Egypt: Day Eleven, Part Three

On the way back north to Aswan across the desert, we drive through a village with a pumping station and some cement plants.  There’s also mining for gold along here, which is exported, especially to Canada.  And there’s a garage full of ambulances; no idea why out here in the middle of nowhere.  But mostly there’s vast nothingness.  More like being on Mars rather than the Moon, but only for a lack of craters.
       And once again comes the warning:  Do not show cameras at checkponts!

When we get back to the boat, it’s still early, given the time of the wee small hours when we set out.  Some of us have signed up for a camel caravan, but not me.  Still, we can accompany those who have across the Nile to their camels on the felluca, just to dabble around on the river.  And being on the water is something I’ve been doing since birth, so I’m up for it.  Along with us comes one of the daughters of Mme. Sadat - Jihan, I believe - and she seems to enjoy being on the water as much as I do, choosing, like me, to sit in the bow.
       This is the same part of the river we navigated last night on our way to the Nubian village.  But in the daylight we can clearly see the mausoleum where the Aga Khan is buried.  Although born in what is now Pakistan, the third Aga Khan fell in love with Egypt and Aswan in particular, where he chose to live part of every year.  He requested the right to be buried on a hilltop across from Aswan and had a mausoleum built in the old Ottoman style.  Its pink limestone shines in the sunlight. Although he died in 1957, every day a red rose is still laid on his tomb, by orders of his wife, who died in 2000.
       As we travel back across the water, one of the crew brings out a tambourine and starts singing.  We all join in, including a song we learned last night on the way to the Nubian village.  Everyone is in high spirits.

Which is a good thing because tonight is our Egypt Night on board.  We’d been told we could dress up for it, and some of us have been making purchases for that as we’ve run the various gauntlets of hawkers.  I bought that white cotton tunic with the blue trim, plus a bracelet I was told was turquoise... which it is, in color, but most probably not mineralogically speaking, but I like it just the same.  Our Armenian minder Siri is resplendent in a shimmering burgundy djellabah.  Alan is dressed up as a camel jockey, literally, turban and all.  Peter’s made an effort also, Ron is splendid as a pasha, although the keffiyeh is perhaps more Arafat than Aga Khan.  But his wife Janet gets both ears and the tail for her outfit:  a striking blue djellaba, long dangling coin earrings and one of those headscarves with coins.  She’s very jingly.
       After dinner with Janet and Ron and Victoria and Floyd, our food accompanied by a group of Nubian musicians, there’s more entertainment.  Two men alternate with a belly dancer.  I’ve seen better - or at least more lascivious - belly dancers at a certain Lebanese restaurant in Detroit, but this dancer gets some of us to try some of her moves.  It turns out that Cathy isn’t bad at it at all.  But I preferred the male dancers.  One does a dervish-type dance in a costume obviously designed with this in mind because it has "moving parts", including a layer that he can put up to cover his head as he spins.  I don’t know why he doesn’t fall down dizzy as can be!  He also comes back in another costume that looks like two wrestlers but is really only him - another imaginative design.  And then there’s a man on a “horse” that sets about kissing all the women in the front row of sofas.  He even drags Cathy back up out of her seat to dance with him and they somehow do some steps holding a sword wedged between them - obviously not pointed enough to pierce his stomach.
       The dancers drag us out of our seats one by one for an Egyptian conga line that morphs into an old rock ‘n’roll type stroll down between two rows of our tour partners.  I end up dancing with Mohammed, one of our tour staff.  And then Sadat’s daughter, whose name I think is Jihan, appears with one of those coin necklace-belts around her hips and does a great version of a belly dance, complete with all the hand movements, and every bit as good as the professional.  It’s fun to see someone whose father was once the very dignified President of this country being such fun rather than sitting in a corner, clapping politely and sipping champagne.
       The musicians and dancers pack up and leave as we finish our cocktails, but I think I hear them later playing on the next boat over - we’re moored one off the other again.  It’s time for bed.  It’s been a looooong day, but a beautiful one.
       As I drift off to sleep, I hear the boat’s engines starting up.  We’re apparently off back down the Nile to Luxor.