9.10.17 Tbilisi
Well, here I am again in Prospero's Books Café. Two years ago I was here. Now it seems so familiar, as does Tbilisi – apart from all the building works. Glorious sunny day, but alas it won't last when I drive up to the Caucasus tomorrow (I love being able to write that…) Leaving yesterday, with a long, long journey ahead of me, I felt as I did when starting off on my Interrail travels – a sense of how far I had to go. Yesterday, it was to Luton, then a direct flight to Kutaisi, Georgia's second city. That was all easy. The four-hour coach drive here was not.
We left at 3.30am, with about 60 of us crammed into a coach. Fine, except the seats were so close together – good job I'm not claustrophobic. I did manage to sleep for an hour or two. Fortunately, I slept about five hours on the Wizzair flight – I was in row 12, the emergency exit row, and was left along there, so I lay down across three seats. Plane about 90% full, mostly Georgians. Great deal – I paid £160 return with all the benefits… Kutaisi airport small, but functional. Coach service efficient. So when I got to my hotel at 7.30am, I showered, then had breakfast. I chose Marlyn Hotel since it is very close to the coach drop-off point. Aptly enough, by Pushkin Park.
Eating lunch in the place overlooking bridge and statue. Busy – I'm in the basement, where even the waiters are smoking… But cheap and good. I've been busy too. Went to Geocell, bought 30 minutes international calls, plus 2Gbytes of Internet for £6. Took out money, bought maps from Geomaps – hidden away, a rather bare room. But the best maps. Then to the central Carrefour to buy water and walnut things - churchkhela. Since I was carrying a small bag, the security man wanted me to seal it. He called out loudly "katso" – sounded like "cazzo". Lots of wine here – Georgian – so I'll come back here on Saturday to buy that, and more churchkhela…
Internet connection in the hotel fast, if a bit intermittent. VPN working well. I think I've worked out how to get the car out of the city tomorrow. Various closed roads to navigate, plus the need to make a U-turn…
Tbilisi still beautiful and charming, but I wonder how long it will last. Lots of building – big shops – and there's a lot of old, rambling houses that are surely going to go. Sad, but I'm lucky to have seen it before they do. I imagine outside Tbilisi, things will last longer. Although the weather is glorious here, sadly seems dismal up in the mountains. Ah well…
10.10.17 Stepantsminda
Sitting in Restaurant Khada, as I begin the long ascent to Stepantsminda. Not a good start: Hotel Kazbegi cancelled my reservation – no electricity, they say. Luckily, I had time to find another – Green Sheep...we'll see if it has the mountain views they promise. Then to pick up the car at Citadines hotel. Typical old Georgian crate – 120,000 km on the clock, bits pretty rough. Hope it gets me there OK…
Then over an hour to get out of Tbilisi – terrible signposting – I ended up on the main road going back into Tbilisi… Luckily, U-turns are allowed, even on a dual carriageway. Finally got out, in the pouring rain. Found road to Stepantsminda. OK now, moving slowly up and up. Presumably Jvari pass will be misty, but all part of the fun. I stopped at this restaurant because it's getting late. But another reason was the flock of sheep blocking the road ahead of me…
Sitting in Restaurant Stepantsminda. Has the virtue of being central, though not very Georgian in its ambience. Limited menu, but hey… What a journey. The rain never stopped, but the landscape became more and more majestic beyond Khada restaurant. The road followed the river, which was low, but wide. The valley went on and on, deeper and deeper, higher and higher. However, I soon caught up with lorries – lots of them. Many from Russia and Armenia, belching appalling fumes, making me feel sick. I had to have the air conditioning on drawing air from outside, otherwise the glass misted over – adding to rain, constant bends, and people overtaking all the time (even I did a few times). The real problem was after Zemo Mleta – constant, tight turns – then Gudauri. Alas, not much to see in the rain at Jvari – just swirling clouds. But mercifully, once past Jvari, the air cleared and I could make out walls of stone plus brown colouring lower down (ferms?). In the distance, I could see some of the snow-capped peaks.
Amazing that I am here in the Caucasus. Even with the awful weather now, definitely worth coming. My "new" hotel – Green Sheep – is basic but cheap – and warm. Also has amazingly good Internet – managed to hold Google Hangout with video – impressive considering where I am.
Walked around town briefly – very weird. Lots of half-hearted building, even more half-ruined buildings – looks like some Tarkovsky set. Couldn't see Gergeti church, but caught a glimpse when I arrived. Still a few lorries thundering through. I admire their drivers – bad enough during the day, but at night must be frightening negotiating the unlit roads… Underlines how this is one of the most important road links across the mountains. In town there's a sign: "Vladikavkazi", reminds me how close Russia is. Also striking how many Russians here in Stepantsminda – obviously they pop across the border for a few days. Also in Tbilisi: my hotel was full of them. Huge lorries still heading for Jvari pass… The marshrutkas from here are very cheap – only 10GEL for Tbilisi. Probably a bit of a squeeze for three hours, but cheap...
11.10.17 Stepantsminda
Back in the restaurant for lunch. Great morning despite the pouring rain when I woke up. A slightly restless night – woke up so thirsty several times – thanks to too much salt in my meal last night. No breakfast at Green Sheep, but a kettle and coffee powder. I bought Danish pastries and croissant (but with chocolate – yuk). Then out to the Russian border.
Wonderful drive – downhill, which surprised me – I expect borders to be at the highest point. Little traffic. Road good but a few rock falls. Amazing rock walls around valley – nearing Darial. Road turns to rocks near border – rough for my hired Megane. Then I hit the queuing lorries. But I overtook them, and pulled in to the parking by the Mtavarangelazi monastery. Walked to the border – the alleged shopping centre closed, desolate. Gravel extraction, whole place grim – but worth seeing…
Now the Gergeti church peeking out through the clouds. The sun has come out at times - so, lucky really. Managed to spot the road up – looks very slow and steep. Not sure my old banger can cope. May go for taxi…
Walked around the town – everywhere being built, everywhere in ruins, everywhere roads dug up. Took lots of pix, since I reckon this old town will be gone soon as more people come here. Have to capture the place. I'll probably go down the Sno valley this afternoon – reasonable road for most of it, even it rains. Yesterday, I realised what this journey reminded me of: driving up (in a coach) to Kashmir Valley from the railhead at Jammu. That constant sense of up, then the tunnel, the bursting out into light… This was shorter, less dangerous, but more personal – I drove.
To my left, viewed from the restaurant, there are six eagles swooping around the mountain. I saw one earlier – took some poor pix of it. Beautiful. Looks like I misjudged the Khevi Restaurant. Although dingy from the outside, food is much better than the other place.
I was lucky today. As I left after lunch, the sun began to break through. I drove to Sno valley, and the sun and blue skies became more evident. Sno valley stunning. Stopped at the Sno fortress, took pix – so dramatic. Then drove on, down the increasingly dodgy track. Ahead of me the snow-capped peaks dazzled and tantalised. The true scale of the Caucasus became apparent. One or two taxis with other tourists, but otherwise I had this place to myself – with the pigs, horses and cows.
Thing is, the Georgian telco Geocell has done a fab job. Everywhere I've been, not matter how remote, signal has been strong and Internet speeds good. Certainly makes here even more attractive. As I drove back to Stepantsminda, the upper regions of the mountains to the east appeared – wow, they are tall. Hope I get to see them better…
12.10.17 Stepantsminda
Awoke to sunshine, amazingly. Went out and saw the great glistening peak of Mount Kazbegi behind the lower hills. Today was my chance. I went down to the Moedani at 9am, hoping to find a taxi. For once, somebody leapt at me. So I had to ask: "how much to the church?". "60GEL" – I said 40, he said 50 – deal done. It was perhaps over-priced, but I couldn't risk losing this opportunity while the weather was good. It proved a wise move.
We set off along the road to the border, then turned left up a track. But this was nothing – at least it was level. We entered the village. Tiny streets, full of puddles. Ahead of us five 4x4s also making the trek. We rose higher, and the road became worse – muddy, huge puddles. Then we halted. A police car blocked the road, stopping anyone going further. This seemed ironic: was I to get so far, only to be thwarted at the last moment?
