Luxor, We Meet Again

We have returned to Luxor, our point of departure on this fantastic cruise. Shortly after arriving, we’re treated to a ride through the city in a horse-drawn carriage. Of course, in order to have a carriage ride, you first have to get into the thing. Even though it requires only two steps to climb in, they are really big steps. 

The first giant leap brings you onto a small platform that looks like it wouldn’t fit anything bigger than a pencil eraser, while the second huge step lands you into the cab itself. Wheelchairs are useless, crutches are useless, and unless he’s concealing an escalator in his robes, the carriage driver is not much help either. It’s up to me. I hand the useless crutches to the driver—fortunately, he’s useful at holding useless things—and resort to my newly developed knee-climbing technique.

Since landing in Egypt two weeks ago, I’ve perfected this skill for boarding all vehicles with Yeti-sized steps such as buses, farming combines, and lunar modules. I’ve yet to encounter space or agriculture equipment requiring my presence, but in the meantime, I’m ready to tackle the bronco-powered buggy with gusto. 

I put the knee of my bad leg on the micro-platform. It barely fits. I grab the sides of the carriage and heave myself to a kneeling position midway between the ground and the seat, the knee of the bad leg on the platform, the good leg dangling in the air. If you’ve ever seen a squirrel clinging to the side of a tree, then you have a good approximation of what I look like at this point, hanging on to the side of the carriage. I may even have the same stunned facial expression of said squirrel, but since I don’t have a mirror at hand, I can’t be certain.

The next move is crucial; failure will result in severe embarrassment. In one smooth motion, I swap the left knee for the right foot, and at the same time, use my arms to haul myself up to a standing position on the platform. This first step accomplished, I prepare to repeat the entire procedure for the next one, but there’s a problem. There no longer is anything high enough for me to grab with which to pull myself up. I must adapt and change my modus operandi. I put my knee onto the last step, and instead of doing the knee-foot switch and standing up, I advance into the buggy on my hands and knees, leaving any trace of decorum in the dust. I know what you’re thinking. So what else is new?

One of the horses harnessed to a neighbouring carriage, has been watching me the whole time, his ears swivelling about like satellite dishes for the SETI project— not Seti as in Ramses’s father; SETI as in Search for Extra-Terrestrial Intelligence. So, this ear activity is either the equine equivalent of unbridled mirth, or a signal to his four-legged colleagues to get a load of the one-legged ninny clambering up into the buggy. 

After straightening up and finally sitting down, I enter into a staring contest with the laughing horse. My gaze is stronger than his ears. He stops the ear action, bats his eyes a few times, flares his nostrils, and eventually looks away. I win. Yes, I am that childish.

While waiting for my companion to climb aboard and take a seat next to me, and the rest of the group to ascend into their own carriages, our driver introduces me to his horse, Jessica. With her ears tucked angrily into her neck, she’s far from happy. Many reasons could account for her surly disposition: her name for a start. What kind of self-respecting Egyptian thoroughbred is named Jessica? It’s a beautiful name for a girl, but for a horse? Nefertiti or Scheherazade, yes, but Jessica? 

Then, there’s the matter of her “haircut”. Her entire body has been shaved into stripes interlaced with geometric patterns. The poor thing is having a bad hair day and she knows it. Let’s just hope she doesn’t decide to run amuck in the middle of the ride and tip the whole wagon into a ditch—I’m not wearing the appropriate attire for a ditching.

Jessica and her haircut. Not a happy horse!

The tour starts at 5 P.M., and while it’s still daylight, dusk is fast approaching. As we meander through the streets, the friendliness of the Egyptians is evident. Out of doorways, windows, and balconies, kids and adults are waving and shouting hellos. Those that are already outside come running to wave us by, all of them wearing huge smiles. We wave back, feeling somewhat like the queen on parade.

Our driver is a rather chatty fellow with a peculiar problem. He sneezes a lot. A cold? Here, in Egypt? Not likely. Allergies then, but to what? Jessica? Sand? Tourists? It remains a mystery. What is not mysterious, though, is that every time he sneezes, another loud noise is also produced, followed by a noxious odour. 

Talking a mile a minute in heavily accented English, he proudly tells us that he’s a descendant of a great pharaoh, and that since pharaohs were considered gods in their own right, he’s actually the descendant of a god. He doesn’t specify which one and I don’t ask. I really don’t want to encourage conversation since the more he talks, the more he sneezes, and the more we suffocate. 

I’m eerily reminded of a Seinfeld episode, but in this case, we can’t even blame Jessica who also seems to be bothered by the toxic effluvium. She keeps flicking her tail back and forth which only forces the fumes back into the buggy. Gee thanks! Given her mood, she may be doing this on purpose.

Sneezy-the-pharaoh-god takes us through the city, along the main streets, and before long, we reach Luxor temple, all illuminated and glorious. The temple is a mesmerizing, almost magical sight and I wish we could stop to admire it for awhile longer. Unfortunately, having started at the head of the carriage line, we’re now bringing up the rear, plodding along; Jessica’s sulking is directly interfering with her forward momentum. If we don’t want to get separated from the rest of the group, we must keep going.

We mosey on to one of the bazaars where everything is for sale. Clothes, shoes, vegetables, spices, carpets, all laid out everywhere. The alley is so narrow that we can virtually touch the items on display on either side of the buggy as well as those hanging overhead. 

Because we don’t stop, one determined vendor hops into the moving carriage to show us his goods; our first door-to-carriage salesman. I end up buying a very nice wool throw which proves to be a very handy thing. It’s warm against the chilly night, and when held close to my face, is an excellent atmospheric buffer against Sneezy-the-toxic-bomb-hurler-pharaoh-god.