Carlson-Wagonlit's Postcards. 2000.
Egypt: Camel Walk
An Adventure at Giza.
By Jennifer Willis
Our first morning in Egypt, we hired a taxi to Giza on the outskirts of Cairo. A taxi ride in Cairo is better than a monster roller coaster. Seatbelts were scarce, and the handful of traffic lights were largely ignored. There were nine of us packed into an automobile the size of a Toyota Tercel.
Heading west, we crossed the Nile and soon saw the pyramids looming in the distance. I had been prepared by romanticized photos in grade-school textbooks -- magnificent, ancient structures standing as lonely beacons in the sand. But there they were, rising out of the mist -- okay, it was smog -- with Cairo's apartment buildings and factories crowding in on them.
We hired horses, camels, and couple of guides from Sphinx Stables and rode through Giza's security gates. Tourists and local vendors were everywhere. Fleets of buses ferried sightseers in and out. It was overwhelming, dwarfed by huge monuments on either side, trying to not get killed by the truck bearing down on me and my stubborn and bony old horse.
There had been a debate at dinner the previous evening over the ethics of entering the pyramids. The incredible tourist traffic has created quite a moisture problem, with each person introducing more exhaled vapor, damaging the interior of the pyramids.
Another concern was respecting the beliefs and traditions of an ancient culture. These monuments were intended as doorways to the afterlife, not chaotic commercial attractions.
But when faced with aggressive vendors hawking their wares to every tourist in sight, I decided that remaining outside with the camels (who kept growling) in a souvenir zoo in a foreign country wasn’t much of an option.
It was a tight, dim decline into the depths of the pyramid of King Mycerinus. Giggling all the way, we all hunched down to keep from scraping our scalps against the low, stone ceiling. The burial chamber itself wasn't much bigger than a walk-in closet. My flashlight revealed no markings in the stone. We all looked at each other and said, "Well, this was fun," and climbed back up.
It was now my turn on the camel. Camels are a good bit taller than horses, and wider. No saddle, no stirrups, no reins. The ideal camel waits for you to get settled before starting to stand -- a dramatic, rocking procedure in which the camel first pitches forward to rise on its back knees, then leans back to get on its front knees, then dives forward and back again to straighten its legs into standing. Better than a taxi ride. But that's not what happened for me.
As I swung one leg over the camel's massive hump, he immediately began pitching back and forth. I grabbed onto a couple of blankets strapped on as a makeshift saddle. As we started walking, the camel shook violently, like a wet dog. I held on. Then he tripped.
The idea is to grip the camel with your knees and post with your thighs, to blend with the camel's movement and reduce bruising on your backside. However, if you are "too petite to post," as I am, you just hold on for dear life while your camel bounces your butt across the desert. Our ride across the sands was punctuated by the “BAM! BAM! BAM!” of my bottom and backpack. As long as my friends could hear my pack-animal percussion, they knew I at least hadn't fallen off.
We were stopped by the police at one point, concerned that we might accidentally stray into what they believed were mine fields in the surrounding sands. I noticed the police had proper saddles on their camels.
We dismounted at the Sphinx and explored the excavated temple and monument. Several generations of my family have made this pilgrimage, and I had been advised of the traditional photograph before the Sphinx. My great-grandparents had been photographed in a horse-buggy. My great-aunt had been on a camel, God love her. My aunt and uncle similarly stopped for their photograph. I obliged and struck my own pose.
As we left the Sphinx, I was thankfully back on my bony horse as we rode up around an old monastery, Coptic cemetery, and other tombs. Dismounting back at the stable, we somehow ended up in a perfume shop, enjoying Egyptian hospitality, hot tea, and an essential oil demonstration.
We all complained of "camel thighs" for the next several days, taking a good bit longer to climb and descend flights of stairs. And that was only the first morning. We had another two weeks to go.