built into the second courtyard, of which no trace remains. One can infer its presence by the removal of the original Osirian pillars, and the strange square sockets carved at regular intervals into the architrave around the courtyard, presumably to hold supporting beams.

The palace intrigues me. Rather small and intimate one would think for such a great king, but one must remember that Pharaoh wouldn't hold court here, it was just a place to stay and rest while visiting for ceremonies and celebrations, or to survey the construction progress. The king's bathroom shows one of the earliest instances of a shower stall with indoor plumbing. Ah, luxury!

On my way to Medinet Habu

Leaving shortly for Medinet Habu, the memorial temple precinct of 20th dynasty pharaoh Rameses III, which also includes earlier shrines from the 18th dynasty, as well as later additions all the way to the time of the Roman era.

Off I go!

Playing in the Dirt

I am on my hands and knees in a dusty trench, scraping age-old dirt from an old mud brick pavement in an ancient Roman settlement in front of the great pylon towers of Karnak Temple.

Covered with dust like an old donkey, I am the happiest man on earth!

When we visited with the group over a week ago, the excavations director, Dr. Salah ElMasekh Ahmed, invited me to come back and dig with his team. As if I could ever refuse...

Dr. Salah and his team have been making wonderful discoveries at the Karnak temple, including the original docks where the royal barques would tie up in front of the temple, later period Greek and Roman settlements, bath houses and spas where pilgrims would purify themselves before entering the great shrine.

I crossed the river this morning, taking the public ferry and then a cab to get over to Karnak. When I got there the site was vibrant with activity. From a distance Salah recognizes me and waves. Not wanting to interrupt his work I ask to be put to work immediately. He puts me in the good hands of Amira, a young Egyptologist doing her internship and working on her Ph.D. She hands me a trowel, a toothbrush and shows me how to scrape off compacted sediment to make the floor of the section level. Then it's on the walls of the section we work, making them straight and as plumb and smooth as possible to facilitate reading the strata. In the course of doing so we find many pottery fragments, a much corroded Roman bronze coin and what I first believe to be a small tooth.

I'm about to call a press conference to announce that we have found the "Lost Tooth of The Pharaoh" when Amira points out that it is in fact a small quartz pebble. Perfect shape and color though...

She seems happy with my work and leaves me to my own devices to attend a meeting with Dr. Salah and a visitor. Short lunch break and we return to work until about 1:00 pm or so.

In those few dusty hours this morning I have realized a lifelong dream, one more in an incredible string that once seemed unattainable.

I'm smiling so hard my face hurts.

Later, I wander inside the temple, lingering in those areas that were covered all too briefly with the tour last week. I find my way to the Open Air Museum, where a number of beautiful shrines and chapels -- whose blocks had been reused as fill in the great pylons -- have been painstakingly reassembled. What a treat! This late in the afternoon, I am the only one there. Wonderful!

Mohamed the Potter

I left Denny to rest at the hotel (his fever did break and he says he is feeling somewhat better), and decided to go to the Egyptian Antiquities Organization Ticket Office some two-three miles up the road from here near the Colossi of Memnon. The plan was to buy all the tickets I needed for the next ten days -- one buys entry tickets for each individual site -- so I could just get up and go each morning. First I had thought of getting a taxi ride, but there wasn't any available nearby so I decided to walk, bad hip, messed-up knee and all. Actually it wasn't so bad, the terrain being absolutely level.

Long story short, but at the end of that long walk I learned that one can only buy what tickets are going to be used on the day of purchase. Maybe they issue only so many tickets for each site each day, or maybe it is to discourage scalping. Oh well!

But it was time wonderfully wasted.

I got to stop by at the office of ARCE (American Research Center in Egypt) across the road from the Colossi of Memnon, and briefly meet with John Shearman, director of ARCE for the Luxor area. We have plans to meet again later in the week and see the wonderful things they have been working on here.

Then I meet Mohamed. He is standing proudly in front of his display of rustic pottery alongside the road. His galabeya does little to conceal his rail-thin frame. His eyes sparkle and his smile is genuine. He invites me in and asks where I am visiting from. California I say. I ask about his pottery -- obviously utilitarian in nature -- and what sort of meals are cooked in the bowls and dishes he makes. The unglazed but highly burnished pots are so much better than modern metal pots and pans, which contain harmful mineral and toxins he says. Much better to use unglazed pottery to cook meals. I say that I am a potter too, but use clay to make sculpture. He raises a curious eyebrow. Would you like to see? I have my iPad with me and pull it out of its padded bag.

