Sunrise to Sunset

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    In Arabic, Sahara means "desert," so nobody in Egypt calls it the Desert Desert. It's just "Sahara," evoking a hellish, monochromatic moonscape of unforgiving travel and lost kingdoms. I watched the sun rise over Sahara from the back seat of our passenger van, window curtain slanted to the side to witness the spectacle. It burned softly, the size of a chickpea, before stretching up, filling the sky.

    We were prepared for +100F heat soon to come, partnered with hot abrasive gusts. No comfort in this forecast, banish any idea of a "cool breeze." It would be brutal. Once again, we had started pre-dawn to avoid the midday inferno. My tour group was on our way to the village of Abu Simbel to explore the twin monuments there, great temples to honor Ramses II and his (favorite) wife Nefertari. One fifty miles across the eastern edge of Sahara. Our ride required a permit to use the clear, modern paved road and two drivers, in case one was unable to drive for some reason. In other words: we ain't coming to get you.

    The drive was long but uneventful. The temples were beyond spectacular. The third time in my life a sight has left me breathless. (Vietnam Memorial in Washington; Michaelangelo's David in Florence; now Abu Simbel.) My companions walked around and within the monuments carved into the base of mountain (like Mount Rushmore, but with elaborately decorated rooms behind the exterior!). We genuflected, we photographed, we even walked like Egyptians for a silly snapshot, and then we headed back home through the unforgiving Sahara. 

    In the afternoon, we moved from our wonderful hotel room to the Amwaj-Livingstone riverboat for a three-day cruise down the Nile River to the city of Luxor. Before dinner, Hany arranged for our little party to have cocktails aboard a felucca: a long sailboat that zigs and bags across the wide river. No motor, nothing more than the lapping of the waves.

    With Sukor as our pilot on the tiller and a young first mate wrangling the sails and rigging, we drifted silently on the breeze. This time, the wind offered everything refreshing and relaxing, as it should. Nothing harsh, nothing fierce, nothing Sahara. As we watched the sun set behind the Nubian hills on the western bank, I pondered the life of the Egyptian: caught between the soul-crushing desert and the life-affirming river. 

    Between travel and relaxation. 

    Between sunrise and sunset.

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