We plied the Nile for the second time a couple of years ago on a dahabeyah, a 75 foot long sailboat that only holds four to six travelers. I should write more about that in a future post, because it was such a wonderful and unique experience. The company we used was Museum Tours.

Getting south

I was still aching to travel south, on the high side of the Aswan Dam, to see the temple at Abu Simbel. The place has excited my imagination ever since I read how the Swiss traveler J.J. Burckhardt accidentally discovered one of the  gigantic heads of Abu Simbel buried in the sand on his travels in 1813. What must it be like to find yourself camping on the head of an ancient Pharoah?

So for the Eid Al-Fitr holiday Paul and I were lucky enough to book onto the Kasr Ibrm, a boat travelling between Aswan to the Nubian town of Abu Simbel.  (I suspect that we were able to get a cabin at the last minute because of Egypt’s recent decline in tourism.) As opposed to the great number on the other side of the dam, only six tourist boats operate on Lake Nasser, the 289 mile long lake formed by the Aswan Dam. We chose Kasr Abrim because it was recommended by the Lonely Planet, and I’m glad we did.

An amazing ship

The Kasr Ibrm looks like a loving restoration of a paddlewheel boat from the 40’s. For example, try to find plastic on the Kasr Ibrm. You can’t (except in the tub enclosures); almost everything you see is made of wood, including some gorgeous African hardwoods. Exquisite alabaster shades in the lounge ceiling create a lovely golden glow. The wide spiral staircases are lined with painted hanging canvas panels and supported by metal rails. A large Art Deco mirror hangs in our room, and the brass door pulls, light fixtures, and authentic era lamps complete the aesthetic experience. We felt like we were living on an Agatha Christy set – Death on the Nile, or The Orient Express, if it was a boat. Everything is authentic 1930’s or 40’s, except that the boat was built in 1998!

Time to kick back

The pace of the four days and nights on this tour was uniquely tranquil. We visited a monument every day for a couple of hours, but the rest of the time we just slowly chugged along Lake Nasser, lounging around the deck, paddling in the crocodile mosaic pool, and watching the lonely and lovely desert slide by.  I’ll be honest: not having internet and a long to-do list was challenging at first. But within 42 minutes I had forgotten all about projects at school and for my master’s capstone project.  And for the first time in years I was  around people who didn’t have eyes glued to tiny screens. That was somehow comforting.

The staff was wonderfully friendly, our guide knowledgeable and interesting, and we enjoyed getting to know some of the guests: New Zealanders Angela and Owen and their great kids, Nathan and Rebecca (I wish I could teach them both!) and three great American women – Kathie, Gayle and Tish — teaching at Cairo American College. Gayle was a fellow “technology integrator”, so we immediately had lots to share about our respective jobs and how to use Moodle to keep students learning through emergency school shut-downs.

And then there’s Abu Simbel

All the temples we visited –  Kalabsha, Wadi El Seboua, Dakka, Amada, and more — were fascinating, but Abu Simbel was spectacular. We approached from the water after nightfall to see the four massive figures of Ramses gradually take form in the spot lights installed at ground level. The effect was thrilling.

We were awake before dawn and transported on skiffs from the Kasr Ibrm to the shore where, as the first visitors to the site, we were able to watch the rising sun gradually bring these 60 foot high figures to life again, their gentle Buddha-like expressions changing with the light. As I wandered interior sanctuaries I was blown away by the astonishing carvings and paintings. They told the story of Ramses II’s victories in battle in such exquisite naturalistic detail that my thoughts turned to the eternal horror of war. Ramses is presented as a huge implacable conquering force; his victims die in agony beneath his chariot or at his hand. The conquered are recognizable as Africans of the Upper Nile, or the Hittites in Syria, and the defeated look miserable lashed together by their necks, led off to a life of slavery in Egypt.

I asked our guide, Ahmad, about how one is to “read” the story represented on the 40 foot high wall: left to right? top to bottom?  Apparently, there is no order in this stone tapestry and so I leave the temple filled with images of Ramses’ triumph, but also with thoughts about the hideous chaos of war. Don’t think that I didn’t like the walls of the temple at Abu Simbel; the fact that it affected me so  attests to its artistic energy. I also wonder why the bas relief sculptures and paintings are considered necessary to include, considering that the hieroglyphic account of the battle seems to comprise a complete text. I know the answer: the addition of a visual representation of the story completes the viewer’s understanding and helps us “see” it in all its glory and gore, just like a graphic novel.

On the last day of our trip the Kasr Ibrm docked at the shore near a communications tower and the group lounging next to me on the deck immediately began a loud iPhone conversation in French. Back to civilization. Sigh.

