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This morning finds us docked at the town of Edfu .  The temple here is further from the river, set back closer to the hills and desert.  This is the home of Horus of Edfu, one of the most popular and powerful of Upper Egypt's gods.  There are several manifestations of Horus, each with somewhat different powers and responsibilities.  Horus of Edfu is known primarily for an annual festival in which the statue of Hathor, his wife, sails up the Nile from her temple at Dendera for a visit.  The two statues rest together in the sanctuary for several weeks, at the end of which he departs for home.  This fertility and renewal festival was a major holiday in this stretch of the Nile;  in the Ptolemaic period when temples had to rely on self-funding rather than royal patronage, the Edfu temple of Horus became known for this festival.  

The temple today is mostly notable for the well-preserved paintings.  It is situated outside town in a large, clear area with a sculpture garden outside.  The pylon is largely intact, though now kept behind chicken wire, and the hypostyle hall's columns remain in place with their painting.  The columns are decorated with images of various deities, representing all the sanctuaries of Egypt.  The columns are all slightly different, the painting accentuating the differences.  Several large Horus statues guard the entrances.

We return to the boat for a morning cruise to Esna, several hours further downstream.  It is a beautiful day, and it is the perfect opportunity to sit on deck and watch the river drift by.  At times the cultivated strip to either side narrows to perhaps 100m, the hills coming almost to the water, choking off life.  The banks are dotted with small villages, the occasional factory, and docks for serving the constant river traffic.  At times the contrast is startling;  mud houses that could be from ancient times on one side, a cement apartment block on the other.  A donkey cart loaded with produce passes a modern factory.  Cell phone towers sit on rocks with mysteriously regular openings -- do the mummies use GSM?

Often the road is close to the river, but clearly all focus is on the Nile rather than the highway.  Every inch of land is planted, even gardens next to houses grow vegetables.  Corn is somehow incongruous, but the vegetables and fruits are delicious-looking as we pass.  Who knew cabbages could grow so big?  The plots are tiny, easily farmed by hand with perhaps a single oxen to plow.  Some of these plots produce 3 or 4 crops a year, the most productive soil on earth even after thousands of years.  It is this fertility that is threatened by the lack of innundation each year with its gift of fresh silt.  

Our next stop, after lunch, is Esna .  The temple of Khnum (the ram-god) here is notable partially for having become part of the town in a way that few others have been subsumed.  The town of Esna grew up (literally) on top of the temple, and still crowds it to every side.  Due to the addition of mud and silt every year, the temple is now some 30 feet below street level.  Excavators first encountered only the top of the columns, buried in sand and mud.  Unlike the desert temples and the Sphinx, it had not been covered by sand drifts due to wind, but rather had been literally used as the foundation of the town.

The temple itself is rather plain, and only the hypostyle hall remains.  The temple is from the Ptolemaic period, and some portions were turned into a Coptic church.  The site is small and can only be reached by climbing down a staircase from the street level.  The location is perhaps the most intriguing aspect of the temple.  As for the town, it is a typical small Nile town once you get off the main tourist street/market.  A very old mosque sits just to one side, and probably says more about the town than the temple.  

Our visit to Esna ends comparatively early in the day, at about 3pm.  As we get settled back into luxury on board the Sun Boat IV (fresh cool towel?  lemonade?), the many cruise ships around us begin to push back.  After cleaning up a bit, we retire to the dock to watch the Nile roll by as it did this morning.  The sound system has switched to the Beatles, there is very good coffee to be had along with some nice snacks.  Off we go, then!  More picturesque river!

The only view to be had, however, is that of all the other boats forming a very, very long line .  There are perhaps 30-40 boats docked at Esna, and they seem determined to form a line all the way back to Aswan.  It's very polite, following some unknown order, but suddenly 15 boats are lined up like Rockettes in the middle of the channel.  One laggard turns in slow circles in the back of the line before settling in to wait.  We wonder if he missed a buoy and had to do a 720.  After watching the show for an enjoyable half-hour, the cause of all this maneuvering occurs to us -- the lock!

