Category: Egypt-Jordan-2010

We have visited many temples over the past two days and they are beginning to blend together. Karnak however, is impressive and glorious in both its scale and it’s complexity. The temple has been restored and hundreds of immense columns stand in what was the great hall. In times past, these columns supported the roof and are richly decorated with carved relief. It is cool within the great hall, the columns sheltering us from the sun and their mass absorbing the heat of the day. I try to pay attention to our guide, but my mind and eyes wander to the perimeter of the temple where clusters of palms trees grow, silhouetted against the clear blue sky, mini oasis surrounding this ancient temple.

Although we fly to Cairo at an ungodly hour tomorrow morning, we have yet to take a carriage ride around the streets of Luxor. Our hotel is on a back street, adjacent an outdoor cafe, and we have seen off duty carriages parked while their drivers partake of a coffee and play some sort of a board game. It is 9:30 P.M. when we wander over to a lone horse and carriage. A sports game of some sort is blaring on the small T.V. and the men at the cafe are absorbed with it. We speak with one man, disinterested and obviously not the driver of the carriage. We walk away, disappointed when moments later, Mohammad catches up with us, only too willing to forego the game on T.V. and make us his game for the evening. We negotiate a 30 minute carriage ride for $13.00 and try to pay him the money. He waves his hands and tells us “later, later!” We climb aboard the back seat and he maneuvers the carriage along the pot holed surface of the side street onto the main avenue that runs adjacent to the Nile River. The reassuring clip clop of the horses’ hooves upon the pavement is nostalgic and we relax into being the tourists that we are. We pass the Luxor Temple, aglow with lights, then veer down an urban throughway. Although it is nearly 10:00 P.M. the shops are still open and I wish that there had been a free afternoon to explore the city. Mohamed turns off of the main drag and within a few blocks we are maneuvering the narrow streets of the local market place. The small shops are packed full of merchandise. Shoes and kitchenware spill onto the street and colorful abayas are strung high across the narrow street. We trot past bakeries, fruit and vegetable stands, spice shops and tiny cafes. The pungent aroma from the food vendors fills the air. I take jiggly and blurred photos from our moving carriage, hoping to capture the energy and magic of the moment. My friend Stephanie is certified in traditional Chinese medicine and nutrition. The many herb and spice shops we pass are of interest to her and she asks Mohammed about them. Before long he stops the carriage, helps us down and escorts us into a tiny shop crammed floor to ceiling with jars and baskets of spices and herbs. I am unfamiliar with many of the items that Stephanie requests but I remember her asking for hibiscus flowers, saffron and vanilla. The merchant weighs out her various requests, sealing each item in a plastic bag, eventually disclosing the total of her bill. Although I am not knowledgeable about the value of these items, the price seems excessive and Stephanie negotiates a lesser amount. Everyone satisfied we return to the carriage, and I realize that we have been on this ride much longer than the 30 minutes that we negotiated. I assume that Mohammad will now take us directly back to our hotel, but he mentions food for the horse and we veer down another side street where there is a wagon laden with horse fodder. Mohammad loads 5 or 6 bales into the front of the carriage; feeds some to his horse and continues on. I sense that it must be past 11:00 P.M. and again assume that Mohammad is taking us back to our hotel, but we have made many twists and turns throughout the evening and I am disoriented. Recognizing some landmarks, I feel assured that we are heading back, but he makes another turn away from our hotel. We have told him several times that we need to get up early in the morning and I’m not sure if I say something, or just think it; but he asks if we are ready to go home. Within a few more turns we are back in front of our hotel and it is now time to pay up. It is 11:30 P.M. and we have been naive in believing that the drawn out carriage ride was simply time getting away from us all. We offer him what we believe is a generous amount; considerably more than what we agreed upon, but he rejects it; seemingly offended. He asks if we enjoyed the ride? We agree that evening has been delightful and ante up another $10.00. I don’t have change and he takes my bill; the equivalent of $20.00 and stuffs it into the pocket of his robe. He fusses with the horse, expecting that I will forget about the change due me, but I am insistent and eventually he hands me the change. Stephanie and I return to our hotel, exhausted and exhilarated from the evening. We have only a few hours to sleep before our flight to Cairo in the morning.

