Cruising the Nile : A solo journey

It is hard to describe a cruise down the Nile when so much has been written about it. But you don't have to do the usual tourist circuit visiting ancient temples. Anjana Das find out a different way to course this enchanting river.

Half of it is imagined the other half is in the heart, like all things Egyptian. I waited for a long while to find someone to cruise down the Nile with. In the end I packed my bags and left to the train station alone, and there began my journey.

Egypt's largest train station at Ramses square can be described as a moveable feast to the eyes. Not very different from any other in India, except for the imposing shadow of Ramses II (3,200 years old) standing in silence over the milling crowds. From the over bridge that leads to the station, the marketplace was colourful.

A pyramid of bright orange carrots heaped on a donkey cart was being manoeuvred between a Peugeot taxi and a cyclist carrying a load of fresh bread. Street hawkers selling everything from boxes of tissue to 'imported' watches kept a watchful eye for cops, as men from the clothes stall sat by the pavement laughing over a cup of black tea.

Inside the train station, a line of soldiers in uniform stood by the ticket counter, going home for their much-longed-for leave. A group of tourists were being given their last briefing of the day by their guide, wake up call for tomorrow on the train. As the train whistled its way down south to Luxor, buildings gave way to fields of corn and sugarcane. Egypt's cultivable land lies along a narrow fertile strip on both sides of the Nile, as far as the waters can reach. It makes up less than 5% of the country. The rest of the 95% remains inhospitable deserts and mountains.

We rolled into the kingdom of the Pharaohs as the sun rose to a glorious morning behind the Hatshepsut temple. Luxor used to be the capital, then. I hailed a taxi from the train station that took me along the Nile away from where most of the ships were moored.

There are close to 300 ships catering to every category and budget, cruising between Luxor and Aswan on the Nile. They follow a fixed itinerary of 4 nights from Luxor to Aswan or 3 nights on the return journey, with guided tours covering all the main monuments along the way. While this is what majority of the 6 million tourists to Egypt prefer to do, there are several other possibilities.

Fishing trips on the Lake Nasser are conducted during the months of April/ May and October/ November but is restricted to a handful of tour companies. Few others arrange private sailboats to cruise the river for a more rustic experience but it is largely by word of mouth.

Guarded from view, the shaded path led down to a garden by the riverside where the dahabeya, El Bey was lounging. Dahabeyas of former times used two sails, one on either end of the boat and were largely dependent on the current or the wind to reach its passengers to their destinations. In times of crises, the tug boat that always followed along, would be used.

Resting my valise under the thick canopy of trees I felt like the 70's traveller, Marianne Brocklehurst. We would be sailing south against the flow of the Nile. That meant that the usual four days itinerary to Aswan would be stretched out into a more leisurely week-long voyage.

Our quarter was a far cry from the basic accommodation past voyagers found themselves in. The cabins with ensuite bath may have been smaller but they felt warm and cosy. There was hot water, a library with board games and music.

The anteroom was furnished in dark brown and rich with the smell of polished wood. Sun filtered in through the lattices of the mashrabiya windows making patterns on the wooden floor. I walked up to the canopied sun deck and scanned the horizon. Between the tall reeds of papyrus that grew on the shallow edges was a small canoe. A boy stood fishing on it. Egyptian life has always been entwined around the Nile, whether it is making a living out of it, farming along it, drinking from it, washing in it, some even building their homes on it, like the houseboats afloat on the Nile in Cairo.

There was one temple among the others on the west bank of the Nile, that I did not want to miss - the mortuary temple of Medinet Habu. It is not part of the usual tourist's itinerary, by late afternoon there was hardly a soul. I could spend all evening walking through the courtyards admiring the deeply cut hieroglyphics, on the walls and ceilings for which it is noted. Some of the original colours including a brilliant blue, are still visible; defying time and natural calamities (an earthquake in 27 BC destroyed a part of it).

Suddenly out of the shadows sprung a figure hailing me down, "Madam, I show you antiquity." I understood he was offering his guiding services 'for free' and eventually he did take me around to see some of the most magnificent reliefs, I could have easily missed. In return I offered him the customary baksheesh.

Wandering the tree lined promenade by the corniche, I found a café that served shisha with coca cola and sprite flavors, in addition to the usual apple and mint. "We get all kinds of people here," clarified the chap serving at the coffee shop when I pointed to the 'exotic' list on his menu. I asked if he knew of anyone who did a hot-air balloon trip over Luxor by night. The next one was at dawn the following morning.

I did some homework to find the boat that would ferry us across the river to the west bank. And next morning we were a van load of excited people bumping along the short ride to the lift-off point, in the middle of a farm. The next hour offered a perspective that I would never see, again. From high above, the mountains formed a spectacular backdrop to the Hatshepsut temple cradled in its basin. Sprawling temple complexes that took half a day to tour, looked impossibly miniscule. Canals snaked through green farm lands nourishing them with water.

The worker's dwellings were built over and among the ruins of ancient tombs, the present merging with the past. The rising sun cast long shadows over the peasants working in the fields. They looked up and waved and we waved back.

Later that afternoon, as we set sail I settled into the wicker chair on the deck and wondered how different life could have been, between then and now. I remembered an article about women in ancient Egypt, written by James C. Thompson based on interpretations of hieroglyphics and other manuscripts. 'One document shows an enterprising woman purchasing a slave for 400 deben,' he writes. 'She paid half in clothing and borrowed the rest from her neighbours. It is likely the woman expected to be able to repay the loan by renting out the slave. Another time, a sort of receipt was found showing that one woman received several garments, a bull and sixteen goats as payment for 27 days work by her slave. Those who could not raise the money to buy a slave of their own sometimes joined with neighbours to share a slave.' That would have probably been the beginning of the part-time maid as we know now !

How different, yet how so similar, I thought as I munched on the aish and grilled fish - the delicious Nile perch stuffed with minced garlic, thyme and cumin. A French friend, who lived in Cairo, always came back from his frequent Luxor trips with bags of aish.

"Ohh they are different," he used to exclaim. And so they were. The wheat is kneaded with yeast and left in the hot sun to ferment. This sour dough is then divided into balls and baked in half open hearths. What comes out is a delicious, puffed bread eaten best with tagins and salads.

Our halts on the way took us past many magnificent edifices each one greater than the other in splendour. But it was the Philae temple that was the most captivating. Standing alone on an island surrounded by rocky boulders it has more of a Greek or Ptolemic influence than the Pharaonic. It was built by kings of much later dynasties who came to rule from Macedonia. Wandering the ruins I came upon a small café with an amusing sign board outside that said : 'Men are born free till getting married.'

I made some good bargain, or thought I did, for African masks at a shop in Philae and carried it all the way back home. It adorned my living room till recently when a friend made some remarks about masks bringing in negative energy.

I and the other four other couples on the boat shared suppers together, exchanged conversations about life and sat countless hours gazing at the rural life that went by. I filled the pages of my diaries and thought about the pages of untold stories. Of the young sailor who spoke of his wish to have electricity in his house in the village. Of the cook on the small boat who offered to bake fresh bread on the morning I was returning. Of the old Nubian at the temple, who sat all day trying to sell his limestone slabs to tourists.

Like me, many have coursed the Nile and there will be many more who dare to explore Egypt in unique ways. But each time is unlike the other, revealing a new aspect you never knew existed.

I will come back to Egypt, I promised myself.

By Anjana Das