Progress

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You might not know it, but Egypt was a paragon of technical progress in the nineteenth century. They were the second country in the world to maintain an extensive railway network. Before France, the United States, and only briefly after Britain, freight raced through the sloping Sahara and through oases on slugging metal monsters that belched the smoke of modernity into the Egyptian sky.

Then again, freezing on my nocturnal second-class journey from Cairo to Luxor, I could perhaps marvel with less-than-positive awe that this achievement had moved little beyond its original technical leap. I shifted a little more to the left to avoid the indistinguishable lump of humanity of mother and child squeezed into one seat, and stared into the darkness until we pulled into Luxor, 10 hours after leaving the capital. Soon after dumping our belongings at our 20 LE/night hostel, we loaded into a taxi to explore Karnak. I told the cabbie where to go, and he responded blithely, “Ya bit, stay out in our sun for a little while, and you’ll really be a Saidia (Upper Egyptian)!”

For those of my readers who have not had the luxury of Egyptian travel, take my advice: go to Luxor and Aswan. If you seek Ancient Egypt, you’ll find it here along the banks of the Upper Nile, and with a little imagination you can block out the harping cries of desperate men selling fake antiquities and instead pretend to hear the intoned chanting of the cult of Amun. Karnak, Luxor Temple, the Temple of Hapshetsut, The Valleys of the Kings and Queens stand testament to everything you’ve ever seen on Discovery Channel. The Temple of Queen Hapshetsut, hands down, was my favorite site. A testament to love, power, and betrayal, it sits not so much hugging the mount as protruding naturally from the rock. Built by the Queen’s architect and lover, it was intended to immortalize and confirm her claim to the throne as daughter of the god Amun (clever girl). While her cleverness most likely resulted in her death and her concern for power her led her to kill her lover for indiscreetly portraying the two of them on the temple’s walls in a compromising position, I felt for her. I told her as much when I visited her mummy in the Egyptian Museum upon my return to Cairo that Sunday. Well played, my friend. You had a good run.

After two days of exploring Luxor, we made the impulsive decision to continue 4 hours southward to Aswan, if only to spend 8 hours there. Those 8 hours became my favorite in Egypt thus far. True, I didn’t get to see the Tombs of the Nobles, or continue to my own personal goal of Abu Simbel, but the falouka ride to Kitchner and Elephantine Islands gave me enough of a taste of Aswan to know that this is the Egypt I really love. Kitchner Island is a botanical garden that was cultivated by it’s former owner, Lord Kitchner, who was awarded the island as a prize for conquering the Sudan. Elephantine Island, in contrast to Kitchner’s controlled and elegant floral beauty, is a Nubian stronghold in the heart of a region that lost a battle against modernity when Nasser built the High Dam, drowning a historic region under the glassy surface of Lake Nasser. I sat sipping tea and watching as a woman almost carelessly decorated my right hand with black henna, conversing easily in Arabic that I maintained was of the Levantine dialect. “I’m half Lebanese, half American,” I said. Instead of questions, this generated conversation in rapid Arabic inquiring after my family, lamenting the political situation in the Lebanon, and saying that all Arabs share in the broken state’s political problems. I couldn’t quite bring myself to feel bad about my fib, because it yielded better conversation and more respect from an Egyptian stranger than I’ve felt in Egypt in a long time. Our tour guide from Luxor had even said that she was surprised when I spoke Arabic, because she said I sounded, “like a real Arab.”

The compliment, while gratifying, rings hollow. I know that I don’t sound authentic. Egyptian friends have told me as much, and the chuckles and outright laughter I still glean from everyday speech are as discouraging as they can be amusing.

But this trip down the iron tracks laid long ago by Egyptian dreams, sweat, and blood made me feel as though I had made a little bit more progress in becoming closer to the Egypt I love. I travelled as a resident of Egypt and asked to be treated as nothing more or less. As the tracks clicked away the miles, each punctuated clack and chug of the diesel engine and syncopated hemeola of the struggling wheels seemed to mesh together in a simple melody that I could only hear as progress.

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Tags: arabic, aswan, luxor, Travel