17 December to 19 December 2018

I felt conflicted about leaving Egypt. I’d been to beautiful and fascinating places, met lovely people, and there were so many areas I didn’t get to, but the intensity of the trip had energized and exhausted me in almost equal measure.

Since the ride from Cairo to Alexandria with Amir and Essam had been so pleasant, I decided to arrange a trip back to Cairo with them. They picked me up from the Metropole Hotel in a driving rain. It felt like a reunion among friends. Once again Amir had water and snacks for me as I got comfortable in the back seat of the car. This time, he and I spoke at length while Essam once again prefered to concentrate solely on driving.

Amir shared his taste in music with me. He was particularly fond of Amr Daib who I found a bit too pop, but was glad to discover some local music nonetheless. With Spotify and all the other internet sources, it is all too easy to travel the world and never change your play list. In the past I listened to the local radio stations–there was no other option unless I carried my cassettes or CDs along–which I rarely do now. Few places even have radios.

With the little time I had left in Egypt, I wanted to return to Giza and the pyramids. I’d found a hotel that boasted a fabulous view of them and had excellent reviews. I booked a room and asked to be taken there.

During the drive I asked Amir about his family. He barely mentioned his father, but clearly adored his mother and three sisters. He said he had lived in Maadi, the upscale neighborhood that I’d stayed in, but when we arrived in Giza, he pointed to a project with tall, cement buildings, his present home. I gathered his family had fallen on hard times.

The Panorama Pyramids Inn was basic, but its claim of a great view of the pyramids was not exaggerated. Their terrace and rooms offered a splendid display.  It was just across the street from the Pyramid Light and Sound show. Guests of the hotel were able to watch the show for free. And the breakfast they served on the terrace was a feast.

Between the hotel and the Light and Sound show was a wide road/parking lot used as a thoroughfare for all the camels and horses that tourists would be encouraged to ride at the pyramids. Men and boys took their charges with reins and ropes in hand guiding the obedient, and sometimes not so obedient animals. On occasion a horse got free. It took considerable coaxing for it to be gathered again.

A short walk away was a street of shops that sold an array of souvenirs. It was an animated poor neighborhood, not without interest, but after a few hours there, I decided to save the free Light and Sound show for the following evening and return to the Khan El Khalili market in Cairo.

I hired a car from Uber to go there, and once again was treated to an action filled ride, as the driver skillfully dodged the usual mix of cars, trucks, pedestrians, horse and donkey carts, motorcycles, and scooters. The first time I’d gone to the market I’d chosen to go with a guide, but now knowing the general lay of the land, I spent my time revisiting the narrow lanes filled with commerce.

I stopped for tea and a light dinner in one of the older establishments with ornate decorations. At one table a small group of Egyptian women, dressed-up for a night out, laughed, chatted, and inhaled deeply from the water pipes. Streams of smoke poured from their mouths as if liberating their spirits, and perhaps compensating for their restricted lives. Two musicians playing traditional tunes provided a festive air as tea, plates of food, desserts, and hot coals for the shisha(water pipes) were continuously served by harried waiters.

The market was crowded with locals and tourists intent on finding the best bargains, while the sellers promised the best quality and best prices. Caveat emptor. One seller assured me his scarves were 100% silk. However, upon closer inspection it was evident they were a polyester blend.

I’d arranged that Nour, the same taxi driver who had picked me up from the airport when I first arrived in Egypt, would on my last day take me to Dashur.

I’d promised her a month ago that I would be in touch when I returned to Cairo. When we saw each other again we hugged and laughed. She had tears in her eyes and told me it was hard to become close to her clients–they always leave. We caught up on her days and where I had been, then drove through the lush back roads of palm trees and planted fields toward Dahur. It was the site of the Bent, Red, White, and Black Pyramids: prototypes for the iconic Giza pyramids.

Nour left me to explore the Bent Pyramid on my own. I understood why while making my way down the challenging descent into the tomb. The passage was extremely steep and narrow and ended in a high-ceiling triangular chamber. Although visiting the interior was fascinating, the stale air did not encourage a lengthy stay. I was happy to retrace my steps and see again the light of day.

Afterwards Nour and I went for a meal. I wanted to have some Kashari. It is the ultimate Egyptian comfort food, made of chick peas, pasta, fried onions, rice and lentils topped with a perfect tomato sauce. I knew of a great place near my hotel, that I’d been to when I first saw the Giza Pyramids, and Nour was finding a dozen reasons not to go. When I offered to go on my own, she gave in. She confessed afterwards that she ate Kashari nearly every day and wanted pizza instead. It wasn’t the first time that our wills were tested in an amicable way. Nour is clever and she has survived in tough circumstances both personally and professionally: she is one of only a few women taxi drivers in all of Egypt.

Fortunately Nour didn’t have to compromise. There was a pizza place right next door. As I happily dug into my meal, and finished it with some of the best rice pudding I’ve ever had, she was quite content too eating her pizza and, as is quite typical in Egypt, adding ketchup to it.

My plan was to return to the hotel and sleep a few hours before Nour would pick me up again to take me to the airport. I had a 2 am flight and didn’t expect to get much sleep on the plane.

Shortly after dusk I was at the hotel and happy to catch the Light and Sound show before taking a nap. As promised, guests could see and hear the show perfectly from their rooms. It was very loud and a bit corny, but any excuse to see the pyramids again was fine by me. By the time it was over, I still had a few hours to sleep–or so I thought. A few minutes later the Light and Sound show began again–this time in French.

I did manage to take a short nap before I had to get ready and leave.

It was fitting that Nour was there to welcome me when I first arrived in Egypt and was now there again to see me off.

I couldn’t have asked for a better farewell.

14 December to 17 December 2018

Reading Lawrence Durrell’s novel Justine decades ago, which took place in Alexandria, conjured up exotic images and allured me even more than the history of Alexander the Great, the man it is named for. But now given the chance, I was reluctant to go. I feared the Alexandria of today could not live up to its past or my expectations.

The first choice for my last destination in Egypt had been the Siwa Oasis. However, it was about eleven hours from Cairo each way by bus–and only 30 miles from the Libyan border. With the short time remaining on my visa, that seemed like a lot of traveling, with some potential risks.

I decided to go to Alexandria after all.

Some misinformation days earlier at the Egypt Air ticket office had me on a flight from Abu Simbel to Cairo with a layover of two and one-half hours in Aswan (a direct flight had been available). Normally this kind of inconvenience is no big deal, but I’d eaten something the night before that as we say in polite company “did not entirely agree with me.” Getting to the airport on time that morning hadn’t been easy.

