The Cult of Horus

Egypt is a land rich in culture and history. It has, at various times, through foreign conquests and ruinous invasions been home to Nubians, Persians, Hebrews, Greeks, Romans, Arabs, Turks, French, British, German, and Israelis. But my interest initially centered on just one section of this storied tapestry: the Pharaohs.

I have long been fascinated by Ancient Egypt. That a people developed a written language over five thousand years ago is impressive. That the same people also developed monumental architecture is astounding. But the fact that all of this is still around for you and I to see—well, that’s unique. Not unique like a beach with white/black/pink sand. No, unique as in Egypt hosts the only surviving wonder of the ancient world. And you can touch it! I may have felt a divine presence at Jerusalem’s Western Wall, but it was in Egypt that I felt dumbstruck at the awesome power of man.

Expecting to experience something from Shelley’s Ozymandias I was shocked to see that Ancient Egypt’s glory can everywhere be found. The Pharaohs and the priests inspired—or compelled—the construction of an empire full of pyramids, temples, and elaborate tombs. Artifacts of this grandeur can be found in the decaying Egyptian Museum. There we meandered past countless statues carved from stone, elaborate gilded sarcophagi, and huge marble tablets filled with hieroglyphs. As a student of Chinese, my heart raced at the sight of this pictorial language. What does it say?!? I was fascinated that such monumental (yes, I will be using this adjective over and over again) efforts were taken to record - in stone - wars, marriages, adventures—you name it. But only a tiny fraction of the pieces contained descriptions or explanations. I guess I won’t become a Egyptian scholar on this trip.

What I did become, however, was a devotee of the Cult of Horus. Horus is the falcon-headed god of Upper (Southern) Egypt, and son of Isis and Osiris.

I’ve always loved hawks and eagles, and as the god of kingship, the sky and vengeance…well…what’s not to like? After the resident Egyptologist on our cruise pointed out the main features of the temple we were visiting I found myself eagerly searching for Horus on the 100 foot walls, pillars, and obelisks that seem to litter Luxor and Aswan. In one scene he would be receiving an offering from Ramses. In another, he would be bestowing the symbols of kingship on Alexander the Great. Oh...and he could fly. I was smitten.

So imagine my surprise when we checked-in to our flight and received an invitation to The Horus Club. When handed the invitation I thought it was yet another scam to get us into the duty free shop. But then Jen reminded me that our travel agent (I’ll have to withhold my comments about her for another post) booked us on Business Class tickets for our return trip from Aswan to Cairo. Not seeing the connection between my beloved Horus and an extra $50 charge for a 65 minute flight, Jen explained that The Horus Club must be like the Admiral’s Club. Well, the invitation does promise free drinks, so I guess that makes sense.

Never having experienced the luxury of an Admiral’s Club, I was giddy with excitement at the opportunity to relax in a leather chair, drink a 12-year old scotch, and admire papyrus paintings and marble carvings of the god to which all Pharaohs claimed kinship. But Aswan Airport is little more than a bus station with a runway. The sign that said VIP—to which we naturally approached—led only to a taxi stand. "The Horus Club!, I thought. Shouldn’t some uniformed attendant come and lead me to my scotch?

Since none were forthcoming, I asked at the coffee shop where I could find The Horus Club. The worker muttered “sabaros,” and point to our left. I don’t speak Arabic, so I ignored his words and asked the young woman at the newspaper stand 20 paces to our left where we could find The Horus Club, being sure to flash her our invitation. I was feeling a little class conscious at this point (Business class is a class, after all) and did not feel sufficiently pampered given the extra $50 I had paid for the privilege of my soon-to-be-enjoyed scotch at The Horus Club. After carefully reading our invitation then she, too, said “sabaros” and pointed to the left. Hmmm…what does “saboros” mean in English.

Nothing good, unfortunately. As Jen and I glanced to our left an indescribable horror revealed itself to us. To our immediate left—in fact, how did we miss it?—was the American food court staple known as Sbarro’s Italian Eatery. Yup, the pizza and breadsticks place. So “sabaros” was Sbarro’s. But that left me with more questions than answers.

Feeling a little less high-class at this point, I sheepishly asked the young boy refilling the vat of marinara sauce where I could find The Horus Club as I held out my invitation for him to see. Without missing a beat, but nonetheless spilling a not insignificant amount of sauce on the counter, he pointed to the soda cans (not in the refrigerator). “One can each.” Realizing that my dream was slowly escaping, I made a desperate attempt to at least get a beer out of this kid. I gestured towards the beer and said, “One of these?” “No, only soft drink,” was his swift reply.

