Nile Reflections

Bak-sheesh, bak-sheesh, they cry. The supplication floats in the air like music. You become used to it, occasionally respond to it with coins or candies, even begin to miss it if you don't hear it for a while. Baksheesh is a game, really, like bargaining in the markets. Be firm, shake your head with a smile. They'll grin back and shrug; it's all in a day's work and they hold no grudges

An arrival in Egypt is always special. I remember arriving by sea, from Australia and, at sundown, dropping anchor near the city of Suez, at the southern entrance to the canal. Immediately, we were surrounded by tall-masted dhows, filled with gesticulating, shouting vendors, who shinnied up ropes onto the deck and vied for our attention as we waited for the ferry to take us into town. I remember the strangeness, the heat, the babble, the darkening sea turned crimson by the setting sun. I remember, later, the clip-clop of our open carriage and robed figures, shadows almost, disappearing into alleyways and the fragrant smell of the city at night. Now here I was, twenty five years later, gazing down at midget pyramids as we began our final descent into Cairo. Egypt's specialness was just minutes away.

Aswan

On my first visit, Egypt was just a port-of-call; today it is a destination. Our EgyptAir jet banked sharply and set course due south. Below was the desert and mountains, too, with long-dry river beds etched like fossils into their rough red terrain. The trip is short- just time for a drink and suddenly, there below you is a blue ribbon, with wider ribbons of green on either side. The Nile. Beautiful from the air and from the air its impact on the surrounding countryside is unmistakable.

Now, Aswan was rushing up to greet us, dusty and drab. The airport, when I visited, was militarized, with concealed gun emplacements all over the place and a tiny terminal that was straight out of Casablanca. I half expected to see Claude Rains come sauntering out of that little mustard-coloured cube, stuck in a haze of heat. Instead, I saw lounging soldiers and an endless stream of tourists, bright with expectation. Even though terrorism has caused cancellations, travellers still arrive here in Upper Egypt, which is, of course, the southern and most historic part of the country.

After a bumpy 20-minute ride, across a monotonous moonscape viewed through a veil of dust - Aswan! The first of many little brown towns, squatting by the river that sustains them all. A glimpse of mosque here, a minaret there, the facade of a Coptic church, a mansion hiding behind vines, a tangle of palms, a multitude of donkeys, scurrying figures evading honking taxi cabs and, finally, the riverboat. It sat waiting for us, big and white and gleaming with accents of blue and gold - and, behind it, the Nile, sparkling in the afternoon sun.

Cruising on the Nile in air-conditioned comfort

The Anni

There are many riverboats on the Nile these days, some, like the Anni and her sister Sheraton ships, accommodating a hundred and more passengers on 5 or 8-day cruises in air-conditioned comfort. Others are smaller, but no less agreeable. The older paddle-steamers have disappeared from the Nile scene along with the fez. But not to worry. What you miss in atmosphere you make up in comfort. These boats, designed in Scandinavia, are mini-hotels, built with the contemporary tourist in mind. My cabin on the Anni had twin beds (not bunks), a picture window (not a porthole), a patterned blue carpet with matching drapes, plenty of cupboard space, a comfy chair and occasional table (with a bowl of welcoming fruit), a tiny en suite bathroom with shower, recessed lighting, even taped music (which, thankfully, you can switch off). The air-conditioning is a must, even during winter, which is the best time to visit the Nile. After a hot trip ashore, your ship is a cool and relaxing retreat.

The ship has four decks, plus an up-top observation promenade, half of which is shaded by an orange canopy. I was on an upper deck, next to a large lounge where after-dinner drinks and coffee are served and where entertainments take place from time to time. The middle deck accommodates the dining salon, shops, hairdresser and other cabins. The lower deck is where you come aboard; more cabins are here, along with the purser's office. Lower still, almost at the water line, are the crew's quarters.

On board with me was a collection of mostly compatible travellers - Australians, English, French, Americans, Germans, Chileans, Scandinavians - even some well-to-do Egyptians from Alexandria. Some of us lay in the sun, others (like me) spent most of our time at the rail, watching andphotographing the river. Children splashed in the pool, stewards dashed here and there with drinks. Breakfast, an elaborate buffet, was served from 6:30 in the morning. After breakfast, we'd visit a town or a temple and be back on board in time for lunch. We'd cast off and sail on. In the afternoon, another stop. Then back in time for dinner. The food aboard is excellent, especially the nightly buffets which were colourful still-lifes of European and Mid-Eastern cuisine. The next to last night on board, there's always a galabia party - with everyone dressing up in the long, loose cotton robes worn by the fellahin. It was a bit too hearty and organized for my taste, but others seemed to enjoy it.

Baksheesh and the Gods

Before we left Aswan, we were taken to see the dam, accompanied by the ship's excellent guides, and later, more interesting I thought, to an ancient quarry where you can see an unfinished obelisk, chiselled flat in the pinkish granite and abandoned when a flaw was discovered in the stone. The huge (136 feet long, 14 feet thick at its base) monolith lies as it was left 3,000 years ago. You can almost feel the chagrin and embarrassment of the Royal quarrymen as you walk slowly on this horizontal, earthbound masterpiece.