I’d left my hotel in Abu Simbel at 9am and arrived, feeling somewhat better, in Cairo at 4pm. I wasn’t keen on staying the night and decided to forge on to Alexandria. I hired a car service to pick me up from the Cairo airport and drive four hours directly to a hotel. Splurging $75, instead of negotiating taxis, buses, and trains, seemed to be more than a fair deal.

Amir, a young, soft-spoken, gentle man met me at the airport arrivals. He spoke English very well, guided me to the car, introduced me to the driver, Essam, and got me settled in. He handed me a bottle of water and some snacks. I was content to get comfortable in the back of the SUV. Essam was polite, but concentrated fully on the road and Amir sensed I was happy to say little. The only words that passed between us were those to insure I had everything I needed. Despite the heavy traffic both men remained relaxed and soft-spoken.

I’d found a hotel in Alexandria online but decided there was no need to book it in advance. Now nearly 9pm, we arrived. Amir accompanied me inside with my bag only to find the hotel was full. Although he and Essam would be needing to drive another four hours back to Cairo that evening, he showed only concern for me and insisted on taking me to the nearby Metropole Hotel the receptionist had suggested.

Fortunately that hotel, which looked as if Lawrence Durrel’s characters could have stayed there, had some rooms. Only when it was clear that I was taken care of did Amir leave.

It was a beautiful hotel built in 1902 with original fixtures, sweeping staircases, high-ceilings, guilded mirrors, and a large dining area. The metal detector and guard at the entrance did not blend in with the decor.

I was shown a huge, double room with a sea view that came with an equally stunning rate. I opted instead for a much more reasonable, cozy room that looked out on a busy street and KFC sign. Exhausted and still feeling queasy, I was delighted to get into a comfortable bed and order some tea and soup from room service.

I soundly slept eleven hours and feeling much better had some breakfast in the dining room where a few Egyptian tourists and business men were starting their day. I took a seat at a large round table and enjoyed the view of the harbor.

The sky was a bright blue and encouraged me to get out. I took a stroll along the animated waterfront.

Alexandria, despite being Egypt’s second largest city, does not have the overwhelming chaos and noise of Cairo. Traffic seemed almost subdued in comparison. Atmospheric cafes abound where mostly men, in a country that shuns alcohol, sip copious cups of tea, smoke, and chat. Women were usually accompanied, but not always. And given the large population of students attending university, the city had a freer more liberal air. Many young women were sitting, walking, and speaking freely with young men, as friends, that I hadn’t seen elsewhere. The dress code mostly remained, but social codes seemed different.

I headed directly to the modern Alexandria Library, near to where its glorious, ancient predecessor once stood. The structure is an extraordinary feat in design and engineering, but receives criticism for its cost, size, and insufficient volumes due to inadequate funding.

I fully enjoyed the guided tour of the facility by a young woman whose father had instilled in her a love of education, language, and literature. She spoke passionately about the library in an unaccented English, despite never being outside of Egypt. I took some time visiting the small but moving Sadat Museum honoring the legacy of Anwar Sadat, wandering through the book shelves, then resting while leafing through a copy of Albert Camus’ Notebooks.

I spent the remainder of my time in Alexandria near the water, visiting the citadel and listening to a worker singing a beautiful tune as he swept, exploring museums, having my picture taken at the request of the residents, and taking theirs, speaking at length with a woman from Beirut also staying in the Metropole, watching men fish, sipping cups of tea in the cafes, and enjoying the traces of the city’s past, and vibrancy of its present.

12 December to 14 December 2018

Since tourism is the bread and butter of Egypt’s economy, efforts are taken to ensure the safety of its visitors: certain destinations are off-limits, others require convoys with police escorts to get there, and others are accessible only by buses specifically for tourists.

I intended on going to Abu Simbel from Aswan, but wasn’t keen on the tourist buses which only left at 4:30 in the morning, arrived four hours later, spent a few hours at the Abu Simbel Temples, and returned the same day. I wasn’t out to risk my safety, but sought a more appealing alternative. I was assured that the local buses, leaving Aswan at 8:30 in the morning, were just fine. I opted to take one with plans of staying two nights in Abu Simbel.

Breakfast was included in my Aswan accommodations. I left to catch the bus with an ample supply of hardboiled eggs, pita bread, bananas, and cheese prepared by my host’s father, who lived in the apartment below and possessed a huge smile. He arranged for a taxi to take me from the mainland to the bus station. My host’s brother once again kindly carried my bags, effortlessly–this time down the three flights of stairs where we said our goodbyes. I walked a short distant with some roaming sheep and goats toward the ferry.

My taxi was waiting for me, as scheduled. Arriving at the bus station, the driver made some inquiries and told me the minivans packed with passengers were not advisable. He dropped me off instead on the other side of the depot where a bus was parked.

It was still early when I arrived. A lone man was sweeping the pavement and a young, slight, Japanese man walked up to the ticket office. The day was not yet warmed by the sun. After purchasing my ticket the Japanese man, whose name was Asahi, and I sat on a bench together wearing our jackets.

Asahi spoke little English, but it was enough for him to understand an invitation to share my breakfast. He readily accepted. It seemed as if he hadn’t eaten in days. He hungrily devoured everything I offered him. Fortunately I had plenty to sate us both.

A woman wearing a headscarf, very colorful layers of clothing, a large shawl, and fabric earrings approached emanating a strong waft of patchouli. She and her two colorfully dressed teen-age daughters were from Bulgaria. They’d been living on the Sinai Peninsula for years in an alternative community where the money went far and smoking hashish was a popular pastime. They were heading to Abu Simbel for the day. We still had some time before our departure and decided to all wait together sipping strong coffee and hot tea purchased at a nearby cafe.

When the bus driver started the engine, the five of us took our reserved places onboard with the locals.  There was plenty of room for all of us to stretch out. The four-hour trip, with one welcome rest stop was uneventful and pleasant enough, but the flat scenery on barren roads did little to inspire.

The bus arriving in Abu Simbel pulled up in front of a large, inviting building. A taxi was waiting, but I wanted to get my bearings first. I headed into the building for some information only to discover it was unfinished and completely vacant.

After our quick goodbyes, Asahi and the women dispersed on foot. My phone indicated a fifteen minute walk to my hotel, but I opted for the ride. The driver was pleased to have some business and we negotiated a fair price. He was very gracious. I took his number in case I needed a taxi later on.

Traffic was sparse on the four-lane main road of Abu Simbel, except for the occasional tourist buses and the tuk-tuks used by the locals.  Upon arrival the hotel manager stepped out and welcomed me warmly, then led me down a hallway to choose the room I preferred most. All were vacant and identical. I chose one away from the road. It was nicely decorated with a double bed, private bath, large armoire, and more than double the price of my apartment in Aswan, but it was walking distance to the temples. And the hotel had a large roof-deck where meals and drinks were served.

