Let’s have a little catch up with how the Crooks are doing on this little adventure of ours, shall we.
We’ve been in Egypt for one and a half months now and I am thrilled to announce that we are all a lot thinner. I can’t say it’s because we’re eating less or any healthier because our diet at home was pretty good. You really can’t beat all the fresh, locally grown produce and foraged, nutrient-dense plants from our little corner of rural France. It could be the heat but then we’ve been in hot places before and actually put on weight (*cough* Tortola). Perhaps it’s just the vibes – when in doubt always blame the vibes, in the end the root of all things is energy, so they say. Perhaps our bodies recognise we’re where we’re meant to be. Perhaps we’re happy.
At least, I’m happy and I’m pretty sure mum is too. We both feel quite at home in Egypt and feel the flow of purpose as the threads align for our path to open up. Dad finds it all a little too different but he is stoically letting himself be swept along on the ride with us. His sense of adventure is being stretched to the max and his desire for stability and predictability gnaws away at him. I understand that and can sympathise. After years of shouldering the responsibility of his family, it’s hard to unwind and trust Life has your back, especially somewhere as different as Egypt.
Eli is quite content to be here so long as we are working towards a business and he can go back to the BVI once a year to see his friends. He loves the idea of having a retreat business and I can watch his mind whirring, dreaming up plans and drawing up budgets (thank God someone is thinking about budgets).
Out of all of us, he is the most business minded and I have no idea where that comes from. I don’t know whether it’s because his middle name is Moneta (coin in Italian) or he’s just wired that way but his mind always seems to bend towards money. He thinks about it, he talks about it, he’s continuously thinking up ways to make money - pity he doesn’t put any of his plans into action. So far, his interest ends at thinking and talking about it. I’m counting on that changing soon so he can look after me in my middle age.
He’s jolly good at math and where I flail about wanting to do everything for free, he is always acutely aware of ways to maximise profit from any situation. Not for the first time have I wondered whose child he is. If he didn’t look like a mini version of me, I would question whether he was switched at birth.
All in all, we are well, happy, thinner, stronger and still very gassy. One thing you should know about us if that the Crooks burp a lot. Sometimes the burps, coming from different parts of the house, remind me of the frogs in Brazil. A chorus of gas, serenading the passing day. That’s us. Group hugs, group burps and a whole lot of love and laughter. Apart from when I’m pre-menstrual and my patience drops to non-existent, then everyone knows to stay out of my way or suffer being roasted by my fury. To be fair I do warn them so they are fully prepared. Communication in all relationships is crucial and this week is really highlighting this fact for me. Perhaps that’s how mum and dad have stayed together for so long.
Ten days ago, it was their 50th wedding anniversary and we spent the day on the Nile on the penultimate day of our tour. I’m glad their anniversary fell on that day, the day we planned to spend with the Nile. It wasn’t planned with their anniversary in mind, that was a happy coincidence, but what better way to celebrate your commitment and love than on the water?
I like to end the temple work we do with some time with water, especially the Nile. How can you not? It is such a powerful river. So vibrant, so full of life and energy. Besides, the Nile waters work with the temples, the two go hand in hand, you can’t do one justice without the other. In ancient times, water from the river would have been channelled into the temples, flowing in tunnels to the secret lakes and in some cases, flowing through the temple walls themselves.
Water (the Nile in particular) was an integral part of the temple magic. It powered them, generating energy and taking the information held within to the world. Water is everywhere after all, within all of us, in the air, in the ground. One vast cosmic entity.
To work with the temples, in my opinion, requires you to pay homage to the Nile and take all you have been doing to her. She is one of the mightiest beings in this land, carving her way through the golden sands that surround her. So, it was fortuitous that our water day fell on their golden anniversary or you could say, it was always meant to be this way, written in the stars. An essential thread, woven into our week.
This is their story.
Over 50 years ago a quiet, conscientious, young Englishman went traveling around Brazil with his old school friend. Let’s call him Graham, the former, not the latter. The latter we can call George.
George and Graham were staying with a woman in Rio de Janeiro who, exasperated with what to do with these two Englishmen who didn’t speak Portuguese, called her friend Michelle and begged her to come and help entertain them. Reluctantly Michelle agreed to meet them.
While Graham hung back shyly and barely said a word, George was relentless in his flirting, which Michelle found decidedly off-putting. Although she had promised to take them out again, after such a disastrous first encounter she was firmly determined not to see them again. However, her promise to take them out kept niggling at her, until finally, her grandmother persuaded her to meet with them one more time to satisfy her promise and then she wouldn’t have to see them again.
Agreeing to the plan she called her cousin to come with her to help her show these boorish Englishmen around. This proved to be a masterstroke in strategy because George quickly transferred all his flirtatious efforts onto the cousin, leaving Michelle and the tongue-tied Graham space to open up to each other.
Two months later, on Copacabana beach, as the dawn light broke on the horizon of a new day in a new year, Graham and Michelle huddled under an umbrella in the rain and he asked her to marry him. Surprisingly Michelle said yes. And I say surprisingly only because she had always vowed to herself that she would never leave Brazil and dreamed only of the continuation of her comfortable life in familiar Rio de Janeiro. Yet, here she was, falling in love with a man from the other side of the world and agreeing to marry him.
