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FARMINGTON, UT, United States
I am a traveler, artist, photographer, writer, and nature lover who likes to be alone. Always ready for an adventure, but often scared to step outside my comfort zone. It's time I face my fears. This blog is about all of that and then some. It's Simply My Life put into words and pictures. It's me discovering me. Come along for the ride!

Saturday, February 10, 2024

SHORT STORY: Where the rocks meet the sea

 WHERE THE ROCKS MEET THE SEA

        By: Rae A. Costa

    

The sand is warm.

She wiggles her toes deeper, until she feels the dampness of the sea. A spray of salty mist blowing off cresting waves stings her eyes. Tiny grains of sand scratch her skin as she wipes her face with the back of her wrist. Sand is everywhere. It irritates her sunburnt skin. It chafes her raw when she moves. It is in places it shouldn’t be. She hates it here.

Rolling waves crash against the shore. One after the other, bringing with them mounds of briny kelp torn lose by their turbulence. Kelp flies swarm over the decaying piles left stranded by the high tide. Tom once told her that the female flies, Diptera, he called them, will lay their eggs in the seaweed and the larvae will feed upon it when they hatch. She doesn’t care about the flies or the seaweed. It smells. She hates it here.

She lies back under the baking sun. She lifts a hand to shield her face, blinking furiously against the onslaught of sand. She flops an arm over her eyes and naps. Her breathing is ragged, coming in tiny puffs. Her chest heaves in protest and she shivers.

He is in her dreams again, like she knew he would be.

Fresh from the ocean, his eyes shine, and she calls him Oceanus. Saltwater drips from his bronze, muscular body. His red swim trunks sag under its weight, with rivulets cascading down his legs. He shakes water from his blond hair, playfully spraying her with droplets. She squeals with delight. She likes it here with him.

He dances freely along the water’s edge, leaping over the tide as it slides towards him. He searches for flat rocks and skims them across the water’s surface. They bounce once, twice, and then are swallowed by waves. He shouts to her over his shoulder, but the wind whips his words away before she has a chance to hear.  

She stops to watch the setting sun. It dazzles her with its display of colors. They swirl together like a kaleidoscope. Shifting from the pale hues of yellow, orange and pink into the deeper, richer tones of blue, red, and purple. It’s a magical moment. Dreamy and beautiful. She watches in amazement.

She turns to Tom, to ask him if he sees the dolphin leaping out of the sparkling surf. Like an acrobat, it flies into the brilliant evening air, flipping and spinning, before splashing again into the gleaming waters.

But he is not beside her.

She spins wildly in every direction but cannot find him. She screams his name over and over and then she hears him. His voice faint, dying on the wind. Far down the beach, he is standing where the rocks meet the sea. He beckons to her and points to the ocean, out towards the horizon where the light has faded. She tries to run to him, but her legs are heavy and sluggish. She struggles but sinks deeper into the sand. She cannot move. She is helpless.

She watches as he strides to the water’s edge. It swirls playfully around his ankles, tugging and teasing, and then it rises above his knees. And now, he stands waist deep. He looks forlornly out at the ocean and she follows his gaze but sees only an empty horizon. The sun has fallen over the edge of the world. The last rays of her light have left and the water shimmers black.

Tom is gone.

She awakens gasping for breath as she always does. She has dreamed this dream every day for the past three months. Her suffering is as excruciating in her dreams as it is in life. Images of Tom move painfully behind her closed eyelids. She lies quiet in the sand waiting for her heart to calm and the last traces of her dream to dissipate.

The sun is lower in the west, but not by much. She has dozed for only a short time. She stands up, brushing away tiny sand particles clinging to the moisture on her skin. She shakes out her hair and sand showers down upon her bare feet.

The waves continue to roar, but less fervently. They have retreated even further during her nap but the tide will soon turn. In the meantime, she walks the shore, inspecting every clump of seaweed, every shell, every rock, begging them to reveal their secrets. She listens carefully but hears nothing. She breaths in their scent, whispering her forgiveness, but still, they are mute.

She combs the beach until she reaches the jetty. Once the jumble of rocks was a place of love and lust. A place where she said, yes, when Tom proposed. A place where they made fervent love under the stars. And a place where they planned their future. But now it has become a place of grief. A place of shattered dreams and a place of eternal sadness.

It is the place where Tom leapt into the sea.

The rocks are wet and smooth as she climbs on them. Her foot slips on their polished surface and she lands hard on one knee. It is not the first time she has fallen. Her knees and elbows are tinged with the yellowish browns of fading bruises. She should know to be careful, but perhaps the pain of stone meeting bone is her penitence, her punishment for not being able to save her husband.

Tiny crabs scurry away as she climbs higher atop the jetty. She searches, examining every crevice as she zigzags her way across the rock, but she finds nothing.

Out on the point, she gazes into the sea and feels hopeless. Goosebumps prickle her skin, and she wraps her arms around herself. She wonders what it would feel like if she were to keep walking. Past the rocks, past the space where nothing begins. She wonders what it would feel like to jump into the ocean’s chilly waters and never return. She wonders what it felt like for Tom.