Out of the compound

Last Friday at 0930 precisely (our guide is German!) our trusty Toyota Prada (with us inside) joined six other SUV’s for a drive through the desert east of here. Most jaunts here are made convoy style to guarantee back-up in case of car trouble, as you can’t call Triple A in the middle of the the Saudi outback. (Although if you pull over for more than ten minutes you’re likely to be asked by passing Saudis if you need help. Desert etiquette requires helping anyone in need.)

We drove eastwards from Yanbu Al-Bahr, the older town close to our compound, towards the jagged 3000 foot mountain peaks we’re lucky enough to see on clear days. Our international procession included people from Canada, Germany, Namibia, America and Saudi Arabia. We slowly gained altitude and after about 30 minutes we reached Yanbu Al Nakhl, a small village, and turned right. We passed numerous camel and goat herds, a 300 year old Turkish fort high on an escarpment, and miles and miles of unoccupied desert land.

Up the mountain pass

Our turn-around point was half-way up a hazardously steep unpaved road when we reached 1,200 feet and a blockage caused by a road crew in the process of rebuilding the pass. Paul and I both remembered driving this way three years ago but that time we were coming down the mountain after a camping trip in the mountains north of Madinah. It was somewhat mystifying, however, as we remembered the road being completely paved (did they cover up the pavement?), if just as steep. That time we had to drive down it in first gear to spare us burning brakes and/or a runaway Land Rover.

Al Bigaa

On the way back we stopped at an ancient abandoned village of baked mud brick walls and roof joists of palm trunks covered with palm fronds. I’ve visited several of these desert villages since coming to Saudi, and even though they’re ruined and bare I find them so fascinating. The best and most extensive was El Ula, near Mad’an Salah. (My adventure hunting down artifacts there with my good buddy girlfriend Liana Moir is worth a post all by itself!) In the spirit of full disclosure, I read in an Eagle Scout Project from the 90’s that Al-Bigaa only dates to 1914. I prefer believing that the village is several centuries old! That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.

But the desert in Saudi Arabia is full of these primitive places. This is where people lived before the rise of the large cities drew the population away. I imagine that life in these villages was basic, communal and cozy in a weird village way. The houses share common walls and doors open to narrow alleys that wind and interconnect through the towns. If I close my eyes I can just imagine children playing, women gossiping, men drinking tea and discussing business. The towns tend to sit at the top of ridges and are surrounded by walls for protection. But why are they located there? Was there a trade route nearby? Was there once a source of water nearby, since dried up? What did the people do there? How did they survive for hundreds of years in Al Bigga or Al Ula or any one of thousands of these places?

Paul and I scrambled around in the 108 degree heat and fierce sun trying to find anything of interest (I found some nice green glazed shards, but Malcolm knocked them off the shelf to the carpet and our housekeeper, not appreciating their value, appears to have tossed them.) When I asked one of our teachers what he thought life must have been like in this village, Chris said, “Dirty and hard.” He’s probably closer to the truth, but these places excite my imagination somehow.

Desert banquet

Next stop was for lunch under the only trees around, some species of acacia, I think, which offered welcome but sparse shade. Tables with tablecloths were quickly set up and filled with a potluck lunch. Our German contingent guaranteed that the food was ample and delicious: homemade rye bread, potato salad, and meatballs. Our German receptionist is married to a Saudi man and they provided hot cardamom coffee and dates, personally served by Nabbih and his sweet young son.

Four wheel drive SUV’s are necessary to drive through the sand drifts and rough tracks off road. And so we all spent the next 20 minutes driving like mad all over the desert, trying to get stuck in the sand and catch a little air on the dunes. The ecologist in me was a tiny bit appalled at how we were desecrating this beautiful land with our tire tracks (clearly visible on a satellite image on Google Earth). Oh well, “when in Saudi…”

Unfortunately, one of our party experienced an overheating GM (damned American car!) and so all the men gathered around the open hood and talked about it. Eventually it cooled down and he was able to drive it home.

Back to the desert

The desert that day was so beautiful. I’ve always loved desert landscapes, ever since my dad would take me, my sister and Uncle Don on trips to Death Valley. (Getting stuck in the sand was a common event then, as well.) Then in the early 70’s Monte Gillette and I lived in the desert outside Phoenix and my daughter Gillian was born there. Of course, everyone who knows me at all knows how important the California Sierras are to me, but this drive through the spectacular Arabian desert brought my appreciation of its clear clean air, vast vistas and ochres, siennas and cerulean sky.

We see a lot of well-produced travel commercials on TV here for various off-beat destinations such as Croatia, Lithuania, Turkey, Azerbaijan, etc. India’s commercials feature the tagline, “Incredible India”. After Paul and I returned from 9 days there, let us add “Infuriating, Insistent, Inscrutable, Indescribable”. And, yes, it is “incredible”, too. Frankly, I’ve never been anywhere like India. If I were to compare India to anyplace else I’ve been I’d say the only experience that comes close is Cairo, but multiplied times ten.