The next day Graham and George boarded a ship back to England, not before he sent a rushed postcard home to inform his family that he was getting married! What a shock that must have been for them, as they used the weeks of the passage to dream up all sorts of foreign horror stories.
Graham and Michelle’s romance went from the beaches of Rio to the pages of love letters, as they corresponded over the following months, until, 5 months later she boarded a plane to England to finally say, “I do”. And the rest as they say is history.
Oh, I could repeat the stories we have been told a thousand times about the wedding day and Graham’s infamous pub crawl which left him face-planted in his dinner plate on their wedding supper. Not, perhaps, the most romantic of starts but they stuck to it, learning and growing together, overcoming obstacles, working through challenges and proving that love can conquer all. If that’s not golden, I don’t know what is.
Fifty years later, three children, two grandchildren and more moves/homes than I care to count right now, and we find ourselves in Egypt (of all places) at the end of a temple tour around Luxor and Abydos, on a boat on the Nile, chugging our way towards a peaceful swim spot for a picnic.
The Nile’s waters were high this time, much higher than when we visited in April. They flooded previously dry areas and transformed the shape of the dunes to the north of the city, sweeping away mounds of sand and stones, while slowly depositing more in their place. Next to the dunes was a large patch of grass still above the water line providing pasture for a delightful herd of cows as well as a mare, her foal and a skinny mama dog.
Birds of unknown varieties waded in the shallows with practised grace. A large flock of ducks bobbed in the fast-flowing waters as we approached our docking spot, all taking flight with a loud burst of indignant quacking when we got too close.
There is something so peaceful about being out on the water, it exudes serenity. I always thought this peace was reserved for the sea but the Nile definitely has it too. It enchants the heart and captivates the eyes. There is something about it that transports you to another world and time. It makes sense really; this water has been flowing here for millions of years, eons of stories embedded in the landscape.
Cows lazily hobble into the shallows to lie in the waters and cool off, their heads bobbing lightly above water, watching the birds soar and strike. Even the cows feel peaceful here, unconcerned with anything of the outside world, for everything they need is right there before them, given freely by the earth. This is a good place to be a cow, I think.
A banana plantation covers the higher ground to the west of the bank with larger mango and date trees poking their heads above the lush green leaves. A small farmer’s house sits neatly in a little clearing, looking out over the grass bank where the animals graze. Below the house, a fisherman slowly rows through the rich shallows seeking a catch with zero urgency. Everything comes in god’s good time and wealth is measured differently out here. The cows can tell you that.
This bucolic scene could be exactly the same as thousands of years ago, when Luxor was Thebes and the mighty Pharaohs dominated the land, nothing much has changed. Except back then we would probably have had crocodiles sunning themselves on the sandbank, which is not quite so fun. As much as I feel a kinship with crocodiles and like to imitate them in the shallows, I most definitely would be less thrilled to meet one in that water. The Nile is deep and very dark and being a Caribbean girl, the idea of not seeing what lurks in the murky depths still feels a little intimidating. I shudder at the idea of being pulled under by bacteria-filled fangs.
The boat is skilfully moored and we descend to the banks to explore the surroundings, each one responding to their own unique call. Some wonder off to look for rocks in the dunes (pickings were disappointingly slim this time), others go around to the other side to explore the trees, which make a convenient pee spot. The water stretches all around us in the deluge. We are on an island it seems, a seasonal island, complete with our own, private, sandy beach.
Some of us head into the water to greet her majesty. To play, dance, sing and pray, whatever flows naturally from within, just as she flows powerfully around us. Mum sits in the shallows with Pennie for some time, talking and watching the movement of the water as they praise her beauty. And the water responds through the patterns of her ripples. When we acknowledge the beauty and sentience of things around us, they speak back to us. Water in particular.
The day was golden, every peaceful minute of it. A time and place for us to place our prayers in the water. To welcome her medicine. To learn from her. And as the sun began its descent, a boat came up alongside us with a delicious homecooked meal made by Mohamed’s family. Cooked and transported in fired clay pots, the food was clearly made with love. Love we could taste in every bite, the goodness merging with our cells.
We left the scraps with our thin mama-dog friend who we met last time too and began our chug back to Luxor. The others all thought we were heading back before sunset but little did they know I had been keeping a surprise up my sleeve for them all to celebrate the end of our week.
We pulled up alongside the dock on the east side and picked up a waiting band of musicians with their traditional instruments and drums. You should have seen my mum’s face when she realised what was happening, as the guys stepped onto the boat and started tuning their instruments.
Cruising around for an hour or so as they played beautiful music. Music that feeds the soul and makes the body move. And boy did my parents’ dance! There is nothing stopping those two when there is good music playing, especially, it seems, middle eastern music. Somehow, that always gets them straight up and on the dance floor. I was reminded of them dancing in the desert under the moonlight and couldn’t help but smile at them. Perhaps dancing together also helps keep you together.
The sky was awash in a golden glow, bathing us all with light and love. Love (according to my parents) is a journey, it has its ups and downs but you keep going, doing your best, compromising, learning, growing together. I missed the first part of their speech but I’ll try and post the last part of them sharing the wisdom of 50 years. Heads up that the sound is crap but I didn’t think about that at the time, I was too mesmerised by how cute they were.
Photo credits - Michelle Cook, from her Jurassic phone.
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