Playing Hooky

Today I woke up in the morning and was faced with a choice. Should I go to theater day and spend hours making up scenes where the dialogue consists only of expressive vowel sounds? (I kid you not.) Or, should I do something else with my valuable and limited time in Paris?

If you guessed that I skipped class today, DINGDINGDING! You win a prize!

My first plan was to go to the Musée National du Moyen Âge, situated in the Hôtel de Cluny. Unfortunately, I idiotically failed to realize that the museum is closed on Tuedays -- Monday is the traditional museum closure date and I assumed that would apply today. At least I got to take a very pleasant stroll through the garden, which was inspired by medieval gardens and had some interesting captions about the use of plants for medicinal purposes.



As I sat on a bench wondering what I should do next, I got the idea to go see the Moulin Rouge, even though I can't afford tickets because they cost about 100 Euros apiece. It doesn't look quite as magical in the daytime -- or maybe it was the special movie lighting -- but it was pretty cool anyway!



As I glanced down the street at other strip joints and "love shops," I wished that I could experience the racy side of Paris in a more appealing way. Ta Da! Down the street I spied a sign that promised my kind of satisfaction.



If you have a prurient interest in dirty art from all times and all places, this is your ideal museum. There were replicas of naughty vases from Greece, prints of Chinese and Japanese art, Aztec figures, and sculptures inspired by the Kama Sutra. Upstairs, there were some seriously fascinating photos with captions describing brothels and cabaret dancing in Paris. My favorite part, however, was the small section dedicated to satirical art designed to poke (haha) fun at the church. I'll leave you with a title only: "The Nun, the Vicar, and the Sacristian." Here is an image from one of the postcards, the only one I would not blush to drop in the mail.



Le Musée de l'érotisme de Paris is a filthy, filthy museum -- but it's a lot of fun if you aren't too embarrassed to be seen in there!

After that little adventure, I decided I should purify myself with a trip to the nearby Sacre Coeur. Unfortunately, I felt far dirtier after leaving that place that I ever could after seeing naughty pictures. It takes a solid second place on the list of most appalling churches I have set foot in. Don't get me wrong, the building itself is very beautiful.



But the church is more about Mammon than Jesus. From the moment I got out of the subway, I knew to follow the steady river of tourists flowing up a hill. We walked along a street lined with souvenir shops, which didn't bother me at all. What did bother me was the hassle I dealt with when I got to the bottom of the stairs. There are tons of guys who hang around Sacre Coeur with strings that they want to tie around your wrists and fingers. I didn't go anywhere near them because I had already been warned -- sometimes they tie a knot you can't undo, and then demand your money. They reminded me of the guys in Egypt, in that they were willing to physically block your path in an attempt to get your attention. One of them kept calling out, "Hey, girl!" at me as I sped away. Fortunately my instincts from Egypt came back easily and they largely left me alone after the first try. There are overpriced water vendors and guys trying to pressure you to buy replicas of the Eiffel Tower, and when you get into the church there are candles everywhere -- and you can take one home for a mere ten Euros. I pity the people who were actually trying to pray there. The churches in Egypt attracted tourists, and there was some fabulous Jesus kitsch up for grabs. But I was never once hassled outside a church, and I was never offered anything for purchase inside of one.

I'll take the regular kind of prostitute, if you don't mind!

Chillin'

Last night I went over to Kenneth's apartment, where he and his roommate treated me to a delicious dinner! Afterward we went to get some really good ice cream (I had chocolat and noix de coco, yum) and lounged around on the banks of the Seine, waving at the people on boats passing by. It was great.

Today I'm just chilling out -- I need to rest up and study some French, so I'm planning to go home and watch some awesome DVDs like Cyrano de Bergerac (with Gerard Depardieu) and 84 Charing Cross Road, which is in English but has all sorts of French language options. I figure if I sit around watching classic movies I'm bound to pick up some new words. Maybe I'll treat myself to a ridiculously overpriced dinner in a cafe or something.

