Of all our creations, which will live on after us? Time ravages all, and of the products of my hands and mind, will any endure? Which are even worth surviving me? These thoughts played in my mind as I visited the museums and pyramids... Sites tend to be touristy for a reason, and the Egyptian Museum is definitely worth enduring the crowds to witness the treasure troves within. Located just a couple blocks from my hotel, I got up a little early and decided to wander somewhat aimlessly to burn up the time before the museum opened by getting slightly lost, which tends to be easy in amidst the tall and non-grid-like streets. Perhaps a little more lost than I needed to be, I arrived at the museum entrance as the warm sun was surmouting the clear sky far above the minarets that had callen out hours ago. Past barracades and men in riot gear toating ancient but effective looking automatic weapons. At first I was rather apprehensive when passing by these warriors as solemn as the ancient statues but soon realized that they were all here to protect the valuable resource of tourism. (which still makes me uneasy in a different way wondering about the faceless fears against which they defend...).
After running the gauntlet past metal detectors and overly anxious tourists, I discovered that no cameras were allowed inside the museum -- AAK! No pix of the glorious Tutenkhamen mask! Seeing that their method for safe keeping of our valuables was a smiling lady in front of a shelf piled high with cameras, I decided instead to walk the distance back to my hotel, directly this time. And then back, tho the route seems to change as quickly as the scenery at Burning Man. Eventually arriving back at the museum without getting squashed by a honking bus or screeching taxi or fearless motorbike, I slowed down to gaze in wonder at the towering statues of Ramses II, the first specialist in mass media distribution. Truly, the kaleidescope of images alone would be enough to elevate him to god-like status in the eyes of most.
The back half of the museum is solely devoted to Tutenkhamen's burial site, displaying in mind-numbing extravagance the riches with which he was inturred. Three golden sarocophigi were nested within each other like a set of Russian dolls, each more ornate than the previous. And the final containing his mummy was so bedecked with amulets and jewelry and bracelets and neclaces and such revealing the degree of reverence for his deceased soul. The whole kit n' kaboodle was stuffed within another three massive containers like walk-in closets each about the size of my studio, and then somehow they'd transported the whole ensemble into the tomb in the Valley of the Kings. Preeety impressive.
Wish that I had pix -- but I'm sure that there is a whole special edition on the National Geographic website, or search Google images or the like...
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Rising early with thoughts of massive geometry, I searched the streets for a local hangout to get a meal of falafel and anything else that I could stomach in this relatively vegg-head unfriendly landscape. Seems like there are definitely more options in the cheaper street restaurants where the patrons are less likely to be able to afford meat. Finding a place that had trays of spreads with eggplant (auburgine) and hummus and such, chowed a plate of falafels, and hopped on the train to the pyramids. (supposedly this is the only metro in all of Africa, so I decided to make the most of it!)
A train and a sardine-style-squashed-in-the-bus leg of the journey later and I made it to the outside of the park where a friendly teacher at the english school nearby had walked with me to show where I could rent a camel. This ornery beast's name was Mickey Mouse, with none of the resemblances whatsoever, tho the camel driver thought him cute and cuddly enough to give him a kiss. When I tried the same he bleated and spat and opened his mouth wide enough for me to fit in my head, so I thought better to refrain. Then off into the desert, perhaps not like Lawrence of Arabia, but seeking my own conquests.
Into the belly of the Pyramid of Khafre, descending through a narrow shaft squashed in amongst scores of other sweating straining people swimming in the thick boiling air. Down and up and up, finally reaching the inner chamber where the great one was laid to rest so many eons ago.
And then a brief rendezvous with the timeless Sphinx, who in his stoic silence provided no riddles nor answers, but I remembered to give his well-loved nose a pat for a friend back home...
Wrapping up this first part of the journey tomorrow as I am anxious to get into the Red Sea, so I'll be taking a bus across the Canal and down the length of the Sinai, to Sharm and Dahab.
After running the gauntlet past metal detectors and overly anxious tourists, I discovered that no cameras were allowed inside the museum -- AAK! No pix of the glorious Tutenkhamen mask! Seeing that their method for safe keeping of our valuables was a smiling lady in front of a shelf piled high with cameras, I decided instead to walk the distance back to my hotel, directly this time. And then back, tho the route seems to change as quickly as the scenery at Burning Man. Eventually arriving back at the museum without getting squashed by a honking bus or screeching taxi or fearless motorbike, I slowed down to gaze in wonder at the towering statues of Ramses II, the first specialist in mass media distribution. Truly, the kaleidescope of images alone would be enough to elevate him to god-like status in the eyes of most.
The back half of the museum is solely devoted to Tutenkhamen's burial site, displaying in mind-numbing extravagance the riches with which he was inturred. Three golden sarocophigi were nested within each other like a set of Russian dolls, each more ornate than the previous. And the final containing his mummy was so bedecked with amulets and jewelry and bracelets and neclaces and such revealing the degree of reverence for his deceased soul. The whole kit n' kaboodle was stuffed within another three massive containers like walk-in closets each about the size of my studio, and then somehow they'd transported the whole ensemble into the tomb in the Valley of the Kings. Preeety impressive.
Wish that I had pix -- but I'm sure that there is a whole special edition on the National Geographic website, or search Google images or the like...
--------------------
Rising early with thoughts of massive geometry, I searched the streets for a local hangout to get a meal of falafel and anything else that I could stomach in this relatively vegg-head unfriendly landscape. Seems like there are definitely more options in the cheaper street restaurants where the patrons are less likely to be able to afford meat. Finding a place that had trays of spreads with eggplant (auburgine) and hummus and such, chowed a plate of falafels, and hopped on the train to the pyramids. (supposedly this is the only metro in all of Africa, so I decided to make the most of it!)
A train and a sardine-style-squashed-in-the-bus leg of the journey later and I made it to the outside of the park where a friendly teacher at the english school nearby had walked with me to show where I could rent a camel. This ornery beast's name was Mickey Mouse, with none of the resemblances whatsoever, tho the camel driver thought him cute and cuddly enough to give him a kiss. When I tried the same he bleated and spat and opened his mouth wide enough for me to fit in my head, so I thought better to refrain. Then off into the desert, perhaps not like Lawrence of Arabia, but seeking my own conquests.
Into the belly of the Pyramid of Khafre, descending through a narrow shaft squashed in amongst scores of other sweating straining people swimming in the thick boiling air. Down and up and up, finally reaching the inner chamber where the great one was laid to rest so many eons ago.
And then a brief rendezvous with the timeless Sphinx, who in his stoic silence provided no riddles nor answers, but I remembered to give his well-loved nose a pat for a friend back home...
Wrapping up this first part of the journey tomorrow as I am anxious to get into the Red Sea, so I'll be taking a bus across the Canal and down the length of the Sinai, to Sharm and Dahab.
posted by yelloideas at 9:38 AM
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