Breakdown on the Nile
- Bernd
- May 30, 2024
- 7 min read
is better than death on the Nile
There are places
where you want to come back
again and again.
Luxor is one such place.
2013
I'm sitting with a shisha in my local bar on the west bank of the Nile, outside, with a direct view of the water. Sailboats glide along in the evening light. Timeless. These moments catapult me far back to the time of the pharaohs. They founded an advanced culture here 1500 years before Christ, the cradle of civilization. OK, one of them. It is truly a magical moment. The Nile is Egypt's lifeline. Then as now. And I am becoming - now, in this moment - part of this magnificent culture.
Most of the tourists stay on the east side of Luxor. Almost all of the big hotels are there. I rented a vacation apartment within sight of the Nile. Most travelers make a detour to the west side when they visit the Valley of the Kings, the ancient Egyptian city of Thebes.
Life seems a little more tranquil here. A good place to linger. Do you know that feeling? You visit a place and feel life. Pure energy flows through your body. You have the fleeting feeling of having arrived. That's how it is, for a moment, in this moment.
The luxury of aimlessness
Allow me to slow you down a little as you read this journey. I was often programmed for action, for superlatives. Even on vacation: on the beach, during sports, in my conversations, when working through tourist program items. I entertained others and wanted to be entertained myself. Not now. I am fighting against my actionism, against my restlessness.
What place would be more appropriate than the area around Luxor? First I look around the district, walk to the harbor where a ferry is docking. This is where passengers, goods and services commute between the west and east sides. I mingle with the people. Let's see what happens.
I take the ferry for the equivalent of 10 cents and drive to the east side of the city. I let myself drift. The touts who offer me a sailing trip on the Nile at spectacular prices are a bit pushy. Business seems to be bad. The horse-drawn carriage drivers are no different. One of them persistently follows me for a good stretch along the promenade. I ignore him. Where there are lots of tourists, each of them becomes a walking ATM. On the west side, it is much more relaxed.
A young man is bathing his unruly horse in the Nile. He seems a little tense to me. Meanwhile, my stalker turns his carriage around, but not without shouting every imaginable curse after me in Arabic. Life can be so relaxed when you don't understand anything. Divine.
That little snotty nose!
I sit down on the edge of the promenade and look at the water. Behind me, a group of children are playing football loudly. A little way off, a grumpy boy of about three is standing. He spots me and runs towards me, babbling. He holds out his open palms to me. The master of begging practices early. I see no reason to give him anything. Whereupon he hits me on the head with his small, chubby hands, unexpectedly hard. That makes me suspicious, to use Heinz Erhardt's words. After I've paused three or five times, I stand up, but that doesn't particularly impress him.
Because now he has access to a much more potent place. I desperately fend off his attacks, when finally the voice of an adult - probably his father - relieves me. This time it is me who sends unfriendly words after the brat - albeit almost silently. What a pasha, what a snotty nose. How will he act twelve years later?
Mohamed and Mohamad
I am on my way to the Luxor Museum of Ancient Egyptian Art on the waterfront, the Corniche el-Nil, on the east bank. It has carefully selected exhibits from the Old Kingdom. It shows, among other things, some artifacts of Tutankhamun from the Valley of the Kings, as well as mummies of Ahmose I and Ramses I. Driven by my guilty conscience in view of this historical splendor here in Luxor, I spend my time just eating, walking around and smoking shisha. Wherever I look, Luxor lives from its historical past. I don't want to be seen as a philistine who ignores all this splendor here.
Not far from the museum, Mohamed, wearing a traditional white cotton robe, speaks to me. He is not as clumsy as the others. He also speaks a little English. He offers me a tour on the Nile in a felucca with his cousin Mohamad. I decline, saying that I am on my way to the museum. That would be no problem, he says with a smile, they can wait for me. OK, why not. It would be nice on the Nile, I'm sure.
When I come out of the museum, both young people are waiting for me along with their uncle. We negotiate a price and sail into the Egyptian evening. The sun slowly sinks into the Nile, bathing the sky and the water in golden yellow colors.