I got bumped up a level in French class and have a teacher I really like. She actually talks to me about grammatical stuff like prepositions, accents, and conjugation of verbs. It is AWESOME. Unfortunately, tomorrow is theater day... blargh.

Merde!

Today I checked out some of the smelliest parts of Paris, beginning with the Fragonard Musée du Parfum, which is a free museum right across from the Charles Garnier Opera House. My friend Natalie from class met me there and we went looking through all sorts of interesting paraphernalia, from alien-like distilling machines to vintage soap labels. This toilette set was apparently meant to fit into a car:



And if you want a subtle case for your perfume, one that says "I'm studious" instead of "I'm stinky," this museum has just container for you!



There is even a sampling room where visitors can try to distinguish between all sorts of smells, including for different variations on rose. There are also a few ancient vessels from Egypt and Greece used to illustrate the history of perfume use.

After a morning of pleasantry, Natalie and I went, for contrast, to the
Musée des égouts de Paris -- a museum that shows off the Paris sewer system. The entrance is basically a small kiosk above a hole in the ground. We soon descended into the Paris underworld...



The museum is actually very interesting, and documents the history of sewage in Paris since the days of tossing the contents of your chamber pot out the window. Apparently, when not fighting battles, Napoleon was trying to deal with major public works issues! But the main display was the "Bruneseau Gallery," named for one of Victor Hugo's friends. (The museum made a very big deal out of Hugo's writing about the sewer system in Les Miserables.) It contains a "flushing machine" that, as the museum brochure puts it, "traps the solids found in wastewater. The solid material is removed by means of the dredger that you can see above the basin." I think I'll just leave it at that...



Throughout the rest of the museum, we walked on metal grates, above flowing water. It's a good thing they are very sturdy.



Probably the most awesome part of the museum, however, was the gift shop, where they sell stuffed rats, carafes advertising the Paris sewer system, and postcards featuring beleaguered-looking sewer employees in messy situations. I guess now I know what goes on beneath the City of Light!

Catacombs

Today I went to Paris's Catacombs, created in the late 1700s to deal with the overflow of Paris's cemeteries. As in, the cemeteries were so stuffed with decomposing bodies that they posed a major health risk. Now those bones have rested in the catacombs for a few centuries and have no lack of visitors -- tourists have been checking out the catacombs since the mid-1800s.

Before I could go in, I waited in line with hundreds of people, all from different countries. I could hear German, French, and English being spoken while we were all waiting. When I finally made it to the ticket office, I noticed signs that said, "Any person caught stealing bones will be taken to the police." Wow.

After descending a loooong spiral staircase, and after traveling through some seriously long tunnels, the first things you see are a few sculptures by a quarryman named Decure, who was apparently imprisoned at Port Mahon and chipped out images of the fortress from memory. Here's an example of his work:



This interesting display was, of course, followed by more walking -- and if you ever go to the catacombs, wear shoes with good treads, because the stone you walk on is smooth, moist, and slippery! Eventually I came to a door that ominously welcomed me to the "empire of the dead."



And suddenly I was surrounded by human bones. They are piled up all around you as you walk, the skulls positioned to face outward and stare at you as you walk by. Some of them are arranged in interesting patterns, supported on piles of (former) limbs stacked beneath and around them. Flash photos aren't allowed down there, and it was pretty dark, but I managed to get a few decent pictures. As you walk along, you are treated to meditative quotations in French and Latin on the subject of death.



Although there must have been a ton of people down there with me, I got to do a lot of exploring without a soul in sight, and that made for a much better experience.

It was also cool to be in a place that Victor Hugo wrote about and that the French Resistance made use of during WWII. I kept expecting Michelle Dubois to leap out of the shadows and whisper, "Listen very carefully, I shall say this only once!" I was at least partially influenced by the fact that I had already walked along Avenue General Leclerc! (If you haven't watched 'Allo 'Allo, you should.)

