The Siwan Oracle and Cleopatra's Bath

The next morning, I wanted to take in some of the sites outside of town, most of which were clustered around the village of Aghurmi, five kilometers to the east of Siwa. For someone more used to the bitter cold of Brooklyn, it was way too hot to walk; and unlike the previous day, I didn't have the luxury of waiting until the late afternoon, as I had to catch the 8:00 bus back to Cairo. I would have to find some other means of transportation.

There are no traditional taxis in Siwa, or rather, there are only traditional taxis in Siwa: four-seater carts pulled by donkeys. If I had both money and a heart, I would buy every donkey in Egypt and set them all free - I would be like Moses to these poor creatures. While I couldn't afford to lead an exodus, I could at least resolve not to sit behind one of the brutalized beasts. I rented a bicycle for the day instead: a fixed-pedal, Chinese-made "victory" brand model that would have felt right at home in Williamsburg. For $2, it was a solid little ride.

The modern village of Aghurmi lies at the foot of a 35-foot high acropolis which was the location of one of the oasis' earliest fortified settlements. Inside the acropolis walls is the Temple of Amun, the home of the powerful Siwan Oracle. The oracle figures prominently in the region's ancient history. Herodotus relates the story of the Persian King Cambyses II, who in 525 B.C. sent an army of 50,000 men to capture Siwa and destroy the temple after the oracle refused to legitimize his rule of Egypt. The soldiers marched into the desert and were seen again - though a team of Italian archaeologists believe that a recently discovered cache of bones may be the King's army.

Alexander the Great, the most famous of the oracle's many visitors, traveled here in 331 BC hoping for confirmation of his divinity as a son of Amun, whom the Greeks equated with Zeus. I would have thought that this qualified as a "if you have to ask..." situation, but he evidently thought the detour was worthwhile. While Alexander never divulged exactly what he was told, we can assume that it was good news. Soon after, Alexander's mints began producing coins depicting him with ram's horns, the symbol of Amun.

Like the ruins of Troy in western Turkey, the temple is a lot more interesting for its associations than it is for its remains, which have suffered badly over the last 2500 years and have not been helped over the last ten by amateurish preservation work. Still, I liked the idea of walking where we know Alexander the Great once walked. I bought my ticket and climbed the same stairs that he and so many others had once ascended. From the ticket office behind me, I could hear the attendant and his buddies snickering while they watched pornography in their booth. Reverence for the oracle does not appear to be what it once was.

From Aghurmi, I rode to another Temple of Amun. Nothing remains except a loan section of wall and a few large stone blocks which have been defaced by grafitti. Fortunately, the wall is out of reach, because it remains in good condition. I could still just make out the original blue paint of the bas relief.

I still hadn't swam at any of the oasis' springs, and if it was going to happen, it was going to happen at the nearby called "Cleopatra's Pool," only a short ride from Amun's Temple. The spring was already choked with children (which I loathe), and I used them as an excuse to stay out of the water. I'll have to save the oasis swimming for Bahariyya.

Instead, I had a tea and chatted with the cafe owner whose name was Islam. He was appalled that I was studying FusHa and thought it was a colossal waste of time when I could be focusing on a language people actually spoke, like Ameyya. He had learned English by watching movies, listening to music, and chatting with English speakers like me. He believed that only by doing the same would I ever learn Arabic. His English was very good, and I also heard him speak German and Italian while I was there, so I was inclined to believe him.

He did admit that he never learned anything from one group of people: the Australians. He challenged me to find anyone in all of Egypt ("just one!") who could understand them. "We just nod and we smile when they talk at us," he says, "it is not English!" I sympathized with this point of view and asked him for his thoughts on the New Zealand accent. He'd never heard of the place. "They say 'iggs' when they mean 'eggs!'" I volunteered. Islam was astonished at such a people.

I rode my bike back into town, but still had hours before the bus left and nothing to do. Siwa was still deep in its Siesta and I couldn't even loiter in a cafe, so I sat in the shade of a wall and read my book. I was joined by a young man who was definitely after money and would probably force me to go somewhere else. Still, maybe this was the kind of chance to practice my Ameyya that Islam was talking about. I learned that his name was Ahmed and that he spoke almost no English. He started to ask me a series of bizarre questions:

"How much is half-a-kilo of bananas in America?"

"How big is your family?"

"What is your profession?"

I couldn't believe how helpful this was! I would never again tell a professor that I would never use a phrase like "Tomatoes cost more in Siwa than in Cairo, but olive oil costs less here in Siwa." We were covering familiar vocabulary in a useful way. I barely noticed when the conversation took a more sinister turn:

"Does a lawyer make lots of money? How much money do you make?

"How much does your mobile phone cost?"

"Please tell me what you have in your bag."

"How much money do you have with you now? Can I have it? I want you to give me your money now."

Lesson over. I had already been robbed enough by Egyptian language instructors in Cairo, I wasn't going to let it happen to me in Siwa too. I relocated to the bus station where I struck up a conversation with a Hungarian pensioner. He had spent most of his life in Germany, but now traveled nine months out of the year. He summed up his experience in Egypt like this: "I was here thirty-five years ago, and since then nothing has changed. It is still all shit!" He then catalogued Egypt's ills, which were many and grave. At the end, he did say that Easter Island is a very pleasant place. "Not as bad as you might think!"

I had found a bus that terminated in Cairo, so I could relax and watch the film without stressing about catching a connection in Alex. It was an American film called "Hard Justice." It was terrible. At the first break, the Hungarian pensioner asks "was that the Tarantino? It was very bad. Much worse than people say!" I was starting to like this guy.

The resthouse, called "Bir Nous" ("Halfway well"), was really in the middle of nowhere. The flat, featureless earth spread to the horizon in every direction. I hadn't seen stars like this in years. I was moved to buy a bag of Cheetos and some guava juice. While I ate, a cute little dog that barely looked rabid started begging me for food, so I gave him a Cheeto. He walked around it, smelled it, but finally gave up and walked away. I couldn't believe it, even a starving Egyptian dog in the middle of the desert wouldn't eat a Cheeto! This might do more to change my diet than all the good advice I've ever received.