Mohamed's eyes grow wide. He's never seen an iPad before. They grow even wider when I show him some of my work, especially the Egyptian-inspired pieces with neon. I feel almost sorry as I can feel the synapses in his brain blowing up like so many overloaded power grid transformers on a three-digit summer day in Southern California.

But he recovers quickly. "You are not a tourist", he says, "you come here to work?" I come here to study, I say, to see the wonderful artwork of the tombs and temples, and be inspired by it all. He tells me that he has worked as a day laborer for the French Egyptology Mission, and then we switch to French, which he is better at than English. By this time he is holding my hand like a long-time friend would, introducing me to his assistant and showing me the wares he just pulled out of his kiln earlier in the day. He invites me to come back for tea. We part after many handshakes and a hug or two.

On the way back an old water wheel captures my attention, as do the verdant fields and distant Theban Necropolis, the latter glowing in golden ocher tones in the late afternoon sun.

View from the rooftop

Fellucca sailing by in front of the great colonnade of Luxor Temple. View from our rooftop terrace. :-)

Sunset over Luxor

Arrived back in Luxor shortly before 1:00 pm. Airport near empty. Half a dozen cab drivers fighting over our bags and not even listening to what we want, where we want to go, let alone telling us how much the ride to the ferry will be. Denny raises his voice and tells them to back off. We finally agree on a fee and itinerary with a driver and embark on a white-knuckle ride to the ferry.

Adventure!

At the ferry, same story. Smaller boat operators offer us 'deals' that are really twice the rate of the public ferry (2 Egyptian Pounds or about 35 cents) while trying to pry our bags out of our hands. I think the last time I said 'NO' that many times I was two years old, had just learned the word, and reveled in its power...

Pleasantly rustic, the El Fayrouz hotel -- the name means pineapple -- is a walkable distance from the ferry, but, with my hip acting up and the heavy luggage, I'm glad we took a cab again for the short ride.

We're on the top floor in a dome ceiling room that will be our home for the next two weeks. On the roof terrace above the room, we get a clear view of the great colonnade of Luxor temple, across the Nile to the east, while turning to the west I can see the mortuary temple of Hatchepsout in the distance. After spending the rest of the afternoon mostly relaxing and taking short naps, we catch the last of the sunset from the rooftop before walking down to the garden for a dinner of traditional Egyptian delicacies...

Tomorrow will probably be spent doing a whole lot of nothing. The tour was intense, exhilarating, and exhausting. I need to absorb and process the wonders we've been privileged to see. New explorations can wait until Monday. I may also skip a day or two of blogging and internet, unless the withdrawal symptoms become too strong to bear. No new photos today, the cameras stayed safely in their pouches all day.

Flying back to Luxor

Sitting at Cairo International Airport, waiting for our flight back to Luxor. We are here waaaay early, having taken advantage of the chartered bus ride to the airport with the rest of the group, which was flying back to London. Great group of people. Warm hugs, embraces and a few teary eyes as we said our goodbyes. I'll check in again when we are at the El Fayrouz hotel on the West Bank at Luxor...

Saqqara

This last day of the "Pharaohs of the Sun" tour surely provided a grand finale to what has already been an exercise in superlatives. Like I was saying this morning to fellow traveler Sonia, "I'm suffering from artistic orgasm fatigue". No kidding!

A convoy of Toyota Landcruisers is awaiting us at the hotel this morning, instead of the usual Traveline bus. Denny and I sit with Medhat in the lead vehicle, and off we go.

I have seen the step pyramid of Djoser at Saqqara in books and documentaries before. It is reputed to be the first large work in stone masonry ever built in Egypt.

First stop is at the Imhotep Museum at the entrance to the area. It is a very well designed and curated exhibit, at par with the Luxor Museum. An adjacent lecture hall houses a large scale model of the site, made by French archaeologist Jean Phillipe Lauer -- who spent his life well into his late nineties working and restoring the structure. The enclosing compound and its ancillary shrines and other votive buildings is what fascinates me most. These are 'fake' buildings, structures filled solid with stone, of a purely symbolic nature. Their decoration and architectural detail seem to emulate archaic buildings made of reeds and mud, thought to be the original homes of the gods. Many of the defining styles of Ancient Egyptian architecture were first laid out here, and in later dynasties artists and engineers came to study the buildings. At that time the architect Imhotep had already attained the status of a demi-god and was the object of a cult.