As you walk though all those piles of bones, it's very difficult to imagine that they were all real people, once. As you leave the tunnel and approach the stairs leading back up to the street, there is a display discussing various activists and intellectuals -- both royalists and revolutionaries -- who were guillotined and dumped somewhere down there. A shame, really.

Louvre

Oh Louvre, we meet again! The museum is as ridiculously gorgeous as ever. This time I went with my friend Kenneth, who I have not seen since we graduated from college a year ago. Since then, he has been teaching English here in Paris and generally being awesome.



We started with the classical antiquities, where Kenneth humored me while I told him my personal version of the stories behind various sculptures, such as the one of Hermaphroditus, who spurned the love of a nymph who was wild about him. Unfortunately she prayed to be joined with him forever, grabbed him, and caused them to become one person with both male and female attributes. Or that of Marsyas, who -- after Athena invented the flute but threw it away because it disfigured her face -- took the instrument up and was stupid enough to challenge Apollo to a musical contest. Obviously he lost, and was then flayed alive. Along the way, we discovered that Kenneth can strut his stuff just as well as Augustus's most beloved nephew, Marcellus.



Kenneth and I went wandering through the Greek and Roman stuff, and then checked out the Iranian and Mesopotamian art. What truly broke my heart about this visit, though, was that the Coptic exhibit is CLOSED! Quelle horreur! I'm so lucky I checked it out a couple of years ago, because otherwise I might have cried.

We also looked at some of the more modern sculpture, most of which was influenced by the classical stuff. Much to my delight, there were actual guards standing around and yelling at people who touched things. Last time there was no one! I don't know what makes people think it is okay to go around touching valuable works of art, but at least someone stops them now. One of the major differences between European classically-influenced sculpture and the "real deal" is a sense of modesty. While the Greeks and Romans let it all hang out, later work indulges in some very creative censorship.



"What are you staring at? Honey, that leaf has always been there!"



"Sacre bleu! A lion is eating me! But fortunately a cloth has flown daintily up to cover my naughty bits!"



"Excusez-moi, I just need to reach up and grab something..."

And of course, they dealt with this poor sap by giving him no manhood at all.



That is not to say that these European sculptors depicted subjects who were modest and up to nice and friendly things. I myself was chased by a lusty satyr!



It was absolutely great to see Kenneth again. And he's really good at French these days! Hopefully I'll meet up with him yet again before he goes back to the US for a vacation. As for the Louvre... I'll be back for more!

Au Cinema!

Natalie (a friend from class) and I have decided that today we will go watch a movie in French. French cinema is known to be creative, classy, historically important, and highly artistic, which is why we chose the film we did.



I'll let you all know how it is!

Class today was fine. I'm still deciding how I feel about the school -- there are still no textbooks and ostensibly no set lesson plans. I don't know what the objectives of my course are, or how I am doing. The second day of class was a total bust. We had to practice French through "theater," which meant being put on the spot all day performing random skits. And if you are like me and have received no instruction in French yet, it is extra annoying. But the third and fourth days have been better. I am picking up vocabulary and learning to say various useful phrases. While I would like more grammar instruction, I can provide that for myself thanks to a delightful bookstore called WH Smith, where I blew some serious cash on French learning materials. As you know, the proper solution to every problem can be found in a book!

Musée de la Poupée

If you thought my abouna puppet was creepy, my friend, you ain't seen nothin' yet. After class today I wandered over to the Musée de la Poupée, a small exhibition of antique dolls originally collected by a couple of guys named Guido and Samy. The dolls were made of bisque, leather, and cork, and some had been passed from mother to daughter for at least four generations before ending up in a collection. The captions in this museum are actually great -- they describe the preferred appearance of dolls in given time periods, the makers' marks found on the dolls, and the contemporary fashions that influenced the dolls' outfits. Some dolls had little dogs with actual fur to accompany them (a couple of which doubled as candy dispensers). There were even African dolls, which became increasingly popular as a result of colonization. Attached to the antique exhibition was a pretty cool display of Barbies, starting with the one from 1959 and including Dallas-inspired and rock star editions. My favorite was definitely a Ken doll wearing a shiny shirt and posed next to a hot pink unicorn.

