Dear Kathy and Everyone:
We've now been in Egypt twelve days. We're almost Egyptian. Barbara described our landing and first few days; let me bring you up to date.
There's no way round it-Cairo is a garbage dressed city. We're in the 19th century section, the era in which Cairo grandly redesigned and began to call itself Paris on the Nile. We are surrounded by wide boulevards that radiate out from and interconnect a series of squares, each dominated by imposing supersize statues of various Egyptian leaders and heroes. The buildings are tall, ornate, eclectic in design and decoration. The scale is wide, stately, imperial even. The problem is that everything is covered in grime, dust, pollution and detritus. The streets are littered with rubbish, the sidewalks are crumbling, the shops dilapidated and seedy. Cars are parked more or less at random. Many are covered in fitted tarpaulins, like so many dust-covered funeral shrouds. Those cars which are not parked are zipping wildly up and down the streets in packed, honking formation. Actually, "zipping" is the wrong word. Many of the cars, certainly most of the taxis, are small old-fashioned Fiats, little pressed tin boxes. They wheeze gamely when they start to move, slowly picking up speed and sounding their horns as if surprised and delighted to be alive.
Out hotel, the Cosmopolitan, is a part of this atmosphere. Every time I get up in the morning I feel I should get our group together, grab some mops and buckets of water, and give the exterior a good swabbing down, because beneath the thick film of grime are some wonderful decorative reliefs, a kind of Pharaohonic Art Nouveau. But a make-over would take away the hotel's look of faded melancholy. The same atmosphere is to be found inside. There are some six hall porters, usually quite motionless. There is a huge central chandelier. The furniture is large, heavy, and very experienced. The rooms have luxuriously high ceilings. There is an elegant old-fashioned lift. It has double doors, glass panels, inlaid wood, and at every move lets out a melodious "Ping!" About once a day it breaks down. And then, for no apparent reason, it starts again. I think it's just happy to be alive. Our buffet breakfasts are lavish. The laundry service is swift. Sometimes we get hot water in the bathroom faucets. The Cosmo now feels home.
We have been visiting the celebrated sites around Cairo-Giza, Sakkara, Memphis-and we have been down to Luxor (ancient Thebes). At these sites the temperature has been around 100 degrees. The sun drops like a stone on one's head. One's eyes smart in the glare. The sand rolls hot through one's toes. And there they all are: the monumental dead weight of the pyramids, with their crumbling and serrated edges; the shattered, re-assembled Colossi of Memnon; the great Sphinx, eyeless, noseless, impassive; all the other little sphinxes; the first of all pyramids, the great Step Pyramid of Sakkara, one side of which has crumbled like a huge tear-drop; and giant statue after giant statue of Rameses this and Rameses that, in the familiar rigid posture of the Pharaohs, back vertical, shoulders squared, arms straight, frozen forever. And all the wondrous frescos and carved reliefs in the tombs and temples. The shallow relief carvings, ranging from scenes of majestic power and to those of everyday life, look like so many rock fossils, a kind of human geology.
We went down to Luxor, the capital of ancient southern Egypt, by overnight sleeper. This was an adventure in itself. We had double cabins, each small and compact, and fitted out with all the ingenuity and economy one associates with being aboard a ship-a cupboard here, an alcove there, a cleverly concealed wash-basin, a fold-down upper bunk, and so forth. And the analogy does not finish there. The eight-hour journey was like being at sea, a stormy sea. The carriages roared, bucked, and rocked, and went through fits and starts. Most unnerving of all were those moments when the train stopped, for you soon got to know what was coming next-a gigantic spasm, which lurched you against the wall of your bunk, a clanging of rolling stock, which suddenly stopped, and then did it again. It was all quite enthralling. We were waited on, for dinner and breakfast, by a smartly dressed, smiling attendant. His courtesy made up for the poor quality of the food. We had breakfast not in bed but, sitting on our bunks, on bed.
Luxor is a tourist town, and very, very hot. Out hotel, the Gaddis, was excellent, for its rooms, food and-three cheers!-its swimming pool, a life-saver. The first most memorable feature of our visit was the guide we had to show us around the famous sites (the Valley of the Kings, the Valley of the Queens, the tombs of the nobles, the temple of Luxor, and so on). To judge from certain reiterated phrases he used, I think he had spent too much time guiding English commercial tour groups around the area. He was what the English would call a "wag"; that is, he had a line in labored and "inappropriate" wit. Thus, whenever any of us lagged behind wilting in the heat (these on-the-ground walks lasted from 5 to 6 hours), he would cry out "Shake a leg!", "Allo! Ow are you?" or "Hasta la vista!" By the end we were all cringing. But somehow, in the blurred glare of gods, dynasties, kingdoms, temples, tombs, we soaked up the marvels of this determined and laborious civilization. I am impressed by one simple fact: the number and size of the pieces of rock they moved.
We are now back in Cairo, for the next ten days, before an excursion to Alexandria and the north. Barbara and I continue to be energized and delighted by the students-such laughter, such joy, such initiative. They move swiftly in mind, body and spirit. We do our best to keep up.
