Still in Aswan

First, Bush, before I forget it, an observation from yesterday at the Philae Temple. It has to do with defacements. Defacements of three kinds. The first is the familiar “Kilroy was here” kind of defacement, where people succumb to a very ancient need to mark their presence in some way. Since the temple has been around for so many centuries, it bears many of these marks, in Greek, in Latin, in English—one, I remember particularly, from 1823. And then too, alas, contemporary. It’s an old impulse and one which led, some think, to the birth of lyric poetry. The inscription poem, to mark a single moment in the passage of time, when a human being is inspired, usually, by love, or by the beauty of nature.

Somehow I understand this need. It’s sad to see a wonderful heritage spoiled by a single, selfish instinct. But the other sort of defacement, to me, is much sadder. It’s defacement for religious reasons. In the case of this temple, the Copts came along after the age of the Egytian gods and wanted to convert it to their purposes. They left their mark in the form of crosses and other images and writing. I suppose that this is the nature of all religions: if you believe in some form of absolute, everyone else gets to be wrong. And to assert your own moral and religious rectitude, you condemn what others believe, of what has gone before, and erase all traces of it. A sad commentary on human religions, human beliefs, that they are unable to tolerate others.

Perhaps even worse, though, was the erasing of images by later generations of Eupoean visitors who believed, according to our Fadel, that the images on the temple walls had certain healing powers. So they scraped them off. Where there were once beautiful figures, there are now only outlines left, the spaces only a mass of vertical scratch marks. This is akin to the wanton slaughter of tigers or rhinoceros for theis supposed medical powers. Again, the human species asserting its supremacy over all others. I wonder, too, Bush, if we could think of our depletion of the world’s oil resources in this context? Think about it, okay?

*

A good breakfast in the hotel’s magnificent, domed dining room, then off with a group to the African bazaar, the day already warming considerably by 8:30 AM. The walk led us into the center of town along the river bank, with its hundreds of tourist boats, large and small, moored alongside—not to mention the crowd of boatmen eager to offer us a sail.

The market proved to be a series of small streets with open shops and vendors on either side, and festooned above by colorful displays of materials of all kinds. The vendors, as usual, were all over us: “American?” they ask. “Good. Good morning. Lovely day.” All smiles, and full of wonderful offers on their wares. We could have bought anything from a set of tools to a lamb’s head of innards, from pipes and cigarettes to shawls, spices, jewelry, t-shirts, beaded work, headgear… Ellie enjoyed the bargaining, ending up with four scarves, but managing to resist the jewelry. Very friendly, most of them, but persistent if you showed a gleam of interest. And most came down to rock bottom prices once we showed signs of walking off. Todd wondered, as we left, whether we’re taking advantage of these good people. I don’t know. It just seems to be a way of life, a kind of a game they play with tourists, most with a certain enjoyment. Even their grumbling, when they lose a sale, seems a part of the act.

Met at eleven with Fadel, who led us on a short, hot walk a couple of blocks up the hill to the Nubia Museum. Plenty of security there, too. The Egyptian authorities worry a great deal about security, he told us, especially for the American tourists: “Lose one American,” he said, “and it will be all over the media all over the world.” A disaster for the tourist business. So they watch over us carefully. Two security checks to enter the museum.

The Nubia Museum is a brand new one, covering local archeology and history from ancient times to the present. Some beautiful objects—from prehistoric rock carvings to ancient monumental statuary and artifacts such as jewelry and ceramic ware. We were also treated to a video about the rescue of archeological sites from the flooding caused by the new High Dam. UNESCO helped in mounting a massive conservation effort, which involved the moving of whole temples, literally cutting them from the rock and transporting them, slab by slab, to be reconstructed at their new site.

We’ll be seeing some of the results tomorrow. But the video, and the extensive collection of documentary photographs reminded me that there is a fourth source of vandalism to be added to my earlier three: civilization itself, and its need to progress and answer to the needs of ever growing numbers of human beings on the planet. While obviously superhuman efforts were made to spare some part of the great Nubian heritage, much was also lost to the dam—much of which will now remain forever undiscovered.

Back to the hotel around one for a swim in the pool, and lunch in the café down by the pool. Not great cuisine, but I enjoyed my pizza, while Ellie felt obliged to abandon a good part of her tuna sandwich because it was mixed with raw vegetables and we have been warned to avoid uncooked, unpeeled foods as the common source of tourists’ stomach ailments. Then a brief nap by the pool, and back to our room to begin packing for an early departure tomorrow. My intention is to use the little time I’ll have in the morning to get this last piece posted, and find time to catch up with the rest of the day’s activities some time tomorrow. Perhaps from the boat, on our four-day Nile cruise.