The thing that grabs you, first of all, is the scale.

Petra is enormous.

It extends for at least 60 square kilometres through canyons, up mountains and along river beds — most of its ruins are sized for giants.

A mere two storeys high, the Treasury (never a treasury, but rather a king’s tomb) stands almost 40 metres tall, or eight to twelve times life size.

Several of his successors built even bigger, though most were damaged by the series of earthquakes that left the city abandoned.

Even the public buildings that lined Petra’s colonnaded main street were, pretty much, on steroids. This temple, still only partly excavated, was the largest religious structure in the Middle East.

I mean, in Petra, even the boulders are big…

But, seeing we’re talking giant-sized…

This is us in the doorway of the Monastery.

As with so much in Petra, nobody knows exactly what this building was used for, but most likely it was built to worship a dead god-king.

And this is the Monastery itself.

It is big. Ridiculously big.

And even after the pyramids, Luxor, Angkor Wat and the Great Wall of China, the scale of Petra just amazes.

We spent three days exploring Petra, which proved, in places, a masterclass in terror. I’ll write about it in more detail just as soon as my calves stop aching and my pulse rate heads to normal, but if you visit, which I recommend, I’d allow at least that time: a one-day ticket costs 50 dinar (or roughly $80), a two-day 55 and a three-day 60.

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And, while the environment on the streets and around the major tourist sites can leave one longing for the tranquil, meditative charm of tourist Cairo, the history, from the fascistic, bombastic and grandiose through to delicate, optimistic paintings, is wonderful.

Here’s my ten favourites from our time in the city that Homer referred to as “hundred-gated Thebes”. I’d love to know yours.

1: Deir al-Medina

Tomb-robbing was a major issue throughout Egyptian history, so, when the New Kingdom pharaohs came to designing their tombs in the Valley of the Kings, they created an isolated village for the Valley workers, out in the desert, to prevent them and their families from sharing their secrets.

Now in Ancient Egypt, most buildings for daily life — as opposed to religious edifices and tombs — were built in mudbrick. So there are very few sites that give any indication at all as to how daily life was for ordinary people.

Deir al-Medina is about as close as it gets. These scribes, artists, artisans and masons were not, in fact, ordinary Egyptians. They were a unique, middle-class elite who led very special, and sequestered lives.

Seeing the houses they lived in, complete with bread ovens and cellars, along with the mini-pyramids that adorned their funeral chapels, is pretty special. And the paintings in their tombs are better than anything they produced for the pharaohs.

K.A. Kitchen’s classic work on Ramses II has incredible detail on the everyday lives of people in this village, up to and including which family lived in which house, and even – thanks to preserved texts — what some of them took for their packed lunches and fought about.

Like most sites around Luxor, Deir al-Medina is arguably too heavily restored, but the tomb of Inherka has the most beautiful paintings we’ve seen to date, with a wonderful, and very human vision, of the Egyptian afterlife.

Best of all? We had the site completely to ourselves.

2: The Ramesseum

Z tells me that if I quote Shelley’s Ozymandias at him one more time, he will do violence. But it is this temple, complete with the shattered remnant of a colossus, that inspired Shelley’s poem, although he never visited it.

Built by Ramses II, one of Ancient Egypt’s most prolific builders — the Greek Ozymandias was a corruption of his ruling name — the Ramesseum would have been at least as awe-inspiring as Abu Simbel in its day, but is now authentically ruined.

Like the monasteries of medieval Europe, Ancient Egyptian temples were landlords with vast endowments, collecting tithes from the local peasantry, while the pharaoh’s favourites became high priests and benefited from this wealth.

If Shelley’s not enough, one thing that makes the Ramesseum so special is that the ordinary working buildings that hugged the temple wall still remain. Wander the domed bakeries that produced industrial quantities of bread, explore the homes and tombs of workers after families were relocated from Deir al-Medina.

And, obviously, ignore the man who has a mummy to show you. It’s a cow bone.

3: Tombs of the Nobles

The area that comprises the Tombs of the Nobles holds more than 400 known tombs, although only a few are open and many areas are closed while archaeologists do their work.

We loved the tomb of Sennofer, once mayor of Thebes, with its dazzling, lifelike vines and grapes painted onto its jagged cave ceiling.

The tomb of Rekhmire, a provincial governor, is grander than many of the tombs in the Valley of the Kings, and the scenes of exotic tribute coming in from Africa are amazing.

The astronomer/astrologer Nakht has beautiful scenes of daily life in his tomb. And all of these are far less busy than the ones in the Valley of the Kings.

4: Luxor Museum

After the sheer scope and scale of the Egyptian Museum in Cairo, the Luxor Museum is wonderful.