The sound of laughter reaches her on the ocean breeze. Behind her, children scramble onto the rocks, screeching in delight when they find a crab, snail, or other crustacean clinging to the rocks.

“Hey, lady!” one of them shouts. “You’re too far out!”

She knows this.

She saw the sign telling visitors not to go past this point, but she did anyway. The waves have returned, colliding against the tip of the jetty, spraying funnels of water high into the air. She spreads her arms and feels the mist on her face and then, reluctantly, she turns around. She smiles at the children as they scamper about but feels no happiness. The waves crash hard against the rocks and within her heart.

She retraces her steps, across the rocks and back onto the flat beach, searching as she goes. She walks on, past the spot where she slept. The indentation from her body already full of windblown sand. Further she walks until the sun has disappeared below the horizon. The sunset is glorious, but she does not notice. She is spent.

The evening air is cold and blustery. The waves lap at her feet. There is nothing more to be seen this night. She turns away from the vast and selfish ocean that refuses to relinquish her husband, and trudges across the dunes towards home.

 

**

 

Living on the beach was Tom’s dream. He spoke of it often and soon it became her dream too. How soothing it would be to fall asleep to the crashing of real waves and not those from a sleep machine, he’d exclaim. How pleasant to hear the gulls in the mornings as they gather on the beach right outside our front door!  How refreshing is the sea breeze against our skin! And how radiant are the colors of the setting sun as they reflect in the crystal suncatcher hanging in the window!

However, she no longer finds joy in any of that. The incessant crashing of waves and screeching gulls are a constant source of irritation. The ocean winds bring only dampness and the rotten smell of seaweed. During the last storm, the suncatcher blew to the ground, shattering into tiny pieces. And she only notices the sunset because it signals the ending of another awful day.

Day after day, week after week, her routine is the same.

She awakens restless and angry, with legs tangled in sand filled sheets. His side of the bed is cold and she clutches his pillow. She wears his sweatshirt and her eyes are moist from a night of bad dreams. Their angst and despair linger long after she climbs out of bed. She wraps herself in her robe and slides her feet into her slippers. The floorboards creak as she walks across the bedroom.

On her way to the kitchen, she pauses at the mantel and straightens the picture frames. Smiling faces of her and Tom. A happy life together once upon a time. A life she can neither forget nor one she wants to remember.

Tom’s ghost follows her into the kitchen. In silence, he sits across from her at the kitchen table, but she cannot bear to look at his empty chair. She stares out the window and eats a bowl of oatmeal and sips hot tea. Afterwards, she will go into the bathroom and brush her teeth. She will shower, but no matter how much she lathers, the sand refuses to be washed away. She will stand in front of the mirror and find another new wrinkle, another frown line. She is only 26, but her face deceives her.

Together, her and Tom made this house into their home. A safe space where they shared their love, hopes, and dreams, but there is nothing here now that brings her warmth. Wooden chimes hanging on the porch clack incessantly, while fine specks of swirling sand pelt the windowpanes. She draws the curtains and sits in the dark, numb, and abandoned.

She hates it here, but she cannot leave. Not while Tom is still out there lost at sea.

When the sun has begun its journey skyward, she ventures outside to begin her daily search. She pleads with the sea to give her back her love, prays that it will somehow make her whole again. Maybe today will be the day it hears her. Maybe today will be the day it finally releases its grip on her husband and she can bring him home.

On the beach, though, nothing has changed.

Waves continue to roll in, dumping sand, shells and other debris along the shore and then taking it away as the tide recedes. Mounds of seaweed are still strewn across the sand. She can hear the buzzing of the flies. Diptera. She kicks and stomps on the seaweed as she passes and swats at the flies as they rise angrily into the air.

She hates this place.

The sea assaults her senses. She cannot stand it any longer. She shakes her fists, striking out at the sky, the wind, the dunes, at the entire world around her. She shrieks with fury. Her hostility spews forth, directed at the ocean which she once loved when Tom was beside her. She rages against the forces that move it, demanding them to relinquish her husband. She screams and screams, but nothing changes.

For hours she walks the beach but finds nothing. She’s exhausted and her heart aches. She curls into the sand, shaking with anger and desperation.

Tom is in her dreams again, like she knew he would be.

His ragged swim trunks drip saltwater as he trudges through the sand in front of her. A piece of kelp is knotted in his wet hair. He doesn’t dance among the waves but limps, with head down, along the shoreline. He has bruises and jagged cuts on his back. She wonders about them but he does not answer.  

Seagulls, noisy and selfish, circle overhead, riding the wind currents far out to sea and then back again. Tom steps over a pile of kelp and a swarm of flies rise into the air, engulfing him. She loses sight of him. When the flies have finally settled, she sees him far ahead standing on the jetty.

He beckons to her, and she feels a sense of urgency, so she runs. Her feet barely touch the sand. She runs and runs, but he is still so far away. The wind picks her up and she flies with it. Tom is calling. She hears him now.

“I am here!” he screams.

