I needed a break. I needed a very long break. And then I needed a break from that break.
It was a cold morning in early January when the taxi driver pulled up in front of the house. Because of the heavy snowfall he had left home early – I was his first customer. Slowly we plowed through the snow, careful not to slip, until we reached the freeway. Half an hour later we arrived at the airport. Airports are sensory hell, even at 6 in the morning. There are two quiet places at Schiphol: the deck from which you can watch the airplanes coming and going, and the prayer room. The prayer room is a strange combination of chapel, mosque and yoga space. There are bibles and Qurans in many languages to peruse, and yoga pillows. The floor is carpeted and you are asked to take off your shoes. I sat quietly for a while, listening to a meditation over my earbuds. A man came, unrolled his prayer mat and performed his morning prayer. He greeted and smiled as he left. Because of the ice and snow many planes were delayed or cancelled that day, but not mine.
Arriving at Cairo Airport, the dry desert air carrying a hint of burnt spices hits you like a memory. I was twelve years old when I first experienced the thrill of flying to Egypt on an EgyptAir plane, where you were given a hot towel and cutlery with the Horus logo to eat your chicken and rice, and a thick newspaper with the polished face of president Mubarak that I kept as a souvenir for years afterwards. Everything from that journey was kept and treasured. But now I am 38, an Egyptologist who still has a Doctorate to finish. Not thinking about that now.
The only place I hate haggling with taxi drivers is the airport, so I was picked up by a boy from the hotel where I was staying. A guest house of old friends whose family home was bulldozed at its prime location in front of the Sphinx, and who were now relocated further west of the pyramid field, tucked behind a noisy highway. It was dusty and hot while we were driving to Giza, a traffic jam curling up around the Citadel. For my entertainment the boy played Dutch gangster rap. With the sun going down the pyramids turned red, looming large in the smoky distance.
Arriving at the guest house – hugs and smiles and talk and smoking and lentil soup, a plate of grilled chicken and rice. A bit chilly at night because it’s January. I don’t know how long I will stay – I booked a one-way ticket. You’re welcome, they say, could we give you some euros for you to send to our son in the Netherlands? He is studying in Delft. I send the money. “Don’t spend it all at once – message from your mother”.
The next morning I’m sitting on the roof terrace, overlooking the pyramids. In ancient Egyptian, the verb ‘men’ means to remain, to endure. 4500 years of history have passed by since the last stone was placed, and still the pyramids endure, while I sip my tea and eat my falafel.
The pyramids form part of the urban landscape
Much has changed in Giza. An area of housing in front of the Khufu pyramid was bulldozed because the valley temple should be underneath – the area reclaimed by archaeology. The site itself has been reorganized by a company that aims to make a lot of money. There is a large parking area on the west side, a visitor centre and a new entrance, allowing only payment by creditcard. There are electric buses taking you up and around the plateau, stopping at restaurants and photo-friendly viewpoints.
I walk around the pyramids. There is a long line of people waiting to enter the Great Pyramid. Tickets are limited, tourists pressed against each other, crawling up and down before reaching the suffocating burial chamber that is empty but for a granite sarcophagus. There is a special segment of visitors that try to ‘feel’ something, connect with something old and otherworldly. Chanting is not allowed, except for a small fee.
Dressed as an archaeologist, I roam freely around the mastaba tombs. Dotted between the pyramids are the tombs of the noblemen and women, family of the elevated kings and their high officials. Further on lie the tombs of the pyramid builders themselves – an area that is still being excavated. The tombs are barred with metal grates, but between the plastic garbage that is blown into every corner reliefs peer out of the ancient tomb owners – seated behind an offering table, in embrace with their wife, showing the emblems of their power.
I end up near the pyramid of Khentkaus, an Old Kingdom queen, partly cut out of the bedrock like the Sphinx was. Just like the great king Khufu, she had a wooden boat with which she traversed the night sky as the sun god Ra, buried with her alongside the pyramid.
Another famous princess is Meresankh, her mastaba accessible with a valid ticket. On the walls are familiar scenes of Meresankh and her mother, plucking papyrus in the marshlands, honoring the goddess Hathor while balancing precariously on a little papyrus boat. She probably died before her time, and her mother Hetepheres dedicated her own tomb and sarcophagus to her beloved daughter. Rows of statues representing the two women are carved from the rock, in an eternal stony embrace. Eerie chanting emits from the burial chamber, until the guard motions them to stop – there is another group coming.
