. . . The saddle slipped to the side of the donkey, I fell off, and the donkey fell on top of me (apparently saving me from imminent death -- the Lord does work in strange and wondrous ways!) Had I fallen one moment earlier, I would have fallen over the ledgeless edge into the Valley of the Queens, and joined the queens forever.
I tried to lead my donkey the rest of the way down, but he insisted on stepping on my toe every so often. Between the two accidents, I was so shaky, I could hardly get myself, let alone the donkey, down the mountain. The beautiful view Gail says we saw from the mountain passed me by unnoticed.
1960's Coca Cola Advertisement we envisioned on our long trek over the mountain
Our guide led us to the long-awaited Coke stand which turned out to be another dirty (literally) Arab with a dozen Cokes in an old bucket of melted ice. All the Cokes were hot. This was the last straw -- so when the man opened the Cokes (before we had ordered -- a trick we found throughout the Middle East, especially at borders, etc., an effort to force the tourist into buying), we refused.
We went into the tombs of the Valley of the Queens -- this was after going into all those ombs on the other side of the mountain, where everything was meant to be so beautiful and where they had some interesting hieroglyphics -- bees and scarabs and such, where it was not at all like what Gail had recently read -- described by a woman who had been there and talked about how you went down from the bright sun the glaring dusty yellow desert, down the dark steps, into the brilliantly lit tombs with the clear, exciting hieroglyphics of the olden days so beautifully visible. . . I don't think so!
At this point we were bored by the markings on the walls of the Queens' tombs -- our sense of humor had left us -- so much so that when some wise guy Russians made comments to us, we were disgusted. We did welcome the Queens' tombs, however, for the cool shade, and we took advantage of that part of the trip to relax and cool off.
By this time, I was convinced (and I still am) that the best way to see the markings on the walls of the Egyptian tombs is through a picture book in an air-conditioned room -- the pictures are clearer, one is in a better frame of mind to appreciate them, and the information in the books is far superior to anything told us by the tour guide.
Dear reader, I beg your indulgence as you continue reading my journal, written in 1964 during my trip to the Middle East. The narrative continues tomorrow.
Despite the calamities you so aptly describe, I still would like to visit Egypt to see and experience the culture.
ReplyDeleteAfter living vicariously through these 1964 memories, I'll hope to know what to expect and prepare for (both mentally and physically).
Although you paint an interesting picture of your experiences, my suggestion: do not apply to writes ads for Advertising / Publicity Agents representing Egyptian Tourism . I doubt they will want to hire you.
Wasted Bethel on a wasted donkey in a wasted environment - it sounds like a Beckett play. And, like a Beckett play, I am sure that you and Gail were making jokes and wisecracks all along!
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