There they are, suddenly. The taxi takes a corner and the pyramids of Giza seem to appear from nowhere, so close to the city. My sister and I are in immediate awe: even after seeing them in pictures and videos hundreds, perhaps thousands, of times, the last of the ancient great wonders still manage to impress.
Less awestruck are the taxi driver and this man who just jumped in the car five minutes ago. He says he simply wants to be dropped off at his house on the way, yet he quickly becomes interested in our itinerary.
It will take us nearly an hour before we are able to shake him off and painfully find our way back to the not so obvious back entrance of the site (where he led us to, hoping we’d go on a camel ride) before staring with the hundreds of other tourists at the remarkable remnants of this high civilization.
Thankfully, the site is vast. While hot spots like the Sphinx and the Great Pyramid are swamped with tourists, it is fairly easy to get some time alone around the other two main pyramids – it seems to be too much of a walk for most people (either that or tour groups don’t stay long enough to visit the whole area).
The Giza complex provides a fascinating contrast: on the one side, you have grey Cairo expanding into the far horizon. On the other side, the golden desert begins and seems to never end. They are two infinities; one where you are never alone, the other where you might never see anyone again.
At the rate the city is growing, however, the pyramids may well soon become captive of the suburbs – temporarily captive, that is. One is inclined to think they will outlive these more recent structures as well.
Standing close to any of the pyramids puts a lot of things into perspective. Contrarily to the Sphinx, they are bigger than I would have imagined. That anyone could really believe these millions of gigantic blocks were pushed and pulled onto ramps says a lot about the shortcomings of the mind. Whatever the case may be, how magnificent they must have been thousands of years ago dressed in their original limestone casings and surrounded by greenery provided by the then-nearer Nile.
Apart from the facade where the entrance of the Great Pyramid lies, the structures are surrounded by a security perimeter of a few meters. It’s therefore not possible to touch or climb on the pyramids – except, perhaps, with the help of a contribution made to the officers on guard…
After an energizing lunch which resuscitated us from the hassles of the morning touts, my sister and I head back to the Great Pyramid, ticket in hand, to go up to the so-called King’s Chamber.
The current entrance of the Great Pyramid is not native to the structure. It was made by men under the orders of the Muslim caliph Abdullah Al Mamun in 832 AD. The caliph was interested in the treasures and knowledge that might be found inside.
What is left of his efforts is a tunnel below the real entrance (which remained, at that time, concealed). Today, we still enter the pyramid through this bastard tunnel. Thus the initial passageway looks like the rough walls of a cave before it reaches the smooth and even walls of the real corridors made by the Ancients.
The feeling inside is immediately peculiar: while there are no hieroglyphs or artistic embellishments of any kind, there is a mysterious (and claustrophobic) aura inside the passageways. The awkward positions one must take and the physical efforts required to climb up make the upper chamber inaccessible to anyone in less than good health.
In a mere few minutes, I am utterly soaked in sweat. My heart pounds as I proceed deeper into the semi-darkness of the pyramid. Am I alone? I can see or hear no one. I stop to catch my breath – why were the passageways made so steep and impractical?
As I reach the upper floor, I nearly have to crawl on my knees to make my way inside the main chamber. As one might feel deep into the Earth, I am enclosed by the massive weight of the stones and the accompanying silence. A small neon light helps to reveals part of the chamber but my eyes have not yet adjusted to the darkness.
The heart throbs, the eyes search, the skin drips, the mind wonders. By its bareness, the chamber astounds. The only thing inside looks like a large and empty sarcophagus in the back of the room. Here also, there are no apparent inscriptions – only mystery. The chamber’s ceiling is high, the perimeter about 180 square meters. Am I really alone? I can see or hear no one but the feeling is dense.
And then, the surprise: I speak aloud and the room comes alive. The acoustics in the chamber are nothing short of astounding. The smallest sound produces layer upon layer of ethereal echoes and reverberations. Impulsively, I begin to chant a mantra – the result is magnificent and begs for more. Listen to Paul Horn’s 1977 Inside The Great Pyramid album for an taste of this.
If indeed the pyramids served as ritualistic temples where mystery schools performed initiations (as opposed to the generally accepted but flat idea that they were elaborate tombs for vain Pharaohs), then one would think the Ancient Egyptians would have used sound here to a significant extent. Given what is known today about the influence of sound on our consciousness and body, the acoustics of the chamber should provide the means to powerful effects. Of course, our far ancestors would not have needed our particular scientific perspective to come up with an understanding of such matters.
As I make my way back to the entrance, still in awe, it feels like I am stepping out of a short-lived but potent dream. Grateful to have had a moment alone inside the pyramid, I switch places with my sister who will come out of it as amazed as I – enough so that we will both want to come back another time and face flocks of desperately insistent touts in order to bathe again in the mystery of some of the world’s greatest monuments.