Meresankh and Hetepheres
Satisfied with pyramids and tombs for the day, I make my way back to the guest house. Because the west entrance is close to the neighbourhood in Giza where I am staying, I walk from the parking lot. In crossing the busy road (traffic lights not working), I am helped by an old lady balancing a heavy bundle on her head. Like a child she takes me by the arm and motions the cars to stop. While sipping on a fresh pomegranate juice I return to the roof terrace.
The next day I visit Saqqara. Saqqara has a special place in my heart because it was here I discovered my love for Old Kingdom tombs. I have a photograph of myself as a young girl in front of the tomb entrance of Mereruka. I made a similar picture, now 26 years later. It’s for this little girl who was fond of books and history that I studied Egyptology. She copied hieroglyphs in a notepad that she carried around and cited from documentaries recorded on VHS. She played videogames set in ancient Egypt, roaming around Deir el-Medina and the tomb of Seti I, or ancient Heliopolis that is now covered under modern development.
Only 26 years apart in Saqqara
As a student of 20 I excavated in Saqqara, slowly uncovering an unfinished and anonymous tomb in the New Kingdom necropolis. In the shadow of Ptahemwia and Meryneith I dug through burnt layers of mummy remains, left behind by the tomb robbers, while they tossed aside a beautiful pot. On days with strong winds I wore ski goggles against the stinging sand. One time we tried to measure the tomb with a total station during a sandstorm – it came out oblique in the mapping software. There was sand everywhere, in my ears and clothes, and when we came back to the dig house there was no water for washing. Archaeology makes you appreciate running water, hot showers and midmorning falafel sandwiches like nothing else.
I make my way around the step pyramid of Djoser and towards the northwest side, looking towards the desert and the pyramid fields of Abusir and Giza in the distance. This is where Hetepherakhty was buried, the 5th dynasty judge and priest whose offering chapel resides in the museum in Leiden since the early 20th century. The rest of his mudbrick mastaba is probably still in place, as is his burial chamber and – perhaps – his remains. It was my dream to excavate his mastaba and complete the story that began almost 4500 years ago. I’m still working on the story – it will have to wait a little until I finish my PhD.
Further I go to the pyramid of Unas, a bit crowded but with the first iteration of the Pyramid Texts carved in the walls of the burial chamber. Before that time, new research shows, likely written on papyrus and recited by priests during the funeral. Not just literature for kings, but for the elite noblemen and high officials that made up the fabric of Memphite society.
Being alone, I meet people everywhere. A friendly German-Dutch couple in the tomb of Mehu, with children and grandparents in tow, all equally interested in the ancient images and what they have to say. A friendly guard shows me the tomb Irukaptah and Neferherenptah, two tombs I know well but never entered before. The taxi driver is getting impatient. “Take a left here,” I say, there is still more to see.
I relocate to Zamalek. I have a quiet room in an old style hotel with an aging waiter. He brings me tea with lemon for my sore throat (sandstorms bring sickness, as the ancient Egyptians knew) and tells me about his grandchildren. He is there every morning in his brushed suit, serving food with slow movements. I like the taste of beans and hard-boiled eggs and toast with marmalade. A hint of British cuisine from the 1950s.
I meet with fellow Egyptologists, working at the foreign institutes in Cairo and ex-colleagues from Mainz. We drink lattes and dine and roam the streets for vintage shops. I take the subway to Tahrir and visit the now abandoned Cairo Museum, am a little taken aback by its dilapidated state. The museum will be renovated, I hear. All the money and tourists now seem to go to the gleaming hallways of the Grand Egyptian Museum in Giza. I browse the AUC Press bookstore and read a little in a rattan chair on the grass, a cat sits on my lap uninvited.
The streets of Cairo hold memories like no other. Layers upon layers of history, glimpses of a time when I wasn’t alive, and a thin layer of when I was. My younger self is walking besides me. Those others who are no longer there. The mad Egyptologist from Saqqara, my former self and my mother. People from the past, but the past is always there. The ancient Egyptians had a word for this – Ka. Your Ka was created alongside you on a potter’s wheel. It was your twin that never grew old but had to be kept in the tomb, brought to live in a carving. A statue locked in a shrine, fed and clothed and cared for, like the golden idol in a temple. Even when I fly home, my Ka still roams here, on the dusty streets, in the desert tombs and in memories.
Tomorrow I will go on to Luxor.