But my driver was a typical dammit-all Georgian. He managed to find a way round the police car – and the other waiting cars – and we continued. Now the road became seriously bad: it would have destroyed my rental car. Good call. Then we found what the problem was – a rock fall, half blocking the road, and a great JCB dealing with it.
To get around the rock fall, my driver went to the edge of the road – with me hanging over the steep drop. Then he sneaked behind the working JCB, honking furiously. "Shtraf" – he said, meaning he risked a fine for this; "70GEL". Given his quick action, and the terrifying state of the road, it seemed fair, not least because no one else was doing it. So when we arrived, we had the place to ourselves. The odyssey was not finished. Now he drove across the great churned mud fields – I was sure we'd get stuck, but we didn't. He was insane, but good at his job. Finally, we arrived by the church.
What a place. Looking back at Mount Kazbegi, its white snow stood out above all else. The huge mountains covered in golden foliage/grass, with amazing folds in their surfaces. Up at the church, a wonderful view of Stepantsminda, the houses looking tiny. Opposite, the great wall of rock truly grandiose. Eagles wheeled overhead – a dozen of them. The wind was forceful, and my hands became numb as I took pic after pic. But they could never capture the sheer grandeur of the place. So like the Lake District, but so much bigger.
I stayed up there over an hour, reluctant to leave this place, but my driver was making subtle hints, like following me with his Mitsubishi minivan as I explored the place. Have to say, this was a doughty little vehicle – truly, this was the worst road I've ever been along – no idea how the Mitsubishi's tyres and suspension held up. We were jerked from side to side violently as the wheels went into deep puddles and ruts, or over big, sharp rocks. We made it down, we shook hands, and I paid the 70GEL – well worth it for (a) making possible a long-desired experience and (b) not getting me killed…
After lunch in the restaurant of yesterday, back, to the room to work. One of the amazing things here in Georgia is how good mobile Internet coverage is. So just as I was able to make calls from beside the church, so I have been able to do work here. Today, I sent off questions to the Polish MEP Michał Boni about copyright…
Then, out for drive. It was raining again, but it didn't matter – rain and sun both belong here. I went all the way back to Kobi, near the ascent to the Jvari pass. I wanted to see what the track into Truso valley was like. I quickly found it was bad, and gave up any thought of proceeding. I would love to come back here with a 4x4…
Truso valley looked really enticing. But I was happy to drive back along the main valley, recapitulating Tuesday's route. Today I had sunshine and a clearer view of the walls. I stopped and took pix – of the amazing black, volcanic stream-bed past Kanobi, and the villages perched on the high foothills, all with their tin (?) roofs, a kind of prism shape – very striking. I started up into Sion to see the church, but a car blocked the way, so I reversed back. Luckily very little traffic today. I hope it's like this tomorrow as I begin my long journey back to Tbilisi… But all-in-all, really something I'll remember…
13.10.17 Tbilisi
At Mtskheta's Check-in Garden restaurant, as planned. Sitting at the back, under an awning, the sun pouring down, the wind rippling the river in front of me. The nearby cathedral full of promise.
Back in Tbilisi now. What a ride. So, when I rose, plenty of clouds, but blue sky over the pass, and the forecasts were good for both the valley and the pass, and so it proved. Amazingly little traffic on the road when I left at 9am. It was as if I had a perfect landscape all to myself. The hills a glorious golden brown, the snowy peaks blinding white. Everywhere that was safe and there was something to see, I took pix – about 150 during the day.
Up to the pass, stopped at the cross – nothing special. Then on to the kitsch monument to "Russo-Georgian friendship" – yuk. But the view from its platform was spellbinding. In fact, I stayed there about 30 minutes, unable to tear myself away. Then through the twists of Gudauri – looking really ugly in the sun, where it looked more grim in the rain – then on to the great zigzag descent. A few lorries, but again remarkably sparse. Then into the endless, wonderful Aragvi valley – a visual paradise, especially in autumn, with such soft colours everywhere, and the streams gradually gaining force.
Since I was taking much longer than expected – lingering to look – I stopped for a (turkish) coffee about 15 minutes from Ananuri (at Meneso?). Then went around the monastery there – relatively busy with tourists, but only relatively – a few dozen, nothing terrible.
Then on to Mtskheta, to the Check-in Garden restaurant, found by recommendation of some online comments. Food good – chicken cooked in milk – location even better – on the banks of the Mtkvani river, glittering in the sun. Afterwards to the cathedral. Beautiful and intense, with narrow nave, and lovely stone. Svetitskhoveli Cathedral a true medieval masterpiece.
[Eating now in "Tifliso restaurant – not bad. Nice red wine and veal hot dish.]
After the cathedral, I had to negotiate the road to Jvari Monastery, high on the mountain nearby. Happily, for once, the roads were well signposted. The road up very long, the views worth it, though, over the city and the two rivers. Sun really hot – getting burned. Then the fun bit: Friday evening rush hour in Tbilisi. Amazingly, I managed to find the way, avoided hitting anyone, despite their aggressive pushing in. Had to wait in Citadines forecourt – which is very small, which meant moving the car to make room for others. Eventually Hertz bloke came and I went back to Marlyn hotel. A room at the back, but rather nice view of the ramshackle old buildings. Then along Kote Afhazi Street, after a shower and downloading the pix, to here. Lovely atmosphere at night – very relaxed and cosmopolitan.
14.10.17 Tbilisi
Sitting in Aripana restaurant on Davit Aghmashenebeli Avenue – which is very lively. Gorgeous Saturday in Tbilisi. Ordered kubdari, a speciality from Svaneti. I earlier went to Prospero's Books for coffee and cheesecake, and only bought one of the three Georgian language course volumes – the others were sold out. Seems hard to find the others. Walked across the river to part of the city I don't know – found this great food street. Went to Santa Esperanza bookshop – which had nothing, but bought Harry Potter 2 in Georgian, only to realise that I already have it, so have to go back and exchange it. Also topped up the old metro card. Marjanishvili nearby. The cheese soup tepid, but the cheese balls were nice – a bit like mozzarella.
15.10.17
On the bus, waiting to leave for Kutaisi...
More destinations:
Moody's Black Notebook Travels
25.1.97 Seattle
In the Art Gallery, drinking poor coffee, about 10.15am. Not the most exciting of cities, but a lovely situation. Up at 4.30am this morning, trying to keep some semblance of UK time (which I rejoin tomorrow). Took the bus to here – very cheap, $1.10 – arrived just after 8am. Walked and walked.
Pikes Place setting up – stunning fish – few people elsewhere. Seattle very spacious, with large gaps between the great lumps of skyscrapers. Everything is on an incline, like San Francisco (a far more characterful city). The cries of the seagulls echo round the marble. But I remain amazed at how cheap everything is – CDs all £10 or less, food very cheap. I don't quite understand the economics.
Very interesting going around the Microsoft campus yesterday – utter absence of buzz – confirms my suspicions about the company.
Hearing classical music and buying the CDs I feel grateful to be a European… Back in the museum café for lunch. As you might expect, the collection is interesting for its Native American stuff, and also Asian (though both are limited), and a waste of space for European art (which is fair enough).
More destinations:
Moody's Black Notebook Travels
2.6.96 Fiskardo
We sit on a healthy-sized boat, its prow pointing towards Ithaca. The stiff breeze blows grilled fish savours towards us. Brilliant sunshine, temperature in the 30s. Clear blue sky – outshone by the ridiculous blue of the sea. A 90-minute drive around Cephalonia. A twisty road surpassed only by that to Kashmir.