Although they don't allow photos in the museum, there is no way I could deny you a taste of the toys' glassy eyes and murderous smiles. So here are some images I swiped off of the postcards sold in the gift shop.



I can't decide which of those dolls more closely resembles the antichrist. And look at the choppers on this one! Some of the dolls I saw today had TWO rows of nasty little picket fence teeth.



I also wandered down to one of Paris's more famous English language bookstores, The Red Wheelbarrow. It is, of course, named for the William Carlos Williams poem:

So much depends
upon

a red wheel
barrow

glazed with rain
water

beside the white
chickens

The store has only been open since 2001, so it's not the most historic of Paris's bookstores, but it has a great selection of books to browse. The small space is absolutely crammed with books, which are packed into every centimeter of shelf space and piled high on tables in the middle of the room. It's well worth a look.

Settling In

Sorry I didn't post yesterday -- I've been running around acquiring things like laundry detergent! First off, here is a pic of my room, as promised:


That little dude on the bed is my abouna puppet, which I bought in Egypt because doesn't everyone need a monk puppet? I thought I should probably divulge this information because puppets are creepy, and I didn't want anyone to think that Madame de LA ROCHEFOUCAULD! had set it out for me or anything... I'm in the 16th arrondissement, which is a ritzy area. My balcony view is fabulous.


Yesterday I had my placement test. All of the new students were herded into a room together and given a writing exam that asked us to do things like describe pictures and read short articles about used furniture stores and finding roommates. All of this practical material of course meant that I didn't know any of the vocabulary. Why couldn't our test have had a passage about something important like monastic food consumption? We also got called out for interviews. I had never attempted to communicate in French before, so that was exciting! I must have done surprisingly well, because instead of putting me in total beginner class (A 1-1), I ended up in A 1-2. I'm not really sure how our class works yet -- I got dumped in haphazardly and didn't even know what level it was until someone in the class told me. But within a few days I expect things to even out. Some students only come here for 1-2 weeks and frankly that sounds crazy to me. One day is already gone and I'm nowhere near settled.

The best part about yesterday is that my good friend Wouter was in town for a meeting and wanted to hang out. He took me to a place he frequented when he lived in Paris, and we split a large quantity of meat. The pate looked, smelled, and most likely tasted like cat food. Is it wrong that I liked it anyway?

Paris

Well, I made it to Paris in one piece and made it to my new home without too much trouble. I even bought myself a Navigo pass for next week -- I knew we would need passport-size photos, so I had some taken at a Kodak store in Cairo yesterday. Starting tomorrow, I get to ride the Metro as much as I want!

Madame de LA ROCHEFOUCAULD! is an older woman who has five grown sons, one of whom lives at her house although I haven't met him yet. I have a lovely balcony as promised, but unfortunately I do not appear to have internet -- I am writing this post from a McDonald's about ten minutes away. My room is nice and simple, and I think I will be comfortable in it. Overall I'm just glad to be in a country where I can drink the tap water and flush my toilet paper!

Pictures tomorrow! My language test is at 8:30. I am amused that they need to test me in order to truly ascertain that I cannot speak any French.

Last Night in Cairo

Well, this is it -- tomorrow, bright and early, I will be on my way to Paris! But I had a really great final night in Cairo. My friend Emmy, an Egyptian woman I met at Stanford last summer, had me over to her house to eat dinner and meet her family. They are totally delightful people. I couldn't speak any Arabic, and they couldn't speak any English, but the general niceness and well-wishing was clear. And Emmy's mom can cook up a storm! I had all kinds of traditional Egyptian food and LOVED it.