A very few, extremely high quality exhibits, among them a gilded head of the cow goddess Hathor from Tutankhamun’s tomb, a beautiful walking sculpture of Tuthmosis III (pictured) and a head of Sensoret III displaying the saggy eyes and cares of ruling, are beautifully displayed against elegant dark backgrounds.

It’s easy to think of Ancient Egyptian art as flat and lifeless. This beautifully curated, pocket-sized museum will change that view for good.

Best of all? You can cover it in an hour or two, easily.

5: The Temple of Hatshepsut

A friend remarked that, “The problem with the temple of Hatshepsut is that it’s spent the last 30 years being rebuilt by Polish builders.” And, yep, the restoration is heavy-handed as hell.

Add to this the fact that the temple of Hatshepsut (Deir al-Bahri) is up there with the Valley of the Kings for tour groups and touts and the interior does not overwhelm, many might choose, if short on time, to give this one a miss and look at a picture instead.

But I have a bit of an obsession with Hatshepsut, the gender-bending “drag king” who was one of very few female pharaohs, and a master of the sort of Game of Thrones manoeuvring in which the pharaohs led the world, so a trip to this enormous building, straight out of Triumph of the Will, was a bit of a pilgrimage.

Daughter of Tuthmosis I, Hatshepsut ruled as queen with her brother-husband, Tuthmosis II, then, when he died, usurped the kingship from his 6-year-old son to rule as pharaoh. She had herself portrayed wearing a beard and without breasts, and went to great lengths to build an obelisk bigger than her father’s, while presenting herself as his direct heir.

After she died — no one knows how — the throne did not pass to her daughter. Instead, her stepson/nephew ruled as Tuthmosis III and did his level best to wipe out not only her name but her face from every single building she had commissioned.

The carvings of the peaceful trade mission she sent to the African kingdom of Punt, are interesting, as is spotting where Tuthmosis’ artists have painted his face over hers.

6: Karnak Temple

An enormous temple complex, built by accretion over more than a thousand years, Karnak is dedicated to Amun, the warrior god and local deity that the Theban kings fused with the sun god Ra.

Despite the gauntlet of hassle, Karnak remains incredibly atmospheric. And walking from the town centre along the Avenue of Sphinxes that once led 3km to Luxor Temple, and will again once excavation is complete, gives a real sense of the scale of this endeavour.

Some highlights? The avenue of enormous, slabby fortress-style pylons, ceremonial gates built by kings over more than a thousand years; the gigantic hypostyle hall, with its 134 thousand-tonne columns; Hatshepsut’s obelisk, defaced by Tuthmosis III, with carvings explaining how proud she is to have achieved this as a woman; the sacred lake for ritual washing; and some beautifully coloured paintings from the time of Alexander the Great.

7: Valley of the Kings

The dramatic, sculpted valley where many kings and nobles of the New Kingdom were buried, among them Tutankhamun, is a Luxor must-visit. (And the excellent Theban Mapping Project has a complete overview, with video tours.)

But, as with other high-profile sites at Luxor, many of the best tombs are closed — to see the gorgeous tomb of Ramses II’s lead wife, Nefertari, in the Valley of the Queens, for example, groups need to front up thousands of dollars for special permits.

Further, since most of the open tombs have been glazed to preserve the paintings, the imposing entrances and passageways can feel a little like a corridor with a coach party in it.

We decided to eschew the tomb of Tutankhamun, because there is nothing in it, the art is unfinished and to pay an extra £16 to stand in a small tomb with a lot of tourists just to say we’d been didn’t seem worthwhile. But out of the ones we saw, the absolute standout was the enormous tomb of Tawosret, with a vaulted chamber with gorgeous gilded paintings of the sky goddess Nut.

Incredibly atmospheric, and we had it to ourselves.

I don’t think one can really visit Luxor and miss the Valley of the Kings, but the tombs of the Nobles and the artists are artistically much more rewarding, as, for that matter, are some of the Old Kingdom tombs at Sakkara, near Cairo.

8: Medinat Habu

Built by a later Ramses, Ramses III, as a temple for Amun, the temple of Medinat Habu is fronted by a unique two-storey “Syrian gate”, although there is a pylon to go through first.

Many of its pillars and several smaller sanctuaries retain their bright colours, giving an idea of how very, very ghetto-fabulous the original would have looked.

The format of pylons, courts, colonnades and side chapels is fairly typical, but there are the remains of a small palace beside the temple, where a few members of the royal family could rest and sleep during major ceremonies.

As almost nothing remains of the pharaohs’ elaborate mudbrick palaces and opulent gardens, this palace alone would make Medinat Habu is really special. With a zen little cafe opposite, and only a few very desultory guides on site, it is an absolutely perfect place for a wander.

9: Luxor Temple by Night

By about 9.30pm most tourists have finished eating, the touts have finished work and ordinary Egyptians are thinking about dinner, transforming Luxor from tourist hell into a fairly normal Egyptian city.