From there we go to the pyramid of Teti and the mastaba of Kagemni. WOW! Though its superstructure is mostly dilapidated, Teti's burial chamber is a pure delight, showing a complete, pristine and exquisitely carved rendition of the 'pyramid texts'. Una's sepulcher might have been the first to incorporate those sacred texts and spells, but Teti's the best! What a treat!

Oh, and watch your head when you climb down the ramp to the burial chamber, the ceiling is very low...

Nearby Kagemni mastaba is filled with lively scenes of hunting and fishing in the marshes. I am afraid my fellow tour members are getting tired of hearing me say "Wow!" I'm just getting blown away every five steps I take...

Above a doorway Kagemni is shown being carried in a sedan chair. That would be just my style.

Then come what is, for me, the highlight of the day (Medhat has been pulling strings in the background again): a special permission to visit the funerary complex of Maya, an 18th dynasty official who was treasurer under Tutankhamun. This is beyond anything I could ever have dreamed of, but there it is, and I'm climbing down the steps into it. The elegant carvings, with the figures painted in a golden yellow against the naturally white limestone, show the influence of the post-Amarna style prevalent under Tutankhamun and Horemheb. I am tearing up with joy. I'm not the only one having the time of my life, however. Dr. Barry Kemp is grinning ear to ear and the sparkle in his eyes light up the underground chambers.

My hip is really starting to act up and I find it increasingly difficult to climb up or down anything. The rest of the day will have to be spent on horizontal ground. No more stairs, hills or ladders for this old man.

Or at least that's what I think, until we get to the sun temple of Neuserra st Abu Ghurab... Another hill to climb, but this will be the last of the day!

Dr. Kemp explains the site very well, how what now looks like a dilapidated pyramid was on fact a squat obelisk on a wide base, representing the Ben Ben stone, a powerful solar cult symbol. In front of the Ben Ben is a magnificent offering altar made of massive alabaster. It just vibrates with energy. Damn I am so lucky!

We end the day at the pyramid of king Djedefra at Abu Rawash. I sit with Medhat on a low reconstructed wall while the rest of the group saunters about like so many mountain goats. The site is quite impressive, offering a panoramic view of the entire Cairo metropolis, the Giza plateau and beyond. Though small, this pyramid would have been the most visible of all in ancient times. We bounce back to modern-day Cairo in our now dusty Landcruisers.

The group meets in the hotel lobby, to say goodbye to Medhat. How do you say goodbye to someone who has made your dreams come true, pulled all sorts of strings and favors to produce surprise after surprise?

Simple, you can't. So I give Medhat a hug and say "see you next time."

Pyramids, Sphinxes, Mastabas and, oh, the Museum too!

We were to visit the Giza plateau and the pyramids first thing this morning, and then move on to downtown Cairo in the afternoon to see the Egyptian Museum. After we all board the bus, Medhat announces a change of plans: It is very hazy and the visibility is poor, which would be detrimental to viewing the pyramids properly, so we'll go to the museum now and come back to Giza in the afternoon when the air is clearer. Besides, we'll avoid the worst of the weekend traffic that way -- Thursday is the Muslim world's 'Friday' and weekend getaway time. Good choice.

We arrive at Tahrir Square where we see some remains of the tents and installations of the "Occupy Tahrir" movement. Otherwise it seems to be business as usual, which means unspeakable traffic chaos, constructions sites and the burned out hulks of government buildings, ransacked during the revolution. We arrive at the Museum a bit before it opens, which gives us plenty of time to get the tickets and visit the outdoor displays, especially the restored sarcophagus of Akhenaten. Not much of the original, smashed pieces have survived, but there was enough to reconstitute the way it looked. Quite moving to see and touch such an important monument. We had left our cameras in the bus (no photo allowed inside the museum), but I still had my iPad with me...