The day began early – 3.15am, almost dawn. Taxi at 4.15am, at the airport by 5am. Checked in et al., breakfast, then to our gate (after a falsely-stated 35 minute delay). At the gate, they inform us of the obvious: we had been booked on a flight to Brindisi – same time, same company. There were seats – obviously not together – but our luggage was on the wrong plane. The baggage handling system was to be tested…
3.6.96 Kioni
The story continued…
Well, we got on the plane, which was full of sun- and sea-seekers, and vulgar air hostesses. The flight was bumpy and seemed longer than it was. But we arrived at the small airport on Cephalonia, and stepped out into real sun for the first time in 18 months (since Sri Lanka). Miraculously, our luggage did arrive (though carrying it was fun without a trolley, as we made our way on to the coach). The drive along twisty, half-made up roads was, for me at least, heaven. It reminded me strongly of that Kashmir road from Jammu, with one breathtaking vista supplanting another.
The village of Fiskardo was picturesque, and busy with restrained tourism. The ferry to Kioni was the perfect way to arrive – across the straight, and then around the incredibly verdant hills – barely a house in sight. Rounding the cape of Ithaca (sounds suitably nautical), we passed down to the port, with three ruined windmills to the south. It was particularly strange to see the place we had pored over in the brochures – and to find it corresponded exactly.
Last night we stared across at infinite shadings of heat haze; and, right to the east, the Greek mainland and various islands (Levkada etc.). I sit now on our balcony, with the scene below me. It is 3.30pm, the sun at its most savage, and I'm glad that I am out of it. The sea is that impossible Grecian blue, boats out at sea (Θάλαττα! Θάλαττα!), below me are olive trees and pines – the latter scenting the air wonderfully. Near-silence but for distant waves and a few birds' twitterings.
One thing that we were not prepared for arriving here (at Melissa Apartments) was the lack of parking space. We are on the road south out of Kioni that just stops – the end of the map. It is also mostly single-track, with no barrier between you and the rapid fall of the olive groves to the sea. To turn, you must drive to nearly the end, where there is what looks like a disused quarry (small, though). There you can execute a slightly precarious three-point turn.
The car is a bonus: new (400km on the clock), and superior class. I hope to explore the island a little in it. The boat (with an outboard motor) we picked up this morning. A Greek woman explained how things worked, but as ever, in these things it's more a question of practice and instinct – both of which I lack. This made our excursion to a very near beach rather fraught, particularly landing. Stupidly, I did not have suitable shoes, and so murdered my feet on the rocks, stones and pebbles. Somehow we got ashore.
The beach poor, with much tar (bastards – I can see a tanker out there now, perhaps discharging even as I write). Well-covered with suntan cream, which seems very effective, thank goodness. A taverna on the beach – very small and rustic – promises future delights (a man cleaning fish on the nearby rocks). We stayed a little, and then back to the harbour where we have left the car. Afterwards to "our" taverna – by virtue of being the first place we ate, last night. This is right on the harbour, has a large tent-like (permanent) construction outside the small restaurant.
The menu is the usual incomprehensible Greek/English selection, most of which is unavailable. It is family-run (it seems): a younger brother, and two elder men. One of these has a pony tail and striking green eyes – a real Odysseus.
4.6.96 Kioni
As can be seen, I am beginning to lose sense of time here. Are we AD or BC…? And I'm getting behind - so much so, that I can't remember what's to tell. Did I talk about the butterflies here (now extinct in England, it seems)? Or about the shivering sheets of water, interspersed with patches of calm? Or the savage black cat – more of a small panther – that claims our terrace as part of its domain? Did I mention that I was bitten 27 times yesterday, that my left-hand side looks disgusting? Here there are large black insects that bite; the only consolation is that they are slow and very easy to catch. We killed hundreds of them. Although I've brought one of the lethal insect-repellent machines (plug in), we're reluctant to leave it on.
There are six boats (yachts) turning into our bay. Strangely, the distant view is clearing now (5.30pm). This morning there was a glorious Claude haze covering everything. A wonderful feeling, powering away (-ish) through the opalescent water. We went round towards Frikes, and then on to a beach (one of two) further north. This would have been perfect: steeply shelving for the boat, and swimming; surrounded by green hills; trees offering shade. But it was spoilt by two things: the litter everywhere, and worse, the flies. We left early, but at least had a swim and fine journey.
5.6.96 Kioni
I sit after lunch facing a landscape/seascape I can only think of as mine. The weather very hazy and close: there will be a storm tomorrow, I suspect. We left early-ish with the car, off to Vathy. First we took the eastern route, passing through Frikes (tiny, less atmospheric than Kioni) and then Stavros, attractive, with a view down to Polis bay, supposedly the site of a sunken city, perhaps of Odysseus. What a name: Polis, the City, here amidst poor villages (including the bent, gaunt crones in black, the arrogant old men sitting outside dark cafes), symbolic snakes in the road, orthodox churches, many ruined cottages, mules, etc. [the village factotum has just come to fix the blown fuses in our flat – everything is out.]
The road out of Stavros rising through a surprisingly green landscape. Sharp bends zig-zagged us up the mountain. We passed through Anogi (very small), and then began a descent after a long level patch. From the latter, the views were perhaps the best I've seen from an island. To our left, the distant islands and mainland, to the front, the deep natural harbour of Vathy (Greek: Βαθύ, meaning deep), held in the vice of the foothills of the mountains. Again, everything very green – and the sea so blue.
Joining the west side road, we suddenly had the sea on both sides of us (and Cephalonia laid out in a stretch to our right). We also passed the field of Laertes – supposedly of Odysseus' father. A field of stones, in truth – but see below.
Vathy itself was nothing special. Like most of Ithaca it was badly hit by the earthquake of 1953. It has been rebuilt without anything too horrible along the way, but lacks any real charm. There we bought some supplies, plus a book for me. Not just any book, but The Book of Western Civilisation: the "Iliad" and "Odyssey". For long I have wanted a good translation to read here (my Ancient Greek is still far too weak), but looked in vain. The problem is fundamental: English is just the wrong language. This is shown by all the previous attempts at translation: either they are flat (like Rieu's for Penguin), or mannered (like Pope's, where the heroes become Restoration fops).
There is an equivalent problem in all languages. In French, the best you could hope for is a kind of ultimate Racine; in Italian, a heroic Dante. But in German you have a language perhaps the closest in spirit to Ancient Greek. Highly analytical, inflected (and therefore able to take certain freedoms with order for emphasis), full of Greek abstractions, so you can hear something classical in it. So I bought what I had long looked for: a classic translation, by one Johann Heinrich Voss – end of eighteenth century, and so a classical writer himself, and full of the right spirit.
And this leads neatly on to a theme I wish to consider: the Homericness of Ithaca – and of the surrounding isles. I have been struck forcibly as never before by that spirit in this place. Leaving aside the fact that an island called Ithaca almost has to be Homer's/Odysseus', I feel like defining this place as authentic. Not least because it is just enough off the beaten track to be relatively untouched (the empty, verdant hillsides bear eloquent witness to this).
Ithaca would also be the perfect base to explore from: Cephalonia, Levkada, Zante, Corfu etc. Explore by boat, though: and this is another thing. Being here, seeing the yachts and their easy, obvious grace, taking a little boat out and feeling the sea wind in my hair and the salt spray in my face ("I must go down to the sea again…") makes me understand Greeks as the archetypal sea-faring race. Which is why Odysseus, not Agamemnon or Achilles, is the great hero and character of Homer's poems: Odysseus the sailor, the island-hopper.
One day, I would like to learn to sail, such an ancient and yet timeless skill.
6.6.96 Kioni
Last night was different. We ate at home (partly to save money, since meals here are not cheap in the tavernas). We also slept in the living room – putting the mattress on the floor in an attempt to harden our sleeping surface (the bed is hopeless soft). In vain, but we see huge illuminated liners passing in the night (and the night before, what must have been a satellite zooming across the sky).
Today was also different, but very holiday. We rose early, and walked down to the village. When we came back, we took out boat ("Rosmary"), later then usual. We went beyond the beach we first visited, and found a gem: cleanish, shingle (not just pebbles), perfect water – and no flies. Yesterday we went back to the beach in Kioni bay – but disliked the dirty water here. The sun soon went in, with very high, thin clouds. We expected a storm or bad weather today, but although hazy, it is fine and hot. Before leaving for the beach, I read Book III of the "Odyssey" – for the first time, now that I have found the right translation. Very interesting.