But the person who stole the show was definitely Emmy's ten-year-old nephew, who for some reason took a shine to me. He insisted on holding my hand all the way back to the metro, and he was clearly proud to be my escort from the way he puffed up when other kids walked by. He even sweet talked the metro attendants into letting him in behind me so he could gallantly walk me to the correct platform. CUTE.

Red Sea Monasteries

Today I had about as much adventure as I can take, but it was great! Manu and I left the Mayfair at around 5:00 AM for our day trip out to the monasteries of St. Antony and St. Paul. After a three hour drive, we finally arrived at the Monastery of St. Antony, and before entering the monastery proper, we decided to embark on a particularly special adventure and attempt to visit an actual hermit living on the mountain. Although our plan was initially met with resistance, an Abouna finally told us how to find him. We were told the path to his cave diverged from the one to the popular cave of St. Antony, and that we should follow the red crosses until we got there. The monk said that if we didn't find Father Lazarus in the first cave, we should proceed up to the second one.


Not so hard, right? But it didn't take long for the path to become very steep.


I'm not in the best shape ever, so while Manu gracefully skipped up the mountain, I huffed and puffed along behind him, wondering how on earth I was ever going to get down. Before too long, though, we made it to cave #1. We scoped out the place and found some devotional phrases carved into wooden boards, as well as some water bottles, but no Father Lazarus. We gingerly knocked at the door and received no reply. I have never seen an actual door in the side of a mountain before, but there they were!


Although there were no more crosses to mark our path, there seemed to be a clear enough trail leading further upwards. I admit I might have chickened out at this point, but Manu is a braver soul than I, so we continued climbing. We climbed and climbed and climbed, up steep rocky paths and up makeshift steps, until we were up so high above the monastery that I couldn't believe it.


At last we came to another cave with a tiny, low door. When we saw a pair of shoes sitting on the mat outside, we grinned at each other and gently knocked. At first there was no answer, but after I called out, "Apa?" we heard a voice inside. After a little shuffling around inside, the door opened and there was Father Lazarus! He was very pleased we spoke English (and would not have come out otherwise), and was soon sitting on his front step making tea for us. He could not recall the last time he had foreign visitors.

Although Father Lazarus is originally from Australia, he left his life there as a philosophy professor and confirmed atheist to become a monk, first in Serbia, then in Greece, and finally in Egypt. We talked to him for well over two hours, discussing the Apophthegmata Patrum, or sayings of the desert fathers, and how they directly affect his life. It was fascinating to hear about desert life from a real, live desert father. Lazarus assured us that all of the stories I have read for class are quite true -- a solitary monk's greatest battle is with memories of the life he has left behind, and there really are demons out there who try to disturb monastic prayers. He talked about Saint Antony as though he were truly his father, and about the Virgin Mary as though she were truly his mother. He told us about the personal relationships he has with each of them, and claims to have seen and spoken with both. Father Lazarus recites the entire psalter every day, then continues to pray the Jesus Prayer throughout the remaining hours. He only sleeps six hours a day, in two-hour bursts during the afternoons, so that he can keep vigil at night like the famous watchful virgins of the Bible.

It was absolutely incredible to meet a man who emulates the lives of the Late Antique monks I so adore. While he appreciates the scholarly work Manu and I do, he prefers to ruminate over primary sources himself -- I can't blame him! Perhaps when Shenoute's works are finally published in English, I will bring him a copy.


Before Manu and I departed, I asked Father Lazarus for a "word," commonly dispensed by monks to their disciples in earlier times. He was at first reluctant to give us one because, as non-monks, we might not be able to appreciate his advice. But we ended up leaving with two words. First of all, never forget that you are going to die. And second, while you are alive, never be complacent and never let your fire die. Father Lazarus is as passionate about solitary life today as he was when he embarked on this path years ago. I hope I end up feeling the same about my own career.