Asahi, walked in shortly afterwards. He was given the same tour and took a room across the hall. He let me know he was going directly to sleep.

I’d heard that Abu Simbel had the best Light and Sound show in all of Egypt and made plans to go that evening. I headed out for a walk and lunch. Unfortunately the over-sized, modern road I’d arrived on stripped the town of any charm. Despite the small markets and shops which dotted its edges, any feel of a quaint main street had been lost. And walking on this highway was not particularly pleasant. I could see why most people were happy not to linger here.

The only break in the monotonous, tan landscape was Lake Nasser, actually a reservoir, and one of the largest man-made lakes in the world. It is named after Gamal Abdel Nasser, one of the leaders of the Egyptian Revolution of 1952 . The artificial lake was formed after the building of the High Aswan Dam between 1960 and 1970. Many thousands of Nubians throughout the region were relocated from their flooded ancestral homes and placed on inferior lands, stripping them of their traditional agricultural life. The controversy and dissatisfaction of the Nubians remains.

The quickly built town of Abu Simbel appears to have been constructed with little thought of aesthetics or livability.  However, a walk along the lake’s edge was pleasant, as was encountering some locals. There was evidence of the people’s adaptation gaining their livelihood through fishing and tourism.

I looked for a local restaurant to no avail and headed over to the other hotel, supposedly serving the best food in town. It was a pretty place, built-in a traditional Nubian-style without all the colors I’d grown accustomed to in Aswan. It overlooked Lake Nasser.

Well-dressed couples and busloads of Asian tourists filled the large dining hall of the hotel. The day was too lovely to be indoors. Fortunately, nearby, some simple outdoor tables and chairs were empty except for some staff amiably chatting. After asking if service was possible, I grabbed a seat and ordered grilled fish, rice, and vegetables. It was prepared simply, and tasted good.

I was soon talking with the hotel owner’s son, Shadi. The servers were impeccably dressed in traditional robes. He opted for a woolen cap and casual Western attire. A few of my inquiries led to a lengthy conversation. He told me of the traumatic flooding of his family’s land, the relocation (despite these events occurring before his birth, his pain felt no less acute), his father’s desire to create a new home, cultural venue/hotel to honor their heritage, and how he had aspired to be a pilot in the U.S.–but 9/11 shattered any chances of achieving his dream, He was still passionate about airplanes and flying, and stopped himself when he thought I’d heard enough.

I later expressed my hope to meet some of the local fisherman and he brought me a short distance away to some men mending their nets. They looked surprised to see my interest in their chores, but kindly allowed me to take a few photos.

The time passed quickly. A newly arrived group of tourists soon demanded Shadi’s attention. I enjoyed the rest of the time sipping some tea and watching the seabirds before heading back for that evening’s show.

As the sun was setting I walked the short distance to the entry of the Abu Simbel Temples. Tourist buses were beginning to arrive. I bought a ticket, went through a security check, and continued on a path that winded its way around to the water’s edge.

And there the twin temples stood. They were magnificent. It was hard to imagine that the huge statues I was gazing at, carved from stone, had once stood elsewhere. Before the area was flooded, the extraordinary efforts of international teams disassembled, transported, and reassembled the temples to their present location. I stood before these massive figures under the moonlight in awe.

The Light and Sound show did not disappoint. It told the engaging history of the Pharaoh Ramesses II and his queen Nefertari with a tasteful use of lights and effects.

When the show was over, most tourists headed back to their buses. I had the luxury of staying until the guards escorted us out. I saw Asahi. He was one of the last to leave too and we walked back to our hotel together.

We shared a meal on the roof deck speaking of our travels and his family’s concerns and disapproval. Although this was only his second trip, the first being South America–he speaks no Spanish–he had every intention of  satisfying his wanderlust. During our meal, I happened to notice his watch with arabic numerals and mentioned how lovely it was. The following day when we said our goodbyes, he offered it to me as a gift.

I would visit the temples twice more the following day. I walked over again at sunrise and approached the temples by boat, at dusk.

Each visit offered a different perspective and beauty.

Entering the temples revealed a new set of wonders.

My two night stay in Abu Simbel hadn’t been too long after all.

I contacted my original taxi driver for a ride to the airport. I’d bought a ticket for a flight from Abu Simbel back to Cairo with plans of arriving in Alexandria the same day.

 

8 December to 12 December 2018

The Nile cruise ended in Aswan and I planned on staying there four nights.  The two couples from the cruise and I had become fast friends and we decided to spend their time, of two nights, in Aswan together. Both couples had previously reserved different lodgings for their stay. The Australian couple opted for the five star Old Cataract Hotel and the American couple the colorful Nubian-styled Kato Dool Resort.

The first was well beyond my price range and the latter was sold out. I found a simple place, Nuba Dool, on Elephantine Island that looked appealing online, but hesitated to commit to four nights before seeing it.

Coming straight from the cruise, the five of us dropped our bags off at the Old Cataract Hotel and walked to the nearby Nubian Museum.

It was filled with information and beautifully displayed treasures. We then hired a cab that took all of us to a dock.

Here colorful small boats awaited visitors to the impressive Temple of Philae–center for the cult of Isis–only accessible by water.

The temple was painstakingly moved 550 meters to Agilkai Island from its original location in the years 1972 to 1980. The construction of the High Dam completed in 1970 threatened many ancient sites, including this one.

Despite all the temples I’d visited in my short time in Egypt, and the initial impression that many looked the same, each one had something unique to offer. The views from the Temple of Philae’s were stunning and seeing graffiti marking the exploits of Napoleon’s army dated year 6 of the Republic was particularly memorable.

After a delicious al fresco lunch of fresh fish, cooked in Nubian clay pots with assorted vegetables, overlooking the temple, we rejoined our patient,  English-speaking taxi driver back on the mainland.

As we piled back into the vintage looking station wagon that comfortably seated the six of us in three rows of seats, the driver–who we’d generously paid for his time–headed back to the Old Cataract so we could collect our bags. The couples and I made plans to meet again for further exploring the following day.

It was getting late and I still didn’t have any confirmed accommodations. I asked the taxi driver if he knew of the Nuba Dool Guest House.  He did not know it specifically, but offered to take me to the ferry that went to Elephantine Island. He then made a call on his cell phone.

By the time we got to the ferry dock a man was waiting for me. The sun was setting and the dock area was nearly dark. The driver had called his friend to further assist me in getting to my destination. The tall man wearing traditional attire greeted me warmly and assured me that the place I was seeking was just on the other side of the Nile. With his task completed he set off without seeking any compensation for his kindness.