We leave Luxor very early in the morning and are checked into our Cairo Hotel by noon. The Zoser Hotel is another lovely 5 star bubble, but it is in the outskirts of Cairo, with 6 lanes of traffic separating us from the local neighborhood. We have two hours to eat lunch and settle in but I am determined to explore the vicinity and I need to send e-mail home. It is not the $10 per hour charge at the hotels’ business center that deters me, but a longing to immerse myself in the back streets of the neighborhood, that propels me out of the hotel in search of an internet cafe. An armed security guard stands sentry outside the hotel and I ask him where I might find an internet cafe? He in turn ask a waiting taxi driver and I learn that there is one just two blocks away. I start to jog happily down the stairs but my freedom is abruptly halted by the guard who firmly takes my arm and descends the stairway with me. I am taken aback when he holds up his hand to halt the onrush of traffic and escorts me across the 6 lanes of traffic. The guard steers me by one arm, his machine gun hanging loosely off his other shoulder. Cars rush past us, swerving and braking as necessary in the afternoon rush of Cairo traffic. After successfully crossing the 6 lanes of traffic, I thank him, expecting him to return to his position in front of the hotel. His response is curt and he informs me that he will escort me to my destination. We walk the two blocks together in an awkward silence and I am relieved when we round the corner and see the internet cafe. His intent is to wait for me, but I tell him that I will be a long time and I hand him 10 Egyptian pounds, approximately $2.00. Satisfied, he leaves me in the dimly lit cafe. There are no more than 10 ancient computers positioned against the walls and several young men sit at dusty computers, playing games and surfing the internet. I log onto hotmail and miraculously I am online in seconds. I am delighted to have mail from home and my fingers fly across the keyboard in response. I feel comfortable here, more so than if I were in the sterile business center at the hotel. I may be in the middle east, but this internet cafe feels no different from the ones in the Galapagos, Costa Rica or Mexico. The man, working at the computer beside me, is writing an e-mail in English. He politely asks me how to spell several words and I hope that I give him the correct spelling. An hour passes quickly and I must go because our bus is to leave shortly. I rise, pay my 80 cents and begin to leave but the clerk stops me, indicating that he will call for an escort to take me back to the hotel. I wave him off, telling him that I don’t need an escort and sprint out of the door and down the street. It is a delightful street, aligned with the small shops consistent with a real neighborhood. I know that I stand out, American tourist that I am, but people smile and I smile back and I throughly enjoy my two blocks of freedom. My great concern is how to cross back over the 6 lanes of traffic to our hotel. There are no crosswalks within sight, but two women, dressed in black abayas and burkas are positioned at the curb, about to make their treacherous journey across to the other side. I sidle up beside them and step off the curb when they do. I surmise that they are mother and daughter; the younger of the two women in her late 20’s. She turns to me, smiles and tells me not to be afraid. I feel as if I am playing “Frogger.” We somehow avoid collision with the oncoming traffic and are safely half way across, standing on the medium. Three more lanes to go! I am surprised and delighted when the young woman takes my hand and guides me across the remaining three lanes of traffic. It is encounters such as this, that reinforce my determination to break away from the pack.

The 108 of us on this tour are all distributors or users of Young Living Essential Oils. The focus of this tour, as far as Young Living Oils is concerned, is to create a documentary-infomercial about the frankincense oil trade route. This afternoon, our three busses depart from the Zoser Hotel to drive to the film location. Cairo traffic is terrible and although the distance is not far, it is a 1 1/2 hour drive out to the desert location for the filming. We drive for miles, along a canal, polluted with garbage and the occasional dead donkey or camel, bloated and decomposing in the murky water. Groves of palm trees line the banks of the canal and sheep and goat herders prod their livestock along the embankment. Eventually we arrive at one of the two film locations; a mud village which is so authentic that initially, I assume that it is. The second location is a caravan tent encampment, inviting and exotic and I wish that I could spend the night here, under the stars, sheltered in the protective circle and warmed by imaginary camp fires. Gary Young divides the 108 of us into groups and assigns us roles for tomorrows filming.

