Marty Magic Travel

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.

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 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.

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 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.

The 4:00 A.M. wake up call is earlier than I wish. I make it downstairs by 4:30, gulp a cup of weak coffee and board the bus. Our convoy of three busses stops at a checkpoint on the outskirts of Luxor to wait for our police escort. Two police cars accompany our busses on the two hour drive, north, to Dendara Temple. We arrive at the temple just minutes after sunrise and well before any other tour groups. The official who is to grant us this private, early morning entry has not yet arrived and Gary Young, gives us an emotional accounting of the temples’ significant history. Mary, Joseph and Jesus took refuge in the temples’ crypt when Jesus was three years old and Harrods army was pursuing them. The high priestess removed the capstone from the crypt and hid the holy family within. The temple was attacked and pillaged and the priestesses killed. Two weeks later, the Holy family emerged safely from hiding and Jesus fulfilled his prophecy.

It is just our group to enter the temple site and the morning light imparts a golden glow on the impressive facade. There is magic in the morning and the 4:00 A.M. wake up call is a small price to pay for this private visitation. We divide into our three groups to explore this vast temple and the two other groups vanish into the immense halls and dark sanctuary of the main temple. We begin our visit at the Temple of Isis, a small and richly decorated chapel at the south end of the temple grounds. Our group gathers within pressing up against the cool walls, ornately decorated with bas relief carvings and hieroglyphics. I am surprised that we are allowed to touch the carving upon the wall, but there are no restrictions and I run my fingers along the groves of the hieroglyphics and images. Some in our group begin to chant, hands raised towards the ceiling where sunlight streams in from small windows, dimly illuminating the patterns upon the walls. Others lie prone on the floor, or sit meditatively. The acoustics resonate with the vibrations of the chanting and I too sense an immense energy resonating from this sacred space.

We spend nearly 30 minutes within the Temple of Isis, eventually moving on and into the main temple of Hathor, where Hathor supposedly gave birth to Horus’s child. Immense, Hathor-headed columns rise 50 or 60 feet above us, supporting the temple roof. The intricately carved columns and reliefs were once vividly painted and still retain much of their color. We enter a dark sanctuary and snake up a long, narrow, stone corridor, richly embellished with reliefs and leading to the roof top. The corridor maze winds back upon itself several times, eventually opening onto several chambers where sacred rituals were preformed. An astrological ceiling is within one of these chambers; an intricately carved relief of the constellations, coated an iridescent black with centuries of soot from candles and ritual fires. I am fascinated and intrigued by the surroundings, but I feel a dark presence within these corridors and rooms. We exit onto the rooftop with a 380 degree view of the surroundings. It is nearly 9:00 A.M; the early morning glow of sunrise is gone and I see other tourists entering the temple grounds.

Our group has been granted a private visitation to the crypt where the Holy Family took refuge. Only 7 people at a time are allowed entry down into the narrow crypt. Gary Young has been within the crypt since we arrived, speaking to each group of 7 individually. The immense stone capstone has been removed from the floor and our group of 7 are helped down the narrow stairway and passageway into the crypt below. There are two wings to the crypt; each wing about 15 feet long and only 4 or 5 feet wide. Gary stands in one wing and gathers the 7 of us closely together to tell us the history of this sacred space. As a Christian, I am deeply moved by the spirit of the place and try to imagine what it might have been like for the Holy Family, to hide in this small crypt for nearly two weeks.

Back on the busses, we return to Luxor for an early lunch. We will visit Karnak Temple this afternoon.

Those of us who arrived late last night, missed last nights visit to the Luxor Temple and we go there after dinner. It is dramatically lit and probably best visited at night. I wander off on my own, along the avenue of sphinxes, and commune with these ancient guardians.

It is late afternoon and I am extremely hungry, but lunch is still a long way off. We have another stop at Habu Temple. I like this temple better than Hatshepsut. It isn’t as crowded and the bas relief paintings and hieroglyphics are deeply etched and more colorful than Hatshepsut. The days itinerary finished, we return to the hotel for dinner having skipped lunch entirely.

We drive towards Hatshepsut Temple, through baron and crumbling sandstone mountains, arriving at our destination at 11:00 A.M. The sun is blinding and the air hazy with dust and heat. Hatshepsut sits 3/4 mile away, an impressive three level temple, built into the mountains adjacent to the Valley of the Kings. The immense parking lot is situated 3/4 mile below the temple and dozens of tour busses are spitting out tourists. Achmed, our guide, gathers his charges together and herds us towards a line of waiting trolleys. We are trolled up the hill, deposited into another waiting area and eventually worm our way through a ticket kiosk and a security check point and into the temple grounds. I am having doubts about my decision to travel to Egypt with this group. Hatshepsut itself is impressive and I try to pay attention to our guide as he explains the history of this particular site. Interestingly enough, Hatshepsut reigned as King for 21 years, but was female. At the time she took the throne, there was not a suitable male heir, and she dressed as a man, wore a beard and reigned strong for 21 years until turning power over to a nephew, who had come of age. The hieroglyphics and architecture is fascinating and I enjoy taking photos, but there are far too many tourists interfering with my compositions.

It is 1:00 P.M. before we are back on the bus, and begin our drive to the Valley of the Kings. Tutankhamum has just been returned to his tomb, after vacationing at the Cairo museum, where he was examined and it was determined that the young king had died of malaria. This site is not as crowded as the Hatshepsut Temple and I am anxious to see Tutankhamum tomb. It is a short hike up a dusty canyon to his tomb and our guide points to the ridge crest above. There is a formation that resembles a reclining pharaoh, hands crossed upon his chest. He tells us that the tomb site was chosen because of this formation, and I question him? I suggest that in 3500 years, erosion may have changed the topography. The adjoining gullies and washes are filled with crumbling sandstone boulders and although the image of a pharaoh can be imagined now, I doubt if this was the reason that the sight was chosen. So, Daddy…true or false? (My father has since answered my question. Apparently, 3500 years is nothing in geological time, making it quite possible that the reclining pharaoh was indeed discernible in the rocks some 3500 years ago.)

We descend into the tomb, and the chambers seem surprisingly small. The painting above the sarcophagus is a grid of 12 brightly painted baboons. The hieroglyphics and paintings are rich with gold paint and the famous sarcophagus, encrusted with lapis, enamel and gold, is entombed in a glass box. At the opposite side of the chamber, Tutankhamun, sleeps, under a cream cloth, his blackened mummified head and shrunken feet, protruding from the cloth. Remarkable.

Sixty two tombs have been discovered in the Valley of the Kings and we have just 30 minutes left at this location. Stephanie, Sandy and I hurry to visit the Tomb of Ramses VI. The corridor leading to the burial chamber and the vaulted ceiling of this large tomb are decorated with ornate hieroglyphics, symbolic accounts of the journey into the underworld. With a few minutes remaining we trudge up the dirt road to one more tomb, equally ornate and impressive with it’s splendid hieroglyphics and paintings.