There are several small dams along the Nile, and one must pass through very small, rather antiquated locks from time to time.  The Esna lock suffers from very heavy traffic, as it is on the popular cruise route from Aswan to Luxor.  It takes roughly 45 minutes per cycle, and can accomodate two cruise boats at a time.  If you are mathematically inclined, you will come to the same conclusion that we did, namely that there will be little cruising for us this afternoon.  Fortunately, there is ample opportunity for boat-watching.

The first hurdle is to pass through a drawbridge .  This was the cause of the line, we discovered.  Our order through the lock had been determined hours earlier based on our arrival order in Esna.  However, there is apparently an advantage to getting past the drawbridge and gaining a better mooring on the oppostie side.  We chose to let the stampede creep by, staying at our comfortable Esna dock.  The bridge is a significant traffic crossing on both dimensions, land and water, so there is rather a disgruntled crowd on all sides by the time we drift through.  After sitting still for hours, however, making our way past the bridge at about 5pm seemed great fun.  We crowded on the top deck, waving to pedestrians and disgruntled drivers as though on a float.  The heady rush of movement came to a rapid end as we jockeyed for a mooring at the crowded shore.

Deciding little would happen right away, I risked taking half an hour to shower and change for dinner.  I took up my chair again to anticipate the delight of the lock ahead.  Our boat manager told us we were due to pass through around 7:30pm, not that far off.  The sunsets of Egypt are lovely to behold, even when moored next to some rather loud Italians.  By 8pm, the air had cooled and we hadn't moved.  I ate dinner in a constant state of anticipation, ready to dash up the stairs at the slightest movement.  Given the elegance of our companions, I assumed I was alone in my obsession.  Even Steve seemed a bit amused at me.  He convinced me to rest in the cabin after our excellent dinner, promising to join me in an upward dash should anything happen.

Finally, around 10pm, we felt movement and saw the Italians drift away.  Grabbing a sweater, I led the charge (quietly) up two flights of stairs to the top deck.  I was amused to see the extremely elegant French couple doing the same just ahead of us.  We had been beaten to the best spot by some of the English and South Africans, however.  We quickly grouped tables and chairs together for optimal comfort and viewing angles.  Almost half the occupants of the boat were just as lock-obsessed as me.

We moored at the edge of the lock, using a somewhat jury-rigged system of chunks of concrete that seemed insufficient if inelegant.  We watched the two boats ahead of us enter the lock.  The clearance is small, and they go very slowly.  Watching their running lights intently against the dam, we debate whether they have dropped, then by how much, then whether they are exiting the lock.  Finally our turn comes and we cast off.  Very slowly, far more slowly than one could walk, we enter the lock.  The signs of mishaps past are on every side.  There is roughly three feet of clearance to each side, and we must pull up to within a similar distance of the gates.  The pilot is skilled, and is helped by guide ropes and rather a lot of helpful comment from the workers on shore.  We all stand to watch, rushing from one side of the boat to the other to check the clearance and discuss the process in a variety of languages.  Then, as we come to a stop, we all rush to the stern to watch the next boat enter behind us.  See how they use the ropes to change the angle?  Look at the lights on the deck!  Good heavens, why aren't those silly passengers up on deck to see this!  Are they (can you imagine?) sleeping through this?  Or sitting in some bar, sipping wine while this navigational marvel unfolds just outside?  How ungrateful.

By the time the water begins to drain out of the lock, the faithful band of lockwatchers has bonded across the divide of language.  Sometimes at a loss for vocabulary, we gesture and point and smile our delight at sinking several stories to the river level beyond.  When the gates open and we sail very....very....slowly.... through, it is as though we have jointly completed some major international project.  With dignified smiles, we head back downstairs, our evening entertainment finally concluded at almost 11pm.  I'm told that we docked at Luxor at around 2am, but I was so exhausted from all the excitement I really couldn't say.

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