Size Matters

A week ago today, I stood at the base of the Great Pyramid of Giza.
And really, the thing that makes the greatest impression is just the sheer massiveness of the pyramids.

The individual stones are massive.  Each pyramid is massive - even the smallest one is incomprehensibly huge.
After the size, what impresses most is the ancientness of them.  The oldest is almost 5,000 years old.  Maybe it's because I'm the daughter of two historians, or because I'm an American and therefore a cultural infant in the global sweep of things, but the age of things has always had a powerful effect on me.  And the wonderful thing about the pyramids - as opposed to the ancient sites of Alexandria, for example - is their endurance.  The rush of continuity and eternity that runs through you when your fingertips touch the stones is impossible for me to put into words.  I know, I know, this is a blog, I'm supposed to be describing these things for you.  But that's where the title of this blog comes in - as much as I try to explain and describe what I do, the experience is at heart a wordless one.

But to imagine a man laying down a stone 5,000 years ago - a member of my own species, speaking a language and worshipping gods, eating fresh mangoes and drinking Nile water, struggling every day with his body to support a family - and then to feel that same stone under your own hands, I felt so incredibly human, and felt that I understood a little better what it means to be human.

I also understood what it meant to be hot, dirty, tired, and heckled by pushy camel ride salesman and skinny children selling postcards.  This is the way it is in Egypt - a constant rush from one extreme to another.

I went to the pyramids with one of the guys on my program who's studying in Cairo this semester, and we decided not to get a guide or take a tour at the site, but instead just to enjoy it at our own pace.  We really took our time, and I actually enjoyed not learning anything about the place - just drinking it in.  And Josh and I had some good talk about Bernard Lewis and Edward Said - I'm still working my way through "Orientalism" and falling ever more torturously in love with Said.  Not to mention that he's beginning to color my experience here in interesting ways.

After the pyramids and the Sphinx, Josh and I went on to the best part of the day.  I had done some research at home about horseback riding in Cairo and had found one stable that looked really good, and Josh was more than game, so we had made plans for a two-hour horseback ride across the Sahara between the pyramids of Abusir and Dahshur/Sakkara.

Yes.  A two-hour horseback ride across the Sahara.

If you know me at all, you know this was one of the best moments of my life.

We had a wonderful guide, an international endurance riding champion, I had beautiful horse named Umm Kulthoum, Josh was great company...but really, I was just on such a high from being ON A HORSE IN THE SAHARA DESERT.

No helmets, no set track to follow, we just rode.  And rode and rode.  And though my out-of-riding-shape body was aching the next morning, I couldn't have been happier at the time.  There was a moment when, having ridden a bit ahead of the other two, I stopped and look all around me.  All around, all there was was desert.  I looked down and saw horse, looked up and saw sun, and couldn't have been happier.

We walked, trotted, cantered, got up some serious speed.  I hadn't forgotten everything, even though my Western habits amused our English-trained guide, but when I figured out the my horse could neck-rein, it all worked out.

But there it is.  I can tell you that cantering across the Sahara desert, wind buffeting my face and blowing my hair, sun burning my face, sand in my eyes, and strong horse carrying me, is as good as it gets.

Highlights of next post: kiwi juice overlooking the Mediterranean, how I finally snapped at men harassing me, and how Marisa and I snuck into the ruins of ancient temple.

Salaam,
Helen