More from the Pyramids

Breakfast at the hotel, then by bus up the hill to the pyramid parking lot. Fadel goes back over the Egyptian creation myth, with the ben-ben at the origin, the tip of the pyramid arising from the abyss and giving Ra a place to stand, from which to create the earth and the sky. The pyramid, then, is the representation and symbol of that place of origin. And here we stand, at the foot of one of the great ancient wonders of the world, a vast mass of stone whose absolute stability and whose long reach into the sky become reality before our eyes. Interesting, to watch the mind grasp something that had been no more than concept based on two-dimensional images until now. The thrill and the surprise of it, to be able to reach out and touch the great, craggy, sloping wall, and to stand amazed at the sheer expanse of it. Craif reminds us that the base is thirteen acres, and that the approximate count of individual stones is two million!

We begin our tour at the site of the funerary temple to the north, and the huge boat pits in which the pharaoh was to make his journey to the afterlife. A pause for lecture number 4 from Craig, outlining his research into the construction process, this time focusing on the “task list”—the practical analysis of the number of workerst needed, the length of time needed for the work, and the “logic diagram” determining the order of tasks to be completed. His reckoning suggested a ten-year construction period: one year for the planning, two for the site development, five years for the actual building, and two years to place the casing stones (now mostly gone, pirated to make new buildings, walls and temples in the city) and tear down the ramps. All fascinating stuff.

Fadel took over from Craig for a visit to the tomb of the site supervisor, and on around to the west, the current site of one of the excavated boats (we chose not to enter the enclosure) and south, before climbing the lower courses to the entry to the interior of the pyramid. A long, fairly level corridor toward the center, then a turn, and a steep slope upwards towards the King’s chamber. Here the passage gets narrow and low, requiring a duck-walk up a long, stepped ramp, crouching and stepping sideways for what seemed like a good couple of hundred yards. Then, relief, out into the high-walled granite chamber, empty but for a large, open sarcophagus. Not much to see here, except to admire the proportions of the space, sense its depth inside the massive volume of stone enclosing us, and wonder at the marvelous construction process that created it.

Then backwards down the long shaft to the mid-point, with a turn off to the Queen’s chamber—located at some depth below the king’s—with an entry corridor so low I had to crawl for the last thirty feet or so into the chamber, also walled in granite, but smaller, and with a high, sloping roof and a geometrically-designed alcove. Ellie and I were ahead of the others, and got back down first to the intersection where the corridor led steeply down to the unfinished third, underground chamber. We started backward down the stepped ramp, and had managed perhaps two-thirds of the descent when I looked down and saw what seemed to be a locked door down below us. A sudden attack of claustrophobia, along with the thought that others would soon be following us down and effectively blocking off our exit until everyone was out. We decided to abandon the effort—not expecting very much in the way of anything to see—and climbed back up, and headed for the exit. It felt good to see the light again, and breathe the air.

All in all, an incredibe experience. Thanks once again to Fadel, and the access that he gets for us. They allow only 150 people to get inside the pyramid these days, and most of those are permitted to visit only the King’s Chamber. Another instance of Fadel’s magic with the authorities: a very privileged visit to the Sphinx. After a brief stopover at a photo viewpoint, the bus took us back down past the pyramids to the spot below them where we came upon the fabled monument. Another breathtaking experience, coming upon this great stone creature carved from a vast mass of solid rock. Most tourists are not allowed to approach the monument itself, but our group was escorted past the barriers and right down to the outstretched paws, where Fadel once again held forth about the myth and the history of this unique work of man’s imagination. Our little at its feet seemed tiny, insginifcant, in the face of its towering presence. Once again, that sudden insight into the mystery of time, the paradox between its endless reach—both backward into history and forward into the future—and the intensity of the singular present moment where it all meets in a sense of absolute awe.

Another moving visit, this time to the site of the workers’ tombs, still under excavation. No photos here, because the lead anthropologist has objections to photography before publication. But a powerfully moving sense of the reality experienced by those who lived and died working on these pharaonic projects, the vast difference in social standing between the privileged and those who worked at their bidding and served their needs. The humble quality of their tombs was a poignant reminder that not all lived like kings.

Lunch at a sea food restaurant on the way back in to Cairo for a visit to the Egyptian musem, a house of treasures that proved at once amazing and a little depressing. To one who has frequented the great museums in the Western capitals—in New York, London, Paris—this one remains a giant mess, a storehouse, basically, with objects scattered about with scant identification or protection—either from the crowds of visitors or from the ravages of enviromental change. It looked like something out of the end of “Citizen Kane”, a mass of objects warehoused, presumably for eventual organization.

But the objects themselves… incredible! A whole floor dedicated to the Howard Carter discovery of King Tut’s tomb. Five thousand objects found in this one cache! What we saw at the LA County Museum a few years ago barely scratched the surface of this treasure trove. More than the individual objects, though, was the insight into what the ancients evidently thought their king would need in the afterlife: everything imaginable, from the boats to and chariots to provide him transportation, to the endless, exquisite articles of personal jewery, to stashes of food and supplies of perfume, articles of toiletry, along with furnishings—chairs, beds, tables, thrones…

The other observation that struck me was the amount of time that must have been devoted to the preparation for his death. Nineteen at the time of his death, King Tut already had everything ready for his burial: the famous mask, the nested coffins, sumptuously decorated in gold, turquoise, paintwork, as were the three sarcophagi, also nested to fit each inside the other, larger one. This was the work of years of superbly skilled craftsmanship and labor.

