Julie and I spent numerous occasions in Egypt discussing why so many people want to visit Egypt. Is it because Egypt is considered to be the first civilization of the world? Is it because its history is treated as an integral part of Western history because of its role in making the Judeo-Christian worldview? Or, is it because it is the first civilization whose artifacts remain with us to this day? Or, more specifically, is it not only that these artifacts remain but that the vast number of them that have been so well preserved under the sandy deserts outside the Nile Valley? More critical options also present themselves. Egypt was seen as the bridge to the Oriental world (and maybe still is) so tourism in Egypt is merely an outgrowth of the colonial dabbling in the country. Even more critical, maybe touring the ancient history of this Middle Eastern country is a way to keep contemporary realities of an Arab and Muslim state at an arm's length without ignoring them altogether.
With the specter of mass tourism omnipresent and this larger question was in the back of my mind as my family, Julie, and I spent nine days traveling from Luxor to Cairo and on to Sharm al Sheikh. The tone of our small group adventure was set early as we arrived at the Luxor airport and the man dispensing Visas confusingly asked what group we were visiting the country with. The answer of "no group" led us to buy the Visa sticker from one of the money changers. Behind us, as we stuck our self-acquired Visa into our passports, the guides led their groups to the front of the immigration line. We met the same expanse of tour groups the next morning as we pulled into the parking area at the Valley of the Kings. All of the buses were arranged like the cereal aisle in the grocery store, all in in perfect order and all with their logo in ready view. This homogeneity opened up to complete babel once we reached the first tomb. Tour guides led their specific language group along the road up to the different tombs as they were followed by salesmen who quickly identified which language guide they should be hawking. English. German. Russian. French. German. English. Japanese. French. Government-appointed Tourism and Antiquities guards also invented their norms in response to this mass tourism, sharing unrequited advice about each Ibis in a tomb or their secret vantage point from which to see a sarcophagus, only for a little backshesh (tip). Luckily, our hotel's gardens on the quite west side of the Nile served as an excellent refuge at the end of a busy day. After two days of Valley of the Kings, Valley of the Queens, and Karnak and a sufficient supply of mandarins, Arabic food, and Luxor beer, we took the overnight train to Cairo.
Cairo brought its first challenge, not in the number of people as I had expected, but in the lack of signs in the train station. And, besides at the pyramids, people really didn't show any care or concern as we walked around; we were just one more in the crowd, not a scene or spectacle (besides people's occasional second glances at Tommy's hair). With an unrealized poise, we walked the train's tunnels in the direction that seemed correct. In no time at all, we had becomes the implicit leaders of several faranji followers that had also just exited the train. Through the branches of underground passages, we arose on the wrong side of a mega-roundabout. Crossing three lanes of traffic and down our road, we made our way to the hotel. After a brief rest, we walked to the Egyptian Museum. This monstrosity of a museum had rooms set aside for each and every dynasty, all labeled with ungrammatical typewriter-typed tags explaining six artifacts in a room of hundreds. My mom read that the museum had not cataloged their collection since the early 1950s and that items routinely go missing. Julie had similarly heard that their collection in the basement is sinking into the Nile River sediments. The highlights were the tombs with Greco-Roman paintings on the king and queen's faces, the animal sarcophagi, and the Room of King Tut's treasures. The next day, we ventured into Islamic Cairo, visited the citadel, a few mosques, and walked through a few markers (or one long market that made three obvious splits from tourist kitsch, the wealthy Cairens market, to the everyday market.
Our last day in Cairo we went out to the Giza pyramids, the Sphinx, and the Sakara pyramids further up the Nile. As if tour guides knew the Cairo winter weather down to the second, the groups pulled in on their buses at the exact time the fog lifted. For general admission we went in what seemed like a back alley entrance. The tour buses take the more scenic entrance, briefly departing Cairo's urbanity to pass over rolling sand dunes and purposefully wavy roads in what can only be efforts of determined city planners trying to simulate the first explorers arduous journey across the desert to the pyramids. Besides the crowds and the backshesh-driven guards, the pyramids were amazing, especially from a distance. At the same time, after seeing them in pictures since about the time of my conception, their mystery felt eroded. The day ended, as our days all ended in Cairo, playing cards in the colonial era reading room at our downtown hotel.
An early morning flight left us on the Sinai Peninsula in the Sharm al-Sheikh airport with hopes of getting to Saint Catherine's Monastery but with no definite plans for how we may actually do so. We soon realized that this feat was unrealistic and ended up instead making our way into Na'ama Bay, where we spent the next few days. Unfortunately, we had to face the airport taxis to get there. After talking to three or four drivers we settled on the price of thirty Egyptian pounds for two taxis. In the car, the price immediately turned into thirty American dollars. Argument ensued until both taxis pulled over along the freeway arguing over this exorbitant fee hike. Two, three dozen "shway shways" later (the Arabic word for slowly, gestured by holding the hand out with all fingers touching at their tips), and one taxi less, we crammed into the remaining cab with a price still incommensurate with the struggle for the fare (and the principal that lay behind it).