After saying our goodbyes to Father Lazarus, we took his usual pathway to the cave where St. Antony allegedly spent the final years of his life. Lazarus takes this route nightly after completing midnight mass there, walking in pitch black darkness. I do not know how he accomplishes this, because that path is thin and right at the edge of a steep, rocky slope. I ended up clinging to a rock ledge, seriously worried that I was going to die. Manu was not so concerned, but let me tell you, I have never been so afraid for my well-being in my entire life. But we made it, and we finally reached the Cave of St. Antony! It is dark and cramped, but well worth a quick look.


Finally, Manu and I headed down the now-wimpy-seeming stairs to the monastery proper. It's very lovely, but its crowning glory is the church. The walls are covered with phenomenal paintings. Here is one of Moses the Black:


Moses was a particular favorite of the monk who showed us the church. He said he prayed to Moses often, and that while Antony -- known as the father of all monasticism -- was like a father to him, Moses was like a friend. Moses is one of my favorite desert fathers too, mainly because of his colorful history. Although he was once a thief and a murderer, Moses repented and became a very pious monk. I can't remember the story exactly, but in a vision where he sees the desert fathers in a procession, a monk sees one very serious father being contemplative on a boat, and second in line, he sees Apa Moses laughing and chatting with the angels. I'm with you, Moses!

After our visit to St. Antony's, we drove to St. Paul's, which is about an hour away. It, too, has phenomenal paintings in the church.


From left to right, these fine gentlemen are Apas Sarapion, Antony, and Paul. Paul is said to have been so holy that a crow sent by God would bring him half a loaf of bread every day. When Antony paid him a visit, the crow brought a full loaf for the monks to share. When Paul died, lions came to bury his body (although now his body is one of the relics in his church). The church at St. Paul's is supposed to be built around the cave Paul himself once inhabited. St. Antony's cave is remote from its monastery's main church, but has itself been converted into a place where mass is performed.

Overall today was pretty awesome, especially because I am still in one piece to tell you about it. Because there aren't exactly restaurants out in the desert, Manu and I stocked up on junk food to eat in the car. Here is my personal favorite, Egypt's imitation Oreos:


It sounds like a silly insult. "Oreos? More like BORE-eos!" They don't taste quite right, but I enjoyed them all the same.

Some Mosques

I know next to nothing about Islamic history and architecture, but after today I sure wish I did. Manu and I went wandering around Islamic Cairo, where we checked out the mosque of Sultan Hassan. It was built in the 1300s by, surprise surprise, Sultan Hassan. Unfortunately he was killed shortly before its completion. It is a beautiful building. Here is a photo of the mihrab, oriented toward Mecca. (Note also that the carpet keeps those immersed in prayer facing in the proper direction!)


This particular mosque also contained a school and the tomb of Sultan Hassan himself. (We also saw the tomb of the last Shah of Iran today... wild.) Next we headed over to Ibn Tulun, which is absolutely beautiful. Check out this tower!


Of course, all of this amazing architecture is surrounded by normal, modern Cairo buildings. Here's your usual apartment building, complete with laundry hanging off of the balconies, next to a majestic mausoleum.


After today I realized I need to learn at least a little Islamic history -- this stuff is way cool.

Bummin' Around

Yesterday afternoon was a pretty rough one for me. I wanted to wander around looking at the city, but got hassled so bad I retreated to the Fayrouz, exhausted and cranky. A lot of people around here just won't take "no" for an answer, and sometimes fire right back with "Whyyy?" Even worse, yesterday was the first day I really experienced a lot of the annoying sexual comments that women complain about after visiting Egypt. Stuff like "Hey Princess!" or "Hey beautiful!" is annoying but I can shrug it off. But I just wanted to buy a bottle of water from a mini mart and had to deal with, "Want anything else? Boyfriend? Husband? Try tonight!" I have also had a couple of men ask me to kiss them! Blargh! Some of it might stem from frustration. If I am obviously not interested in a motor boat ride or whatever, the captains will say things like "Nice butt! Nice body! Very sexy!" in hopes of provoking a reaction from me.