Horus: god of kinship, the sky and vengeance....?

So The Horus Club is really just a pink coupon that enables the bearer to a free can of Fanta at the Sbarro’s in the food court. I would say that the Pharaohs are rolling over in their graves over this one, but modern Egypt has desecrated those tombs as well.

Horus: god of the sky, the Pharaohs, and reduced-calorie orange drink.

Jen's New Job!

Jen has finally started her new job at the same office that Paul works in! ...but we don't exactly work together. There are about 150 people in the "Office" and Jen is working with the #1, #2 and #3 (but I don't get their coffee, the other girl does that. Ha!) There are about 10 different offices with the Office, Paul is within one of them. So although Paul's desk is about 18 yards from Jen's they only see each other when Paul gets water (which he has been doing more frequently this week) or during their lunch dates we'll I'll mention later.

As Paul said after his first day of work - everyone here is sooo nice! They really are. Maybe it is because we are new, but they are nice. However, I feel like they will be less nice to Jen as time goes on... here is why:

Jen's job title has the word "PROTOCOL" - she is to uphold the Rule of Law (or Office Code), to be the friendly inter-office face and the gatekeeper for the big guys, to be the filter for all official documents, to make sure the bureaucratic processes move quickly. (I love efficiency so this is a great challenge for me as bureaucracies are notoriously and inherently slow and inefficient. Think of a democracy where everything is agreed upon vs. a dictatorship where decisions can be made on a dime.)

Back to my point - why people won't be so nice to Jen as time goes on - a big part of my job in simple terms is to look at the papers people submit to the big guys, scan for errors, find where they broke the rules, and tell them to fix it. Jen, the girl who has been here 2 days, who is 10 years younger than the next youngest person - besides Paul, is telling staff that has been here 10 years that what they did is not good enough, doesn't meet the standards and rules, and they need to do it again. Who does this girl think she is?!? But, alas - that is my job and I love it!

Working in the same office is great but it will take some getting used to. Jen and Paul both still blush and smile whenever they see each other and Jen giggles a bit at the prospect of referring to Paul as Mr. Vaca. It is a new experience to get to know your spouse at work. Paul and Jennifer - not Paulie and Jenny. And you can only talk about work stuff.. not "what would you like for dinner?," or "did you see the picture of Sean and Elizabeth's baby?" (Yes! We are going to be an aunt and an uncle! Paul's sister is pregnant!).

In other news - there is way too much chocolate and Turkish delight here and no coffee to be found (except for 10 shekels (~$2.25) in the next building). I'm thinking of ways to bring my coffee in...we have some great travel mugs on the

Oh, my poor car!

The light turns green…verrrmmmmmm…buh buh buuuuh. We jerk forward, jump 2 or 3 times, and stop. “It’s okay. Just start the car and we’ll try again.”

Verrrmmmmmmmmmm…buh buh buuuh. (Sigh…count to three.) “Okay, maybe a little less gas this time, and let off the clutch slowly.” Verrrmmmmm…buuuuh. (Oh, my poor car!)

The first driving lesson went VERY well! We woke up at 630am on Saturday morning, and because it is shabbot the religious can’t work – and driving a car is work. Luckily we aren’t that kind of religious so it was the perfect time for us to work on learning how to drive our new manual car. After three rounds of explanation on how to start the car, how to start moving forward and how to shift into second gear Paul repeated the directions back to Jen and they were off. Perfect start! You would have though Paul had been driving stick for years! Honestly.

We went one block, hit traffic and Jen drove back to a quiet street. The second start was a little rougher, but after just one stall we were moving! Paul gracefully stopped and started at the stoplight, turning left onto the four-lane road to Hertzalia (the suburbs to the north) and making it into 4th gear successfully. Paul was doing a great job…until the stop light. We sat through four reds, or more so, we didn’t make it through four reds. Verrmmmmm…buh buh buuuuh. I was starting to think this might be enough damage to the car for one day when someone knocked on the window…with a badge! Oh no!!! I don’t speak Hebrew well enough to talk my way out of a ticket! Is this illegal?!?!

“Roving patrol, is everything okay?.” (Roving patrol is like our own personal security, not Israeli. Their job is to protect us as opposed to society at large. We’ve had a few embarrassing encounters like this one where they think we need to be saved from some danger like us blowing our own fuses while cooking dinner.) Anyway, roving patrol was passing by and noticed us stopped in the middle of the road, sitting through 4 green lights and just wanted to make sure we weren’t having car problems. Nope…just learning how to drive. Thanks!

