Egypt (3 page)

Sure enough, not long after, tragedy struck.

The dig was paid for by an Englishman named Lord Carnarvan. Without his money, Howard Carter wouldn’t have been able to pay all the workers to do the excavating, so I suppose it could be said that Lord Carnarvan was the man responsible for the dig. Well, the canary incident didn’t scare Howard Carter or Lord Carnarvan. They weren’t going to stop digging for anything and kept right on until they found King Tut’s burial chamber. Five months later, Lord Carnarvan died, “mysteriously.”

Here’s the thing: I don’t care to die mysteriously, or by any explainable means either. I still have lots of living to do. Lots of things to see and people to meet and places to go. Call me selfish, but there are few things more important to me than
me.

Now, I’m sure all this stuff would sound totally ridiculous to someone who doesn’t believe in superstitions, but unfortunately I’m a superstitious kind of guy and in my mind an ancient curse is just the sort of thing that could bring this fellowship to a disastrous end.

Let’s hope I’m wrong.

FEBRUARY 22, 3:56 PM EET (EASTERN EUROPEAN TIME)
CAIRO INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT
20° CELSIUS, 68° FAHRENHEIT


The first thing I noticed as I stepped off the plane in Cairo were the men with guns. Four soldiers in black fatigues walked along the beltway. Each was holding a submachine gun. Another group of security officers dressed in white uniforms and armed with pistols on their hips ushered passengers towards immigration and customs.

“As-salamu Alaykum,” Gannon said to one of the men as we passed. “Cool gun,” he said to another.

Neither man responded.

“Stop talking, Gannon,” I said. “Can’t you see that they don’t want you bothering them?”

“I’m just trying to be friendly.”

“What you call friendly they probably call annoying.”

My dad, Gannon, and I boarded the tram that would take us to the border patrol. My mom had to finish up her post-flight duties and planned to meet us at the hotel.

“So, boys,” my dad said, “how are you feeling after that nice, long flight?”

“Surprisingly, not so bad,” Gannon said.

“I feel pretty good, too,” I said.

No matter how far away, I always feel good when I arrive in a new destination. The adrenaline just starts flowing. It’s that first introduction to a different landscape, language, or culture. It gives me a little boost. There’s so much to take in that it overcomes any exhaustion I feel from the long flight.

Exiting the tram, we were led by more guards to baggage claim and then directed to a line where we waited to pass through immigration and customs. When it came our turn, the agents were very thorough. Our equipment was inspected multiple times, and our clothes were rummaged through, wadded into balls, and tossed haphazardly back into our bags.

“Don’t worry about refolding anything,” Gannon said, sarcastically. “I’ll do it later.”

They simply ignored him, stamped our passports and waved us through.

Dr. Aziz was waiting in the airport lobby to greet us. A stocky man, with graying hair and a friendly face, Dr. Aziz is known for his charming personality. Wherever he goes, he’s the center of attention. He must have recognized us from our application photos, because as soon as we came across the lobby he jumped from his chair.

“Gannon and Wyatt!” he shouted happily.

We made our way to him and shook hands.

“Well, well, well,” he continued. “If it isn’t the talented twin explorers, in the flesh.”

Caught off guard by his enthusiastic welcome, all we could think to do was laugh.

“Dr. Mohammed Aziz, at your service,” he said and bowed humbly. “Welcome to Egypt, my friends!”

His energy was contagious.

“It’s a pleasure to be here,” I said. “I can’t tell you how excited we are to be a part of this archeological expedition.”

Standing behind Dr. Aziz were a boy and a girl, both about our age.

“I would like you to meet the other fellowship winners,” Dr. Aziz said. “This is James, all the way from Alice Springs, Australia. His work to date has focused on the history of the Aborigines. He has personally found human artifacts in the Lake Mungo area of Australia that date back 40,000 years!”

“It’s the land where time began,” James said. “How do you do, mates? It’s great to meet you.”

“Likewise,” I said, shaking his hand.

“And this lovely lady is Serene,” Dr. Aziz said. “A promising young archeologist born and raised right here in Cairo. She was part of the crew that helped discover the Valley of the Golden Mummies.”

“I read all about it,” I said. “What an amazing discovery.”

“Thank you,” Serene said. “I’ve been fortunate enough to work with some of Egypt’s greatest archeologists. The credit, or course, belongs to them.”

“Is it Serene, as in the word meaning calm and peaceful?” Gannon asked.

“That’s right,” she said.

“What a beautiful name.”

She had long dark hair, olive skin, and emerald-colored eyes that were so unique they demanded your attention. She wore blue jeans, a coat, and a loose-fitting scarf around her neck.

“What does Gannon mean?” she asked.

“It’s Gaelic,” Gannon said. “It means fair-haired one.”

“Fits you perfect, mate!” James said with a laugh.

“Yeah, I guess it does.”

“May we all have success on our expedition,” Dr. Aziz said. “In the end, I hope you will have had a wonderful experience in our country.”

“Doctor,” my dad said, patting Gannon on the shoulder, “this one’s a little superstitious. He’s afraid you might all get cursed.”

“Come on, Dad?” Gannon said, embarrassed. “Did you really have to bring that up?”

My dad laughed. Like me, he doesn’t give much merit to superstitions and likes to tease Gannon, who, of course, buys into them wholeheartedly.

“You need not worry about ancient curses,” Dr. Aziz said. “Do you know why?”

“Why?” Gannon asked.

“Because as an archeologist, there is nothing you can do to protect yourself against them. It is true, many archeologists have experienced tragic ends. Were they cursed? Maybe. Some certainly believe so, but scientifically speaking, there is no way to prove it. Coping with your superstitions is simply part of the job.”