Once inside the museum, Medhat and Dr. Kemp give us a quick overall tour, mostly highlighting the Amarna period pieces, but also commenting on the more important artifacts from all eras of ancient Egypt. It's like I'm meeting old friends, even though it is my first ever visit here. I have spent so many hours studying these very pieces in my books throughout my life, I feel I know them intimately. We have a limited amount of time, so I keep reminding myself that it's OK, I'll come back here again in two weeks, otherwise I'd still be there curled up in a ball somewhere, with everybody looking for me...

The Museum is old and dusty, the artifacts poorly lit and displayed. Old faded description cards, some typed by Carter himself in the 1930's, still accompany the artifacts from Tutankhamun's tomb. I can't wait for the new museum to be built in Giza. These treasures really need to be better displayed and curated.

Speaking of Giza, that's our next stop. I cannot say that I feel the same depth of emotional response to the Pyramids and Sphinx as I do to smaller, more intimate monuments and artifacts where I feel the hand of the sculptor, the vision of the artist. Yes they are big, yes they are marvels of ancient engineering, and yes they are at the center of an abominable circus of hawkers, vendors, camel riders and other riffraff. Within seconds of stepping off the bus I am accosted by a vendor who takes the pith helmet off my head and replaces it with a Bedouin headdress, while pushing Chinese-made designer resin pyramids into my hands and shoving cheap postcards under my nose... Denny rescues me just in time, grabs me by the arm and whisks me away! Already I want to get back to the hotel right and forget the whole visit. These people are rude and their tactics are counter-productive. It totally kills any interest I have. I'll probably never want to visit Giza again.

We take refuge in the Boat Museum, home of the 4,500 year old cedar barque of King Khufu, builder of the Great Pyramid. It was found right at the foot of the Pyramid, in the 1950's if I'm correct, and painstakingly reassembled. We are asked to cover our shoes with funny looking cotton booties to prevent tracking contaminating dirt inside. I can't believe the size of the timber used in the making of this craft. The cedar came from Lebanon. Those forests are long gone now. The only trees that could supply such lumber today would be the great sequoias of the American West Coast.

Dr. Barry and some of the other tour members show up after a while, and I climb all those stairs again, viewing the boat and engaging in more scholarly discourse.

Medhat has prepared yet another surprise for us. We are to visit two recently re-excavated mastaba tombs that will probably never be fully open to the public. He is really like a magician pulling rabbits and doves out of his hat, except his rabbits happen to be exquisitely carved and painted tombs of the 4th and 5th dynasties. These two visits save the day as far as I am concerned.

Then on the to Sphinx and the Valley Temple of Khafre next to it. The vendors are thick as flies on a rotting fruit. Very aggressive. One calls me "Rambo", another "Osama", while Denny gets the monicker of "Mr. Cowboy", no doubt due to his hat. The Valley Temple is enigmatic with its Cyclopean architecture of immense red granite blocks. Very stark and impressive. Walk back to the bus and short ride to the hotel. We say our goodbyes to Nassir our driver, as tomorrow we will be traveling aboard 4-wheel drive vehicles to Saqqara on what will be the last day of the Pharaohs of the Sun tour.

White Sun of the Equinox

Today is a day of transition and transit. 21st of March, first day of Spring. I get up earlier than needed to photograph the rising sun from the upper deck of the Tut. The sky is hazy, almost overcast. A white sun rises over the east, quite unlike the fiery sunrises of the last few days.

Pack the bags, leave the luggage outside the room door for pick up, go upstairs for breakfast. We have to be on the bus by 7:30. Denny inadvertently sprinkles instant coffee over his cereal, thinking it's cocoa. It's his birthday today, maybe he's losing it... My leg joints are stiff from all the climbing and walking of the last few days. I'm actually looking forward to sitting in the bus for the five hours it will take to get to the pyramid of Meidum. We take the West Desert Road, much faster and unencumbered with rural traffic.

Some Egyptologists claim that the Meidum Pyramid was the first of three built by Snefru -- based on the scant evidence of an 18th dynasty graffiti mentioning that king's name -- and also that it was actually a smooth pyramid before the fill between the steps was quarried for stone and some of the outer layers sloughed off the sides. I remain skeptical about it having ever been a true pyramid... True or false, it is BIG, however, and it inspires awe.

