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.