“Feel better, Gannon?” my dad asked.

“Oh, sure,” Gannon said. “Much better.”

Dr. Aziz laughed.

“This I promise,” he said. “The adventure that lies before you will be the thrill of a lifetime. Very few people your age get the opportunity to see the places you are going to see. And if we have success, our findings might very well land all of your names in the history books!”

NILE HOTEL
7TH FLOOR, ROOM #721


Okay, we just arrived this afternoon, but my head is already spinning with the sights and sounds of Cairo so before I hit the sack I need to write down some of my initial thoughts on the city, and I have a few.

First of all, it’s big. Like, bursting-at-the-seams big. According to Wyatt, at the last census there were 17 million people in the greater Cairo metropolitan area, making it the biggest city in Africa and one of the most densely populated cities on the planet. So, goes without saying, this city is swarming with people—hordes making their way along busy sidewalks, masses mingling in the square, crowds on every street corner—basically, people everywhere!

Bustling downtown Cairo

Second, Cairo is a city where old and new exist side by side. Literally, ancient mosques dating back thousands of years stand right alongside modern skyscrapers. Th ere are groups of women in traditional black robes walking next to women dressed in the latest fashions. Scattered here and there among the traffic are donkey-drawn carts toting all kinds of stuff—caged chickens and pigeons, piles of fruit and vegetables, or in some cases, entire families. I also saw some goat herders moving through the pedestrians downtown as casually as if they were on a farm. And speaking of farms, I saw one of those too, a shanty kind of thing built in an alleyway next to a car dealership with a makeshift fence holding a dozen or so sheep and a boney cow.

Third, traffic is, well, how should I put this? Okay, it stinks. I’m not kidding, the exhaust from all of the cars is so thick at times it made me feel like I was going to vomit. And judging by the way people drive, I don’t think there are traffic laws in Cairo. I mean, if there are, people totally ignore them. Drivers here make their own rules and communicate with their horns. As far as I could tell, there’s a code. One honk means, “move it.” Two honks means, “Seriously, move it.” Three honks means, “I’m getting impatient, so, please, move it for real!” Finally, one long, hard blast of the horn means, “I’m very aggravated that you are ignoring me and if you don’t move it right this second we are going to have a problem, you and I!”

I can’t imagine getting my driver’s license in a city like Cairo. For real, I don’t think I’d pass the driver’s test. Then again, maybe you don’t even need a license here. Maybe they just let anyone get behind the wheel and that’s part of the problem.

Cairo traffic

Oh, and here’s something I’ve never seen before: Th e crosswalk signs don’t show a “walker” when it’s safe to cross. Th ey show a “runner.” No joke. Th ere’s a little guy made of white lights that runs when it’s time to cross, because if people don’t run, they’ll get run over.

By the time we reached the hotel, I felt totally nauseous and staggered out of the car and took a bunch of long, deep breaths. Th e air outside the hotel wasn’t much better than the exhaust-filled taxi, but it definitely felt good to be on stable ground.

“Esmak Eh?” I asked the cab driver.

“Mohammed,” he answered.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said. “I’ve met four Egyptian men today and every one of them has been named Mohammed.”

“You’re in Egypt,” he said. “Almost all men are named Mohammed.”

“Oh, you speak English?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Well, Mohammed. I’m going to be honest, I thought I might throw up in the back of your cab during that wild ride, but I will say this, you’re one of the best drivers I’ve ever met. How you got us to the hotel without getting in ten accidents is nothing short of a miracle.”

“As you say in America,” he said, “piece of cake.”

We gathered all of our stuff, shook Mohammed’s hand, and checked in. We’re staying at The Nile Hotel for a couple nights. It’s on the banks of the river right across the street from the Cairo Zoo. From the balcony of our room, I can see a bunch of hippos swimming around in a pond. No joke. I even heard a lion roar, which is a totally crazy thing to hear in a city like this. Anyway, from Cairo, we’ll be going south to the town of Luxor and the Valley of the Kings for archeological training. Then we’ll make our way to an excavation site in the desert somewhere near Alexandria where we will join the search for Cleopatra.

I didn’t sleep at all on the plane to Egypt and I’ve got that weird long-flight, numb-body, foggy-headed thing going on. To tell the truth, I’m about to fall flat on my face, so, yeah, time for bed.

Goodnight, Cairo….

FEBRUARY 23, 2:32 PM
CAIRO, EGYPT, 30° 01′ N 31° 13′ E
25° CELSIUS, 77° FAHRENHEIT
SKIES CLEAR, WIND CALM


We woke this morning before sunrise to the sound of the Islamic Call to Prayer. Five times a day, the call to prayer, or adhan, is broadcast from loud speakers throughout the Arab world. The broadcast calls Muslims to pray, giving thanks for all of life’s blessings. I stepped onto our balcony to listen to this melody. It was almost hypnotic as it echoed through the city streets. To the east, the sun was coming up on the horizon. Below us, the Nile River flowed, a tranquil, slow-moving waterway in an otherwise bustling city.

Since the fellowship doesn’t officially begin until tomorrow, Gannon and I decided to check out the Khan al-Khalili Bazaar, one of the oldest markets in the world. They sell just about everything you can imagine here; from spices to pottery, jewelry to belly dancing costumes, perfume to replica artifacts. In almost every shop you can find an impressive collection of tiny pyramids, sphinx statues, and mini-sarcophaguses. Without question, the most popular gift is anything that has to do with King Tut. There are pencils, pens, posters, plates, T-shirts, baby toys, and just about anything else you can stamp the young King’s face on.