Christmas in Cairo

Christmas day breakfast in an Egyptian hotel is like one of my lecturers; too short and very boring.

I try to imagine the first explorers who came across the pyramids and how they must have felt in the moments they first saw the pointed tips rising out from the sand dunes like a gigantic angular spectre. From a distance it must have felt like it was some strange mirage condensing from the desert heat. Then the disbelief striking in waves, the rabid confusion must have set into their educated minds. Carved limestone mountains did not just grow out of the ground. What were these limestone beasts?

I saw them today. I got my first glimpse while we were in the town of Cairo. The anticipation almost felt wet. And heavy. There I was, in a fairly developed city, in a luxurious air conditioned four wheel drive car, two gigabytes of memory on my camera another three on my cell phone and eighty more on my iPod. There I was, with expensive time sitting on my wrist and a mind freed by existentialist de-programming and all of a sudden I’m faced with more than five thousand years of limestone history. A seed of insignificance burrows deeply into my mind. And stays there. The tips of the pyramids rise above the city buildings, dwarfing them both in stature and age. The juxtaposition of contemporary life and the dawn of civilization is strangely odd. Disconcerting. The hustle and bustle of everyday life in the shadow of the pyramids, the local people not acknowledging them whatsoever. Liminal lifestyles that eclipse these great mountains of memory. The same time that makes the pyramids so legendary also makes them lose their splendour.

So here I am, forget my eighty five gigabytes of memory. Here I am faced with more than two million limestone blocks each holding more than five thousand years worth of stored memories. Here I have facing me the dawn of architectural civilization, superstructures that have survived the centuries having earned the right to stand here and boast about their own brilliance. Here is the manifestation of the ingenuity of vision. Here it is, right in front of me. I’m touching the cold sleeping blocks with the flat of my palms, the surge of excitement holding at bay all the other thoughts in my mind. A connection is being built; no impact, just an acknowledgment.

The Great Pyramid of Giza in the palm of my hands. The Great Pyramid of Giza where the great pharaoh Khufu once lay in his mummified skin and golden sarcophagus. The Great Pyramids, here they are, patiently waiting in all their glory. Here they are, waiting to be abused, defaced. Here they are, waiting to be spat on and littered on. And the hoards of people that visit it, they duly oblige. A thick film of greasy epithelials covers its base. Small crevices dug out in the blocks by the winds and droplets of time serve as ashtrays for cigarettes. Bluish plastic bottles and bright red aluminium cans decorate the base like a Christmas tree pyramid. The desecration of the tombs in such a fashionable manner, so nonchalant in its approach. Wave upon wave of destructive men have crashed upon the base only to bounce of and once again merge with their own, the Great Pyramids remaining indifferent to their plight.

At night the Pyramids are degraded even further as the sound and light show begins. Green lasers and oddly coloured lights pour onto the great tombs making the pharaohs probably turn in their sarcophagi. When the show ends and darkness drops on the pyramids is when their beauty can be seen. These stone tents pitched up against the backdrop of the starlit sky.