Egypt. Land of tombs and pyramids and Tutankhamen. The place where Joseph was sold into slavery, where he became a very important person, where the Israelites were eventually all enslaved, and from which the Exodus began. The place that sheltered the Holy Family when they fled from Herod.
A place of history. A place that contains the only remaining structure of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World. A place, clearly, that ONE SHOULD SEE.
So we went, my husband and I, to Egypt.
And we went to the Wonder, the Great Pyramid of Giza. Having seen photos of it all my life, I expected a drive to the desert, and a sighting that would leave a lasting impression.
Got that. The drive, though, is through the streets of Giza (now a part of Cairo). As our driver goes down the ramp to the freeway, I am startled to see a donkey cart entering with us. This is my first, and lasting, impression of the contradictions that define Egypt.
"Look, the pyramid" our driver, Mohammed5 (I started the trip trying to keep the Mohammeds that I met straight in my mind. However, a number system became necessary. I even thought about a spreadsheet)
Yes. There it was. Across the Street. From the Pizza Hut. One side of the street filled with fast food, small stores, tourist places, reminiscent of New York streets around Times Square. The other side, the Great Pyramid.
It was lunchtime, and I thought that looking at the Wonder of the Ancient World standing with a slice in the Pizza Hut was just, somehow, wrong. So we went to a large hotel, and asked for a pyramid view table, and a lunch that consisted of local specialties. It seemed a bit more respectful.
After we walked over to the Great Pyramid, where, we were told, we could ACTUALLY GO INSIDE. We could climb through the passage that led to the burial chamber.
Now, we all have our fears and phobias. Mine is a fear of dark, small, enclosed spaces. Like, probably, the inside of a pyramid.
But would I ever have this chance again? Would I ever be in Egypt again? Would I ever have the opportunity to experience the inside of a Wonder? Could I face my fears and overcome them, for this once -in -a -lifetime adventure? I took a deep breath; of course I could. There was a whole line of tourists entering. If they could do it, I could do it.
And, besides, the ticket seller assured me that I could go in "just a little way" and I could always turn back. Upon that assurance, I went in. You could stand, though the walls were close. And then they narrowed. And the tunnel began to slope. And the ceiling became lower. I was in the midst of a line of people, all bent over, all walking in the same direction, with no room to turn around, and no line of retreat. It kept getting smaller. Soon, we were duck-walking. My heart was beating faster and faster. My breathing became shorter, more labored. I could feel the panic just surging up all through my body.
"What's ahead?" I kept asking my husband, "More of the same" was the reply, until finally he said, "There is a platform. and it looks like its smaller- after that-probably hands and knees". That was when the panic won. "I don't think I can do that". Well, actually, what I said was more like a scream--"I Can't Do That!!"
"It's OK" he said--"I can see that there is a place to cross over to the going down route. Do you want to try that?"
OF COURSE I WANT TO DO THAT. But, I ask myself, do I let my fears control me? Especially irrational fears? Clearly, people do this all day, every day, and they are fine. I should be able to do that. I. Am. Not. A. Quitter.
And so I go on. My heart is pounding, I am bathed in sweat, every basic instinct in me says "Flee this place". The last part is sheer hell. And then, we get to the burial chamber, almost at the top of the Pyramid. I have made it! And what is there? An empty room!! A smallish, totally empty space. For this, I climbed on my hands and knees in a dark, horrible, scary place? Not worth it. Definitely, not worth it.
A group of young Americans about to descend notice my quivering, shaking form, and ask if I want to descend with them. Yes. I do. Definitely. "Come on, some of us will go in front of you, and some of us behind you, and we will all help you down"
And they did. A young woman at the head of the group would call back, encouragingly--"It's beginning to widen" "I can see the platform" "It's just a little ways now" and then, not so encouraging,"Oh, I was wrong, It's further than I thought" I keep fighting the panic that wanted me to shove everyone out of my way, trample over their prone bodies, and escape. I can feel the young man behind me put a reassuring hand on my shoulder, even though I startle at every touch. There are frequent inquiries "Are you doing okay?" "Do you want some of our water?" and comments "You are doing great, now". Finally, we reach the area where we can stand. "Do you want to rest?" No, no, no!! Are you people crazy? Stay in here a second longer than necessary? I need to escape ASAP!!I think, but I force myself to say, "No, thank you, let's just go on". Finally, I see the light at the end of the tunnel. Either I am dead, or we are close to the exit. And then we are out. In the sunlight. In open space. "Thank God," I say. And then I thank that great group of young people who understood the terror of a middle aged woman who tried to face down her fears, and failed.
And I think that, by thanking the young people, I am indeed thanking God--who does not necessarily show up erasing our fears, or miraculously removing their cause, but in the hearts and compassion of others. In the kindness of strangers.