She awakens to the sound of her own scream, but already the wind has carried it away. Her heart is pounding and her blood thunders through her veins. She is panicked with her breath coming in rapid gasps. She stands, lightheaded, sweating underneath the late afternoon sun.

It is low in the sky, brilliant and blinding, but through its dazzling rays she sees him. He is standing where the rocks meet the sea, shimmering like a mirage. He lifts his hand and points.

There, just past the end of the jetty, past the point where the waves begin to surge, she sees him. His red swim trunks bobbing in the water.  

            She runs, fast, towards the jetty. Sand sprays out behind her churning feet. She splashes into the water and pushes against the waves. They push back, grabbing her ankles and pulling her under. She tumbles across the sand as the waves roll over her, depositing her in a heap back onto the beach.

The ocean is against her, but she is determined. She will not lose her husband a second time.

She climbs up onto the jetty. She slips and falls and barnacled rocks scrape against her knees, drawing blood, but she does not notice. Nor does she notice the sign warning people of the dangers of being too far out. She rushes past the sign, to the very end. Tom is floating face down, arms spread, drifting away.

“Tom!” she screams.

            Waves hurl themselves against the point. They seize her as she jumps off the end of the jetty and into the foamy sea. They pull her into their violence, pounding her against the rocks. They snatch her away, but only briefly, before cruelly sending her crashing into them again and again.

            The tide thrusts her towards the surface. Her head rises above the horizon, above the dunes and, for a moment, she sees her life again as it once was. Her and Tom, laughing on the front porch of their dream home, while the suncatcher sparkles in the window behind them. The sky is brilliant with the colors of the setting sun. Magical and surreal.

            She smiles, but then the waves grab her again, sucking her under and slamming her head into the rocks. She gasps, but there is no air, only saltwater, and it fills her lungs. She fights against the blackness of the water and the blackness in her head. The waves are relentless, beating her against the rocks until there is nothing left of her.

She wonders if this is what it felt like for Tom.

Then something touches her cheek. Tender and familiar. She opens her eyes and Tom is there, like she knew he would be. He takes her hands, entwining his fingers with hers, soft, like lovers do. He pulls her away from the battering waves, away from the rocks, and into his arms.

“I am here, my love,” he whispers.

She grabs him tight, and they sink beneath the roiling waves, deeper still until their entangled bodies float just above the ocean floor. It is peaceful here. The water is warm and blue, like his eyes. Oceanus, she whispers. He caresses her face, and they kiss sweetly.

She likes it here with him.


Saturday, January 27, 2024

Dear Father

 

Dear Father,

You were so tired and fragile; so ready long before your body ever let go. It hurt my heart to see you that way, but we both knew that that is what happens when time doesn’t stop. You grow old.

        Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

There is an end to all of us, but not to time. And even when you were taking your last breath, time didn’t hesitate. Its hands ticking away, spinning and consuming, without ever giving you a thought.

        But I think about you every day.

I search for you in the rays of the sun and in the wispy clouds streaking across the blue sky. Among the delicate flakes of snow drifting to the ground and in the sheets of falling rain that mirror my tears.

        And I wonder where you are.

I call for you. I listen for your voice in the wind, in the chirping of the birds, but I hear nothing. And as wave after wave of sorrow crashes over me, I fall. I struggle but can’t rise under the weight of my grief. Everything is hollow. All I can do is lie here, thinking of you as sadness runs down my cheeks. I’m stuck, stuck in that last moment of our lives together.

As I walk out of the hospital room, I look back over my shoulder and say, “Love you dad.” You blow me a kiss and say, “Love you too.” Who was I to know that that would be the last time I ever heard your voice or saw your smile.

    I wish I could have stopped time.

I would freeze it. Make the world stop turning. If I could have made time stand still even for a single second, I would have been happy because I would have had that extra moment with you. I would have held your hand and rubbed your forehead to help you sleep like I had done so many times before. I would tell you everything in my heart. I will make sure you know how much I love you.

But that moment is forever lost, and I am angry. I will always regret not telling you, but I think you knew. I think you’ve always known that you were my first love. You were my daddy, and I was your little girl. And you will always hold a special place in my heart.

You lay so still, so small in the bed. I thought you were sleeping, I hoped for it. I kissed your forehead and whispered, “Hi Dad,” but you did not answer. I begged for you to open your eyes, to take my hand in yours, but you didn’t. I listened for your breath and felt for your heartbeat, but your body had grown cold. Your spirit had gone. The dad I love was no longer there, just his shell. Time continues, but I have not.

    I have cried every day since.

It’s difficult to navigate a space and time that doesn’t include you. I see a bird, it snows, or something else insignificant happens and I want to tell you, yet you're not here. I tell you anyway and hope you can hear me, but it’s not the same. I wish I knew where you were. Are you safe? Do you get to pitch horseshoes and go fishing? Is Punky asleep in your lap? Can you see us?