I walk around the pyramid while Denny climbs to the first "step" level. Other members of our group either go inside to the burial chamber or choose to explore Mastaba # '17' right next to it. I stay put. I'm not climbing up or down anything! There is a cluster of stone sarcophagi laying in the sand near the pyramid. These are from much later burials. One large, late period black granite coffin is rather well preserved and quite nice with its decoration intact. Another coffin lid lies broken -- Sonia say that the last time she was here two years ago she saw it intact. What a shame! Some museum somewhere would have been quite happy to have it...

Back on the bus for the last leg to Giza & Cairo. As we enter the tentacles of the sprawling megalopolis, traffic becomes insanely congested. Angelenos should stop ranting about the 405 and the Sepulveda Pass; they have NO idea!

We finally spot the Great Pyramids, approaching from the back side of the plateau, which gives a very different perspective than the classic view we are used to from the National Geographic specials... The city has grown around the site, choking it from all sides now. Denny was here 15 years ago and says none of those buildings and apartment towers were there at the time.

Check in at the Giza Movenpick. A most welcome return to shameless luxury. There are a number of restaurants in the hotel, in addition to the famed Mena house within walking distance. I told Denny he could have his pick for his birthday dinner.

We'll be sleeping at the foot of the pyramids tonight. How cool is that!?!

Amarna, the Sequel

For so many years I have dreamed of Amarna, studied its history, looked up its topography, followed up on the discoveries being made there. For all those years it was to me like a Holy Grail, an impossible quest. The site is not easy to reach and not part of any popular tourist circuit. I had long ago accepted the fact that even if I traveled to Egypt, Amarna would remain out of reach to a mere mortal like me...

When I saw that the City of Akhenaten was included in Ancient World Tours "Pharaohs of the Sun" itinerary, I could not believe my luck. That was the clincher for me.

So here I am, for a second day of exploration. But that's just the beginning of it. Having Dr. Barry Kemp as our guide here is like having St. Peter give us a private guided tour of Heaven. No kidding.

We start the day by resuming where we left off yesterday, looking at the remains of the central royal palace and visiting the Great Aten Temple. The sheer size of the latter is impressive, but hearing Dr. Kemp describing the hundreds of offering altars that filled the inner courts and outer perimeter of the temple inspires awe. The modern-day village is encroaching upon the archaeological site, illegal construction, piles of trash and small cemeteries coming right up to the foundations of the 3,500 year old shrine. The locals do not seem to care about their ancient heritage, using the irreplaceable ruins as a place to dry cow manure in the sun, to be used as fuel in bread ovens.

We board the bus again for the drive to the royal tombs. Yes, the royal tombs of Amarna! The drive is surprisingly long, several kilometres, to reach the tomb of Akhenaten. It truly is a royal tomb of regal proportions. It is also very well appointed with modern amenities; wooden staircases and flooring, good lighting throughout, metal railings and such. Dr. Kemp explains and interprets the surviving decoration in each of the rooms. Fascinating details, poignant scenes of mourning, possible depiction of the birth of Tutankhaten and death in childbirth of his yet unidentified mother.. I stand in the main burial chamber right next to the slightly raised stone plinth where Akhenaten's pink granite sarcophagus once stood (it has now been restored from fragments and is displayed in the outdoor garden of the Egyptian Museum in Cairo). I just can't believe it!

Two more unnamed and unfinished tombs nearby show that intention was to create the equivalent of a new "Valley of the Kings" here at Amarna.

We follow with a visit to the "Northern Tombs", reached at the end of another very long staircase up the cliff. My bad hip and knee are screaming bloody murder but, with determination, self-sacrifice and an ample supply of Advil pain killers -- not necessarily in that order -- I soldier on... I've come all this way, so I might as well do it! Two of the tombs show detailed depictions of the Great Temple, a priceless boon to Egyptologists trying to understand the layout of the actual ruins down on the plain. One of the tombs had been converted to an early Christian Church in antiquity, while the other shows a rare meteorological event surrounding the Aten sun disk, with an inverted rainbow-like halo around it, a unique depiction in ancient Egypt.

Another gruelingly long staircase takes us to one of the boundary stelae that the king had set to delineate his new city. The much ruined monument was carved directly into the limestone cliff. The text is still largely readable, while the stone statues have suffered the brunt of the wrath that followed the return of orthodoxy.

We end the day at the so-called Northern Palace. Dr. Kemp has done extensive excavation and restoration work here. It is all very impressive.

I hope I get to come back here some day, to spend more time.