The ferry to Elephantine Island was down a steep cement staircase. A young man approached and asked if he could help me with my bags. I hesitated, but my bags were not easily managed and accepted the offer. He effortlessly took them on to the small ferry. I quickly realized that this same young man was the captain of the boat. I paid him 5 Egyptian pounds, about 25 cents, for the round trip fare and took a seat for the few minutes it took to cross the water. The ferry had few passengers and no tourists, besides me. Locals had parcels they were bringing back to their homes.

When we got to the other side, without asking, the captain carried my bags up the once again steep stairs and directed me to the hotel a short distance away.

It was now dark. The passengers from the boat had set off in various directions. The island was quiet. The dirt paths were for walking. I neither saw nor heard any motorized vehicles–I do not think there are any on the island. There was however a small group of goats and sheep ambling about. I approached a man and asked directions.  Nuba Dool was just around the corner and he led me to it.

The building had three floors and I made my way to the top following signs at the entrance. There on a large, plant-filled terrace, with sagging couches, several tables and chairs, was an Egyptian man smoking a cigarette chatting with a German traveler. An ashtray overflowing with butts was within their reach.

Seeing no other guests, I felt confident I would have a room and was surprised to hear they were fully booked. The man with a round face and easy smile, took his time speaking. A stutter hampered his progress. He did however have a place very nearby, that he was happy to show me. We walked to a building a minute’s walk away. For $25/ night I was given a two bedroom apartment with kitchen, bathroom, and large terrace, including breakfast. The furnishings were spare, but the apartment was clean and comfortable.

My apartment was in a building solely inhabited by locals. All the women wore head scarves and jalabeyas, men’s traditional attire was mixed with Western-styled clothing.  I felt welcome.  Although the language barrier limited our conversation, greetings were exchanged. My bags were carried up the three flights of stairs by the owner’s younger brother, who was double in size.  And shortly after, I descended to a small shop on the first floor of the neighboring building. The goods were limited but carried essentials from soup to soap. I bought water, yogurt, bananas, and bread, headed back up, unpacked some of my items, made tea, ate a light dinner, read, and went to bed early. The night was surprisingly cold. I piled several heavy blankets on top of me and stuffed my down vest inside a pillow case to replace the large, rock-hard pillow I’d been given.

After a sound sleep, I headed back to Nuba Dool for breakfast where I was served a large platter of falafel, eggs, cheese, pita bread, cucumbers, tomatoes, beans, yogurt, fruit, fresh mango juice, cookies, and coffee. I barely made a dent in all the offerings. A Spanish couple was waiting to be picked up for an excursion and we chatted about the places we had been. The chill of the night was replaced with the strong rays of the sun. I enjoyed the peace and quiet of the island. It was worlds away from the bustle of the mainland .

I was soon picking up my friends, the Australian couple, back on the other side of the Nile with a boat and driver I’d arranged at my hotel. Despite paying dearly for their luxury accommodations, they were unhappy that their breakfast had been served in the chilly shade and were not permitted to change their table. I didn’t have the heart to tell them about my delightful breakfast in the sun.

Traveling by water in Aswan was not only necessary, but extremely pleasant. The air was fresh and clear, a gentle breeze cooled us, and the views were beautiful.  The driver, whom we hired for the day, recommended that we visit the Tombs of the Nobles perched high up on a hillside. The climb was steep and young men on camels were waiting to offer rides on their gangly beasts. My friends and I decided to walk up.

As was often the case, a guide with keys to unlock the tombs, was awaiting the arrival of visitors. For the next few hours this man and his tall, Bedouin, matinee-idol-looking associate took us clamoring over stones and gingerly negotiating crumbling stairs into a hidden wonderland of ancient mysteries and colors.

The tombs were magical.

Feeling elated, we decided to treat ourselves to camel rides for the way back down. Getting on a camel, while they are kneeling, is easy enough, but the jolt forward and back as they stand up is a bit unsettling. And the rhythm of their walk is anything, to the novice at least, but smooth. I was glad the distance was short. And couldn’t imagine spending days traveling across deserts upon a camel’s back. However, the young men sat atop with ease and looked extremely comfortable. I suspect this came, like most things, with experience.

We met our other friends that afternoon at the Nubian Coffee House defined by carpets and pillows arranged under some large shade trees overlooking the Nile.

We made ourselves comfortable in various lounging postures while a man sat nearby before a coal fire roasting the coffee. He added ginger, nutmeg, cloves, and cardamom into a pot before serving the dark fragrant brew in small cups. It was potent and delicious.

Afterwards we took our boat to a Nubian market, geared for tourists. Shop after shop sold souvenirs of assorted variety and quality. My friends bartered and purchased objects, bags, and scarves from the friendly sellers promising them ancient treasures and goods, made and woven by their mothers’ and sisters’ own hands. The clearly mass-produced items defied their claims, but I don’t think the sellers’ themselves expected to be taken seriously.

I enjoyed watching the dozens of riders and their camels passing through the streets on their way home.

My friends would be leaving the following day. We shared our final meal together in laughter and stories with hopes of seeing each other again.

I spent the next three days wandering the narrow, quiet streets of Elephantine Island,

visiting a local school,

a few tiny, but interesting museums with enthusiastic, and less so employees, taking a private boat tour with the “Birdman of Aswan”

and spending many delightful hours speaking with locals and fellow travelers over copious cups of tea and hearty meals.  I extended my stay an extra day.

The thirty day visa I had for Egypt was running out all too quickly.

I made plans for my next destination, Abu Simbel.

 

 

 

 

 

 

3 December to 8 December 2018

I recall learning back in grade school about the Nile’s annual flooding, traveling in the “wrong” direction, and giving life to Egypt. It created a powerful image.Traveling on the Nile is almost a given for any tourist, with a wide array of options and I didn’t wish to miss out. The passage from Luxor to Aswan is frequently with large cruise ships which did not entice me. Once again, the Lonely Planet guidebook was a great resource where I found a highly regarded company. It offered six-day cruises, on four different traditionally styled sailing boats, known as Dahabiyas.

The boats ranged considerably in size and budget. Feeling pretty certain that this would be a once-in-a-lifetime experience, I wished to make the best choice–balancing comfort with cost. I called the company and spoke with one of the three owners. He was Mexican and shared the business with French and Egyptian colleagues. After a long chat about my overall travel plans, and budget, he assured me I would not be sacrificing anything booking a cabin on the smallest boat.