When I read back over my complaints, I worry these things don't sound that bad. But it feels bad, and it is so constant that you honestly do start to feel upset. Every time someone looks at you in the street, you worry they will approach you. Some determined guys will try to physically block your path and force you into a conversation. It's not even possible to shop normally because the salesmen can't leave you alone long enough for you to examine their wares. I walked past a little boy sitting on the sidewalk, and he just started saying, "Hello, money! Hello, baksheesh!" Hilarious, but awful.

Then, for some reason, today was much better. I checked out of the Fayrouz with some sadness -- that place is really great and I intend to go back. And then I went to a restaurant on the west bank called Tutankhamun, which serves very delicious Egyptian food. All of the stuff I was eating at Anafora (called Anathema by some...) was boring, boring, boring. Rice, vegetables doused in tomato sauce, bland bread with bland hummus, dried-out chicken. But at Tutankhamun, wow! Potatoes in tomato sauce became magically delicious! I had rosemary chicken that tasted fabulous, and capped off the meal with an absolutely amazing glass of lemon juice. The quiet balcony with a Nile view didn't hurt, either.


As I walked around this afternoon, I didn't have nearly as many problems as I did yesterday. Sure, I was approached multiple times by men saying, "Yes, motorboat? Yes, caleche?" But for some reason they were more inclined to take no for an answer. I wonder what changed? Maybe they recognized me from yesterday. Oh, and in case you need more evidence that hassling is a widespread problem, this type of sign is all the rage in Luxor advertising:


Be warned, however, that these signs just mean the owners will try to hassle you into their hassle-free shops!

I had good luck today, though. I found a bookstore next to the Winter Palace that sells a bunch of Arabic lit in translation, so I stocked up for the long travel hours I'll be logging in the next couple of days. And then, walking around in the other direction, I stumbled across a nice little shop called Habiba, which is run by an Australian expat who has lived in Luxor for ten years! She seems happy here. She is an awesome lady and her products are good, so look up her store if you get a chance. I bought a tunic that I am exceedingly happy with.

Oh, and in case you guys are interested, Mr. Mack is back at it -- but with a different lady!

Luxor, Day 2

Last night I wandered around at ate dinner at the Oasis Cafe, a European-style restaurant that caters to tourists and really is an oasis free from the constant hassle of getting around Luxor. It has a very old world feel -- antique photographs peer at you from the walls, and jazzy lounge music plays softly in the background. It's more expensive than most restaurants I have encountered in Egypt but well worth it. Very good food!


After eating, I wandered the streets a while and then headed home. It's very hard to just relax and look around. Even little kids see me and start saying, "Oh my God, oh my God!"

Once I'd had a good sleep and a light breakfast, Haggag picked me up and off we went for another day of sightseeing. I started by getting tickets for the Ramesseum and for Medinet Habu. The guy at the booth -- the same booth where I bought tombs of the nobles tickets yesterday -- was very happy to see me again. Technically, he doesn't have to accept my student ID card (and probably shouldn't) because it isn't an international student ID card (ISIC). That ID card is required for student discounts and I do not have one. So he makes a big show of offering me the discount out of the goodness of his heart, and then gives me back slightly less change than he should. So I still save money, and he shaves a little off the top. Most of the time people just accept my ID, no hassle, but I guess this dude is more enterprising. I have never had my card refused outright, but I am probably just lucky.

