Dendera Temple, Etc., Etc., Etc.

Cruising north from the big city of Luxor to Cena/Qena, another large city, between I got to see rural Egypt. Men in row boats and standing in the water, netting fish; women washing clothes in large basins; children waving as we went by, all too fast for pictures. Acres of bananas, sugarcane, and what I think is sorghum. One woman was driving a few goats down to the water for a drink.

I erroneously brought only the small binoculars, so I can identify the little and cattle egrets, Egyptian swallows, and glossy ibis. All the little shore birds are too far away. 

Our goal today was the Dendera temple complex, especially the Temple of Hathor, built during Ptolemic times. Inside huge walls built to keep out the flooding Nile, and probably the local people when the priests didn’t want them around, the temple is covered in carvings everywhere. Some have been removed, including a zodiac ceiling which is now in the Louvre. Other ceilings showing Nut swallowing the sun then giving birth to it are still intact with their original paint. On the backside there is a depiction of Cleopatra VII with her son by Marc Anthony, the only place she is shown on a temple. 


A smaller, older temple in the complex has carvings of Bes, the dwarf god who keeps evil spirits away from pregnant and laboring women by playing his music. He also protects newborns.

All very beautiful and interesting, however 107° according to my weather app, and little shade when we were not inside a building. I was glad to get back to the bus.

************

October 30:

I officially give up on recounting our trip day by day, site by site. My plan was to experience the day, return to the ship, then paint in the lovely little book I’d ordered especially for this cruise, perhaps having done some preliminary sketching at the day’s temple or tombs. 

The reality: we survived, barely, being hustled to  archaeological sites in 116° sunshine. So much to see and hear, so much walking on rough terrain. So much information. So many hustlers demanding we buy their wares as we power-walked the market gauntlet at each stop. “One dollar, miss. Only one dollar.” 

Bused back to our ship, we carefully climbed down the steep stairs to the water level (I figured out to put my handkerchief on the burning hot handrail so I could grab it), and went aboard. Each time we were greeted by a steward with cool damp towels and the chef with a small sweet.

We stumbled to our room and collapsed. After a couple of glasses of water, a shower (I washed my clothes each day at the same time), a short nap, and we were as good to go as could be hoped for.

Bottom line: exhausting, and I’d go again in a heartbeat. Maybe better in January or February, but I cannot imagine the crowds in those cooler months since sites were packed in September.

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