On the scheduled day, a driver picked me up promptly at 8 a.m. from my hotel in Luxor. I was soon introducing myself to the four other tourists inside the van: three came from France and one from Columbia. We drove for an hour and arrived at a port where two long, sleek, lovely wooden boats with red and white striped sails, wrapped around their masts, were docked. I would soon discover that none of the people I’d just met would be sharing a boat with me.

My bag was taken to the larger of the two vessels where I was shown to a beautiful, spacious private room which did not resemble the cabin I had booked. I thought there was some mistake. I would learn that during the low season, only two boats, the two nicest, were used and I’d been upgraded to the most luxurious boat in their fleet. I can’t help but feel that my long chat with the owner had something to do with this. In addition, the smaller boat had twelve passengers, including two couples with infants,and mine, had only seven, including me–all adults.

The motorless dahabiya was beautifully crafted and decorated. The long, open deck was divided into carpeted, cushioned, seating areas with low tables.

They were delightful places to spend quiet moments seeing the lush pastures, arid landscapes, locals tending to their days on foot and astride donkeys, waterfowl, day easing to dusk, and starlit nights.

The temperature ranged considerable throughout the day. The heavy wool blankets the crew provided were gratefully wrapped around each of us during the chilly evening hours on deck after dinner.

There was also plenty of time to chat with my companions, read, relax and eat delicious meals between the daily excursions to villages and stunning ancient sites.

And when the wind was not strong enough to fill our sails, a tugboat pulled us along.

The appreciation I have for Egypt comes with the privilege of seeing life as it has been lived for centuries. In the countryside an ancient rhythm reigns, with few exceptions.

I rarely buy any objects these days, but the number of tourist boats along the Nile has dwindled and with it economic opportunities for the Egyptians. I considered purchasing some items to bolster the local economy, even if it meant giving them away immediately as gifts.

One morning we pulled up along the shores of the Nile to a small dock. Groups of small children were already there awaiting our arrival. They were holding hand-woven bowls and place mats in bright colors. Some of the kids looked as young as two or three, the oldest was perhaps eight or nine. Our group embarking that day was very small, just one of the couples and me. A crew member, who was also our guide, led us through a village and on to some sites.

On the way back to the dahabiya, children walked with us, repeatedly soliciting their wares. Our small group was nearing the boat. I decided it was time to buy something and took out my change purse. Suddenly the children closed in on me and I could not move. Each children had their arms held high with their bowls and plates in hand. They were all calling out to get my attention. I managed to give my money to two children I’d noted by my side at the beginning and purchased two bowls. But a frenzy continued and I could not take a step in any direction. The small crowd completely immobilized me. Fortunately it was only a short time before the guide came to extract me from the overzealous youngsters.

I never could have imagined my most harrowing moment in Egypt would be with barely school-aged children.

But this episode was overshadowed by many, far more agreeable, encounters.

The pace of the extraordinary days on the Nile was deliciously slow. Nonetheless, we arrived in Aswan, where I would spend the next four nights.

27 November to 3 December

Leaving the White Desert, Hamada had recommended I go to Cairo to catch the night train to Luxor, although Giza, the other option, was an hour closer. The driver was a kind man who spoke English fairly well–and far better than I spoke Arabic with only a few expressions I’d managed to learn– and didn’t seem to mind. His daughter of seven or eight, who he’d brought along, and showed considerable tenderness towards, quietly looked out the window or chatted softly with her father to pass the four-hour drive. Her long black hair was pulled back in a ponytail (she was too young to wear the hijab), wore a shirt with pink flowers, pink pants, and would have fit in anywhere back home as she munched on some potato chips and oranges.

We left the quiet of the desert long behind and once again we were moving very slowly amongst the throngs of varied vehicles. I watched the chaotic life of Cairo from the relative quiet of the car’s interior. The driver dropped me off near the main train station–cars were not allowed to pull up directly for security reasons– and after some wandering back and forth found, with the help of a local, the proper ticket window, where the seller told me “There is no train from Cairo to Luxor tonight. It leaves from Giza and you will have to go there.” I can’t say I was pleased. Fortunately it was only 4:30 pm and the train left in three hours. And so I took the metro a few stations–in the women only car–and found a cafe at the station, again with the help of locals, where I could wait a couple of hours. I sat at a table by a window with a view of the tracks and other travelers. The local trains were packed to capacity. The cafe would fill and empty with mostly large groups of Chinese tourists towing huge suitcases and wearing fashionable attire. Their Egyptian guides had mastered their tongue and took drink orders for them as they waited for their trains.

I still had a few hours for my train to arrive and ordered a tea from the young waiter who displayed a winning smile. He was particularly friendly and on several occasions offered to teach me some expressions in Arabic. Wishing to return the favor, I asked him, using Google Translate, if there was anything he wished to say in English.  I was surprised when he wanted to ask me if I was married. And if I could help him with a visa.

The “luxury” night train was available for tourists at the exorbitant price of $110. Locals pay far less. The narrow compartment and bed, small sink, and shared toilet in the hall provided little “luxury”. It did however give me an opportunity to save a day and not spend 10+ hours on the day train .

I arrived at the Luxor train station at 4am weary from little sleep.  Few people got off the train with me. Most tourist groups stayed on to Aswan, arriving at a reasonable hour, and visited Luxor later. The station was nearly empty, but a young man approached me. He offered me a taxi ride and said he would give me a “good price.” I hadn’t made any reservations, but had a hotel in mind. Too tired to bother seeing exactly where the hotel was I was happy to get there and agreed on 50 Egyptian pounds, about $2.80. The young man was very polite, and helped me with my bag. I would find out later the usual price was 20 to 30 Egyptian pounds. However, I considered my money well spent.

There would be many times throughout my stay in Egypt when I thought of the following: Shortly after September 11, 2001, I went to Times Square in NYC. I do not recall why. Although living in Manhattan at the time, I’d rarely go there, finding the crowds tiresome, unless I had to. But this time Times Square was eerily quiet. Tourists had cancelled their travel plans and the feeling of being abandoned by the world added to my sorrow. Although it took the city years to heal, tourists came back relatively quickly. And I never minded the crowds in Times Square after that. Tourism is crucial to Egypt’s economy and has been profoundly affected for many years by terrorist attacks and the 2011 revolution. People here were doing their best to get by, and it took little sacrifice on my behalf to lend a hand.

The East Bank of Luxor is where one will find Karnak, the Luxor Temple, a bustling town and the majority of tourists and hotels, including the swank Winter Palace, that many say has seen better times, but my walk through the gardens and a visit inside still impressed me. I opted to stay on the quieter West Bank.