I put on a brave face for Mom. I help her through her grief, hugging her while she breaks down, but all the while trying to hide my own pain. I laugh when I feel like crying. I keep it hidden and tell everyone I’m OK, but I’m not. I have never experienced such a profound loss as I have with your passing, and I have no idea how to make myself feel better or in which direction to go.

Someone told me that time heals. That time will lessen the pain, so now, I no longer wish for time to stand still. I want it to speed forward. To blast me into a future where I don’t cry every day and into a time when my heart doesn’t hurt. 

    But right now, though, it’s hard to imagine.

The cavern of loss is too great, and I wonder how it will ever be filled. Someday I hope I can think of you, look at your photos, and talk about you without tears, but for today, I’ll let myself cry. I'll try again tomorrow to be strong.

    I love you dad and miss you beyond words.

         Always in our Hearts. 🧡

Ronald Ray Costa

04/01/1943 – 12/03/2023







Wednesday, June 22, 2022

Old Cairo, a dinner date, pyramids, and a camel…my Egyptian adventure comes to an end.

I arrived in Egypt early Friday morning on 04/15/2022. My trip lasted 12 days and was full of new experiences and dreams come true. This is the 5th and final installment regarding my adventures. As always, enjoy, and thank you for reading my blog.


Old Cairo

Our stay at the New Movenpick was only one night, so another early wakeup call and another boxed breakfast of bread. An hour delay at the Aswan airport puts us behind schedule and has us landing in Cairo at 10:00am. No time to rest as we board a bus taking us to El-Moez Street for a walking tour through Old Cairo, and then another foray into Khan El-Khalili Market. 

People gather on a street in Cairo.

It's an interesting walk through Old Cairo, but I am glad that, once we reach the market, we are able to rest at a café. The 91-degree heat, as well as all the touring and consumption of bread, is continuing to take its toll. We are given some free time to wander the market. As much as I want to sip my hibiscus tea and relax, I also want to wander the market again. Linda and I leave Christy at the café and set off to explore. The same guard who fetched us at the Nubian Spice Market, follows us the entire time. I guess he doesn't want a repeat of having to come after us because we were late to meet the group, but whatever his reasons, I am glad he is with us.

Enjoying a cup of hibiscus tea at Waly El Neam Cafe
in the Khan El-Khalili Market.

Waly El Neam Cafe - our guide sits upstairs, while we are downstairs.
Since it is Ramadan, he does not sit with us whenever
we are eating or drinking during the day. 

Shoppers at Khan El-Khalili Market.

A dinner date 

It is 2pm by the time we check into the InterContinental Citystars hotel in Cairo. It's nice to have the afternoon free, so Christy, Linda and I wander through a mall that is connected to the hotel. The Citystars Mall is huge with six levels and 750 stores, plus a cinema and numerous restaurants and food courts. 

I eventually leave Christy and Linda to enjoy their dinner and go back to the hotel to get ready for my date. Several days into the trip, I matched with a man on a dating app. We’ve been chatting for several days and I agreed to go on a date with him when I returned to Cairo. Because our group is given strict instructions not to go outside the hotel or mall, Khaled meets me in the hotel lobby. 

It's been 10 months since I've been on a date and I am feeling giddy, especially when I see him standing in the lobby. He is even more handsome in person with his dark hair and deep brown eyes, but I'm not sure how to react. Should I hug him? Shake his hand? Public displays of affection are frowned upon in the Muslim culture, more so when it is between two people who are not married. Khaled, however, makes it easy. As I approach, he takes my hand and kisses it. It's a sign of respect. 

We walk next door to the mall for dinner. It is a wonderful date. Even with our cultural differences, we have a lot in common and conversation comes easily. His English is near perfect, and I love his accent. My face hurts from smiling, but unfortunately, I am so tired, our date ends after only a few hours. I don't want him to leave, but Christy has given me strict instructions that I am not to bring him back to our room! I can't sneak him in even if I wanted to, because I find out later, a Muslim man is not allowed to enter the hotel room of a woman who he is not married to. 

We say goodbye in the hotel lobby, but this time we hug and Khaled gives me several kisses on my cheek. We promise to keep in touch, but sadly, as of this writing our communications have stopped.

**

Pyramids

GIZA! 

My last full day in Egypt and what better way to spend it than to see the pyramids and ride a camel! This is the reason I've travelled thousands of miles to Egypt. Everything else I’ve seen and done for the last ten days is a mere bonus. 

Breezy with clear skies, it's a perfect morning to have a dream come true. 

Giza! A dream comes true!

At the pyramids, we have two options. We can either go inside the Great Pyramid or listen to a lecture by an archaeologist. At first, Christy, Linda, and I choose to go inside the pyramid, because how awesome is it to say you went inside the Great Pyramid!? But when we hear it is very hot inside and we would have to crawl to reach a chamber that is void of any hieroglyphics or other design, we opt for the lecture. 

That, by far, is the better choice. 

Ashraf Mohie El-din is an Egyptologist, archaeologist, and the Director General of the pyramids. He has a big personality and exudes passion for his work. With his booming voice, he entertains us with tales of lost treasure and his behind-the-scenes antics of when he filmed two specials for National Geographic (Lost tomb of the Pyramids and Lost Treasures of Egypt). 