9.6.96 Kioni
What happened to the 7th and 8th? The days begin to merge in a rather fine fashion. The rhythm is starting to define itself. Awake at 6am to 7.30am. Feed ourselves, then down to the boat, and off to the beach. The heat, even at 8am, is pounding in these days. Fortunately, none of us is burnt, unlike many of our lobster-coloured compatriots. Return about 12.30pm. We eat, rest in the afternoon, perhaps visit a village before the evening meal (Frikes yesterday, Stavros today).
Of course, there are slight variations. Like today, our boat full of water and very slow (engine very low in the water). And as we leave, we lose our anchor. I think I have more respect for the sea than anything: nobody messes with it with impunity. Yesterday, a sinister man in a black scuba suit zoomed up to us in a fast motorboat, asking if we were OK. Er, why? we asked. It turned out the wake from his boat had filled two others…
Today is the clearest we have seen (pity, then, the battery of our camera is flat – idiot me). The view before me is just utterly amazing. Not only is the main island clearly visible, so are the mountains on the mainland. And the view of the sea is, if possible, even more majestic. In fact, I have an increasing impression of this great flat, blue plain between lordly mountains, traversed by boats (and some big ships) like skaters.
Managed to read a couple of the "Cephalonian Tales" by Skiadaresēs. So different from the way I write – and nice for that. Renewed (and belated) sense of the Ionian isles as the most European parts of Greece, not least because they were occupied by the Big Three – Venice, France and England, and so little by the Turks.
To Stavros and the church. Full of the smell of incense, and flies. Crystal chandeliers, nineteenth-century iconostasis, and eggshell blue everywhere. Now in the bar in Stavros. Before, we had gone down a long, 1km track to Polis – a beautiful bay set at the beginning of a flat valley plain. Ten or so fishing boats, a couple of rich yachts, a desolate, semi-ruined café – and a view to die for.
11.6.96 Kioni
The days start to play hop, skip and jump.
Yesterday, after the usual morning and afternoon, we drove to Stavros, and then to Exogi. A road for goats, an eternal up. And so narrow that you can't turn, and thus it seems that all there is to do is to keep going until you fall off the top, or enter heaven (or both). Little to see there, except houses perched along the road, a church (locked) and stunning views to three seas. I love driving to the end, discovering that maps finish, petering out rather than always leading to the next village, that theoretically at least, space may be open…
Afterwards we stopped in Frikes for a drink and a meal. Although Frikes is the main ferry port for several islands, it is smaller than Kioni (but its bay perhaps deeper) and far less picturesque. It is at the end of a valley between two hills, with windmills (disused) on either side. There are fewer houses, and more showing damaged from the earthquake.
Apart from a few people waiting for the ferry (shades of the Orkneys, which seem so distant from here), there were practically no tourists. We ate in Odysseus' bar (where else?), fish (expensive here as everywhere, because of the crazy overfishing), as well as a new sweet, very sweet and greasy.
Today, rose at 6.45am, left at 7.30am to go to Vathy in the cool. A few errands there, notably buying a new battery for the Canon EOS 100 we have : one boo-boo was to let the old one run out last week, which meant no pix here. The second mistake was to let the local tourist shop (run by the daughters of the formidable supermarket woman) try to get it – and fail.
I'm now on the balcony, which, though in the shade, is like an oven. And only mid-June.
The thing we miss most: music – and Radio 3.
More destinations:
Moody's Black Notebook Travels
22.2.90 Luxor
Classic early morning sunrise – or what I take to be one. Durrell's nacreous sky, with palm trees silhouetted against it. Cloudy, textured sky, the Nile not visible. Apparently the train is to arrive on time at about 7am – for the first time (ever?). Still no breakfast. The sunrise turned from rosy haze to the dark red eye of Re – huge and monstrous – then soon turned yellow, then white. The sun does seem a very basic fact already. The north-south dividing line of the Nile probably helped in the sense of journey, of rising and falling, of a mid-point, of cycles. Inevitable that in this land of the sun it should dominate. The clouds burn off.
Off the train, to the Savoy Hotel and – they have a room, or a bungalow at least, although I haven't seen it yet, and can't until noon. So, off for a wander. Along the Nile corniche. Magnificent view across to the Valley of the Kings; I can imagine it does get very hot. Weakly, I am now sitting in Luxor – I should wait, but who could resist? I am trying not to "do" it now, just be. My legs are amazingly tired.
One thing: I feel my interest in the Savoy Hotel was piqued by old van Haag's references to it. This convinces me that a more personalised kind of travel guide/book can succeed. Remember that the exhibits of most museums are the spoils of war/conquests of empire: the Rosetta Stone, for example, passing from France to the British Museum. Note if English were written without vowels – phtgrphr – there would be little loss – mostly neutral vowels. Ancient Egyptian may have been simplified because of collapse from proto-ancient Egyptian – like English.
At the end of the Avenue of Sphinxes – no tourists; just the muezzin. The obsessiveness of the builders of them. The pylon at the end, massive still, the obelisk, the Ramses statues (the bloody flies, ho-hum). The colonnade beyond.
Now on the hotel's terrace beside the Nile – windy, the sun hotter than it seems – fearing a hot time. My room good – not facing the Nile, but south facing around the pool – looks tempting. Everything else usual tacky/non-functioning. Back to the Luxor temple – not Karnak as I erroneously thought, making my task here long. I see now that early morning is the best for reading the Battle of Kadesh – of which I have the transcription. Old Greek graffiti abound. In the first court I have a sense of how it must have looked when complete. Beautiful papyrus columns, calyx tops.
After lunch – if that was a goulash, I'm a Chinaman – out to Karnak, hiring a hantour for E£5 (shades of Andy Warhol). How to formulate an adequate response to this place? I made no attempt to write while I was there – it was enough of a job orienting myself. The first pylon pretty damn impressive. Indeed I was struck throughout by a sense of awe that mere mortals must always have felt upon seeing these godly works. They make Stonehenge look pretty sick. [Ah – Turkish coffee – yummy.] The forecourt too: I could reconstruct the Kiosk of Taharqa with its huge swooping columns. It must have acted as a huge visual brake. The triple shrine of Seti II was interesting – if only because of the thoroughness with which the first hieroglyphs – Set – had been erased. Bad vibes re Osiris?
The Temple of Ramesses III, though small, was powerful. The famous Bubastite Portal a nice reminder of synchronous events – [The sun has turned gold, Re on his way down. Fragrances in the air, the birds' dusk chorus. Liquid yellow now.] – Shoshenq I's victories over the Palestinians – Rehoboam, son of Solomon.
An orange tincture now. In the after image, I have hundreds of Res in my eye/retina. The west bank looks like a Cadbury's Flake – I'm sorry, but it does. Another Turkish coffee… For some reason, there is something about the sinking sun that reminds me of Peter Greenaway… - very European. The first pinks in the evening air; birds going nuts. Perhaps peach-coloured now; an artist [Monet] could study the effects for years. Re is slipping behind the hills, changing boats for his nightly voyage – as Thoth?/moon – it's all so confusing…. Red leaking out along the horizon, an unlookable-at segment. Re is dead. Feluccas serene on the Nile – I must try one… A falcon hovering low over the river – no wonder they took it for a god – Horus, too. No spectacular sunset further, alas.
On the way to Karnak – probably a 15 minute walk – I could make out Hatshepsut's mortuary complex across the Nile: looks pretty damn good. I could also see a few pylons – modern ones… The cab driver beat his poor nag occasionally; my moderations to little effect. No baksheesh. Perhaps I'm unfair. [Parenthetically, try as I might, I could not find Rimbaud's graffiti; annoying.] The Nile very beautiful at dusk, the golden-pink sky reflected in its waters like a sheet of silver.