One of the “guides” at the Karnak temple, as I wandered off to some of the less visited corners, said he had something to show me. (Locals, like this man, would point things out to tourists with the hopes of earning tips. Some truly had valuable knowledge to share, others less so.) He brought me to an engraving of a woman offering her breast to her infant reminiscent of hundreds of paintings I’d seen of Madonna and child. The resemblance was striking. It was also fascinating to learn how the ancient Egyptian priests were inextricably tied to the power of the Pharaoh similar to the church’s role in legitimizing the king.

The Coptic(which means Egyptian) Christians have been here since the dawn of their religion–very few Jews remain–but the Muezzins call to prayer five times a day is a notable reminder that Egypt’s population is predominately Muslim.

I was encouraged to begin my visit to the Luxor Temple at dusk. Seeing the night begin and the lights fall on this ancient structure was a highlight.

Each day in Luxor was a discovery. Learning about the dynasties, gods, and history, and visiting many of the tombs and temples was at times overwhelming but, always fascinating. Getting to be alone in King Tutankhamun’s tomb was an unexpected treat.

There was time too to wander down quiet lanes, sail in a felucca at sunset, take an early morning hot air balloon ride, visit a school, and enjoy the welcome of locals.

Several times I decided to trust a local upon his word regarding a taxi, carriage, and ferry ride. I was never disappointed.

It was a treat to visit extraordinary sites and engage in wonderful activities but, encountering the locals was another highlight.

Luxor fed my senses and heart. I was sorry to leave, but had booked a boat trip down the nile to Aswan.

24 November to 27 November

Images of the White Desert, of which I knew nothing, came to my attention while looking for destinations in Egypt. The desertscape was hauntingly beautiful and unlike anything I’d seen. When I looked into visiting the area I saw strict “Do Not Travel” warnings had been issued by the U.S. Gov’t. However, I’ve learned to weigh such warnings carefully. If I listened to all of them, I’d have been tempted to never leave home, which would have been problematic, since my hometown of NYC has received its share of travel advisories too.

I contacted a company, with glowing reviews, that arranges overnight camping trips in the desert. I was pleased to speak with the owner, Hamada, and learn that he himself takes the tourists on the trips, with a driver. We spoke at length and feeling assured I booked two nights with a possible third in the White Desert. The first night would be with another couple and the remaining night(s) I would be alone with Hamada and the driver, primarily to hike.

It was arranged that I would be picked up at 7 am and driven to the Bahariya Oasis, four hours from Cairo, a Bedouin settlement and the hometown of Hamada.  The driver was courteous, quite handsome, and spoke little English. I got into the back seat of the Land Rover as he carefully navigated the crazy Cairo traffic. After leaving the city, the road straightened and became monotonous except for road construction sites and occasional shops/cafes where men gathered to drink tea. There were few communities. Trucks transporting produce, particularly tomatoes, and livestock made up most of the traffic. I stretched out on the seat and closed my eyes.

We stopped at a service station. Several Land Rovers, like ours, with tourists pulled up. The tourists came from Asia and Europe. We shared some travel tales and were soon back in our own vehicles. It was unclear if we would see each other again.

It would be another long stretch of barren sand before we arrived at the Bahariya Oasis. The monochrome brown landscape was suddenly enlivened with green. We pulled off the major two-lane highway onto a dirt road lined with simple, unadorned one-story white brick and cement homes. The street, sparsely populated, was dusty. Donkey carts and motorcycles were the main means of transportation. Shops were few and goods were limited, but there was no shortage of fresh produce in the area– the green I’d seen on arrival was acres of date, orange, mango, and olive trees.

Women walked, with infants in tow, wearing black burkas. The children old enough to entertain themselves looked well and happy.

As my driver pulled into a driveway Hamada, who had waited at the oasis, was there to welcome me. He wore the traditional Bedouin attire of robe and headscarf. 

We walked over to an outdoor cafe with cushioned seats and carpet on the floor. I took off my shoes and was soon seated next to the young couple I would be spending the first night with. Although they were both born in Southeast Asia, they now lived in NYC. We hit it off immediately. The wife had come up with the idea of camping in the desert. The husband confessed his initial and ongoing concerns. I’d thought it was because of the travel warnings, but he was far more preoccupied with the lack of any bathroom facilities.

After lunch we loaded our bags into two different 4×4’s and set off into the desert. My initial driver was already on his way back to Cairo.

I was in the 4×4 with Hamada, the driver, and Sliwah the cook/entertainer. We drove to a recently built highway that lacked any curves. Sand had blown and sometimes covered half the roadway. However, with virtually no traffic it made little difference. 

Soon we were visiting the aptly named Black Desert and Crystal Mountain.  Each offered a unique display of the desert’s beauty. And then we arrived at the extraordinary White Desert. It seemed as if we’d left the warm climate behind. The desert was covered in white chalk that looked like snow.  It was decorated with forms carved from wind and sand over the ages.

It was here on this magical terrain where we set up camp for the night. We opted to forego tents and sleep under the open sky. While dinner was prepared for us, the couple and I edged away from the small camp to take in the blanket of stars and blackness of our surroundings. We stood in silence while a timelessness filled the air. The warmth from the day was fading and a fire was built. As we came close to warm ourselves a bright red orb ascended in the distance. The full moon rose along its path. The reflected light upon the white sand brought day to our night.

The seven of us enjoyed our dinner around the fire. Warm and sated, the music began. Sliwah led the songs, punctuating the rhythms with a handheld drum. The couple and I quickly learned the choruses, despite having no idea what we were singing. The music, our voices and laughter were the only sounds for miles. And the only visitor was a desert fox encouraged by the dinner scraps purposely left nearby.

When we were ready for bed, mattresses were placed on a carpeted area with sheets stationed vertically to block the wind. The couple and I, under piles of warm woolen blankets snuggled into our sleeping bags.

The following morning the husband claimed that he hadn’t slept well. His wife and I, who had been kept up part of the night from his snoring, assured him that he had slept much better than he thought. Still wearing our clothes from the day before we took water from a large container to wash our faces and brush our teeth. The temperature rose with the sun.

I was soon saying goodbye to the couple, who were heading back to Cairo for a flight, Sliwah, and one of the drivers. Hamad and I set off on foot with plans of meeting up with Assad, the other driver, for lunch.

During our walk we would encounter no one. Besides the sturdy brush, there was little sign of any other life at all. The terrain was easier to walk on than I’d imagined. The sand was not deep and the surface was sometimes rocky.Once again the desert offered its unique beauty.

That night there would be no singing, nor visits from a desert fox. But the stars, rising moon, and sleeping close to a fire for warmth provided ancient splendor.

By day three, we were returning to civilization. I was reluctant to do so.