"If you can build a pyramid, you can do anything" - Ashraf Mohie. 

Our guide Khaled, Christy and I in front of the Great Pyramid.

A camel 

Now it is time to ride a camel! 

Majestic!

We stand in a group watching the camels. They are magnificent as they rest in the sand with the beautiful pyramids in the background, but I am not fooled. Camels are temperamental. They grunt, groan, and bellow loudly which affirms their unpredictability. I am very nervous to ride one. The camel keeper helps me climb on top of the camel but gives me no instructions of how to ride it or how to keep from falling off, only that I should hold on to the saddle horn. 

Don't look down, don't look down!
Trying hard not to fall off!
 
Watching a camel rise off the ground into a standing position is very different than being on top of a camel while it rises off the ground into a standing position. It first straightens its long back legs, and as its rump lifts into the air, I am abruptly thrown forward. Fortunately, my white-knuckle death grip on the saddle horn keeps me from somersaulting over the camel’s head. I scream anyway because it is such an unexpected motion and, in all seriousness, I thought I was going to die. However, just as quickly, it stands with its front legs, so now I am flung backwards. Again, my death-grip saves me from going ass over teakettle, but now the camel is walking. 

It doesn’t move with an easy rhythm, but with one that is shuffling and rolling like a ship at sea. I’m bouncing around on its back trying not to fall off and certainly trying not to look down. My camel seems unnaturally tall. Dromedary camels can stand at over 7-feet at the shoulder with females being a bit smaller. My camel’s name is Casanova, so I assume he is a male, but regardless, a few inches don't matter when I am a thousand feet in the air.

The ground seems far away and I know it would be extremely painful if I were to fall. My legs squeeze the camel tightly and my entire body tenses. My hands also hurt because I’ve retained my clench on the saddle horn. I don’t know how anyone could ride a camel across the desert for miles upon miles. It is an uncomfortable ride. I’ve gone maybe 300-feet and my butt hurts already.

My camel doesn’t entirely lift his feet when he walks. I don’t know if all camels walk like this or if mine is defective, but it’s scary. I’m trying not to think about my death by camel, but then Casanova stumbles and I panic. I’m about to callout to my camel handler and tell him I want to get off, but as I lift my gaze from the ground, I see the pyramids in the distance. 

Beautiful under the Egyptian sun.

Pyramids 

I take a moment to reiterate that this is my dream come true. It is unbelievable that I am riding a camel in the Sahara Desert!

After a few calming breaths, I focus on my surroundings, on the experience, rather than on my fears and overestimation of how high in the air I am. My legs relax, as does my grip on the saddle. Instead of fighting against the motion, I let myself be jostled around by Casanova’s movements and eventually find a somewhat tolerable position. 

Our group stops while we take turns getting our picture taken in front of the pyramids. Tim, one of the men in my tour group, is behind me on a camel named Ali Baba. It is tethered to mine. Ali Baba moves to stand next to me and pushes affectionately against my camel. I reach out to touch his hair and it is coarse and bristly. He nibbles my fingers with his lips and it feels gummy and wet. 

He is a nice camel, but he continues leaning against Casanova and my leg is squished between the two. It doesn’t hurt, but I am unable to move it. That makes me a bit anxious as these camels can weigh as much as 1,800 pounds! My svelte little self is no match for their size and strength. I push Ali Baba and he moves enough for me to pull my leg out, but I’m pretty sure he didn't even feel me. He probably thought I was just a fly.

Now it’s my turn to have a picture taken. 

Casanova and I are led into position with the pyramids standing majestic in the background, but he doesn’t want to cooperate. My camel handler whistles, waves, and calls to Casanova. Eventually he looks up and poses perfectly for our picture. It was a rough start, but I am enjoying myself immensely. 

Cassanova and I have become friends.

Not so gracefully getting off my camel.

Having some fun after my camel ride.

My day could have ended happily with me and my new bestie, Casanova, saying our goodbyes, but it didn’t.

There was one more thing to see - the Sphinx! 

Standing guard at the approach to the Pyramid of Khafre, the Sphinx is the earliest known monument sculpture of Egypt. It dates to around 2500 BC and stands 66-feet high. When the pyramids were built, the waters of the Nile came up to the edge of the Giza Plateau. Our guide draws a map in the sand showing where the canal and boat dock were and the path to the tomb. It is very helpful to get an overview of the area as it’s all desert sand now. 

Walking on a marble floor that is over 5,000 years old. 
It must have been stunning at one time. Our guide says it led to an embalming room.

Unfortunately, the area around the Sphinx is barricaded and we are unable to get very close, plus it is crowded. 

The Sphinx - Guardian of the Giza Plateau.

A security guard is yelling at a group of people who have climbed onto a stone wall to get a better look at the Sphinx. Just as they get down, another group climbs up. The guard then turns his attention to a group of Egyptian teenagers. I don’t know exactly what they are doing, but they run away laughing and acting silly like kids do. Our guide smiles, so I don’t think their antics were too serious, but the guard has clearly lost patience with people. It’s 12:30 and 85-degrees. 