We made it through the light on the next try, drove through downtown Hertzalia, stopped at a red light on a hill with traffic, went around a circle and headed back home. The hour-long lesson was much more successful than expected and as a result we were out driving for about an hour! At this rate, Paul will be driving us to work very soon! US. Yes, US to work. Jen started work on Monday!!!

(We found out two days later that you have to have a special license to drive stick here! We are pretty sure that we are good on that though until we get the Isreali/international driver's licenses...we hope.)

Baksheesh – the oil in the Egyptian wheels

The first word Wikipedia uses to describe baksheesh is “charity.” Ha! Another site translated the word as “tips,” or “gratuity.” But really the author Leo Deuel was right on when he described it as “lavish remuneration and bribes, rudely demanded but ever so graciously accepted by the natives in return for little or no services rendered."

Let me give you two examples, the first of which highlights the tipping portion and the second the rudely demanded bribe:

1. After visiting the temples of Luxor our tour guide suggested an appreciation of 5 Egyptian pounds per couple (~$.90) for the driver who had driven us there from the cruise ship, waiting for us and drove us back. Though we did not buy the drivers overpriced water (marked up to 8 times the market price), we gladly gave him baksheesh for his services.

2. In a country where a good hourly wage for a college educated individual is $6/hour, our cab driver charged us $35 for 3 hours of service, a rate which we accepted because he waited for us while we ate dinner and because someone else had paid baksheesh to his friend to get us this nice car. Upon arrival at the airport we paid the driver his $35 and added on an overly generous $5 tip (thanks for ripping us off!) at which point the driver yelled at us and demanded more baksheesh. His limited English paired with our non-existent Arabic led to the involvement of 2 security guards. If you know Jen at all you know that she is not one to mess with when it comes to contracts and payments, however informal they may be. Needless to say, the driver got no more baksheesh.

Paul and I tried to pay only the “tipping” kind of baksheesh – though the corruption got the best of us on several occasions where we were tricked into paying a hugely inflated tourist price. The tourist cab is 70 Egyptian pounds, the local is only 15lb. the "Official" government cap on the ride is 30lb, but everyone just laughs at that. The guide books say you'll be lucky to bargain it down to 40lb.

You are expected to bargain EVERYTHING which gets really tiring as in American culture a low bid is an insult. For example, a handmade piece of art would cost $30 in the U.S., the guy is asking $50 but he is hoping to make $5 or $10. Do you offer $10? In the U.S. that would be an insult, but if you offer fair value of $30 he will sell it to you for $40 and be up $30 on his expected revenues. In other words, to be safe by American standards and not risk insulting the guy, you pay an extra $30 on the value of the product. “Oh, but my friend, you have baksheesh for me too, no?” And he wants baksheesh for the heck of it.

Another funny aspect about the baksheesh was that reputation means so much in Muslim cultures and you try to avoid “losing face” at any cost. This means that you don’t want to be the taxi driver who demands more baksheesh only to be rejected in front of other Muslims; you’d much prefer to be the bus driver who gets baksheesh from the tourists without asking for it. The American way of loud confrontation is very insulting here, so on two occasions when someone was demanding excessive baksheesh and we had to just walk away. In the U.S. if a taxi driver told you $20 for a five dollar ride, and you paid $10 and walked away, he might call the police and say you owe him $10 more…but in Egypt they just let us walk away. That is when we really knew that they knew they had already gotten more than they should have.

We have many examples of men who tried to show us some site within a temple, walked with us to the entrance of a tomb, carried our bags, or made us laugh – all in hopes of getting baksheesh. Jen waited a good 5 minutes for the entrance of a temple to clear so she could get a good picture. As soon as it cleared an Egyptian in traditional dress (who did look really cool) walked into the photo and posed – hoping she’d pay him baksheesh. “Get out of my photo! I’m not paying you baksheesh for ruining this shot!”