Mohamed explains to me that they don't live directly in Luxor, but a little outside. This year, he says, only a few tourists have come to Egypt. Because of the terrorist attacks. There are hardly any Nile cruise ships coming from Cairo anymore. He asks if I would like to come and visit him and his family. But that seems a little too risky at the moment and I politely decline. Later, I am annoyed at my hesitation. While I am still lost in thought looking up at the evening sky, the two boys' uncle prepares a tea and hands me a small glass cup.
At the end we say a warm goodbye and arrange to meet the next day for breakfast at my local restaurant on the west bank of the Nile. Mohamed would like to brush up on his English.
Ready for the island
I have become friends with Mohamed and Mohamad. They want to know what life is like in Germany. I find it difficult to answer that. Their concepts of life are too different. Together with Ibu, the restaurant owner, who joins us at our breakfast table, we talk about Dubai. They admire the prosperity and success there. Ibu thinks that because many people here cannot read and write properly, the world view of ordinary people is very limited.
They hang on the every word of the Chatip, the Friday preacher, and believe every word.
Mohamed and Mohamad want to surprise me with a boat tour this afternoon. Their boss has given them a motorized tourist boat. They are supposed to take a group to the west bank at some point. But first they want to pick me up for a tour.
They keep their word. The tour takes us along the quiet Nile to a remote island. I feel a bit lost on board, with so much space. Mohamad jumps onto the bank and secures the boat. They have noticed that I smoke shisha from time to time and they get to work. Mohamed pulls out a plastic bag and unpacks all the utensils for a shisha. And then they tell me with a friendly smile that this shisha is a gift for me. I am speechless.
First, Mohamed starts by lighting a small fire. Then he heats the coal, prepares the pipe bowl and shortly afterwards we are sitting smoking on the lonely Robinson Crusoe island. It doesn't get any more like a vacation than this at the moment.
On the Nile
Mohamed, Mohamad and I have found each other. They invite me to another river cruise on their boss's tourist boat. The day couldn't be more beautiful. A flawless blue sky, a light breeze over the Nile and an incredible amount of peace. Everything has two sides. In a good mood, the guys take a few souvenir photos. The relaxation doesn't last long.
We haven't got very far when the engine sputters alarmingly. Shortly afterwards, its soothing rattling stops. Well, I don't know much about engines. Actually, nothing, to be honest. My two companions are the same. Worrying. Oops. Suddenly I notice the current of the river much more strongly than before. There are supposed to be crocodiles in the Nile. And what if a cruise ship turns up unexpectedly?
We are drifting along Egypt's lifeline, unable to maneuver. There's nothing we can do, the engine isn't working. Maybe we'll be lucky and be driven ashore. The guys know what to do. They're well connected. A quick phone call and another boat moors next to ours a short time later. Uncles, brothers, fathers or whoever the men are come on board. At least there are lifebuoys. I can stick them between a crocodile's cheeks.
The rescuers greet me with a smile, walk purposefully to the engine and are soon very focused on their work. That gives me courage. I don't say anything. You shouldn't unnecessarily disturb the creative repair process of a pilotless ship on the Nile. Maximum concentration is required. Shortly afterwards the engine makes short stuttering noises. My basic trust gradually returns in small doses. As it turns out shortly afterwards, the crocodiles must continue to starve.
At night over the roofs of Luxor
There were no moral reprimands from relatives. That can happen. Engine failure on the Nile. I remember my sister, who once asked me - she lives in the USA - whether I wasn't afraid in all the Arab countries. We were on the way to Florida with Pearl in an extremely cold car. Suddenly a short but intense: "Oh my God!!!!" I stare at her, ask what's wrong. She: "I forgot my gun at home!" I answer her: "To be honest? I'm much more afraid in the USA than in the Arab countries.
Mohamed, Mohamad and I want to end the last evening of my trip in an Egyptian restaurant. To do this, we have to go back on the ship. The one that gave up the ghost this afternoon. It is at the outer end of the ships. To do this, we have to jump from roof to roof over two or three other ship roofs. Completely oblivious to ourselves, the boys go ahead, climb onto the roof of the first ship and jump over the roofs like Nile kangaroos. I - what else can I do? - do the same. Shortly afterwards, we drive to the other side of Luxor without any lights. The police should not see us, Mohamad explains to me with a broad grin in broken English. Well then. That's just how we are, we tourists. Jump!
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