Selfie!

My Egyptian adventure comes to an end 

Time to say goodbye.

That night we have a delicious farewell dinner at the hotel. Everyone is tired, but no one wants to be the first to leave the table and finalize the ending to a fabulous trip. Finally, at about 9pm with all of us falling asleep over our empty plates, one of the other women stands up. That’s our cue and the rest of us quickly follow her lead. 

There are many different personalities in our group, but overall, it is a great mix of people. I am inspired by their tales of travel, specifically by those from a group of four women. They met several years ago while on a previous tour, and now they travel the world together. Christy and I are already thinking about our next trip, perhaps to Israel and Jordan...?

It is an amazing last day of an already amazing trip. It feels good to be able to share such a wonderful experience with friends, new and old, but now it’s time for sleep. I have one more early wakeup call and one last boxed breakfast of bread to eat before I begin my journey home.

Thank you, Egypt. I miss you already.

* More of my photos can be seen on Facebook and Instagram

A souvenir from Egypt. I've named her Giza. 




Saturday, June 18, 2022

Horses, crocodiles, a garden, and much more...my Egyptian journey goes on.

This is the 4th (of 5) blog postings about my trip to Egypt. 


Horses

We cruise down the Nile on the Royal Lotus and I enjoy the downtime. I sit by our room’s large window and watch Egypt drift by.

We cannot even escape the vendors at sea!
A boat latches onto to our cruise ship. The men call to those people standing 
on the upper deck and throw items to them wrapped in plastic bags. If you 
want to buy it, you wrap the money in the bag and throw it back to them. 

We dock sometime during the night in Edfu, which is located almost exactly between Luxor and Aswan.

Cruise ships docked in Edfu, Egypt.

According to ancient myth, this is where Horus fought with his uncle Seth, who had murdered Horus’s father, Osiris. Seth, the god of Chaos, was filled with hate and jealousy towards his brother so he chopped him into 14 pieces and scattered them throughout Egypt.

Osiris’s wife, Isis, who was also his and Seth’s sister, searched for Osiris, but found only 13 of his body parts. Rumor has it, the 14th piece, which was Osiris’s penis, was tossed into the Nile and eaten by a catfish.

Isis put Osiris’s body back together, sans penis, which enabled Osiris to return to life. However, instead of returning to the land of the living, Osiris was reborn into the afterlife. He became the god of the underworld. Because his penis was never found, Isis could not get pregnant through conventional means. There are several different versions of how she became pregnant (with Horus), such as using her magical powers to make a phallus for Osiris, to changing into a being who flew around his body to absorb his sperm. Some older Egyptian myths have Osiris’s penis surviving his ordeal, but whichever ending is told, it is an intriguing story.

The Temple of Horus at Edfu, which was buried under sand and silt from the Nile River for almost 2,000 years, is the largest and best-preserved Ptolemaic temple in Egypt. Construction began under Ptolemy III Euergetes in 237 BC and completed in 57 BC during the reign of Cleopatra's father, Ptolemy XII Auletes. Although discovered in 1798 by French explorers, it wasn't excavated until 1860. 

Selfie at the Temple of Horus.

Temple of Horus is full of tourists. I couldn't get through
the crowd to reach the back of the temple. 

A statue of Horus at the Temple of Horus.

As beautiful as the temple is, I do not like Edfu.

Horse drawn carriages arrive at the cruise ship dock and run passengers from the boat to the temple, however, the horses are not well-cared for. Our guide tells us that guests were upset at seeing the condition of the horses, so Collette Tours refused to use the horse drawn carriages. The temple is owned by the village and they in turn, refused to allow the tour company access. As a compromise, Collette pays the village for use of the horse drawn carriages, but they don’t use them. Instead, they have a bus, which comes from over an hour away, pick up the tourists and drive them the 2 miles to the temple.

Horses get a moment of rest at the Temple of Horus before
taking tourists back to the cruise ship dock.

After visiting the Temple of Horus, we return to the Royal Lotus and continue our journey down the Nile.

Crocodiles

Several hours later we dock at Kom Ombo, an agricultural town surrounded by sugar cane and corn. It is a short walk from the boat to the Temple of Kom Ombo. The Greco-Roman style temple is unusual as it is a double temple dedicated to two gods. It is perfectly symmetrical with two entrances, two halls and two sanctuaries.  One half of the temple is dedicated to Sobek, the crocodile god, while the other half is dedicated to Horus the Elder. 

Unfortunately, much of the temple has been destroyed by flooding from the Nile, as well as from earthquakes. 

The tops of the columns at the Temple of Kom Ombo are carved in the
likeness of a lotus or lily from Upper Egypt and the papyrus of the delta.

This is a hieroglyph showing Cleopatra and her cartouche in
the Temple of Kom Ombo, Egypt. 

A museum near the exit of the temple houses about 40 of the 300 crocodile mummies that were discovered in the vicinity. They are estimated to be about 3,000 years old! Our guide tells us there are no longer any crocodiles in the Nile, that they have all been relocated to Lake Nasser. 