Last example: Paul and Jen are trying to buy Egyptian outfits for the Egyptian night on the cruise. They have 20 minutes and know what they want, but there are 15 stands all selling similar things, all trying to get the most money from us for their $2 Chinese made garment. So as we approach the first stand a man comes up to us and asks us what we are looking for. We point out a few things that we do and do not like and he says “come with me.” He takes us to a second stand, pays the owner a 5lb baksheesh and we browse the store. We’re not biting, so he takes us to another store where he thinks the owner has what we want. He pays another 5lb baksheesh to the owner and we browse…bingo! Jen finds what she wants and the guy buys it at a low price, getting baksheesh from the owner for bringing in business. Once all of the pieces are together – Jen’s dress, Paul’s shirt and Jen’s scarf – a price is negotiated between the middleman and us. Of course one of his selling points is that he has to now pay baksheesh to everyone else for showing us around. We pay him for the outfits, plus 5lb baksheesh for helping us, he pays 5lb baksheesh to each store owner and that, ladies and gentlemen, is how the market works in Egypt.

Egyptian "Fashion"

We're back from our honeymoon in Egypt which was great!! There are several things that we want to post about and share - and Paul is going to write a recap of the whole thing, but I'm going to start with what is one of the most noticeable aspects of Egyptian culture (because I would do that instead of write about the camels and the pyramids!)

One of the most striking aspects of Egyptian culture was the fashion. I’m not talking about New York or Milan runway fashion, I’m talking burkas and hijabs – the various Muslim head-coverings for women. This post really needs photos, but my camera battery is dead so I can’t get at mine and I’m not sure I took that many anyway because I thought it might be rude. So you’ll have to just imagine…

From what I gathered there were 5 different levels of women’s coverings. We’ll give them completely arbitrary names because I really have no clue what they would be called. The first is the most liberal, modern and “Western” of them all: the simple scarf covering the head, possibly pinned around the face to keep it in place. (There is no hair showing with any of these.) The women in this group wear what we would call normal clothes; jeans, long-sleeves (arms are covered), and cute shoes. There is some fashion in this as the scarf usually matches the shirt, can be many fabrics including cotton or silk, may have a pattern or design, and the outfit is completed with a cute purse. This outfit was not new to us as we had seen it a few times at universities in the States – although then we thought that it meant they were VERY conservative…quite the opposite. In fact – this head covering is really quite practical when you are in the dessert as it keeps the wind and sand out of your hair and keeps your head out of the sun. Imagine Mary riding the donkey, head covered, this might have been at least in part because of the weather. It is brutal! (PS – she rode the donkey to Cairo…that is a really long way! And it is all dessert and mountains!)

The second level is the hijab. This scarf is more tightly wrapped and pinned in place, almost always a solid color, but it can be a more lively color. The woman has her arms and legs covered like the first more modern dress; but the distinction is that she is wearing a long skirt. (This is strikingly similar to orthodox jews or Amish women, but with a head covering all the time.) These women also had purses and noticeable shoes – meaning they seemed “normal” and didn’t stand out in a good or bad way (although we did see at least 2 younger women in this category sporting some Converse shoes!).

The third level is a woman with a hijab, long sleeves and a “dress.” The hijab is one solid (usually more dull) color and wrapped tightly, resting on her shoulders like a scarf. This time the dress is one solid color and very loose fitting. In the first and second levels the clothes still take some shape. You might get a glimpse of pants as she walks or sits down, but she is fully covered up and the only skin you are going to see is her hands and her face. You might see a purse, but you won’t notice the shoes.

The fourth level is very close to the third, but a little bit more conservative. The hijab is longer and draped down the back, almost to the elbows and down to the stomach. The woman has no shape as everything is very loose and flowing (this also helps with air flow underneath as it is SOOOO hot!). These are outfits are solid colors, usually dull or dark with the most frequent color being black. You won’t notice her shoes and she doesn’t have a purse.

The fifth and final category is completely covered in black cotton/polyester cloth, with a burqa or niqab that has only the eyes showing. According to Islamic law these women can only go out with a male escort – either their husband or brother or cousin (note: I am note an expert…this is what I’ve heard). They don’t have a purse or if they do it is black like their clothes. We saw one woman in the airport who even had on black gloves! And we saw another in the market with a black purse…on top of her head. I really wanted the picture but we were in a car and the battery was dead.

Now I consider myself to be a pretty conservative dresser 90% of the time - but even I couldn't wear the cute clothes I'd brought along because they were too scandalous! Black shorts, a sundress, heels, and tank tops were out of the question unless we were on the cruise ship. So imagine me in my skinny jeans (this means they are tight) with a blouse and a scarf walking through the market in 100 degree weather. Hot! I felt like the princess from Aladin covering up my head as I bumped into the sword-swallower in the market...except he was trying to sell me a lamp and not swallow a sword.

