Giza Plateau

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

Giza, Egypt

Agenda

Pyramid of Khufu

Tomb of Senedjem-ib Inti

Tomb of Idut

Solar Boat Museum

Pyramid of Queen Hennutsen

Tomb of Idut

Tomb of Qar

Backsight (a viewing area in the desert where you can see all three pyramids)

Pyramid of Menkaure (outside)

Sphinx

Lehnert & Landrock book store

Sometimes when I am describing how dangerously hot it is outside, I will emphasize my point by making a noise with my mouth – a fuzzed buzzing sound that might come from an alien death ray in a bad science-fiction movie.

Today, the sun was making that sound all on its own, all day long, and I was really getting tired of all the racket. We know it's hot; stop rubbing it in already.

Seriously though, it was very warm. I drank almost 2 L of water, and my face is still glowing like a cherry. 

Pyramids of Khufu, Khafre, and Menkaure. Giza.

A camel in the noonday sun. Giza.

Touring finished early in the afternoon, giving us some free time. That's something I seldom have when I'm in-country. Usually every last hour is filled with something or other, but today, we have a couple of hours between lunch and supper. (I say it like this because I'm starting to think of a day as three expansive meals separated by short bursts of antiquities.) Gayle and Lloyd mentioned that they wanted to visit Lehnert & Landrock, a fine book store located near the Sphinx, and wondered if I wanted to go. As if they had to ask. Never pass up a clean washroom, and never pass up a good bookstore.

We asked the concierge at the hotel to call us a cab which arrived in moments. It was Zacharya – I think I may be finally spelling his name correctly – the fellow I spoke to on one of the first days in Giza. “You don't recognize me?” he asked as we got in the car. “Zach!” I said, and introduced him to Gayle and Lloyd. He told us that we were his first fare of the day. It was just about 5:00 pm. Business has been bad, he said. Everyone goes on package tours with no free time to hire cabs to take them places.

The outing had been poorly-timed. Rush hour was in full lockdown, so what should have been a short sprint around to the other side of the plateau took between 15 and 20 minutes. Maybe longer? To get around a particularly slow intersection, he took us through Mena village, a small neighborhood of narrow lane ways and ordinary people doing ordinary things. At that time of day, it was mostly coming home from work. It's impossible to drive quickly, but at least we were moving. At one intersection, we noticed a child of about eight watching us. As we passed, he made slow, distinct gestures that resembled sign language, but wasn't anything I recognized. Is there a school for the deaf nearby?

We got to the store, and books were bought even though the credit card machine refused to connect to its computer network. I bought a couple of postcards. Not much more to say, really. Zach offered to take us to see papyrus, and then cotton shirts, each of which we politely declined. I understand this is how he makes his living, but a vague sense of unease – or maybe simply disappointment – accumulated with each side trip he suggested. He had gone from being a character in a happy anecdote to someone I just wanted to get of (which is far too harsh a way of saying it. I wanted to be back at the hotel; I didn't want to be rid of Zach. Not exactly. I'm not proud of this, but this is the best I understand it.)