We drove over to the Ramesseum and I was clearly the first visitor of the day. From the moment I entered the place this pushy guy was all over me, trying to point out, "Look, Ramses! Look, water! They drink the water." (Yet another of those "tours" given in hopes of receivng baksheesh.) While I am more sympathetic to this when the tomb guards already have to sit around at their posts all day, it is worse at the temples because there is abolutely no reason for those guys to be there. I tried to ignore this dude and just keep walking off in different directions, but he absolutely would not let up. He tried to tell me he was the "chef" of this temple and drag me off into a forbidden area to see extra parts of the site (this happens a lot and is not quite as sketchy as it sounds), but I was not interested. He started talking about his big hungry family and I tossed him a coin and said, "Now leave me alone." He tried to keep it up and ask for euros (!) and I had just had it. I whirled around on him, pushed my arms out a little so I would look broader, attempted to loom over him even though he was taller than me, and I yelled, "CHALAS! BACK. OFF." (Chalas = "enough," or "finished" in Arabic.) He finally got the message and he -- and every other baksheesh monger at that temple -- left me the hell alone the rest of my visit, except for the sulky looks they were shooting me. And then I got to enjoy the place! Ramses II, whose temple this was, is, after all, the subject of Percy Shelley's Ozymandias. Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!


The temple is not very large, but it looks beautiful when you are walking through it alone (sans annoying "guide"). And it didn't take me long to find what I was really looking for:


That's right, there was a church active in this place in Late Antiquity! If you pay attention to the columns, you can see little crosses scratched in occasionally, along with the ever-present 18th and 19th century graffiti etched in by tourists. I even saw a graffito left by a man from sweet home Chicago!


After the Ramesseum, I went to Medinet Habu, a temple associated with Ramses III. But what interests me most about the place is that it was also the site of a Coptic town called Jeme, meaning the temple was reused for other purposes in later centuries. I would say Medinet Habu is my favorite temple in Luxor. It's very majestic.


As I walked around admiring columns, statues, and hieroglyphs, I tried to imagine going to church here or living here and, I must confess, I can't. But it obviously happened! Check out some of the crosses I found scratched in various places:


I even saw some Demotic while I was wandering around! I haven't worked on Demotic in forever, so I couldn't make any sense of it, but it still looked cool. The whole temple exudes a quiet nobility, especially in the morning. There weren't too many people there, although I was able to eavesdrop on a German tour for a bit.

After Medinet Habu, I found Haggag and we drove to the east bank to see the temple of Karnak. The place is absolutely, ridiculously, mind bogglingly huge.


That photo of the entrance does not give a proper idea of how enormous the place is. Here is another shot about 2/3 of the way through, taken as I looked back on what I had already explored:


I do not much like the way that Karnak is organized. It's like a giant maze, and it gets even more confusing because some pathways are artibrarily blocked, so you have to try a few different routes to get where you're going. This becomes even more complicated because Karnak is clogged with tour groups. And if you aren't careful, you can get cornered in a remote spot by some guy wanting to take your picture and collect baksheesh. I did, however, find what I really wanted to see. I think you know where this is going -- there was once a church in Karnak, too! And some of the columns in Tuthmosis III's festival hall feature paintings of saints that you can still enjoy.


AWESOME. I like the ancient aspects of the temples, too, don't get me wrong. But my favorite thing about the sites here is that their interest is not confined to their origins. Temples and tombs were used and reused over the years for various purposes, including worship areas for Christians. Before now I mostly read about tense relationships between Christians and pagans that extended to pagan monuments. Coptic Christians were known to deface -- and thus destroy the power of -- images of the Egyptian gods by scratching out their hands, feet, faces, and even genitals. The White Monastery may include a few pharaonic blocks, but we also have a delightful tirade that Shenoute delivered against hieroglyphs, calling them the laws of the devil written in ink and blood! Clearly, that kind of animosity was not always present.

I should probably sign off and get back to wandering -- there's a guy next to me wearing headphones and murmuring into a microphone, obviously getting his mack on. When I glanced over, I noticed he was on a dating site chatting with a much older white woman. Luxor's worst kept secret is that it's a city where cougars come to find Egyptian boy toys. I think I will give this happy (?) couple a little privacy... they were at it yesterday, too.