Here’s a map of our trip:

View Larger Map

People everywhere!

It’s hard to describe how crowded the streets are, full of people in every conveyance imaginable, from a donkey to a top-end 4WD Lexus, and everything in between. Then add a large cow sitting calmly in the middle of a congested street. Somehow, but just barely, it all seems to work. We didn’t see any accidents, even fender-benders (although dented cars show this isn’t a rare event), but the only way I could keep my anxiety in check was to never ever look at the road ahead – I kept my eyes glued on the view out the side windows, which was always interesting, if not incredible.

People were friendly, curious, helpful. The good news, bad news in reading the scam alerts in Lonely Planet is that you’re properly vigilant to possible rip-offs, but sometimes overly suspicious of people like the young woman who wants to be photographed with you and her mother. Or the boys and their sister who wanted to practice their English and be in a photo with the big white guy.

Walking was problematic

Then there are those who want to sell you a ride in their autorickshaw and won’t take no for an answer, no matter how many times you repeat it, insistently and consistently and loudly. We had drivers follow us for a mile as we walked doggedly repeating, “no thank you”, “no”, “please go away”, and my favorite, “no, we’re self-guided”. After a while we decided that walking was problematic on most streets anyway. Trying to avoid crazy drivers, autorickshaws, potholes, piles of garbage and animal excrement gets so tiring after a short time that the autorickshaw, as harrowing as it is, seems the best way to get around. The non-autorickshaw, meaning being pulled in a little carriage by a skinny old man on a bicycle was sometimes the only choice in crowded bazaars, but Paul and I both had the same impulse to get out and help push the carriage when climbing the slight ascents our puller couldn’t get us up.

Karim the Magnificent

The highlights in Delhi included finding and eating a lunch at Karim’s, just south of the magnificent Jama Masjid, the largest mosque in India. Karim’s was begun almost 100 years ago by descendents of chefs to the Mughlai royalty. The restaurant is in a narrow alley on an incredibly (that word again) crowded street in a Muslim neighborhood. Being Friday at prayer time the street was full of kids returning home from school, packed ten in a rickshaw, and people going to the mosque. We walked past the Karim alleyway a couple of times before we were finally led there by a man on his way to prayer. The restaurant is comprised of several dining areas all opening to the alley where the cooking is done in an outdoor central kitchen, surrounded by scurrying waiters delivering and picking up orders. This was the first of many delicious and reasonably-priced meals we enjoyed in India.

The day we were in Delhi we visited

• the extensive and interesting Red Fort, built in the mid 17^th cent by Shah Jahan during the peak of Mughal power
• The 16^th cent Digambara Jain Temple, the first Hindu temple I’ve ever been in, full of people giving offerings, chanting, bell-ringing, smells of incense and amazing paintings on every surface
• The Jama Masjid, perched high above the city and with a courtyard that can hold 25,000 people
• A peaceful (finally!) stroll through the beautiful Raj ghat park, which contains a simple square platform of black marble marking the spot where Mahatma Gandhi was cremated. It’s supposedly next to the sacred and elusive Yamuna river, which in spite of our best efforts and lots of walking, we never saw

On to the Taj

On our busy day in Delhi we somehow forgot to get our tickets for the train to Agra the next day so we had to hire a car and driver to get us there. (A story in itself, related to the Lonely Planet warning, “Dodging Dodgy Travel Agents”.) After a harrowing (see above), but fascinating four hour drive we arrived in Agra. Full of tourists, both foreign and Indian, Agra was the 14^th cent capital of the Mughal empire and has more amazing sites than any ten places we’ve ever visited. Unfortunately, the hordes of rickshaw-wallahs, touts, unofficial guides and souvenir vendors make it hard to see them all. The Taj Mahal is lovely and magnificent and I’m glad I saw it, in spite of all of the above, plus the hordes of tourists from all over the world and the fact that in spite of a minor temper tantrum I still had to check my iPod before entering.

We then rode in a horse carriage a short distance to the Agra Fort, a massive red-sandstone series of buildings started in 1565 by Emperor Akbar. This was a fascinating place, well-preserved and not as overrun by tourists, but the best part was the view we had of the Taj Mahal over the Yamuna River plains.

