Among the delights of our current way of living is that weekends take on themes and routines that never become stale. Here, in Egypt, living within an easy stroll of the Valley of Kings, what is there to do but to visit tombs of a weekend.
We began with a lunch of koshary at a roadside stall. Our main driver, not the one from yesterday but the one who drives a rickety old Suzuki van with photos of Mohammed Salah on either window, has clearly come to realise, with evident pleasure, that we are not interested in the overpriced restaurants for tourists but in what the local people consider good. He presented us with the best fateer a few days ago, and today took us for sugarcane juice, it being the season.
We did a bit shopping for supplies – a nice cardamom coffee from the place I discovered on the map and where the barrista (if that is the correct term) was delighted to see us again and gave the GF an initially hesitant but ultimately enthusiastic high five. I bought some cardamom coffee from there, as I’ve got in the habit of a cup every morning, albeit with milk which the barrista showed himself true to his tribe by expressing profound disapproval. The coffee shop is a very local place, with a couple of grinders and plastic containers full of beans; some indoor seating in a low-ceilinged room with kilim-covered cushions, and outdoor seating on the side of the road. We sat outside this time, and watched people go by, including a rather sweet interaction when a young buck on a motorcycle with two of his wingmen perched behind him drew up to a young man with Down’s syndrome, and had a friendly, familiar chat, with some joking and laughter, all with an air of real tenderness.
We then bought some tickets from the Antiquities office. As usual the queue was minimal: in front of us was only a disapproving Frenchwoman with her young teenaged son. She disapproved of the woman in front of her, a Chinese woman, who wanted to pay by cash when the regulation is to pay by card. The Chinese woman got the staff to let her pay by cash and put it on her own card, and returned about five minutes later, when I was at the front of the queue, demanding that they return the excess they had charged: ‘you change me!’ she demanded.
We went to the tombs of Roy and Shiroy, names that are a pleasure to say aloud. There we were let into the tombs by a startled young official who was clearly unused to visitors, as these tombs are set off from the other sites. Shuroy in particular had a real Indiana Jones feeling, as the light was not working, and large eroded statues faced each other at the entrance.
Our driver had meanwhile disappeared, so as we waited for him we took a look at one of the many alabaster factories. Awful places, though I was drawn to a large glow-in-the-dark camel.
Then to Deir al Medina, where the GF had been previously, though not in the tomb we visited, which it turned out was being restored by team led by a frantic Frenchwoman who was running low on oxygen and time, as the tomb was very close and the team had 3 days to finish. Nevertheless, she graciously let us look.
Then to the temple of Deir al Medina, a pretty little structure which felt a bit like a smaller version of Edfu yesterday, in that it had four walls and most of a ceiling, and very nice frescos. I wonder how it was decided which imagery would go where. Finally, a rapid tour of three more tombs, one very refined and beautiful, and one in the distinctive monochrome style which I understand is specific to this site.