Now at dinner – seem to be mostly French and Germans here – few Brits, Yanks or Ozzies. So back to my day at Karnak. The hypostyle hall is one of the most impressive things in its sheer massiveness. And still those words. It is so hard for us to look at these buildings in the right way. For the literate, every surface would have been alive, a huge billboard, with the king's name shouted, shouted, shouted. Perhaps Piccadilly Circus or Japanese cities with their neon lights, Las Vegas, are the only equivalents. Our ads the same: except we habituate to those, and many are ugly. Here words use pictures too – a unique fusion - and are mixed with literalistic portrayals. For the uneducated, this double nature must have come through: they were recognisable images, and yet magic – words – too, but mysteries. Perhaps some could have been spelt out – the obvious transliterations. But otherwise it could only have increased the oppressiveness of the ensemble, emphasising the distance between gods and men. In a sense these huge structures justified themselves, praising the godhead that was invoked for their construction.
Moving among the papyrus pillars – papyrus again the foundation for their architecture, as for their later writing and ultimate heritage – I felt a pygmy, wandering among a huge bed of papyrus stalks. The fact that the central rows were roofed must have gob-smacked the proles, as the clerestories would have done. Their surfaces covered with large, rather crude hieroglyphs, the walls too. The perspective varies, constantly shifts as I shifted, a vision of eternity and infinity.
Perhaps the obelisks are appropriate, the only possible follow up. Hatshepsut's is soaring, a simple inscription – plus the Sut health warning at the bottom, staking a claim: "I built this, O ye of the future". Interesting effect that things get smaller as you go in – typically Western art tries to cap what goes before sequentially. Here you feel that you are entering the inner sanctum – like the heart of the pyramid. It is very effective, not at all an anti-climax. More smiting of heathens – lists of the battle of Megiddo – Armageddon. Again, that shock of recognition, of ancient knowledge crystallising as reality on the face of a rock.
I forgot to mention: the colours on the upper parts of the columns and links in the hypostyle hall. At several points colours survive – noticeably in the wall of Hatshepsut – colours 3000 years old. We see the surfaces as covered in pictorial scratches: in fact, they would have been blazes of strong colours – red, green, blues, blacks – another instance of our misreading, our wilful misapprehension of the reality. [Parenthetically, it is rather neat that Ryman's have already entitled this book "Ruled".] The size and single-mindedness of the design, the central axis, are noteworthy. [I am trouble by a trifle: I cannot remember what or where the hotel was in Jodhpur. I can remember the fort, the market, the museum – but not the hotel. Hmm…]
23.2.90 Luxor, west bank
Up at 5.30am, the Nile misty. Down to the public ferry (20 Egyptian piasters) – a cold crossing. Then I hire a bike for E£8. To the ticket office to buy around 10 tickets (ever the optimist). Riding through the lush countryside, the air cool, the sky clear blue, reminds me of Nepal. Hot air balloons circle overhead. Long, long, ride – hard work on the still sore quads. But worth it. I pass the Colossi of Memnon, solitary, shattered guardians. Signs to other antiquities, but I have only one goal: Hatshepsut, where I now sit, facing this extraordinary (albeit reconstructed) building, and its even more extraordinary (unreconstructed) backdrop.
I take a shortcut across a moonscape of rubble and holes. Then it all hove into sight. The huge yellow-grey curtain of rock, shaped as if statues were emerging from it. Below, the strata of rock; then rubble. To the first colonnade. Nice pic of Hatshepsut's obelisk being transported – a bigger boat than I've seen represented elsewhere. I also find unexpectedly, but perhaps unsurprisingly, the cartouche of Ramses II.
Up the ramp. This is the first Egyptian place that used the third dimension – Karnak is stupendous, but all two-dimensional; this is stupendous in a more developed way. Nice to see Anubis getting a chapel for a change. Birth room not as good as at Karnak. I saw the most appalling thing: this bloody Frenchman first rubbed a coloured hieroglyph, and when that proved insufficient, then licked his finger and rubbed. Bastard. Hathor temple good; Hathor head very archaic – like the Narmer tablet. Lots and lots of tourists now it's Ramadan. Punt reliefs a little anti-climactic. Best thing is the overall concept and setting; that wall…
The tomb of Ramose - lovely creamy-white stone, fine reliefs – full of life and its joys. Tomb of Nakht – beautiful, intimate, his glorious wife "chantress of Amun" – the famous singing girls – so casually sensual. High in the hills among the Tombs of the Nobles. Looking for Sennefer. But the view is great – I can understand the village and tombs better – also see the alluvial plain stop dead, sand all around. The sun is high. A haze hangs over Luxor. This place is just honeycombed with openings of tombs.
I find it hard dealing with all the touts and trish-trash pushers – the tiny kids trying to sell their crummy dolls, or else a foreign coin. A tiny sum to me is a huge sum to them; one hit per day could make all the difference. But it would become impossible.
I sit now in the Ramesseum, in the shade of one of the standing Ramses. Deep and cool – I am dreaming of my Turkish coffee back at the Savoy already. The tombs are fascinating for their (post facto) integration into the village. A pit, a door, a tomb. The weather is perfect: the air cool enough to wear a jacket and long trousers. The ground is so white here – and so friable. One of the nice things about hieroglyphs is that as the sun swings around, the etched lines change according to where the shadow falls. At this moment, I sit by the throne that Belzoni (1816) inscribed; the relief of Thoth, old Ibis-head himself, is beautifully clear.
I like the Ramesseum. Partly because it has a very personal feel to it – here, all the cartouches and images of Ramses II make sense. Also its forlornness, its failure in the face of time – Ozymandias and all that (it is a superb piece of statuary – or was once). I suppose too the proportions are right: first pylon (Kadesh again), second pylon (ditto), the Osiris pillars, the great hypostyle hall. Nice to see it covered, it gives a good feel for the earlier actuality of it. The papyrus columns mostly with their two types of capitals, are very elegant. Trees too – junipers (?) - lend pleasant shade and scents – and of course the setting: the great amphitheatre of the hills.
It's funny how a famous graffito – Belzoni, Rimbaud – redeems itself; perhaps I should leave one…. The blue of the sky is unreal: hard and unbroken. It leeches the colours out of everything else, stones especially. Mosques with the Koran, a cathedral with words, are the nearest equivalent to these real books in stone.
Valley of the Queens – hot and desolate – real desert, and doubtless a foretaste of the Valley of the Kings. Prince Khaemwaset II – vibrant colours, such clarity and confidence of form. Queen Tyti less exciting – quite faded. This should remind me again how multicoloured all the temples would have been – huge orgies of colour.
In front of the massive first pylon of Ramses III temple. The hieroglyphs like a shimmering chattering, a sheet of mysteries. The initial impulse behind all these temples was to keep the king alive: because he was the nation – keep him alive, keep the nation alive. Alongside the Colossi of Memnon. Shattered, faceless images, watching nonetheless. The constant backdrop of the hills. They look crippled; one is covered in gaudy red and blue scaffolding, the colour of hieroglyphs.
[Note: the marks on the cover of this book: they can also be found on my Nepal notebook and for the same reasons. They come from the back wheel carrier clamp on the bike – a necessary adjunct to travel, since my perfected equipment has at its heart a Samsonite carrying bag.]
One of the pleasures of travelling is establishing miniature routines. They offer a double delight: that of familiarity, of safety, and of a paradoxical novelty – these are not real routines. For me, these often centre around tea – for example, at Pokhara, at the Imperial Hotel in Delhi, and now here, in Luxor. I am on the patio of the Savoy, the dying sun blah-blah-blah, waiting with trepidation for my (first) Turkish coffee. This after a tiresome and humiliating jog around the town looking for some choccy bickies.
A long day: I arrived on the West Bank around 7.15am, and left about 4.15pm. In the sun most of the time, but body doing well. Ramses III temple in some ways better than the Ramesseum in terms of its completeness; but ultimately a rather different building, hollow at its heart. The battles, impressive as they look, are a sham. Old Ramses III fought few of them. At least Ramses II – for all the he may have fudged the result – did fight at Kadesh, and Tuthmosis at Megiddo. What battles: the fact that we have their accounts – form 3,500 years ago… [My chocolate bix are called "Ramsis".]