Mummified crocodiles were found in a small chamber 
at the Temple of Kom Ombo.

Several crocodile mummies are on display at the
Crocodile Museum at Kom Ombo.


**

We dock the next morning in Aswan, a bustling market and tourist center on the east bank of the Nile. It is Egypt's southernmost city. 

No surprise it’s already hot when we reach the Unfinished Obelisk at 8:30am. The Unfinished Obelisk is exactly that, a gigantic obelisk that was never finished. Had it been completed, it would have been one of the biggest obelisks ever built, standing at over 135-feet tall and weighing 1,200 tons! Unfortunately, during the last phase of construction, a large crack formed, and it was abandoned. However, it is one of Egypt’s most valuable discoveries because it offers insight into ancient stonemasonry techniques.

Workers abandoned the huge obelisk after a crack developed.

A vendor weaves a scarf in his shop at the Unfinished Obelisk plaza.

After a morning of sweating under the blazing Egyptian sun at the Unfinished Obelisk, we find the perfect way to cool off. A leisurely sail on the Nile in a felucca! A felucca is a traditional wooden sailing boat used in the eastern Mediterranean and ours is named “Captain Jack”.

Our captain adjusts the sails on the felucca.

Sailing on a felucca on the Nile! Christy looks 
adorable, but my hair is a mess.

A garden

Our felucca eventually lets us off on Kitchener Island, where we are allowed to wander freely through the Aswan Botanical Gardens. The island was given to British general Horatio Kitchener as a reward for leading the Egyptian army's campaign in Sudan. Kitchener, who loved plants and palm trees, transformed the island into a lush garden. The Egyptian Government eventually took over the island and maintains the botanical garden.

 A number of rare palm trees can be found on the island,
as well as trees from at least five different continents.

Although my guidebook reads that the lush gardens are “an ideal place to go for a peaceful stroll” it is not. Lush, yes, but peaceful, not so much. 

Vendors congregate near where the feluccas dock awaiting the tourist’s arrival. As our group disperses in various directions to explore the gardens, so do the vendors. They follow us while one insists on blowing a whistle that mimics a bird call. It’s loud and annoying. At every turn, they want me to buy something or follow them to look at a flower or tree. One of the men wants to show me a flower. He hurries up to a tree and picks a lotus flower and wants to give it to me, but I don’t want it. It is beautiful, but I wish he would have left it on the tree. I pay him to keep the flower.

From the botanical gardens, we take a motorboat down the Nile to visit a Nubian Village. It’s 93-degrees, but it feels refreshing being on the water with a cool breeze messing up my hair. I dip my hand into the Nile and touch it for the first time. I think how wonderful it would be to go for a swim on such a hot day, like the kids we’ve seen from our cruise ship, but then I remember the cow carcass I saw floating by. I immediately pull a pack of wet wipes from my purse and sanitize. 

Much more...

At the Nubian Village, an elder describes to us their way of life. He shows us items they use daily, such as baskets, ropes, and even a bed, all made from local plants.

In the village is a museum called Animalia Museum and the elder recommends we go there. It is full of taxidermy and very odd. I am uncomfortable under the googly-eyed gaze of the crudely stuffed animals. I wish I would have taken a picture, but I didn’t stay long. Instead, I wait outside in the shade for the rest of my group because being inside gives me the creeps. 

Boats filled with tourists dock at the Nubian Village.

A village elder shows us items made from local plants.

In the afternoon we have the option of either visiting the Thutmoses Perfume Palace and the Nubian Spice Market with our guide or remaining on the boat. Christy chooses to nap, but Linda and I are eager to visit the market. There are only a few of us who choose to go with Khaled and we spend about an hour at the market. It isn’t like the chaotic Khan El-Khalili market in Cairo. This is more of a local market, so there isn’t the constant yelling from the vendors, however, when they see our small group, they do call out, but not as aggressively.

Linda has told me that on a previous trip to Egypt, she bought some chicken spice and it was very good. I enter a shop filled with spices of every kind, but I’m not sure which one to buy. I call to Linda to join me, but unfortunately, the vendor hears me and he also calls out to Linda. I apologize profusely to her because now every other word he says is “Linda.” Linda. Linda. Linda.

Linda. Linda. Linda.

Locals shopping at the market.

Linda is wanting to buy a wooden mask of a sun, so we wander the market in search of one. We visit a vendor who says there might be one at another vendor’s booth, so we follow him, breaking one of the group rules: Do not follow a vendor when he says to follow him because you don’t know where he is taking you. The booth he takes us to is just a short distance away and we feel comfortable enough to remain with him. However, in doing so, we lose track of time. We are not at the designated location at the designated time to meet our guide.

Linda searches for a wooden mask of the sun.

While the vendor is in the middle of making suggestions to Linda of what she should buy instead of the mask he doesn’t have, our armed security guard suddenly appears behind us. He doesn’t need to say a word. His presence alone is enough for us to quickly scamper back to the awaiting group.

