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.