And, too, an overwhelming appreciation for the aesthetic of these ancient people, their dedication to absolute perfection in design and execution. Today we have grown so accustomed to the shoddily mass-produced objects that surround and serve us in our lives, that the sheer quality of design and workmanship for even lowly items seems beyond belief. I was struck by the incredible care and respect for how we choose to live our lives, the sense of the importance of every tiny detail that surrounds us. More later.


Wednesday

Up in decent time (5 AM) to get to work on the log, to catch up with a big day yesterday. Breakfast at 7, and an 8AM start, on board our bus, for more sites in the desert close to Cairo. Drove alongside the desperately polluted canal (Fadel tells us that aside from the city pollution, it serves as run-off for the farms along the way, then runs directly down to the Mediterranean. No wonder that poor sea is sickly) about twenty miles to the village of Dahshur where Fadel grew up on a small farm. We heard about the local dates—out of season now, unfortunately—and of Fadels’ boyhood feats of palm-tree climbing. Not least, about the bread his mother used to bake—a skill now taken over by the local bakery, where a long line was awaiting the latest batch from the ovens.

First stop was the Bent Pyramid, one of a group known as Senefru’s pyramids. A camera stop revealed the vista of a landscape with a number of pyramids, in various states of collaspe and, in the distance, the outline of an oil refinery pale against the smog—our civilization’s pathetic contribution to the planet Earth.

A good deal of the facing remains on the Bent Pyramid, making it especially worth the visit. Also—no small advantage—the absence of other tourists: the parking lot was empty when we arrived, except for a tourist police car and a pair of mounted camel police, who dogged our footsteps waiting for the opportunity to importune us for photographs. We were soon suckered in, especially when one of the camels took a fancy to Ellie and started kissing her—though probably at the prompting of the rider. Picture time, sadly marred by the misfiring of our digital and its refusal to behave. Ah, well.

Made the round of the Bent Pyramid, passing the remains of the funerary temple and the smaller pyramid of the Ka on the far side, then back to the bus and onward to the Red Pyramid. Here we had permission to go inside, and a number of us climbed the long exterior flight of steps to the entry, then down the equally long descent to view the two chambers at ground level. A hard climb down, particularly—at a stoop to pass under the low ceiling—on the hips and thighs. Interesting chambers, though, with high, stepped ceilings and granite walls. Then the long climb back up, rather easier, for me, than the descent. The hardest part of all was the steep climb down outside, blinded by the sun after the inner darkness, and dizzy with my familiar acrophobia.

Next stop was the Tomb of Ti, a vizier to the Pharaoh, dating from 2400 BC, with exquisitely detailed low relief work and two burial chambers, the lower one with a massive sarcophagus. (I pause to note that this writing has become peculiarly difficult: I long since ran out of superlatives—how often can you say colossal, vast, massive, and so on? Or even beautiful, exquisite, superb, sumptuous, stunning…? It gets to be harder and harder to find words I haven’t used a hundred times before.) Then on to the Step Pyramid, dating from 3000BC and a part of the oldest complex in Egypt, designed by the first great architect, Imhotep. A beautiful (there you go!) columnar entry in which the archtitect designed the serried ranks of pillars to evoke bundled papyrus stalks—a method still used by the local farmers and fishermen to creat a path through the marshes. Again, Fadel reminds us of the original concept of the temple as an evocation of the earthly abyss.

The temple itself led out on to an extensive, sun-drenched courtyard—where a mother dog and her two puppies roamed—the site of an ancient pharaonic test of strength and stamina, the hepsed. At the far end of the courtyard lay the stepped pyramid, a construction of six mastabas (bench tomb structures) one atop the other, in diminshing sizes. By special permission, the site director led us down below the pyramid and along a low, pillared corridor (a restoration made as early as the 26th dynasty) to a deep inner shaft, reaching down below where the eye could see and up to a high uneven roof, the access to the chamber booby-trapped, Indiana Jones-style, by a massive suspended boulder. The original chamber, now buried beneath the interior shaft, apparently contained a mosaic of the hepsed race.

A tour of the remainder of the site, including two “adminsitration” buildings, one whose details were designed to evoke the nomadic life of the lower, southern kingdom, the other the residential stability of the north.

Back on the bus, we made one further stop at Titi’s Tomb, then on to a well-deserved poolside lunch beneath the awnings of at a local country club, surrounded by green lawns, palm trees, and flower beds. A visit, after lunch, to an adjacent “carpet school”, where we watched young children working at the looms (the owner insisted only two hours, two days a week.) They worked with wonderful speed and skill with their small hands, making the thousands of tiny knots needed to complete a patterned wool or silk carpet. Their smiles, though warm, were inevitably accompanied by the rubbing together of finger and thumb, requesting hard cash for a photograph.

Upstairs, the sales room. Hundreds of carpets on display, and smooth, expert salesmen to help you out with your purchase. Ellie and I were not alone in succumbing: we bought a nice carpet for our Los Angeles home, Then back to Cairo, with another opportunity to buy at a big tourist outlet for all kinds of materials and articles of clothing.

Back at the hotel in time to lounge at the pool in the last warmth of the sun, and bring the log up to date in preparation for our last couple of days in Alexandria, before returning to complete our tour in Cairo.