Hamada proposed a soak in a natural hot spring and suggested I wear a bikini–which I don’t own.

19 November to 24 November

I wasn’t thrilled about my 2 am arrival time at the Cairo airport, but my Airbnb host, Sara, assured me an Uber to her apartment would be fine. However, in the wee hours, traveling for the first time in Egypt, to an area and apartment I did not know, I prefered a secure arrangement.

I’d canceled my original plans to go to Egypt, just after the overthrow of President Mubarak in 2011. I’d regretted it ever since. But even as the stability of the country improved, images of aggressive touts and persistent hassling remained in my mind. Other countries for my travels consistently got top priority.

And then I decided to go, rather spontaneously, from Crete. It was so close, and a friend of friend had just gone and raved about it. I actually knew very little about the country and spent a few days reading various websites and formulating a general itinerary. I would start in Cairo, spend a few nights in the White Desert, then go to Luxor, Aswan, Abu Simbel, and elsewhere given the time. Tourists are limited to a thirty-day Visa–I am not sure why. I would think lengthier trips would be encouraged.

Despite my usual solo traveling, I decided to seek the assistance of a guide/driver, at least in the beginning.
Through TripAdvisor I found a Cairo guide/Egyptologist with outstanding reviews. We spent several days making plans, which included a pick up from the airport, visiting major sites in Cairo and the Giza pyramids–although he would not drive into Manshiyat Nasar or “Garbage City.” (My interest of this impoverished community had been piqued by a documentary I’d seen years ago. The residents known as the “Zabbaleen (garbage people),” make their livings by collecting and transporting Cairo’s refuse back to their neighborhood by donkey carts and trucks, then sorting, and recycling 80 percent of it. The men, women, and children are extraordinarily efficient and nothing goes to waste. Attempts by the government to modernise the system with foreign recycling companies resulted in decreased efficiency and increased costs.)

My plans for Cairo were set. Then, two nights before my departure, my guide called to say he’d been asked to work on an archeological dig in Luxor. I was back to no airport pick-up.

I downloaded the Lonely Planet guidebook and read about a woman taxi driver, Nour–one of the very few working in this overwhelmingly male profession. I contacted her and was happy to learn she was free. We arranged for her to pick me up upon arrival.

The flight was slightly delayed and by the time I left the airport it was around 3am. I’d been up since 7am. As I left the airport building I saw a short, stout woman standing amidst a throng of men holding a sheet of paper. I approached the woman and saw my name written in pencil. Nour greeted me with a hug and said “Welcome to Egypt.” We set out for my home in Maadi, an upscale community in Cairo. Her English was better than I’d thought it would be, but at that hour I wasn’t up for much conversation.I would soon learn, the early arrival was a blessing. The streets were quiet and relatively empty.

Nour asked me several times to assist her in navigating, which surprised me. I realised later I’d failed to give her the exact address and she didn’t ask for it. Cairo is immense. We drove on and on while I used Google Map with bleary eyes to indicate the direction.

In the early hours men wearing western attire and traditional galabiya (the long robes) and women, virtually all wearing galabiyas and headscarves, stood or walked, barely visible, on the side of the dark highway in small groups or alone. I assumed they were waiting for transportation and my question for clarification was not understood. “Don’t people stand on roads in your country?” Nour asked.

The concept of road regulations in Cairo seems vague at best: drivers will not hesitate to drive their cars into oncoming traffic if it proves convenient, and consistently ignore the designated lanes.(Horns are tooted incessantly to insure that one’s location is noted.) Despite the outsider’s impression of chaos and cacophony, the system of cars, motorcycles, scooters, tuktuks, trucks, donkey carts, buses, minivans, horses, pedestrians, and pushcarts in this city of 20 million succeeds in getting goods and people from place to place.

Nour and I finally arrived in the general vicinity of the apartment, but couldn’t locate the building. We drove on wide tree-lined streets bordered with villas and high walls. I knew the neighborhood was upscale, but hadn’t expected to stay in such luxury for my five night stay. Sara, the host, had asked that I call her when I arrived outside her building. It was now 4am and she did not answer. Nour assured me she would not leave until I was safely inside my home. An Uber driver may not have been as understanding or accommodating.

Small booths with guards dotted the roads. Nour asked a man in uniform for assistance in finding the building. He asked her who she was. When she told him he asked, “You are a taxi driver? You are a woman.” and walked away. Nour translated the encounter for me and added, “I was the one with the question, not him.” I had the impression that men doubting her profession were not out of the ordinary. She joked that we could sleep in the car if need be. I tried to reach the host again. There was still no answer.

We waited some more, tried again, and finally got a response. Nour and Sara spoke at length. Finally I was standing on the doorstop of a nondescript cement structure of several stories with a broken stoop. But I was happy to be there. After paying Nour and compensating her for her time and effort we made plans to meet again and visit some places together.

Sara the host, a young, dark-haired woman, looked as if she’d been sleeping, which made sense given the hour, and explained her not answering the phone. Feeling exhausted, my patience was tested when she started then to put her laundry away, pack her things, and clean up the bathroom, as if my arrival had been completely unexpected. Then she asked, “Do you mind if I leave my cat?” My first thought, uttered aloud, was “Will I have to clean her litter box?” Apparently my response did not exhibit the enthusiasm she’d hoped for. “Never mind, I’ll take her with me!” I like cats, but I was relieved. The cat, whose name I’ve forgotten, had already scratched me when I’d gone over to say hello.

The apartment was large, nicely decorated, comfortable, and quiet. Sara left and I happily got into bed. The following day Sara graciously sent me abundant information on places to visit and eat, transportation, and warm wishes for a great stay. Our hiccup was over and the awkward check-in an aberration.

Although the time difference between Greece and Egypt was only one hour, I felt jet-lagged when I awoke around 11am. I was glad I’d made no plans for the day. I took it easy and walked around the neighborhood . It was largely populated with young men and women modestly dressed with head scarves. I did not don a head scarf, but opted for lightweight and loose-fitting long-sleeved shirt and pants. I received no unwanted attention. Later, I saw a young European couple. She was wearing a sleeveless, mini-dress. The locals paid her no mind either. They were apparently accustomed to and tolerant of foreigners with different codes of attire.

The temperature was surprisingly pleasant, but the dust and pollution was oppressive. In search of a restaurant Sara had recommended, I approached an older couple walking by for directions. We started a conversation. He’d been working in the US Embassy the past three years and I asked about life in Cairo. They said, rather diplomatically, that there was both the good and the bad, but were concerned with potential health problems, particularly respiratory. I wasn’t surprised. The wife however was delighted to collect jewelry and mentioned several places for me to shop. I asked about getting around by the metro and they said they were forbidden to use it as a security measure. Their travel around Egypt was also highly restricted.