The mighty dam at Aswan

Tomb, temple or bazaar, wherever you go in Egypt you must first run the baksheesh gauntlet. Baksheesh means gift in Arabic and the request seems to accompany every service done for you (whether you ask for it or not) and the outstretched hands of the little children who gather round you in the streets. Bak-sheesh, bak-sheesh, they cry. The supplication floats in the air like music. You become used to it, occasionally respond to it with coins or candies, even begin to miss it if you don't hear it for a while. Baksheesh is a game, really, like bargaining in the markets. Be firm, shake your head with a smile. They'll grin back and shrug; it's all in a day's work and they hold no grudges.

So our voyage began. As the brochure promised, 5,000 years of history floated by and I saw it all on the very river that made all those civilizations possible. As you quickly discover, the Nile is not only an incredible communications waterway but it also nurtures life in this sunburned land, from Cairo south through the desert to central Africa.

After Aswan, our first stop was Kom Ombo, which is not a town or even a village--just a golden temple sitting on a promontory overlooking the Nile, dedicated to the crocodile god Sebekh. An old, disused paddleboat, the one used in the movie Death On The Nile, is moored close by. We stepped gingerly down onto the riverbank (a new dock was being built) to be met by the local baksheesh brigade, bearing down on us with bright robes and trinkets for sale. I weakened, and bought a blue-and-white striped galabia. It cost 10 Egyptian Pounds.

The next day, I woke to a memorable sunrise, and watched, fascinated, wading birds that were spindly black silhouettes against a river of bronze. We were met at dockside by dozens of horse-drawn carriages and were taken into Edfu to see the Temple of Horus built by the Ptolemaic kings 2000 years ago. The temple is remarkably well preserved and an imposing sacred falcon, Horus himself, carved in stone, guards the entrance. In this temple, as in some others, the hieroglyphic art has been defaced, with the heads of gods chiselled out by well-meaning Christian converts centuries ago. Back at the ship, after a drive through markets filled with oranges, tomatoes and purple eggplant, we were greeted by an itinerant musician whose stringed instrument, sounding something like a Jew's Harp, played us aboard.

A few hours later, we docked at Esna, where we visited another temple, this one set in a deep depression, reached by a long flight of steps. We walked there- it was just a few minutes from the dock- accompanied by an Egyptian tourist policeman on horseback, who is there to keep an eye on things. On the way back, some of us stopped in the bazaar. In one shop, run by a black-robed lady with a dazzling set of gold teeth, I purchased a tinkling veiled headdress for 3 Pounds, to her delight. Our ship had to exit via a lock and we were entertained (being a captive audience) by rug vendors and snake charmers until the Anni finally slid out into the Nile again. I looked back. On a narrow jetty, the locals stood waving, their robes rippling in the breeze.

Shopping (and bargaining) is fun; the great locks at Esna

The River

In between visit to temples and tombs, there's the river. It's always there, a shining presence, dominating the scene. The river's banks are a constantly changing; what was a ribbon of green from the air becomes, on closer inspection, fields of wheat or sugar cane, brilliant green in the sunshine, or groves of date palms. Now a mud-coloured village, built on the riverbank, comes into view, against an enamelled blue sky. The village gives way to more palms, a distant minaret like a finger pointing Heavenward, more fields. Against this backdrop, life continues, as it has for thousands of years. Black-robed women at the water's edge, washing their clothes. Labourers bending low over bundles of reeds, donkeys tripping swiftly along a towpath, camels loaded with cane, children playing, chickens picking at the ground. It goes on all day - and if you're a photographer, you'll be kept busy running from one side of the boat to the other.

On the river, you'll pass other passenger ships, which bellow a greeting as they pass. You'll see long flat barges, fast feluccas and the ubiquitous dhow, workhorse of the river. But your most memorable moments on the river will come as the sun sets, tinting the limestone ridges on the western horizon first pink, then deep plum. At night, the river is slivered with silver from lights on shore. Sit up top, as I did, listening to the lapping of the water, the trilling of night birds and the occasional wail from a radio in a passing village.

It was late afternoon as we approached Luxor. In the fading light, I stood alone, up on the promenade, watching the line of mountains loom ever closer. Across the water, large white birds, like herons, scouted the rocky shoreline for supper. Then, as we rounded a bend in the river, the mountain that enfolds the Valley of the Kings came into view. Now it was dark against the evening sky, but tomorrow we'd journey into that valley, to see its legends at first hand.

Luxor offers floodlit temples and luxury hotels

Into the Valley

You cross the river, early in the morning, by ferry. A bus or taxi awaits you and you drive through a bustling village to the monuments which make this area unique. You'll see first, the Colossi of Memnon- two great carved stone figures of the Pharaoh Amenophis III, marking the site of a long vanished temple. They stand alone, in a patch of farmland, like sentinels guarding your approach to the valley.