Three pyramids are silhouetted in the distance against the hazy sky and the sun casts long shadows on the sand. We have not yet been called to board the busses and a few of us are still out on the sand dunes above the tent encampment. Seemingly from nowhere, a magical influx of children and young men appear. They are curious about us and we about them; young boys on foot and with bicycles and older boys with cell phones and rhythm. There are times of the day that allow magic to happen and this is one of those times. The older boys sing and dance and we clap to their rhythm, celebrating this golden moment at the end of the day together.

We have a 4:30 A.M. wake up call so that we can be on the film location early. Our buses depart the hotel at 6:00 A.M. and drive the the hour and a half to the film location. I am delighted that during the night, the camels and horses have arrived! There are 85 camels and 35 Arabian horses on site and we learn that some of the camel drivers have traveled several days to arrive at this destination. Several nights ago, during one of our group meetings, I documented that I had “moderate horse experience” on a paper that was passed around our group. The horses on site today are young and spirited; the stallions not gelded and I fear that these horses are more than I can handle safely. Gary gathers us together and chooses the horse riders first. Many of the experienced riders chosen are women, who will need to dress as men since it was only men who rode in the caravans. I am near the front of the circle and when Gary asks who feels competent to ride a camel? My hand is instantly up and I am one of the 8 chosen. I too will dress as a man for the caravan scene and I head for the costuming tent where I will be outfitted. Numerous tents are in place to accommodate the costuming, the makeup, the changing rooms for both men and women plus one extremely large tent erected to accommodate all of us for our meals. It is utter chaos as 108 of us cram into the costuming tent to choose appropriate costumes. The horsemen/women, and the camel rider costumes are all the same; black polyester “Ninja Pajamas” and I am soon dressed in my unflattering costume with time to wander the film location. I gravitate towards the camel encampment and am approached by several young men, asking if I want a ride on one of their camels? I try to explain that I am to be one of the chosen camel riders, but they don’t understand and within moments, I am positioned atop a camel and ordered to lean backwards. I am thrust forward as my camel rises, unfolding its awkward legs and I am grateful that I have not been thrown to the ground. I am in bliss; all of my senses delighted. Visually, the scene is exotic, 85 camels adorned with colorful tasseled blankets and tended by Bedoin camel drivers. The scent of the camels connects with a nostalgic part of my brain; my youth and time spent around horses and stables. I stroke the neck of my camel and am surprised that the grain of the hair upon its neck faces upwards, not downwards like a horse. The camels in the encampment snort and chew their cud and deposit rivers of pee into the sand below. I could not be happier.

Eventually, everyone is costumed but it is nearly noon. A elaborate catered lunch is provided within the magic of the main tent; over 100 feet long and decorated within by colorful tapestries The meal is mindfully catered and we all enjoy roasted lamb, skewer chicken, grilled vegetables and an array of sweets to culminate the meal. We are all in costumes and I feel transformed into the character that I will soon portray.

At lunch, we are given the script for the caravan scene and it is now time to film the re-enactment of the Frankinscence Trail. The caravan of 85 camels will ride along the sand dunes, guarded by the horse guards. Between each of the 8 camel riders is a string of 8 camels, laden with goods. Each camel is led by one of our group and as the day wears on, I am grateful that I sit atop a camel and am not leading one and trudging through the sand.