In Agra, thanks to a Lonely Planet recommendation we had one of those meals you never forget in a modest little restaurant with no natural light and bare light bulbs illuminating a hospital green interior, and with loud rotating fans. It was here, at the Lakshmi Villas, that we discovered the scrumptious dosa, which is thin lentil-flour pancake from South India that can have all kinds of tasty fillings. Once we found dosas, we started ordering them whenever they appeared on a menu; my mouth still waters with the memory of them…

Ancient capitals and a bit of peace

Our next destination was Fatehpur Sikri, Paul’s favorite experience of the trip. This was a relatively lightly-touristed and beautifully restored ghost city, once the capital of the Mughal empire under Emperor Akbar. The place was beautiful, peaceful (in India, such a rarity) and captivating. There were examples of architecture that combined Islamic, Persian and Hindu design, colored flower murals, marble lattice screens, blue Persian roof tiles, and ornate carving.

We continued on to Bharatapur Forest Lodge, another example of our propensity for staying in “ghost hotels” where we’re the only guests. We were up early for a tour on rickshaws around the protected area where we saw all kinds of birds, huge snapping turtles and antelopes, including one young male who was trying to prove something by following us around trying to start a fight. 

Our sins are finally cleansed

The last destination was Mathura, about 2 hours from Bharatapur by car, an industrial town where Krishna was born, according to ancient texts and 16^th cent scholars. Just one day in this town and your sins are cleansed forever. So they say.

In Mathura we stayed in our first decent hotel on this trip, which was quite comfortable and clean, especially for the price (USD $39). (Although, to be fair, since we were trying to go on the cheap, we probably got what we were willing to pay for. We just thought it would be like 1990′s Mexico – there I go, comparing again — but in fact India is just following a world-wide inflationary trend.)

The Hotel Brijwasi Royal has a reasonably priced vegetarian restaurant that I could eat in every day for the rest of my life. They did these Tandoori vegetables served on a charcoal warmer that were outrageous, plus our new favorite, dosas, plus a bunch of other tasty dishes that I’ll never forget and hope I can find when I return to India some day. I promised the management that I’d write something nice about the Hotel Brijwasi and added my first review to TripAdvisor.com.

Mysterious rituals on the Yamuna

My favorite part of the vacation was the time we spent on the Yamuna River (we finally found it!) in a hand-oared boat. The water front was just mesmerizing with its ancient temples and buildings and ghats and bathing worshippers and holy cows and silly monkeys. I couldn’t stop taking pictures. Then we suddenly found ourselves in the middle of several boats of women pilgrims who were stretching out a tremendous length of brightly colored cloth. They seemed to be trying to form a gigantic circle with the cloth. I wish I knew more about the ritual, but I couldn’t find anything more about it on the ‘net or the travel books.

Although India is rich with shopping opportunities, Paul and I aren’t big shoppers, other than for fancy outfits for Sofia Sol, our granddaughter. I decided I wanted to get a few Salwar Kameez (beautiful tunics and trousers outfits from Pakistan that many of our teachers wear). Our rickshaw cyclist took us to a Bazaar in Mathura where we saw only Indians, no other tourists. The shop said “Fixed Price” and so I was spared the tiring bargaining that may be enjoyable for some, but is exhausting and confusing to me, coming from the land of Fixed Price as I am. After vigorous pantomiming that everyone in the place found amusing, I found four cotton outfits for $6.25 US each. They work well for school and our Indian/Pakistani students seem to appreciate when I wear them. And, of course, I also got a few cute little Indian outfits which Sofia can add to the Egyptian, Turkish, and Syrian clothes in her dress-up chest.

Our last day in India

After our lapse in Delhi, we were diligent about getting advance train tickets back to Delhi in order to be on our flight back to Saudi the next day. The train station was a confusing mass of humanity with impossible to hear announcements of arriving trains that constantly shifted platforms. Rats the size of cats scurried across the tracks, herds of goats waited to board a train (thankfully, not ours), small boys carefully laid out blankets in preparation for a night’s sleep, and finally, the Taj Express pulled in and we jumped on.

During our 8 days in India, I never really fell “in love” with the country. (I have had these feelings for other places: Norway, Syria, Austria.) In fact, I was kind of glad to leave. But as I now read through the 1,100 page Lonely Planet guide to India, I feel drawn to return. I feel like I will know better the next time what to expect in terms of getting around, where to stay, what to do. And I may grow to love India in time. I’m giving myself another several trips there to try.

My first entry is the video below I made of my first auto rickshaw ride in Mumbai when Amel El-Mahgoub and I visited there together for a educational technology conference. (Which was really great and I’ll be referring to it in future posts, no doubt.) Interestingly, if you go to YouTube and search for “autorickshaw” “Mumbai”, you’ll see several videos from other awestruck tourists to India.

I will also plan to blog a bit on the more recent trip Paul and I made to Delhi, including links to pictures.

That’s it for now. We’re waiting with warm anticipation the entry of Oliverio Valdez, our second grandchild, into the world any day now. My next blog will no doubt feature this exciting event.

Onward,

Leslie