 We
reached Esna and used the few hours to get off the ship and stretch
our legs after a morning of lazing around the pool. I was itching to
walk around Esna, away from tourists and see how the locals lived. René
and I headed for the quieter streets avoiding the busy streets
around a souq. We were followed by a few children clad in long grey
or white robes, who guided and annoyed us. Most of the narrow streets
were unpaved, some very muddy and smelling of manure. Skinny, skeletal
donkeys balanced again flat wagons, many shy girls waving from the darkness
of their doorways or 2nd-level windows, whilst little boys came out
to say hello and mill around us. Most houses were simple of mud bricks,
with tiny wooden shuttered windows to keep the intense summer heat out.
Some had extremely ornate wooden doors, reminiscent of colonial days.
Occasional peek in doorways revealed empty mud-lined rooms as most people
lived in the upper floors. Eventually René shouted imshee! (go
away) as the kids got noisier, more aggressive, pulling on our arms
and throwing pebbles at us. When I stumbled over a whimpering black
and white disease-ridden puppy in brown paper, it was kicked aside -
making me almost reach out for it if René hadn't stopped me.it
was wise not to even make contact witht the children, who were dust-covered
and clad in the long egyptian grey robes. It was such a relief when
they finally left us even though we knew they were hiding in in alleyways
watching us wind through the streets. There were goldsmiths glittering
with ornate rings, earrings and necklaces; tailors still sewing by hand
on the steps of their shop; coffee houses filled with solitary men smoking
their water-pipes - their eyes following us down the street. We had
spent so much time just sitting around that it was good to get away.
Crossing of the Lock<
Perfect Moments Photography | A Rene Pallesen Journal
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