We shoot the caravan scene after lunch. I am happy to be atop a camel and not one of the many who are leading the camels for miles in the sand. There are three camera men and Gary and his crew shout instructions, but the sand dune setting is vast and the sound dissipates and there is much confusion about what to do. I simply sit atop my camel, enjoying the birds eye view of the filming and bonding with my camel. There are several takes and retakes of the caravan scene, and a scene where the caravan is attacked by bandits. This scene involves half of the horses with Bedouin riders, charging down from atop a sand dune, swords flailing to attack the horse guards of our caravan. I am amazed that no one is injured in this scene, and after several takes, Gary is satisfied. It is late afternoon and the weather is changing quickly. Black storm clouds are coming in fast and lightning flashes in the distance over the pyramids. The final shoot for the day is to be the caravan silhouetted atop the ridge of a sand dune at sunset. Our caravan proceeds slowly up to the highest ridge as the storm moves closer. As we ascend the steep ridge the saddle on one of the camels slips off the back end of the camel and the rider lies stunned in the sand. The air is charged with electricity and I ponder on the fact that those of us atop the camels are the highest point of the landscape. The crew below us is soon shouting for us to hurry and come back to camp, but those on foot can only walk so fast in the sand and I watch the lightening storm with wonder and excitement. We are no sooner back down in the encampment when the storm hits with gusts of blinding sand. I wrap my head scarf around my face and stumble towards the dining tent, all but obliterated from view by the intensity of the sand storm. The dining tent must be over 100 feet long and the canvas sides flap and snap in the wind. The electricity goes on and off and I position myself near an exit flap, since I fear that the tent may go down and don’t want to be trapped inside. People shout for men to hold up and reset the center poles of the enormous tent and electrical bulbs sway above us. The wind and rain continue to pound us and I worry that the tent will collapse and we will be electrocuted when all goes down. After about 20 minutes the storm lessens and half of us are instructed to line up for the catered dinner; a lovely feast of roasted vegetables, hummus, skewered lamb and chicken and an array of desserts. We are the first group to get our food and I wolf down my dinner as the storm grows again in its intensity. The next few minutes are a blur, but the tent is going down and it is time to evacuate. It is dark outside and the storm is raging as we run through the sand to the waiting busses. The busses are a long way off but they have turned on their headlights and we gravitated to the beacons of their lights and are soon safely inside. It is nearly 10:00 P.M. when we arrive back at the hotel, some of our group still without dinner. We have another early morning wake up call to finish the filming, if there is a set to return to.

I am growing tired of our pre-dawn wake up calls, but we must finish filming the final scenes for the documentary today. Today’s filming takes place in a different location, the “mud village” where the villagers and families will load the camel caravan and bid adeiu to their husbands and fathers. This site is up a narrow dirt road and the road is soggy from last nights rains and the lead bus gets stuck in the mud and sand and it takes 45 minutes to dig the bus out. The other two buses follow and we too get stuck in the muck. Eventually we arrive at the mud village and prepare for the days filming. We have all retained yesterdays costumes and are already dressed and ready for assignments. Gary gathers us together and explains that a smaller camel caravan will be filmed today with just 4 camel riders needed to lead the caravan out of the village. I have no visions of being a film star, simply the desire to be with a camel and miraculously, I make the cut and am one of the 4 remaining camel riders. I sit happily atop my camel, oblivious to the excitment unfolding as the village scene is filmed. Eventually, it is time for the camel caravan to ride through the village and the scene is successfully filmed on the first take.

May there be peace on earth.

The filming of the Frankincense Trail is complete, but with just one day remaining in Cairo, we must make another early morning departure. Our group arrives at the Cairo Museum by 8:30 A.M. and the museum courtyard is already crowded with visitors. We are briefed on the use of the head phones and enter the museum just minutes after the 9:00 A.M. opening. The museum is vast and not well lit, but our group follows our guide who speaks into her microphone which is tuned to our head phones. She guides us and explains the masterpieces within the museum. I am especially fascinated with Akhenaten’s sculptures and reliefs. The elongated heads and protruding bellies of the royal family seem alien and I wonder if they might have been just that? We have less than two hours within this great museum and I am most interested in the ancient Egyptian Jewelry. I wander off from our group, still connected by the head phones, but able to immerse myself in the jewelry galleries. Recently, in San Francisco, Art, John and I visited the Tutankhamum Exhibit. I was delighted to share the magic of the pharaohs with my family; but the S.F. collection was small. Many more significant pieces are tucked into one display case in the Egyptian Museum, than were in the entire Tutankhamum exhibit in San Francisco. I am impressed and inspired in all that I see. My mind whirls; blending these ancient images with designs of my own. I wish to be a sponge, able to absorb it all during the brief visit that I have.