These mighty battles fought so long ago - except that they were probably not so mighty – see the poem of Kadesh and its limited captives et al. But even so, the thought of what at the time, to their combatants, doubtless seemed like world wars. But against that, consider the might of Egypt: the greatest civilisation the world had ever known, perfectly poised and balanced; and yet they ultimately lost their empire and their freedom. All the civilisation counted for nothing…
But the temple of Ramses III was superficially a wonder: the whole of the outer walls covered in text and images – apparently the south side has the longest extant hieroglyph inscription. The grooves in the walls: caused by believers extracting dust for potions. Walking back round to the first pylon, I was struck by the sense of size: if I had been rabble coming up to it, I would have felt so inadequate, so worthless compared to this.
Inside, passing through the still standing gate, soaring high above with inscriptions – to the first court. Vivid scenes – including a priest tallying the enemies' willies in a mound – charming. The papyrus columns as impressive as ever – I realise that the swelling at the bottom helps. There is so much colour left – it is hard to imagine this as three thousand or more years old. Also the covered parts – though unfortunately the final hypostyle hall is a wreck, with only fractions of the shafts left.
Perhaps because of its "completeness", Ramses III feels far more repetitious than others – for example the Ramesseum. Endless images of Ramses III smiting this, that, and the other, of him being touched on the lips with the ankh of Atum. Interesting that the palace was mud-bricks: still there, but crumbling – as at the Ramesseum, friable history. And so into the second court, more heads rolling, but a beautiful sight. And such a perfect sky, I can hardly believe it.
In the dining room – only half full – groups have moved on. A long walk along the Nile – a glorious evening – warmer than last night. I pass up to Luxor temple, then all the way back. The ferries cross without lights, the big cruise ships are berthed, preparing for supper. It may be heretical to say so, but I feel that it must be fairly dull way to travel. The boats are doubtless attractive enough, but there is little variety, and you are stuck with a schedule. And the people…
The day is odd here: everyone up early, to bed early. The mornings are very special: the mist over the Nile, the air. I hope to rise with the dawn again tomorrow, out to Karnak.
Back to my visit of the Ramses III temple. I was content just to be there, surrounded by the very strong sense of how it was. Plus the bonus of relatively few tourists. How they must habituate – as I run the risk of doing. I must say that the Egyptian guides seem very thorough – and fluent in their respective languages. For some reason, I was particularly impressed by the bloke spouting in Japanese – shows culturally biased I am.
Going back to the Queens' tombs: it was odd, seemed a lunar landscape. Holes in the earth, into which you plunged to find photographs, almost of other times. Strange to think they were sealed up in the hope that nobody would find them again. And the Tombs of the Nobles too: especially on the hillside, a warren of the dead. I am glad that I found the three musicians in Nakht's tomb: as it happens, I am staring at them now – they adorn my bedroom curtains, a rather bright lilac. I find them very attractive; I keep on imagining them in the flesh, so to speak, or their modern equivalents. The tomb was beautiful, especially Nakht's wife.
A slow cycle ride back to the ferry, passing intensely bright green sugar cane – even a sugar cane railway, as in Fiji. The Memnon Colossi, as above. The Nile plain is very lush: you can see what a miracle it must have represented 4000 years ago, plants from the desert, and how regulation, through the priests and king, was central. The air clearing surprisingly, with the opposite bank's hills visible. I wonder what happened to the balloons?
After handing in my bike – which served me well enough – to the ferry. On it a young woman clearly in pain, and bloodied hither and thither. As I correctly guessed, she had come off her bike, using the loose stones as sandpaper (I sympathise: I did something similar on Santorini, with an impressive motorbike skid on gravel…). When we got over, I offered what assistance I could, but other Ozzies help out. The ferry load was pure Egypt: rural men and women, darkly sitting there, the cake-seller ensconced in the middle of the deck, strange bundles to-ing and fro-ing.
It was a great day, reminding me very strongly of Nepal and Pokhara. Cycling along, the sun pouring down, the wind streaming past, ascending to Hatshepsut's temple, to the Queens' and Nobles' places, discovering the unexpected glory of Ramses III – these memories will live with me while I have any. And yet: there is still something escaping me, the sense of the past – a paradoxical consequence of the excellent state of preservation. I must try harder, feel my way around…
24.2.90 Luxor, Dendera
Up early (5.30am ish). Walk along the Nile to Karnak Temple. Hot air balloon out again. West bank glorious. I enter Karnak, the sun low, cutting through the first pylon; I feel part of a priestly procession. I enter the hypostyle hall: I have it to myself.
Groups have begun to arrive, but the place is still nice (my fingers are cold, I can hardly write – shades of Walks with Lorenzetti). Hatshepsut's obelisk, the side pylons seen through arches – all a bit (?) like Trinity College and its courts – rather grander… In the far distance, the train's huge diminished fifth bellow, a forlorn cry. The hot air balloon floats into view.
Hieroglyphs always seem to fit perfectly, there is never a gap or suggestion of crowding. In St Alban's Cathedral I seem to recall, there is a manuscript – about 10 feet by 8 feet – of the requiem mass. Each part is written larger or smaller; this is the nearest I can think of to hieroglyphs in the West. For example, Hatshepsut's obelisk – such balance, especially the single line of hieroglyphs from halfway. A strange, thundering sound, roaring about: the gods return? I look up – there is the balloon, its burner making monstrous noises. Amazing sight – view must be great – but probably fails to capture the majesty I see – you need the peasant's-eye view. Finally the crowds arrived – so I left, at about 9am. Amazing that I had it so long. The old horse carriage drivers wanted ridiculous money, so I walked.
Then sat in the sun for a while, an early lunch on the terrace, watched the clouds roll in, haggled for a taxi to Dendera – E£40 – and after a fairly hairy drive at 60mph all the way, along the widening Nile valley – impressive hills in the west, more distant on the east – passing through the tip of Qena, I find myself sitting comforted by the majestic pile of Dendera temple itself. And the sun is out.
Roman Mammisi – definitely decadent, the Romans assimilated, not vice versa. Inside dark, like something out of The Magic Flute – which begins to feel more real in its symbolism having seen all this. On the north side, a staircase to the roof: brilliant view of the temple in its blocky harmoniousness and above all the great wall of hills behind, lit up and craggy. To the east I can see the other hills. The Coptic church alongside looks footling. But best of all was the ascent: the turning staircase wall was covered in shallow reliefs, hieroglyphs, but all rather old and grimy – again, perfect Magic Flute stuff. Coptic church also has grooves in its side – holy stone again…
Dendera is a gem. I write now up on the roof, blowy, but a brilliant view. To the west the hills; huge sand mounds, then stratified rocks, yellow turning to pink. A vast string of pylons lope from horizon to horizon, a wonderful lesson in perspective. From up here, you can see the brick walls particularly clearly, girdling the place four-squarely. An excellent sense of the Nilotic plain here, wide enough to support an empire. A curious sunken court – the sacred lake – with six swaying palm trees. Rubble all around the place like a huge rubbish dump.
So, the temple itself. What is striking of course is that it is dark. We are too used [the bronchitic squeals of a poor donkey rend the air: what abject lives they lead] to ruins, open to the glorious sky. But temples were usually covered – this was part of their majesty: they were secret, closed-in places. Dendera is closed in, it retains the mystery. Perhaps this is why it keeps reminding me of Die Zauberflöte: that is, about dark mysteries, about secrets.
The outer hypostyle is majestic, but the inner, because darker, and within the outer, even more powerful. The decorations are frankly unexciting: poor workmanship, feeble hieroglyphs. Interesting to note that most of the figures have been chipped away by the bleedin' Copts – vandals – but they left the hieroglyphs: why? Respect, ignorance? The Hathor heads that do survive – notably in the temple on the roof – tap straight into the Narmer tablet – 3000 years before them – longer than the entire christian era. Things turn full circle…
But generally the images repeat listlessly, in enervation, the tradition burnt out. Perhaps it was ripe for the Arabs with their fire and their new religion [I am being left alone on the roof – again, that feeling of abandonment, as if cast back through the centuries.]