An armed security guard is provided by Collette Tours and one has been with us the entire trip. He trails behind us as we visit temple after temple, even suffering through the 110-degree heat in his polyester suite at Saqqara. He carries a M5 rifle hidden under his jacket. He looks more capable than the police I've seen, so I am comforted by his presence.

Although this photo was taken at Khan el-Khalili, it is the 
same guard who came to fetch us at the Nubian Spice Market.

I have perfected my method of covertly taking pictures of people.

Most of the women wear hijabs, while some are wearing burqas that cover the entire body, except for the eyes. I try to not stare, but the Egyptian culture is fascinating. I can easily identify the class status of the various people based on their clothes and demeanor. Those of the middle-class wear closed-toe shoes and some of the women don bedazzled sandals. I noticed the lower-class wears flip flops, Crocs, or no shoes at all. Crocs seem to be very popular as I’ve seen many booths selling them. This market, as opposed to Khan El- Khalili, is filled with a higher class of people.

A vendor at the Nubian Spice Market.

I want to take their photos against the vibrant fabrics, baskets full of hibiscus leaves, and sparkling souvenirs that make up the market, but it is considered rude. Another man in our group approached two women selling bread and held up his camera to take their photo. As they yelled and wagged their fingers at him, I discreetly took their picture.

Women selling bread at the Nubian Spice Market.

Their reaction to having their photo taken is understandable. It would be no different than having a tourist approach me at the mall to take my photo. I would not like it, so I hold my cell phone at chest level while I casually look about. I don’t look at people but snap their photo as they pass by. Some of my best photos have been taken this way and no one is the wiser.  

A man walks through the Nubian Spice Markt.

Linda and I are given free samples of what looks and tastes like donut holes. 
They are very good, but I am hesitant to eat anything from a street vendor, especially
when he uses his bare hand to mix the batter. 


**

It’s a quiet, restful morning as we get to sleep in.

Most of the group is flying to Abu Simbel with Khaled, but we’ve opted to forgo this optional tour. It was an additional $400, but even if we had wanted to go, we couldn’t. The tour was sold out.

Hassan, another guide, meets those of us who stay behind in the hotel lobby at 10am. We board a motorboat to Elephantine Island where we will be staying the night at the New Movenpick. It’s a beautiful hotel with a fabulous view from our room. I wish we could have spent more time here than on the cruise ship.

The view from our hotel room on Elephantine Island.

Nighttime view from our hotel room.

Christy, Linda, and I need an ATM, however, the ATM on the island is in the other hotel which has closed for the season. Thankfully Hassan escorts us, along with two others in our group, to the ATM across the Nile in Aswan. I am glad Hassan is with us.

Five or six ATMS are crammed together in a small room, but only two or three are working. We crowd in with the handful of other people already waiting in line. They look at us with a mix of curiosity and suspicion, especially a woman wearing a burka. She leaves the room only to return a few seconds later. Perhaps it is her impatience with the crowd, but she does this several times and it makes me nervous. I am thankful when we get our money and under the protection of Hassan, head back to the safety of the island.

On the way back from the ATM, we passed a McDonalds. Linda
and I wanted a McFalafel, but they were closed. 

It's still early and our afternoon is free.

Our plan is to explore the island and we ask the woman at guest relations what our options are, but she tells us we have none. Everything is closed, but she does volunteer to show us the hotel next door. Thankfully we are riding in a golf cart and not walking. It’s a sweltering 96-degrees and my right ankle is swollen and tender. We tour the lobby of the closed hotel, pause at a large, fenced area to look at several deer and then visit a bird viewing area which overlooks the Nile. 

The group eventually returns from Abu Simbel and, after a late dinner at the hotel, we take a motorboat to the Philae Temple for a light show.

The light show at Philae Temple.

When I hear ‘light show’ I think lasers and flashing colored lights, so I am a bit disappointed when I realize it isn't anything close to resembling a disco on a Saturday night. The lights are spotlights focusing on different parts of the temple as the story of Osiris, Seth, and Isis is broadcast over speakers. There is a lot of standing around as we move slowly through the temple, stopping occasionally as the story unfolds. I am glad to sit for the ending as my puffy ankles are protesting quite angrily.

Sadly, no glittery disco ball at Philae Temple.

The motorboat ride back to our hotel was unsettling. None of the boats have lights. I can hear other boats near us and faintly see their outlines, but nothing else. What if there is a rock? Or another boat lurking too close? We didn't even have life jackets. My hope is that the boat captains have crossed this route a million times and know it so well that lights aren't necessary, but still, I think it would be nice to have them. I am  relieved when we make it safely back to dry land. 

The motorboats that are used to take tourists to Philae Temple at night.

It is a late night, at least for me. 

We don't return to the hotel until 10pm, well past my usual bedtime, but it's enjoyable to be out after dark. Everything is different at night and the temperature is much cooler. Tomorrow is yet another early wakeup call as we are returning to Cairo for the last two days of our trip. I am excited because I am one day closer to riding a camel!

My Egyptian journey goes on....