It was really interesting! I can definitely say that we do not live in the Middle East – but we went to the Middle East for our honeymoon. But that isn’t really true. We technically live in the Middle East but it is much more like New York or Miami, and we technically went to Africa, but it was the North Africa and the capital of the “Muslim world,” so much more Middle Eastern. More stories to come...

One Kilo, Bavakasha

Few things remind of us of home more than rosemary, Christmas music and hamburgers on the grill! We brought the rosemary with us (and planted more here), and the Christmas music has randomly been played a few times. And this week our grill arrived!

We were told before we came that we'd have a "grill area" at our apartment. We fantasized about a custom made grill on the roof large enough for a full pig roast! Ha! It was a huge empty space to put a grill. So we used credit card points to buy a nice big Weber Grill!

"The Grill had Landed!," Paul emailed the minute it arrived. I quickly grabbed my grocery bags and headed to the shuek (market) to buy some stuff for dinner! Blah, blah, blah....after surveying the scene I finally chose a butcher.

The butcher had only beef in his case - but oh did he have beef! There were ribs...no, a rib cage...and hooves, a whole leg, and large cuts of meat that I couldn't identify. "Umm..One kilo, ground, bavakasha." (I don't know how much a kilo is but it sounded good.)

Wait...let me start over. Close your eyes and imagine a butcher...now take off his white apron and put on a gray sweatshirt. Replace the white pants with old jeans. Take off the white hat. Lose the gloves and the metal finger protector. Put a cigarette in his hand and give him a 5 o'clock shadow. This is the butcher at the shuek.

"One kilo, ground, bavakasha.." My butcher nods, puts the cigarette in his mouth and grabs one of the cuts of beef from the glass case. He sets it on the cutting board in front of him and whacks off a chunk. Plops it on the scale...adds one more small chunk. He removes the cigarette from his mouth. "Good?" he asks me. Sure! He puts the meat through his grinder and straight into a plastic grocery bag, then puts that grocery bag into another grocery bag and hands it to me. (No...I didn't forget to write about the gloves, the hand washing, or the wrapping and packaging of the meat...it didn't happen.) But, Oh were those burgers delicious!

Despite the completely foreign experience of buying the meat - it really tasted like home! (And no, we didn't get sick.)

Parade of Peoples

Jerusalem is many things. It is the City of David, the Abode of Peace, and is known in Arabic simply as "The Holy." Arrive into the Old City on a Friday--especially on Good Friday--and you can see why. Tens of thousands of Christian pilgrims clogged the Via Dolorosa--the path Jesus took while carrying his cross--to pray at the sites of the Passion (Stations of the Cross).

At several intersections along the Via Dolorosa we were met by a veritable wall of humanity. At the fifth station of the cross, where Simon helps Jesus carry the cross, dozens of African pilgrims in traditional garb choked off the narrow cobbled street while singing a song of lamentation. This posed a problem to an American group being filmed by Fox News. That group included thuggish Roman soldiers, a bloodied Jesus crowned with thorns, and a group of wailing women. Israeli police were on hand to keep all the groups moving...a truly unenviable task. With the Catholic and Eastern Orthodox calendars in sync only once every four years (yep, this year) the crowds were legendary.

But the Christian community is only a fraction of this holy city's inhabitants. Friday is also the Muslim holy day, and most of the stations of the cross along the Via Dolorsa are found in the Muslim Quarter of the Old City. In fact, while Jen and I were attending mass in the catacombs beneath the Church of the Condemnation (the site where Jesus was condemned to death) we could hear the Muslim call to prayer from two distinct Muzzeins (person who calls the faithful to Friday service from the Mosque tower). As the service ended and we walked back up to street level the chime of church bells and the calls of the Muzzeins left no doubt--we were in Jerusalem.

The tapestry of this city would not be complete, of course, without the Friday Shabbat (Sabbath) service of observant Jews. And while the Jewish community does not have bells or loud speakers to call the faithful to service, they do have something equally attention-getting. Check out these hats! Jen, Aron, and I were enjoying Turkish coffee near the Damascus Gate and we witnessed countless ultra-Orthodox families rushing towards the Western Wall for service at sun-down. I had never seen hats like this before, but I later found out that ultra-Orthodox men wear these hats to Friday services. It is a tradition carried to Jerusalem from Eastern Europe where I suppose is is a bit colder and fur hats are more common.

Jerusalem is no melting pot, but a beautiful--if frayed--tapestry of holy people. It may not be the City of Brotherly Love, but on this particular Friday one could not help but delight is peace and passion of its holy inhabitants.