Beyond the Colossi are some of the lesser Royal tombs, in the foothills of the mountain. We were escorted into the tomb of a young prince, carved into the hillside; pitch dark inside. The light came, finally, not from electricity but from a mirror outside, in the hand of a guide. The mirror picked up and beamed a shaft of sunlight into the gloom, bringing the brilliant colours on the decorated walls to life.

A short distance away is the temple of Queen Hatshepsut, the country's only female monarch. Built in 1515 BC, under a cliff, this mortuary shrine is actually two wide columned terraces of apricot stone. There are impressive carvings on its walls; I remember particularly a stylized representation of oxen grazing under frankincense trees- and another, of the cow goddess licking Queen Hatshepsut's outstretched hand. As you leave, hawkers proffer brand new "antiquities". Let the buyer beware.

Moments later, you're on the excellent road which twists and turns its way into the Valley of the Kings, surrounded on all sides by pale limestone ridges. Look for the house of Howard Carter, discoverer of Tutankhamun's tomb- the only tomb in the valley to escape grave robbers. Soon you arrive in a parking area, filled with buses and cabs jostling for position. And filled with outstretched hands: "Very fine, sir! Very old, sir! Very good price, sir!"

The boy-king we have come to see: Tutankhamun

The tombs - Tutankhamun, Ramses, others - are dark mouths in the mountain face. There are usually crowds of visitors, so you'll have to wait your turn. But the wait is worth it. The way to Ramses' tomb is angled and goes deep into the mountain. You'll see many wall paintings - with colours as fresh as if they'd just been painted. There are fine ceilings, too - one in particular, which depicts the sky goddess, Nut, swallowing the sun which passes through her star-decorated body.

But it is the tomb of the boy-king Tutankhamun we have come to see. Smaller, less ostentatious, than the multi-chambered tomb of Ramses, with fewer wall paintings. A visit to this tomb is, nevertheless, an evocative and strangely moving experience, especially as the king's mummy, in its golden sarcophagus, has been returned from Cairo to its original resting place.

A Visit with Mamoud

On my way back to the river, I was waylaid by a beguiling youngster called Mamoud - and talked into taking a donkey ride back the way I'd just come, towards his village.

"What's his name?" I asked, casting a suspicious eye over the small grey beast. "And how much will it cost?"

"His name is Meenaha" he said, fiddling with the reins. "And the ride will cost One Pound."

"Okay. One Pound." I hopped on.

"That is One Pound for the donkey" Mamoud added, once I was safely on and we'd started off. "And after, something for me!"

Mamoud chatted along the way, and soon his younger brother joined us. Both boys had a charming blend of innocence and street-wisdom and spoke English well, with the clipped, rather sing-song accent of Egypt. When we arrived in their village, which was backed by green cane fields, Mamoud insisted I come and see the family house, which stood at the end of a short street and was made of mud bricks. Outside the door, Mamoud's mother, aunt, sisters and neighbours stood toeing the dust and giggling. I was ushered inside.

"We have lived here in this house for a long time" Mamoun said, as we passed through a mud-floored reception room, furnished with a divan and decorated with fading photographs, "about one hundred year."

We'd reached an inner courtyard, open to the sky, with steps leading to the roof. In the courtyard, rabbits nibbled greens and as we climbed the steps, pigeons peeked out of holes. "Tonight, I think we shall have this one for supper" Mamoud said gravely, pointing to a particularly beady-eyed bird. On the roof was one room, the bedroom he shared with his brother, several cackling chickens and a view over the village and the cane fields. I had seen villages like this from the river. Now here I was in a house in one of those villages, seeing life as it really is. It was the kind of experience you can have sometimes, spontaneous, unforgettable - if you're open to it and seize the moment when it comes.

But now it was over. I was sitting on the ferry, crossing the river, going back to Luxor to see the great temple of Karnak and then, a day later, a fast jet ride back to Cairo, where it all began.

An integral part of the Egypt experience: the pyramids at Giza

The only way to end a trip to Egypt and the Nile is to do as I did - jump into a cab in the late afternoon and speed through the city to the pyramids at Giza. You sit in the taxi and look out at the great, smoky, noisy metropolis, with its high rise apartments and busy bus terminals and milling crowds. Then you cross the river, which is wider here, and look back at the Grand Corniche as it stretches elegantly away. You pass mosques and gleaming new hotels and then, quite suddenly, through the haze like a mirage, you see first one pyramid and then another. You round a corner, past the Mina Palace Hotel, and now you are in the pyramid's shadow. Horses, camels and guides are everywhere. You instruct your driver to go on, to a special vantage point further up the road, on a plateau which overlooks the scene.

The sun is setting now and the pyramids are tinged with red. You have just enough time to mount a camel for a grandstand view before darkness falls, Cairo's lights start to glitter and a moon rides high in the sky over the shifting sand. A little farewell baksheesh, perhaps, for your driver - and then back to the city for a nightcap.