Our warm greetings to you all-
Jonathan
We've now been in Egypt twelve days. We're almost Egyptian. Barbara described our landing and first few days; let me bring you up to date.
There's no way round it-Cairo is a garbage dressed city. We're in the 19th century section, the era in which Cairo grandly redesigned and began to call itself Paris on the Nile. We are surrounded by wide boulevards that radiate out from and interconnect a series of squares, each dominated by imposing supersize statues of various Egyptian leaders and heroes. The buildings are tall, ornate, eclectic in design and decoration. The scale is wide, stately, imperial even. The problem is that everything is covered in grime, dust, pollution and detritus. The streets are littered with rubbish, the sidewalks are crumbling, the shops dilapidated and seedy. Cars are parked more or less at random. Many are covered in fitted tarpaulins, like so many dust-covered funeral shrouds. Those cars which are not parked are zipping wildly up and down the streets in packed, honking formation. Actually, "zipping" is the wrong word. Many of the cars, certainly most of the taxis, are small old-fashioned Fiats, little pressed tin boxes. They wheeze gamely when they start to move, slowly picking up speed and sounding their horns as if surprised and delighted to be alive.
Out hotel, the Cosmopolitan, is a part of this atmosphere. Every time I get up in the morning I feel I should get our group together, grab some mops and buckets of water, and give the exterior a good swabbing down, because beneath the thick film of grime are some wonderful decorative reliefs, a kind of Pharaohonic Art Nouveau. But a make-over would take away the hotel's look of faded melancholy. The same atmosphere is to be found inside. There are some six hall porters, usually quite motionless. There is a huge central chandelier. The furniture is large, heavy, and very experienced. The rooms have luxuriously high ceilings. There is an elegant old-fashioned lift. It has double doors, glass panels, inlaid wood, and at every move lets out a melodious "Ping!" About once a day it breaks down. And then, for no apparent reason, it starts again. I think it's just happy to be alive. Our buffet breakfasts are lavish. The laundry service is swift. Sometimes we get hot water in the bathroom faucets. The Cosmo now feels home.
We have been visiting the celebrated sites around Cairo-Giza, Sakkara, Memphis-and we have been down to Luxor (ancient Thebes). At these sites the temperature has been around 100 degrees. The sun drops like a stone on one's head. One's eyes smart in the glare. The sand rolls hot through one's toes. And there they all are: the monumental dead weight of the pyramids, with their crumbling and serrated edges; the shattered, re-assembled Colossi of Memnon; the great Sphinx, eyeless, noseless, impassive; all the other little sphinxes; the first of all pyramids, the great Step Pyramid of Sakkara, one side of which has crumbled like a huge tear-drop; and giant statue after giant statue of Rameses this and Rameses that, in the familiar rigid posture of the Pharaohs, back vertical, shoulders squared, arms straight, frozen forever. And all the wondrous frescos and carved reliefs in the tombs and temples. The shallow relief carvings, ranging from scenes of majestic power and to those of everyday life, look like so many rock fossils, a kind of human geology.
We went down to Luxor, the capital of ancient southern Egypt, by overnight sleeper. This was an adventure in itself. We had double cabins, each small and compact, and fitted out with all the ingenuity and economy one associates with being aboard a ship-a cupboard here, an alcove there, a cleverly concealed wash-basin, a fold-down upper bunk, and so forth. And the analogy does not finish there. The eight-hour journey was like being at sea, a stormy sea. The carriages roared, bucked, and rocked, and went through fits and starts. Most unnerving of all were those moments when the train stopped, for you soon got to know what was coming next-a gigantic spasm, which lurched you against the wall of your bunk, a clanging of rolling stock, which suddenly stopped, and then did it again. It was all quite enthralling. We were waited on, for dinner and breakfast, by a smartly dressed, smiling attendant. His courtesy made up for the poor quality of the food. We had breakfast not in bed but, sitting on our bunks, on bed.
Luxor is a tourist town, and very, very hot. Out hotel, the Gaddis, was excellent, for its rooms, food and-three cheers!-its swimming pool, a life-saver. The first most memorable feature of our visit was the guide we had to show us around the famous sites (the Valley of the Kings, the Valley of the Queens, the tombs of the nobles, the temple of Luxor, and so on). To judge from certain reiterated phrases he used, I think he had spent too much time guiding English commercial tour groups around the area. He was what the English would call a "wag"; that is, he had a line in labored and "inappropriate" wit. Thus, whenever any of us lagged behind wilting in the heat (these on-the-ground walks lasted from 5 to 6 hours), he would cry out "Shake a leg!", "Allo! Ow are you?" or "Hasta la vista!" By the end we were all cringing. But somehow, in the blurred glare of gods, dynasties, kingdoms, temples, tombs, we soaked up the marvels of this determined and laborious civilization. I am impressed by one simple fact: the number and size of the pieces of rock they moved.
We are now back in Cairo, for the next ten days, before an excursion to Alexandria and the north. Barbara and I continue to be energized and delighted by the students-such laughter, such joy, such initiative. They move swiftly in mind, body and spirit. We do our best to keep up.
Our warm greetings to you all-
Jonathan