EATEN OUT BY AN EGYPTIAN GOD
My entire childhoodI was obsessed with Egyptian folklore and history after seeing “The Mummy.” Here I was in Egypt walking towards the Valley of the Queens. The soft sand squished below my black strapped sandals. The scorching sun bared down on me making me thankful I chose to leave the wigs at my hotel. My white sundress and sun hat was no match for the blistering hot sun above me. I was thankful for the dry wind gusts blowing randomly around me. I stop mid-step and pull my hair into a low ponytail under my hat. I look around my surroundings in awe. The utter elegance in its man-made tunnels made me skeptical I was not on a movie set.
I’m actually here.
The sand pathway leading into the Valley of the Queens was long and narrow. Outlined with a thin rope divide was the only barrier across the expansive golden sand in front of me. The wives of the pharaohs were buried within the tombs carved out in every direction. It is quiet, hardly any tourists here. It pays to be early, and I fear everyone may be at the Valley of the Kings instead. As I reach the edge of the path, I am greeted by locals from ages that ranged from young children to the elderly.
“Photo, guide,” they all exclaimed in unison.
“La’ shokran,” I say, dipping my head to them in polite thanks.
By no means did I know the language, but I was sure to know the basics of “no, thank you,” “yes, please,” and “bathroom.” I stop mid-step and just stare out at the sight before me. It is known as Ta-Set-Neferu meaning “the place of beauty,” and I couldn’t agree more. It truly is a wonder of the ancient world. My textbooks could not accurately describe the sight before me. My steps echoed through the large door at the opening of the tomb of Prince Khaemwaset. As I walked down the long-darkened corridor, I was led to a small chapel and burial chamber. The son of Ramesses II was carefully guarded by intricate paintings of a jackal, lion, and a monkey. The animals carefully guarded from the elements behind protected glass. You learn of its beauty and its history in textbooks but seeing this up close was something else entirely. My hand ran softly and gingerly over the cracked stone walls. It practically had a pulse of its own as its story vibrated through my hands.
Valley of the Queens had in total of seventy-five tombs discovered, yet four are only open to the public. I explored the tomb of Amunherkhepshef and Titi with a scholar’s eyes. It is long believed that Titi was married to Ramesses III and the mother of five sons including, Prince Khaemwaset and Amunherkhepshef. However, we will never know if it was in fact Titi or Nefertari who bore the princes who are immortalized with them. I knew these women intrinsically from textbooks and seeing where their soul was laid to rest was cathartic. The Tomb of Nefertari was unlike any of the other tombs. Its intricate decorations were a testament to her being the “favorite queen” in a shrine dedicated to her beauty. Her tomb cut into the rock thirty-five-thousand years ago, the tomb is still in spectacular shape. Seven chambers still standing with every painting perfectly preserved. The blue ceiling with thousands of decorated stars still protecting the queen’s soul to fly free into the afterlife. This tomb is known as the Sistine Chapel of Egypt and in person, it’s breathtaking in every way.
After my tour around Valley of the Queens, I took a short taxi ride to the entrance of the Valley of the Kings. Before entering the tomb, the local market was abuzz and packed full of tourists and merchants alike. I tried to navigate through the yells of merchants selling their items. I tried to keep my head down but remain polite to the locals trying to make a living. I see a sparking chain displayed to the side of me which catches my attention. It was a beautiful head chain, and I am drawn to its gold and silver beads on a pewter silver chain. A merchant walks over to me in his elder years. His skin wrinkled and rough. His black tarboosh hung loosely over his head and matched his charcoal gray gallibaya.
“How much?” I ask slowly, careful with the language barrier.
“One pound,” he says, talking loudly over the large crowd around us.
Our varying currency values is one of the many culture shocks here. Paying nearly a nickel in American money for a handmade head chain was unfathomable to me. I reach inside my black crossbody bag and hand him a thin paper Egyptian pound. He takes it with a small bow of appreciation. I look around at the other items in the market. Merchants selling hats, bags, pashminas, spices, lanterns. Along with statues of the sphinx, black cats, and pyramids. He hands me the small chain and I take it gratefully into my hands.
“Shokran,” I say.
“Shokran,” he replies, a grateful smile gracing his lips.
Here I stood in the Valley of the Kings. The most famous collection of tombs lying on the Nile’s west bank near Luxor. The breath catches in my throat as the sculptures of the pharaohs appear in my line of sight. Carefully excavated tombs in every direction for the public to witness firsthand. Ancient Egyptians built massive monuments for their public to adore their pharaohs. Nearly 35,000 years later, they are just as adored as they were then. They spent their time, blood and sweat into the design and creation of ninety hidden underground mausoleums. I look down at my sand-covered feet.
How many unknown tombs must be under my feet? Ramses VIII could be lying undisturbed directly under my feet. What an incredible find for history that would be.
The proof of their hard work is still preserved in the hand carved art into the limestone walls. Using copper or bronze chisels they were able to achieve all of this. A smile comes across my face as I visit the perfectly preserved tombs of Merenptah, Ramses IX, Ramses III, and the Tomb of Ramses V/VI.
Effectively a day of historical boners.
But I saved the best tomb for last. The pharaoh I researched diligently for months for my world history dissertation was Tutankhamen. I stood near the entrance of the tomb and ran my hand along his name carved into the limestone wall marking the entrance. British archaeologist Howard Carter discovered a step leading to his tomb in 1922. The very same steps I was going to be walking down. I scoffed in complete disbelief that I was here. My obsession with Egyptian archaeology stemmed from a child obsessed with a movie culminated into me graduating with my bachelor’s degree in history with a concentration in ancient cultures.
Nonna, do you see this?
As I walked down the stairs, my hands brushed along the limestone into the amber-lit passageway before entering the tomb. My sandals echoing in step along the wooden deck as I grabbed onto the railing. My eyes went wide to see these ancient hieroglyphs in perfect condition. These paintings projecting a story of life and death for the beloved boy who lay in the golden sarcophagus protected under thick glass. His story told hundreds of thousands of times and yet, still know so little of the boy who was king. As remarkable as it is to see in person, it pales in comparison to the utter beauty of Nefatari’s tomb or even the sheer size of Ramses III.
Imagine the tomb Tutankhamen would have received had his burial not been rushed to the extent it was?
After spending hours breathing in the history at Valley of the Kings, I barely made it in time for my short flight to Giza the following morning. I blame my lack of sleep and the long phone calls with Finn, although I will never tell him that. Giza was a separate and different in its entirety from Luxor. Tourists getting off buses crowded the area with pockets of people. A loud bellowing sound from behind me caught my attention as several men walked camels across the sand. Their bright colored pom poms on their leads swaying as they walked. They laid down in the sand with a resounding thud. I put sunglasses on my eyes and wrap a thin scarf around my hair securely to protect from the scorching morning rays and rising temperatures. These one-humped camels have been here in Egypt since the beginning of time. Their reputation for being bad tempered and spitting when annoyed caused me pause for concern.
“Beautiful,” I sigh.
“Touch, pet please,” the caretaker of the camel says.