The central sanctum is one of the most atmospheric of the holy places I've been to here. Again, because it is dark, because it really is the holy of holies, hidden away. You can imagine Hathor herself residing here, with her great wise eyes (how primitive all these animal-gods are).
On the east side, another mysterious staircase: long and straight, a steady ascent with knobbly hieroglyphs; on the west, a turning staircase past several rooms/chambers. A great mini-Hathor chapel on the roof, hidden away. Then modern stairs to the raised front. As ever, no protection: a sheer drop. Retro me sathana… It really is quite cloudy now, though the sun has just broken through. No great tragedy – I need to be moderated, but I hope the weather is better in Aswan.
At the front, by the edge, were more graffiti than usual; mostly Brits: James Mangles, Charles Inby (May 1817); T Sproat, CP Parker (1827); John Gordon (1804); and John Malcolm (1822), Holroyd (1837), DW Nash (1836), EK Hume (1836). As I descend, the sun's rays break through the clouds – and form a perfect pyramid…
Downstairs, I am clobbered by one of the guards – who shows me the crypts – beautiful carvings, and fine picture of Hathor – unmutilated. The mutilated stones are pock-marked, as if with a disease. Down in the crypt – down a creaky stair, crouching on all fours – the stench of cigarettes on the guide's breath.
The sanctuary forms a complete room within the building.
Between the first and second hypostyles: light and dark. Hathor has a cheery face. The half-screen at the front works really well, letting in light, but maintaining privacy. The locks of Hathor – blue – hang down like drapes. There is no real awe here, but occult power. The stones on the stairs: worn right down. I find Cleopatra – but no matching cartouche.
Crazed drive back. On the terrace. Though the sun is not setting yet, it is already golden-yellow with the haze. Very high above, swifts careen around. The odd falcon. Dinner is not yet served, and so – at 7pm – along to Luxor Temple. I am sitting in front of the Kadesh text, garishly illuminated by sodium, making the stone look like a huge orange ice lolly. The whole place is ghostly. A clear night now, stars spangling it brilliantly. To the south wall of the first court: where I find the ancient representation of the temple itself, flags a-flutter. Ramses II is so clearly the key – no wonder Mailer based "Ancient Evenings" around him. In retrospect it does convey the details well and painlessly. I think it fails to capture the majesty, the sheer sense of empire.
25.2.90 Luxor, west bank
Up early again, across to west bank. Hire bike, but along to Seti I temple this time. Nice – though nothing impressive like the others. No other tourists – but there are archaeologists, and lots of fellahin digging holes, wheeling barrows. It's gonna be hot today, methinks. Up to the crest of the hill between Valley of the Kings and west bank. The Valley itself is scorched rock, a barren, dry Lake District.
Ramses I: simple but good. Each god's attributes are like the iconography of saints. I find Osiris, his skin green/blue from death, wrapped in a mummy's shrouds, the most affecting. Tuthmosis III – a real warren. At the end of a defile, up stairs, down stairs, along corridor. To the antechamber – strange, quickly-drawn images – a list of hundreds of gods. Total silence. In the tomb chamber, more line drawings rather than paintings. Eerie. Some of the text slants very oddly. Tawsert and Setnakh – a nice contrast: long with gentle gradient. Again, Osiris memorable. Seti's tomb – beautiful low reliefs – and walls of hieroglyphs – including rough sketches – still waiting for the chisel. A light red. Looking to the entrance, the light catches the hieroglyphs – like a crazy wallpaper. An unknown mummy, dried to a crisp. The white stone just begs to be caressed – or touched – it is almost sensual. It is strange standing outside: looking down a huge black shaft; bright rock all about, brilliant blue sky above.
Horemheb – not a name one meets often – unusual cartouche. Great scene with Ma'at, Anubis, Hathor, Horus, Osiris. Tomb very long, very very deep; Other side has Isis – with throne on head. Beautiful in her white dress to the breasts. Amenhotep II: deep, very spare design inside, blue tonality. Very austere. Ramses VI – the most impressive in size. Lots of unusual drawing – occult stuff. It seems appropriate to finish with Tutankhamun – which in some ways is about tourists – the queues to get in are ridiculous. Fine wall coverings – but all so small – footling really. Enough.
In the rest house, I think I am getting addicted to 7-Ups. Tutankhamun was amazingly feeble, one room, and the sarcophagus and a few walls nothing compared to the other tombs. This place must be a real cauldron of god in summer. The heat from the bodies in the tombs is oppressive too – must be ruining the paintings. Generally, here and throughout Egypt, the sites have been very well preserved and restored – but not protected from us, alas.
Valley of the Kings looks like a huge quarry, with an odd causeway of white winding through it. Before the tombs were disturbed it must have been theoretically an extraordinary place: stuffed with the good and great of hundreds of years – a Westminster Abbey au naturel. [It is such bliss to put my deeply pretentious/expensive Ray-Bans back on.] One thing Tutankhamun does emphasise is what a tip it must have been when discovered. The room so small, so many items. The position of Tutankhamun is certainly rather drole: right under Ramses VI – no wonder it was lost.
I sit now perched high on the crest between Valley of the Kings and the west bank. A plane is coming into land; the Nile stretches out in one enormous straight band; I can see the opposite hills for miles. The great temples – Ramesseum and Ramses II are before me like child's building models. The Colossi of Memnon are dolls.
Halfway down to Hatshepsut's tomb – the dust is playing havoc with my eyes – the wind is getting up and a few clouds are appearing again. The rock face behind Hatshepsut's looks like a literal curtain with folds; also I can see lots of Dantesque squirming figures as if struggling to emerge. Grit in my mouth, too.
In the Ramesseum after the worst bike-ride of my life – blinded by grit. As well as the Battle of Kadesh, there is the story of Dapur. In fact the seizure of a city by storming must have been fairly innovative. In Ramses III, second court. The osirid columns, in different stages of disrepair, look like Matisse's sequence of female nudes from behind: meditations on a theme.
I have been sitting staring mindless at the outside south wall, the huge hieroglyphic poem, the distant hunting scene, the sheer – still ungraspable for me – immensity of this achievement. There are worse things to do on a Sunday afternoon in February…
Coffee on the terrace – then out on a felucca – haggled down from E£30 to E£8 plus E£2 baksheesh – still too much. On "Rendezvous"… Sun sinking, wind "stiff". Two on the boat, talking in Arabic – that coloniser/colonised again. Best sunset yet – Aten a golden liquid globe as we pull across to the west bank. The hills I climbed today now turning blue – a Leonardoesque chiaroscuro. River very quiet now – a few feluccas upstream. Honking madness on the east bank. Aten turns orange behind palm trees. Now deeper red, the cloud back to pink – the light reflected in cabin windows of the moored Nile cruise boats. I should think travelling by boat – of whatever size – gets rather limiting after a while – this time period is far more satisfying for me. The wind is up again, the ropes creak – I can see the attraction of sea writing – all that evocation. Aten gone – the sky like a washed bandage, sun-dyed and faded, the colours turning grey.
No birds – but this morning, a flight flew over – long and almost straight – just the odd straggler spoiling the line. A huge diagonal. In the Nile – here as in Cairo – the odd piece of floating greenness – it looks like some lily. It gets caught around the docked ships, stagnant with flotsam and jetsam, trapped with it all.
26.2.90 Esna, Edfu, Kom Ombo
Up early, then along to Karnak for a quick farewell. What a place. Then hire taxi down to Aswan. First stop Esna – dusty, fly-blown place. But in the middle of the souk, a huge pit – and a miniature Dendera. Amazing. But the sense of degradation of style inside – coarse hieroglyphs as if they no longer meant anything. Nice flowery capitals to the columns, though.
