Old Giza (6/8/2008)

My first glimpse of the pyramids was probably as Pharoah Khafre
intended. My friend TJ and I were on the highway, slinging through
mud-brick apartments and dodging the occasional pedestrian, and voila:
I am Khafre. It's good to be me. The pyramids weren't specks that
slowly embiggened as we approached. They appeared, towering mirages,
through the Cairene haze. Picture those "Titanic" documentaries where
subs approach the wreck's hull, unaware of the ship's presence until
they nearly ream it.

Pharaoh Khufu and son Khafre's pyramids may be the most famous
structures in the world, and have lured visitors to Egypt since before
Marc Antony, Moses, or even Abraham; they may well be the reason
tourism exists. The facts are staggering: Khufu's Great Pyramid went
up in 2570 BC and stood as the world's tallest building for 3870 years
(I picture former Sox GM Dan Duquette, in pharaonic headdress,
dejectedly claiming "most days as tallest building.") The give-or-take
4.3 million stones between them each weigh about 2.3 million tons, in
toto about 9.89 trillion pounds of masonry hauled in on barges (not
counting the smaller pyramids or the rest of the burial ground.) The
precision is incredible: the largest discrepancy from one side to
another is four inches. Unfurl Khufu's gravesite and you can pave a
single-lane road from New York to San Francisco; dissemble his son's
and add a passing lane.

The pyramids are glorious but the site is anticlimactic. Phar-lington
National Cemetery is not the place to commune with the divine monarchs
in peace; the tourist hordes surround you, while drivers, peddlers,
and even children swarm your tail hawking everything from camel rides
to faux alabaster. ("Sir!", "You want ride camel!", "Doctaah
Joooooooones!"). The pharaohs don't overlook the lush Nile floodplain
and the majestic capital Memphis as they once did, but a dusty Cairo
suburb. The Sphinx gets the rawest deal; he stares ad aeternum at KFC
and Pizza Hut.

Twenty miles south, though, the structures and experiences differ
remarkably. The 30-mile road to Saqqara and Dahshur – the pyramid lab
– passes through millennia of Nile life; as we drove through the date
palms, we dodged goats, water buffalo, and (yes) camels. The landscape
is stunning, the timelessness fascinating. Maybe even the Sphinx would
ask for a trade.

At Saqqara and Dahshur, the progression from dirt mound to perfect
pyramid unfurls itself in desert grandeur – my pyramid is bigger than
your pyramid; I'm more divine than you. Monuments progressed, pharaoh
by pharaoh, noble by noble, from piles of bricks to flat mastabas to
Zoser's famed step pyramid – the world's first stone monument and
arguably history's most influential building. Thirty years later,
Snefru's (gesundheit) architects attempted the first smooth-sided
pyramid, only to realize they were building too steep. (Picture that
meeting with pharaoh.) The next draft, the Red Pyramid, was the model
for the masterpieces at Giza. Immortality isn't easy – but it is
accessible. There are no tourist hordes at Dahshur and few at Saqqara;
the easiest path to the divine pharaoh is largely unheeded.

Two hundred feet below the Red Pyramid via a 3x3 shaft, TJ and I
stared up at 45 centuries of stone and breathed air sealed in there
just as long ago. The treasures had long since been pilfered and the
bodies lopped off into museums. As I gazed upward at the king's last
journey, awestruck at the precision and dedication to the heir of
Osiris, it dawned: "are we about overdue for an earthquake?"

Matt