I’d made plans the following day to meet a woman guide, Manal, also listed in the Lonely Planet, to tour the Egyptian Museum. Normally I prefer visiting museums on my own, but I was pleased to have the opportunity to meet Egyptian women. I recalled my experiences in Morocco where my encounters with women were very few, outside of the hammams, because of limited access and the language barrier.

I took the metro to the center of Cairo, about an hour away. Any assistance I needed with directions was graciously addressed. It helped I already knew “yes” and “no” in Arabic. I found the people to be reserved, but kind.

The Egyptian Museum is huge and I was glad to be offered its highlights. Manal beautifully gave me insight into the complex, rich past of Egypt, its dynasties, and the glorious tombs and objects that remain. Her explanations however were repeatedly interrupted by girls from the countryside, where foreigners are rare, asking me to pose for a photograph with them. I obliged until Manal gently said we have much to see and discuss.

I spent the following days visiting some of the major sights and walking down anonymous streets. Each day offered new experiences. It was exhilarating and exhausting. Cairo seemed to be a city without end.

Some highlights:

A torrential downpour freshened the air and left a blue sky in its wake.

A short boat trip with Nour on the Nile brought me away from the brown, dusty city to verdant fields.

I learned to wear earplugs to lessen the din of traffic. And took each car ride as if I were on a flat roller coaster. It was much more pleasant to think of the drives as thrilling rather than harrowing.

I cherished the encounters with the welcoming locals. My concerns of hassling and aggression were completely unfounded.

I was crushed by the sight of homeless barefoot children in tattered clothes wandering the streets, and a young woman tucking her babe in arms next to her two other small children for the night on a busy sidewalk.

When Nour and I made our way to “Garbage City” I saw why my initial guide had refused to go. The narrow roads were unpaved, narrow, and difficult to maneuver. The smell of garbage permeated the air. Yet this was the home to a hard-working and vital community. As Nour intrepidly drove up and up through the streets to a large church carved out of stone, the Monastery of Saint Simon, locals helped us make our way through the labyrinth.

I was awed by Egypt’s past and present, and moved to tears by the sight of the pyramids and sphinx.

My senses were assaulted by the noise and smells and invigorated by the tastes and sights. I was disheartened by the poverty and enchanted by the Egyptians and their land.

This was Cairo after all.

3 November to 19 November

I originally planned to travel from Thessaloniki to Albania, but decided to spend more time in Greece. Many people highly recommended Crete and spoke of the many places to visit on the island.

I thought the town of Chania would be a good place to start.

I booked a home that had been converted from an old tannery on the water.

At one time Chania had 200 tanneries, today there are six.

It was a great place to stay, at least a week, and catch my breath after a month on the road.

I looked forward to catching up on a number of things, including writing posts for this blog.

I decided to stay in Chania and not go anywhere else.

Some of the changing views from my home:

I spent the last week in Chania planning my trip to Egypt.

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29 October to 3 November

It had been difficult to choose destinations on Greece’s mainland. There was always something of interest. But for the last few days of my road trip, I decided to go up toward the Albanian, Macedonian border. In particular I headed toward the Prespa Lakes, renown for the multitudes of birds there.

Driving on country roads, I got a kick out of the tractor drivers who never seemed bothered by the cars piling up behind them, unable to pass, given the narrow, winding roads. They simply chugged along until they turned off to their destination.

Leaving Papingo for Agios Germanos, a village near the Prespa Lakes, I stopped to see the bridge in Konitsa. It’s the biggest arched bridge in the Balkans.

The road from Konitsa to my destination passed through a barren, hilly landscape. There were very few cars, except for the cruising police cars. At first I didn’t think much of it, then realised I was nearing the Albanian border.

Just before arriving in Agios Germanos, I was asked to pull over. The police were stopping all the vehicles. I hadn’t been fond of the Hertz rent-a-car stickers on my car, but as the police officer approached me, I was glad I had tourist literally written all over.

He asked me for my passport, wrote down a few things, and in English, thanked me.

The Greece most people visit, or imagine, does not resemble this part of the country.

It is a poor region, with simple lifestyles.

Once again the people were welcoming. The region possessed a subtle beauty this time of year, but it was beautiful nonetheless.

I had chosen the Prespa Lake region for all the birds who call it home–that is, before they migrate elsewhere. Fortunately some cormorants and gulls remained.

The autumn evenings were cool and I was delighted my room had a fireplace. I bonded with a town dog named Bonnie, who’d accompanied me, as I strolled through the small village, shortly after my arrival.

If I stopped to take a photograph, she waited patiently. Her owner was the proprietor of a taverna, but she was usually wandering about looking for affection. There were several town dogs, some like her, wore collars, others didn’t, but all were friendly and grateful for any attention. However, if I tried to pet another dog in Bonnie’s presence, she would put her open mouth, very gently, on my hand to let me know her thoughts on the matter.

One evening she followed me back to my room. It was raining heavily. I didn’t know the rules about animals, but assumed they weren’t welcome indoors. I reluctantly left her outside under the eave. Awhile later, it began thundering and lightening, I wondered if she was still there. Looking miserable I invited her in. She leaned against me as I pet her and put her head next to mine. Then she purred like a cat, curled up, and slept. When the rain stopped she looked at the door, then at me. She went out into the night.

Some highlights of the area:

Agios Achilios , a small island with splendid views of the lake, miniature pigs, livestock, monasteries, and twenty residents. When I’d slipped on the wet pedestrian bridge and cut my hand, one of the residents, initially gruff with me, washed it with alcohol, then gently blew on it to lessen the sting. He put on a band-aid with the dexterity of a surgeon. When I thanked him for his kindness, he looked genuinely moved.

A chapel in Agios Germanos:

A tour of the lake with an able captain:

Driving around the lake area:

Bonnie accompanied me on several walks. But if I drove somewhere, I left her behind. I didn’t wish to be accused of dog-napping. As soon as I’d get home she would come running up to me, as best she could–her owner seemed to compensate his lack of attention with leftovers. We spent most of my time there together. When I left for Edessa, it was difficult to say goodbye.

Edessa is a charming city. People were extremely kind, and outgoing. I had a wonderful visit at an art school for teens, guided by an extremely well-spoken, intelligent, young artist. She aspired to attend the art school in Thessaloniki. I have complete confidence she will be accepted.

I spoke at length with the owner of my hotel about the Greek myths, and the domineering men in them. Her husband at one point added, “Women are definitely the superior sex.” They seemed to be very happily married.

The following day I returned to Thessaloniki for one night, and took a flight to Crete the next.