Beyond Esna, the desert really asserts itself. The road on the east bank is the boundary between it and greenery. The Nile's inundation must have seemed truly miraculous to the ancient Egyptians, life from death. Everything would revolve around it. We pass some mounds that could be crumbling mud pyramids, plus ugly factories belching smoke unceasingly. The rocks of the surrounding cliffs beg for tombs.
Edfu. Impressive, even in its late (only 2000 years old) Ptolemaic trappings. Interesting that hieroglyphs have gone into the background. Now images dominate – shift of emphasis. In the court of offering: the hieroglyphs look almost Chinese – they have lost their precision. Entering the outer hypostyle is very like Dendera – gradual descent into darkness, into mystery. But, my word, how depressingly bad the hieroglyphs are…
To Kom Ombo, the Nile narrowing greatly, the vegetation losing its greenness, everything drier. OK, a good ruin. Also for its location – not some squalid circus pit, but on the promontory by the Nile. Perhaps that is the main difference – the aesthetics of the site. This late style reminds me of High Victorian Gothic – all gilt and fiddly bits.
What a day, which I am trying to redeem with a turkish coffee at a restaurant on the Nile – on a pontoon to be exact – every time people move, the whole thing rocks.
Anyway, my worst nightmare fulfilled. I get to the hotel – Abu Simbel – only to be told that the last room had just – one minute ago – been taken – the offenders were still filling in the form. Then a hunt around – to about five others – none could offer more than two days – even tried Kalabash Cataract – full and surly. So two days it is. After that...well, there was one other, too grubby to contemplate, but they may have a better room later. Ho-hum. Aswan itself looks pleasant enough – a long corniche giving a Mediterranean feel.. The sun is descending behind Elephantine, the feluccas are out.
Driving through the arid desert today made me long for Cornwall. Perverse, me?
The sun catches the Aga Khan's mausoleum high on the hill opposite. At least I have a flight booked for Abu Simbel tomorrow, out at 1.30pm and back at 4.15pm. I thought I should try all modes of transport to get the context. It will be nice to see the desert from above. The Oberoi Hotel in front of me is an ugly construction, like a water tower – Greenaway would like it. There is Euro pop in the background; how can I say it? Nice. I'm obviously getting homesick. The elegant ballet of the feluccas. Lovely synths – I'm so tempted to get one.
Along the corniche, trees with huge red blossoms like rhododendrons that fall heavily with a dull squelch. The pavement is littered with this prodigality. Today's situation reminds me of Udaipur – when I read "Ancient Evenings" – and was rather ill. Nice effect as the feluccas' sails curtain the sun briefly. The almost-view – if I stick my head out – reminds me of the hotel in Queenstown. Because of its resort air, this doesn't really feel like the end of an empire/land/country. The sun hits the hills, liquid gold. Re is gone for me. A flock of birds, far away, like a changing dust cloud, peppering the sky.
Hell's bells – a kingfisher just dived in – and came out with a fish. Mosquitoes out. Watching now, as I watched last night: the felucca sailors climb the mast and pack the sail away (technical term needed). A long walk back through the souk – the best I've came across in Egypt – lively, real – with smells: incense, spices. Forms again – the pyramids of oranges, the subtle variation in dates, the baskets of deeply-coloured spices. Nearest to India yet.
27.2.90 Aswan, Abu Simbel
Up to a slightly unsettled day: where will I be tomorrow? Yesterday evening I bought a ticket for Friday to Asyut – so I need two more nights somewhere. To Abu Simbel at 1.30pm, so a quick trip here first.
A walk along the corniche, the public ferry to the island – I get lost in a maze of narrow streets – then to the old town. Not much to see. Nilometer, Temple of Khnum. Good to see the Ramses II cartouche even here. Lovely view of Aswan, Cataract Hotel etc. Also of Elephantine rocks at the water's edge.
Still nothing fixed – though lots of "come back laters". It is strange how the aspect of a tour is transformed according to whether you have or do not have somewhere to stay. Yesterday, as we drove around, the place was nothing but a hot unfriendly place, without form or beauty. Sitting at the Saladin floating restaurant again, I could – for a moment – savour the sun and the tranquillity.
To Aswan airport early, to get a good seat. But thwarted by bureaucracy – no seat allocated. In other words, a mêlée. I sit now in the deep shade of the outside cafe, waiting to get in line. On the way here, via the old dam – the Brit one. Fine lake to the left, straggly water to the right. Then into desert – the airport is a long way out for some reason. Real desert, terrifying. A forest of pylons carrying electricity from the dam away into the shaking distance. It's gonna be hot in Abu Simbel.
Travelling freely really is about the will: I wish it, and it happens; with tours, you are without volition – you just do as you are told. The two could not be further apart.
Well, this is Egypt – a delay of one hour – at least. I stood for 45 minutes – yo – and now sit down, and will probably lose my window seat.
Amazing flight. It confirms my worst fears about the desert: utterly implacable – definitely Empire's End. Pure sand – just a tiny road, the Nile a distant presence. A few dunes, later, strange rocks – this is how the world will end – dust, sand, heat, nothing. This is how Egypt ends. How all empires end. Nearer Lake Nasser – huge, but drying up – there were clear signs of old mud – former levels – this last imperial folly too is a failure. As we fly in, I see the temples – looking like sand castles made by a child – pretty one side, nothing the other – a strange jelly mould. The statues stare pointlessly at the lake, face east to the rising sun. Sitting in the coach – the sun is pitiless – at 3.30pm – deadly rays.
Temple of Nefertari. Striking facade – the striding king and queen – last rays of light still catching it. Inside, good Hathor heads on pillars. Strange: even though the work throughout is rather crude, it has far more vigour than any Ptolemaic stuff. Colours partly preserved. Good to see queens represented so much. Striking too the pose of the king smiting sundry baddies – the power of the legs' fulcrum (a triangle, the straight line of the arms, the twist of the hips – pure karate).
Outside, a smile plays across his features. To the big one, where Ramses seems not to be smiling so much. Lovely baboons up top. The poor man is covered with scratched graffiti, mostly Westerners – what a humiliation. Hittite marriage stela – practically indecipherable.
Inside, powerful effect of osirid columns – some Upper Egypt, some Upper and Lower. That same pose: smiting the enemy. The king attacks a Syrian fort – and he does with a lively image of what it looked like. But what an immense distance to travel – the penalty of empire. Something I realised looking at the Syrians: they are bearded; ancient Egyptians never (?) are. And today, you rarely see bearded Egyptians.
In the side chamber, I feel the first stirrings of that ancientness I sought. Perhaps because it is crudely lit. Everything else is too well-preserved and looked after – I have lost their ancientness. They need to look more like the caves of Lascaux, or old castles. I need some of their fear, their awe: electric lights banish this. Torches – flaming light – would be better. Also the unevenness (in castles) of the walls and ceiling helps. I feel their uncertainty in the world. Perhaps I need the junk of Tutankhamun's tomb. I can relate these side chambers to my idea of the Philistines/Assyrians stuff of the same era; but not the others. The fact is, the battles live more for us than offerings to Amun. Therefore Ramses II lives more than any other.
Superb effect as you emerge from the innermost: bright light, the sky, a glimpse of the water. Designed to catch the early sun, February 21/October 21. To illuminate the four statues. The Battle of Kadesh; again. But reversed in direction – whatever the reality, one of the most powerful scenes in all Egypt. The mighty king, the confusion of war, the great city portrayed in some detail. I read the "Battle of Kadesh" text in its presence. In the bottom right hand side the signature of its author, his own pleas for immortality. Which he has.
Outside. Unfortunately the building blocks look very silly – like some child's construction set. The hills on the opposite side of the lake: huge wind-blasted cones, moonscapes.
Window seat again: real blood-red sunset – sinking in the haze, a huge red band swathing the sky. The desert as frightening as its shadows lengthened.
1990 Egypt I: Cairo, Saqqarah, Giza
1990 Egypt III: Asyut, Kharga, El Amarna
1990 Egypt IV: Alexandria, Wadi El Natrun, Suez
More destinations:
