Touring

Monday, October 1, 2012

Nefertiti Hotel

Minya, Egypt

Agenda

El Ashminein

Colossal statues of Thoth

Remains of a church dedicated to the Virgin Mary, with columns

The remains of a house

Partial statues of Ramesses II

A temple dedicated to Thoth with decorated columns

A small temple with reliefs of Seti II and the god Amun

Tuna el Gebel

Tomb of Petosiris

Tomb of Isadora

The well/el Sakiya

Catacombs with mummies of baboons and ibises

Akhenaten's boundary stela A

Our three days in Minya have come to a swift end. It's possible that the days are starting to accelerate as our remaining time decreases. Tomorrow we leave for Luxor by way of Dendara and Abydos. It promises to be a long day – twelve hours from start to end – but I expect that six of them will be spent on the road, watching the Egyptian countryside roll past. That is certainly one of my favourite parts of touring. The monuments are fine, but there is a quiet serenity to be had aboard a bus of convivial traveling companions, many of us lost in our own thoughts, watching the palm trees, or the small plots of land on which farmers are growing sugar cane, or sesame, or corn. Or watching the villages, each similar but different. There are usually a few houses with an airplane or ship painted on the outside, signifying that they have made the hadj. And there are small shops selling potato ships and Pepsi a stone's throw from a small automotive garage, or maybe a butcher with a hock of meat hanging from a metal hook in the middle of a white-tiled room with a small cloud of flies.

There are animals everywhere. Even here in Minya, dogs roam the corniche in ones and twos. Occasionally, a donkey cart will clop by, overtaken by impatient cars and lorries filled with vegetables, metal fuel tanks, or occasionally people, riding any way they can – in the back, on the cab, anywhere.

This morning, on the drive to El Ashmunein, I saw two kittens – one orange and black, the other a sandy brown – play fighting under a grubby white plastic lawn chair. The first one had its paw out towards to the other, as if say “en garde!” And then the battle began. And then they disappeared from sight as the bus sped on.

Some houses have yards that back onto the road. Some have stacks of new red bricks in them, some have chickens. Or a donkey. Or just packed dirt and unidentifiable detritus under the shade of a large tree whose great green leaves offer shade from the murderous sun.

Stores in the cities are different. There's more consumer goods – clothes and furniture and technology (batteries, computers, internet, automotive parts). One has the impression that an enormous mall has been turned inside out and disbursed along the road for our inspection.

A shop in Minya,

The local people are very welcoming, despite our arrival in an enormous, fume-breathing bus. School kids especially wave enthusiastically, and I try to wave back to everyone, even if I have been waving for the last hour. It's their two seconds of contact with some strange traveler, and I feel better if I can make them feel that their effort was not wasted.

Why do they wave at us? Are we such spectacle? Or are we some sort of rarity, like a two-headed calf?

It doesn't matter. I will keep waving in the hope that some kid will grow up thinking that maybe the tourists who visit their country are not all loathsome jerks. And so, for all of those people who waved, and who will probably never read this, I send you my thanks for making my time here that much more enjoyable. And for those people who waved, but didn't get a wave back, I offer my apologies. I just didn't see you. It wasn't anything personal. Keep the faith. That's all that any of us can do.