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I reached Cairo, Egypt. I was where Santiago went in search of the great treasure in the Alchemist.
When I was packing my bags, Cassie asked if I had any books for when I got bored on the plane, or the airport, or any other place?
I laughed. I replied if it came down to that, I could always people-watch.
She handed me a book. It was to be my companion in times of such great need.
I could tell the book was well-loved because of the worn pages. I kept the book, in part to please Cassie, and in part because I was curious to see what the Alchemist was about. It was a thin book anyway, and not a tome that would weigh down my bag.
I read the book during one of my plane delays. Then again, during a stopover. Then each night, before going to bed... at different hotels, B&Bs or wherever I stayed for the night.
Santiago went out on a journey, just like I was now. He was in search of a treasure he dreamed about, much like I dreamt about travelling the world. The difference was it was not treasure I sought, rather knowledge to understand the world around me.
To understand myself.
I felt understood when the old king told Santiago about the personal legend. Would I meet such whimsical people on my journey? I felt I already had... who was the strange lady in the valley of Roses in Morocco?
Knowledge was the great treasure in my story.
Would I discover the same thing Santiago discovered... that true love will not stop a person in reaching their personal destiny? Or that what he sought was there at the beginning of his journey?
Will my revelation be different from his?
I think I understood why Cassie loved books. A good book can become the old king, the guide, in your thoughts.
A good book can become part of your life journey. It becomes part of who you are. It becomes part of who you want to be.
The pyramids of Giza were a portal to the past. It was surprising to see the pyramids looming just over the horizon. I didn’t get the sense before that the ancient tombs were this close to the modern-day urban city of Cairo. Now that I was here, the pyramids were a postcard image from the city’s window.
I wandered through the Valley of the Kings. I stood face to face to face with the mighty Sphinx. I walked through the Temple of Kom Ombo. I saw the mummified crocodile museum next door.
Treasures that once were and treasures that remained. I gazed at the hieroglyphics in near perfect condition. It was their language. I felt instantly connected to the people from long ago.
I spend a few days sailing in a traditional Nile felucca. A felucca was a small, traditional Egyptian wooden sailboat.
I watched the Egyptian countryside scroll past. It was so peaceful here.
As I was cruising on the gentle waters, I saw palm trees along the Nile. The scenery was ever changing. I would drift past lush jungle foliage, and the next, I would see an arid desert. I saw Egyptian men plowing their fields. Egyptian women washing their dishes in the river.
I had seen papyrus drawings of the same scenes earlier. They were sights that remained unchanged from hundreds of years ago.
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Investigating the artifacts at the Egyptian Museum was a massive undertaking. The Museum in downtown Cairo had an impressive and dazzling collection. Where should I start?
Should I start with King Tut’s golden mask, or see the mummies?
There were no cameras allowed inside the museum. I wanted to show Cassie, but I had to contend with only admiring the ancient antiquities at the Egyptian Museum.
There were several floors of the museum. They dedicated the upper floor to the treasures discovered in Tutankhamun’s tomb. The most famous was his death mask, which was made of solid gold. He had two sarcophagi, one made of solid gold and one of gold-gilded wood. There were Tut’s beautiful jewelry on display. The teen king died young, and his death might have been from malaria.
Halloween came early in the Mummy Rooms. I saw preserved finger and toenails, teeth, and hair. Each mummy had its own temperature-controlled case. The best preserved mummy was of the Ramses II. His long white hair showed he lived a long life.
As I looked at the mummified bodies, a grim passed through my head:
Some lived short. Some lived long. Few were memorable. Many vanished without a trace.
The museum was hosting an exhibition of artifacts from the era of Queen Cleopatra. I visited the part of the Museum that had Cleopatra’s statue.
I was Cleopatra in my school’s play of Shakespeare’s Antony and Cleopatra. I remembered how she was described in the verse:
Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale
Her infinite variety. Other women cloy
The appetites they feed, but she makes hungry
Where most she satisfies.
I saw the bust of Cleopatra in the Gallery of Ancient Egypt. It was made of granite, with three cobras sculpted on her headdress. The island of Antirhodos near Alexandria was where Cleopatra’s palace was. The island sunk in the fourth century because of earthquakes and tsunami. They had found the bust in Alexandria.
I was fascinated with her from an early age. The legendary, powerful Cleopatra.
The same Cleopatra for whom, after hearing of her death, Antony killed himself. The rumor had been false, but by then he already lost his life. Cleopatra who then chose death by snakebite, rather than let her honor fall.
I heard someone say Cleopatra was an ordinary-looking woman. It was amazing... I don’t know how anyone would say that.
She was stunning to me.
Perhaps what they meant was there were more beautiful women than her. Beauty is subjective. I can’t dictate how one sees another. Maybe it was not just her beauty, but her charm, charisma and brilliance?
Perhaps what her detractors meant to say was: Why her? What was so extraordinary about her?
Wasn’t this the same question people asked of anyone with success or power? Whether it was political or social? Perhaps they say it not out of jealousy or judgement, but curiosity. What is clear to one person might not be to another.
Maybe they viewed life through different values, through different lenses?
I would likely face scrutiny after reaching the level of stardom I am aspiring to. Would I be able to answer the question: Why her? What is so special about her?
I don’t have the same confidence or command the Queen of Nile exhibited. I wondered if she ever doubted herself?
Cleopatra’s death was tragic. Cleopatra closed herself in her chamber with two of her female servants and used a poisonous snake to bite her. The snake was an asp, a symbol of divine royalty. She died of the poison.
Some called it a suicide, while others suspected Octavian murdered her.
What was the real truth? We might never know.
Tragedies don’t give answers, instead they raise more questions. Sadly, the person long gone to answer anyone.