We took turns scouting the main thoroughfare--the King of Bahrain street--in search of a hotel for the night. What seemed like an unlikely ghost town during midday was anything but when we made our way down to the endless row of beaches. Each hotel had their small plot of beach which was crammed with people, like a man who slipped himself into a speedo two sizes too small. We spent the day at the beach and by our hotel's pool amongst the European and Russian tourists escaping the northern winter. Besides dinner, we lay low in the town that was overrun with the cursory pleasures that are expected in a resort town. The next day, we rented some snorkels, trudged up the beach and onto restricted grounds that was in the process of becoming yet another hotel. Swimming twenty meters out, the reef quickly dropped off and descended to about eight meters and a full array of fish opened up. While there were not tons of fish in each school, there was much diversity. Julie and my dad even saw a sea turtle when they were out one time. When Tommy, my dad, and I went out later that day (after being chased off by the future-hotel's security earlier in the day) we saw several porcupinefish (puffer-fish) and a few lionfish. It was very neat. It was also practice for when we went out further into the sea, and went snorkeling on a couple of reefs leading up to the Gulf of Aqaba. The reefs carried just as much diversity as what we saw the day before but now brought more astonishing colors with the corals and the vast schools of fish. Currents moved us along at a cantering pace and it felt like floating along a overstocked aquarium. The highlight of the day was getting to swim right up to a sea turtle, look into his eyes, and then, after a few minutes, watch it descend and disappear.
With the specter of mass tourism omnipresent and this larger question was in the back of my mind as my family, Julie, and I spent nine days traveling from Luxor to Cairo and on to Sharm al Sheikh. The tone of our small group adventure was set early as we arrived at the Luxor airport and the man dispensing Visas confusingly asked what group we were visiting the country with. The answer of "no group" led us to buy the Visa sticker from one of the money changers. Behind us, as we stuck our self-acquired Visa into our passports, the guides led their groups to the front of the immigration line. We met the same expanse of tour groups the next morning as we pulled into the parking area at the Valley of the Kings. All of the buses were arranged like the cereal aisle in the grocery store, all in in perfect order and all with their logo in ready view. This homogeneity opened up to complete babel once we reached the first tomb. Tour guides led their specific language group along the road up to the different tombs as they were followed by salesmen who quickly identified which language guide they should be hawking. English. German. Russian. French. German. English. Japanese. French. Government-appointed Tourism and Antiquities guards also invented their norms in response to this mass tourism, sharing unrequited advice about each Ibis in a tomb or their secret vantage point from which to see a sarcophagus, only for a little backshesh (tip). Luckily, our hotel's gardens on the quite west side of the Nile served as an excellent refuge at the end of a busy day. After two days of Valley of the Kings, Valley of the Queens, and Karnak and a sufficient supply of mandarins, Arabic food, and Luxor beer, we took the overnight train to Cairo.
Cairo brought its first challenge, not in the number of people as I had expected, but in the lack of signs in the train station. And, besides at the pyramids, people really didn't show any care or concern as we walked around; we were just one more in the crowd, not a scene or spectacle (besides people's occasional second glances at Tommy's hair). With an unrealized poise, we walked the train's tunnels in the direction that seemed correct. In no time at all, we had becomes the implicit leaders of several faranji followers that had also just exited the train. Through the branches of underground passages, we arose on the wrong side of a mega-roundabout. Crossing three lanes of traffic and down our road, we made our way to the hotel. After a brief rest, we walked to the Egyptian Museum. This monstrosity of a museum had rooms set aside for each and every dynasty, all labeled with ungrammatical typewriter-typed tags explaining six artifacts in a room of hundreds. My mom read that the museum had not cataloged their collection since the early 1950s and that items routinely go missing. Julie had similarly heard that their collection in the basement is sinking into the Nile River sediments. The highlights were the tombs with Greco-Roman paintings on the king and queen's faces, the animal sarcophagi, and the Room of King Tut's treasures. The next day, we ventured into Islamic Cairo, visited the citadel, a few mosques, and walked through a few markers (or one long market that made three obvious splits from tourist kitsch, the wealthy Cairens market, to the everyday market.
Our last day in Cairo we went out to the Giza pyramids, the Sphinx, and the Sakara pyramids further up the Nile. As if tour guides knew the Cairo winter weather down to the second, the groups pulled in on their buses at the exact time the fog lifted. For general admission we went in what seemed like a back alley entrance. The tour buses take the more scenic entrance, briefly departing Cairo's urbanity to pass over rolling sand dunes and purposefully wavy roads in what can only be efforts of determined city planners trying to simulate the first explorers arduous journey across the desert to the pyramids. Besides the crowds and the backshesh-driven guards, the pyramids were amazing, especially from a distance. At the same time, after seeing them in pictures since about the time of my conception, their mystery felt eroded. The day ended, as our days all ended in Cairo, playing cards in the colonial era reading room at our downtown hotel.
