Today started with a 3:30 am wake up call and a 4am pick up to join the convoy to Abu Simbel. The drive took 4 hours, covering over 300 kilometers of desert and arriving about 40KM from Sudan. Abu Simbel is the site of two temples, built for King Ramses II and his “most popular” wife Nefertari on the banks of Lake Nasser.
Not only were these temples built in 13th century BC, which makes them unique in that “WOW these are old” way, but they’ve also had an interesting modern history. Because the Egyptian government created a dam to help control the ebbing and flowing of the Nile River, the water started to rise and threatened both the Nubian villages in the area, and the temples themselves. So, in 1960, the temples were taken apart and physically reconstructed on higher ground. With the Nefertari’s temple, you can see where it was cut into pieces for movement, but you can’t tell with Ramses’ temple.
We spent about 2 hours exploring the temples (which was about one hour and forty minutes too long for this adventurer) and by 10am were already on our way back to Aswan, escaping the excruciating 110 degree heat. I passed out for the first hour, but then woke up urgently needing to pee. Michael, our tour guide, had told us the day before that there would be no stops and that the hotel and the site would be our only chance to use the restroom. I sat there suffering for about 40 minutes, but when I saw a sign that said 150KM to Aswan, I realized that if I didn’t pee, I would explode and then ruin the rest of the ride for everyone. So, I woke Michael up, telling him I had a problem and we needed to stop. I didn’t need a bathroom, I had no trouble squatting behind a sand dune or peeing in a cup, but I needed to stop. I guess my timing was pretty good because within 2 km we pulled up to a random shack (which Michael called a ‘coffee shop’) with a smaller shack next to it that was clearly an outhouse of sorts. It was really just a hole in the ground with a bucket next to it but at that point I couldn’t possibly care less. (I was later told that Michael and the bus driver were standing at equal distances between the bathroom and the bus, their arms folded like body guards. Too bad no one took a picture)
When I came out , another bus had pulled up next to us. “That’s the tourism police,” Michael tells me quietly as we walk back to the bus. “I need to tell him that you are sick and we had to stop, or he will take away my license because it is illegal to stop as part of the convoy. You need to look like you are really sick”. So, I did my best to look miserable – something I’m generally quite good at and the excruciating heat helps. So I stood by the bus, doing my best to look miserable while Michael talked to the police officers. Everything ended up working out fine, but apparently all the tour companies sign a form saying that they will not stop as part of the convoy, and making any stops is illegal. We also happened to be the 2nd to last vehicle in the convoy, so the bus behind us had to stop and wait for us to get back on the road. We’re still trying to figure out why it is that they’re making it impossible for a bunch of western tourists to stop even once in a 300km stretch of desert. There’s so much opportunity for profit there! They could charge $10 for a bottle of water and $5 to use the restroom!
We had lunch at McDonald’s (because you can’t visit a foreign country without sampling their Mickidiees) and spent the rest of the afternoon doing nothing.
We then walked into down for dinner, and spent the rest of the evening in a café smoking shisha and drinking cold hibiscus tea. For once, I actually left the hotel appropriately dressed and wasn’t sent back to the room by Michael to change my clothing. I was wearing a knee length skirt and a long sleeved shirt, but the heat, even at night, was unbearable. So, sitting at the café, I was fidgeting and trying to cool myself off and apparently at one point, I pulled my skirt about 2 inches above my knee, unconsciously. Michael witnessed this, his eyes buggered out, and he slammed his hand on my leg “What are you trying to do!” he yelled at me. I’m clearly his problem child of the trip. Who would expect any different?
Today, we board our felucca to spend the next 24 hours baking in the heat and not having access to decent restrooms while being eaten alive by mosquitoes. I’m considering taking a lot of different pills and praying for this part of the experience to be over as quickly as possible.
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