Monday: Why don’t you joyously SCREAM with me about the discovery of an 18th Dynasty village being excavated within walking distance from my friend’s house in Luxor, Egypt? I’m so […]
For reasons that should now be clear and obvious, Jessica wanted to see ancient ruins so that we could shout in unison, “THAT TRAIL THAT WE BLAZE” and then chortle like infants and run (read: walk slowly) through crumbling Mesoamerican pyramids.
Am I wasting my life by not pursuing archaeology whilst I’m at my physical peak? I dunno. Probably never will. We never get a chance to do life over again, which I hate. I’d love to live forever and do everything I’ve ever wanted. But I can’t. And my life is roughly a third finished and time goes so much faster than I realized. This is a melancholy way to say that I watched the most stunning documentary on National Geographic about Mayan archaeology.
The beginning was simple enough, just a staircase, but after the first major tiered level, the steps became increasingly steep and people were huffing and puffing. I am blessed to be in fairly good shape for doing absolutely nothing to maintain my fitness, so I wasn’t too poor off, but I must admit that after two-thirds of the climb, my beautiful thighs were aching. I mused about how attractive I might be if I climbed a pyramid every day. I think that would be a tremendously amusing fitness regimen. But how many people have access to a pyramid in reality? Very few I suppose.
The memories of my childhood are few and far between. Someday a therapist will sort all that out, but I really don’t mind. I’m quite all right with the creature […]
Nobody bothered me as I stood there. All the touts knew me and knew I had my people. They were nothing but friends and strangers now. I was no longer a source of revenue. I was just a man. I was just Ben standing beside the Nile. I really don’t know how long I was there, but as I did, my life began to pass by in my memories. I was back at Egyptian Treasures with my dad and Donald, talking about Cairo and dreaming of treasure. I was on an ancient computer in elementary school furiously printing pages from the Theban Mapping Project. I was in Barnes and Noble buying discounted books. I was in the Louvre staring at hieroglyphs. I was screaming at textbooks. I was dreaming of the future. I was back on a rooftop in Giza with Lady M. I was wandering through temples with Abdul. I was breaking the Ramadan fast at the Khan el-Khalili. I was dreaming of digging. I was in raptures at the thought of the basements of the Egyptian Museum. I was drinking Stella again with Hassan. I was back by the Nile. And I was an Egyptian through and through.
I was lost in reverie when the temple first came into sight. And once my eyes had latched onto the yellow-brown stone, I felt the most inordinate connection. It wasn’t like I had been here before, or anything like what Lady M would have discussed at midnight on a rooftop in Cairo, this was something absolutely new. It was relief. I know that doesn’t make tremendous sense, and I can’t claim to understand the sensations I felt there myself, but I took great comfort in the Temple of Esna.
It’s been hard for me to write my blogs about Egypt for many reasons. Of course because I procrastinate. And I live three lives every day. But it’s mainly because […]
LOVE: Graham Norton Show: I’ve long had a fantasy of living in London, which I’ve told you about frequently enough. It involves working at the British Museum, having a flat […]
Rising at dawn is truly a horrific thing. There is nothing good about it and I am forever suspicious of individuals who claim to be morning people. I’ve tried it […]