An early morning flight left us on the Sinai Peninsula in the Sharm al-Sheikh airport with hopes of getting to Saint Catherine's Monastery but with no definite plans for how we may actually do so. We soon realized that this feat was unrealistic and ended up instead making our way into Na'ama Bay, where we spent the next few days. Unfortunately, we had to face the airport taxis to get there. After talking to three or four drivers we settled on the price of thirty Egyptian pounds for two taxis. In the car, the price immediately turned into thirty American dollars. Argument ensued until both taxis pulled over along the freeway arguing over this exorbitant fee hike. Two, three dozen "shway shways" later (the Arabic word for slowly, gestured by holding the hand out with all fingers touching at their tips), and one taxi less, we crammed into the remaining cab with a price still incommensurate with the struggle for the fare (and the principal that lay behind it).
We took turns scouting the main thoroughfare--the King of Bahrain street--in search of a hotel for the night. What seemed like an unlikely ghost town during midday was anything but when we made our way down to the endless row of beaches. Each hotel had their small plot of beach which was crammed with people, like a man who slipped himself into a speedo two sizes too small. We spent the day at the beach and by our hotel's pool amongst the European and Russian tourists escaping the northern winter. Besides dinner, we lay low in the town that was overrun with the cursory pleasures that are expected in a resort town. The next day, we rented some snorkels, trudged up the beach and onto restricted grounds that was in the process of becoming yet another hotel. Swimming twenty meters out, the reef quickly dropped off and descended to about eight meters and a full array of fish opened up. While there were not tons of fish in each school, there was much diversity. Julie and my dad even saw a sea turtle when they were out one time. When Tommy, my dad, and I went out later that day (after being chased off by the future-hotel's security earlier in the day) we saw several porcupinefish (puffer-fish) and a few lionfish. It was very neat. It was also practice for when we went out further into the sea, and went snorkeling on a couple of reefs leading up to the Gulf of Aqaba. The reefs carried just as much diversity as what we saw the day before but now brought more astonishing colors with the corals and the vast schools of fish. Currents moved us along at a cantering pace and it felt like floating along a overstocked aquarium. The highlight of the day was getting to swim right up to a sea turtle, look into his eyes, and then, after a few minutes, watch it descend and disappear.
By the next day, we had made arrangements to go up to St. Catherine's Monastery, this time just for the day trip. Two hours up the rugged red-rock landscape of the inner-peninsula and several police checkpoints later we arrived at the monastery, again, with dozens of tour groups making their way to the chapel, Moses' burning bush that is believed to be replanted in the monastery grounds, and their newly-remodeled museum. St. Catherine's, like many other sacred sites around our world, is responding to a surplus of religious tourists--either as more traditional pilgrims or those that are the product of mass tourism, those looking either for some spiritual sustenance or some experience of the past through this ancient holy place. At this point, their prudent decision has been to open the grounds to visitors from nine to noon, closing completly for the Sabbath or fasting days. The monastery is the oldest continually inhabited monastery in the world, with monks living there since it was built in the early sixth century. Its history has left it in a priviledged position to now welcome visitors to see its renowned collection of icons, some dating to the sixth century, including one of the earliest and what I believe is the most famous of of Jesus, Christ Pantocrator. Given its uterly isolated location, it escaped much of the iconoclasm that plagued the larger Church in the eight and ninth centuries. Furthermore, the monastery received an Achtiname from the Prophet, assuring the monks freedom to worship and granting the monastery protection from attack as Islam spread in the seventh century and through the thirteen centuries that followed. Next to the Arabic copy (the original was lost on its way to the Istabbul at some point) on display in the museum was the following English translation:
"This is a message from Muhammad ibn Abdullah, as a covenant to those who adopt Christianity, near and far, we are with them. Verily I, the servants, the helpers, and my followers defend them, because Christians are my citizens; and by Allah! I hold out against anything that displeases them.
No compulsion is to be on them. Neither are their judges to be removed from their jobs nor their monks from their monasteries.
No one is to destroy a house of their religion, to damage it, or to carry anything from it to the Muslims' houses. Should anyone take any of these, he would spoil God's covenant and disobey His Prophet. Verily, they are my allies and have my secure charter against all that they hate.
No one is to force them to travel or to oblige them to fight. The Muslims are to fight for them. If a female Christian is married to a Muslim, it is not to take place without her approval. She is not to be prevented from visiting her church to pray.
Their churches are to be respected. They are neither to be prevented from repairing them nor the sacredness of their covenants. No one of the nation (Muslims) is to disobey the covenant till the Last Day (end of the world)." (The English translated text of the Charter of Privileges was extracted from the Book 'Muslim History: 570 - 1950 C.E.' by Dr. A. Zahoor and Dr. Z. Haq, ZMD Corporation. Gaithersburg, MD).
The monastery's chapel also had a mosque built upon it. So, as one tour guide explained it, no Muslim conquerors would destroyed the mosque because it used a corner of the church as part of its foundation while no Christians would destroy the mosque since the sanctuary too would be damaged. Arriving back at the hotel later that afternoon, we relaxed in the pool and packed up for our flight back to Dubai.
Julie nor I answered our original question but it was definitely one that came up as we toured around the country. Whatever the answer(s), it was enjoyable traveling with my family and see how they responded to this question and the situations it led to in the country.