This, or later, is the absolutely perfect time to take a walk beside Luxor Temple, its enormous columns illuminated, with a cool breeze off the Nile, with nary a felucca captain in sight.

10: Aboudy Bookshop

With sofas to lounge on and blissful A/C, plus an absolutely excellent selection of books on Egypt in general and Luxor in particular, second-hand and new fiction, guidebooks and maps, we spent several happy hours in this spacious, gorgeous bookstore. It’s just off Sharia Khalid ibn-Al Walid, close to the Steigenberger Hotel, and a little oasis of calm.

This is, as ever, a highly subjective take on Luxor. One trained architect has a different selection of picks.

Have you been to Luxor? What were your favourites?

The post The Luxor Top Ten appeared first on EscapeArtistes.

The occasion? Why, a cremation.

In Bali, what else?

And, mercifully, unlike the bulls we saw sacrificed at a funeral in Tana Toraja, they were thoroughly fake.

These three gilded sarcophagi were awaiting the auspicious moment when the three royal siblings who died within a month of each other could be consigned to flames. A date determined by the Balinese calendar, where weeks lasting from 1 to 10 days run concurrently with each other, and the stars count too.

They moved to the street early in the morning, lashed onto bamboo carrying frames, maybe 30 foot square. Behind them, two tall, sparkling funeral towers, adorned in gorgeous papers, shades of greens and reds and white and gold — incredible quantities of gold — the demonic face of the bhoma guardian glaring brightly down.

There always were a lot of kings in Indonesia. Still are, in fact. Tiny fly specks of islands support multiple sultans, or, in Hindu-dominated Bali, rajahs — some of whom still sit in government as elected representatives.

Densely populated, rice-rich Bali holds a myriad royal families. The kingdom (kingletdom?) of Peliatan is so near to Ubud that it’s impossible to tell where Peliatan ends and Ubud begins. Mengwi, with its grand and beautiful temple, is 30km away at most.

And the people still come out in droves for royal funerals.

You learn a lot about a culture by their approach to birth and death. And in the unique Balinese take on Hinduism – add a dash of Buddhism, plenty of animism and a hefty slug of ancestor worship, shake well – there’s a lot of earthy humour.

It’s the sort of realism that sees cigarettes, biscuits, loose change and plastic-wrapped Mentos mixed in with the flowers and rice of the offerings to the demons that litter every street corner, even in the package holiday hell of Kuta.

For the Balinese, a cremation is just one of many rituals that mark the passage from life to the spirit realm. It’s elaborate, and expensive. Families will spend all their cash reserves, and more, to give the ancestor a good sendoff and placate the spirit that will take up residence in the family shrine.

Even non-royal funerals can cost eight or nine thousand dollars, in a country whose per capita GDP is under four thousand dollars a year, meaning the vast bulk of the population live on much, much less than that.

And, as we’ve grown accustomed to in Indonesia, a cremation in Bali is a weird combination of the elaborate, the traditional, the contemporary and the plain shambolic.

There’s a mass orchestra of gong and gamelan, men in silk turbans and formal sarongs, hammering out ancient rhythms in pentatonic tones. Yet plenty of them have fags in their hands…

As they play, young guys amble in, carrying more gongs, and set them up. Children clamber over the bulls; a man with a hammer fixes a technical hitch around one hoof. Kids chase out a dog that has been napping in a temporary sidewalk shrine.

Women in bright lace tops carry elaborate offerings high on their heads like Ascot hats, crafted from flowers, bamboo, palm leaves – and food. Sticks of the spicy minced kebab known as sate lilit, whole sucking pigs, little sculptures of coloured rice dough pinned on palm baskets…

In one corner, the priest sits in bright white clothes and dark red head-dress, blessing offering after offering surrounded by lenses.

It’s not a funereal atmosphere. Not in the slightest.

The guys from the banjar, the village associations, are there in matching khaki T-shirts, complete with today’s date, disparate sarongs and head-dresses, and some mean shades. Chatting over walkie-talkies outside the palace gates or strutting down the road past their scooters, they look like something out of Reservoir Dogs.

Women with stacks of sarongs on their heads push them at western tourists. Others carry buckets of ice and drinks. Ibu Oka’s sucking pig shop, almost opposite the palace, is doing a roaring trade.

The fire engines which will attend the pyres roll up. A gamelan-player takes up position on each funeral tower. An MC gees up the crowd from the base of one of the bulls.

A street orchestra takes shape. Men with walkie-talkies push the crowd back. The guys in their green T-shirts square up to the giant bamboo frame which holds the bulls.

One big heave. And they’re off!

At a run, whooping and yelling. The first bull charges high above our heads, one young guy perched vertiginously on top and clinging for his life as he rounds the corner, the MC still projecting from the base, one guy waving a loudhailer with an oscillating siren like someone at an early 90s rave.

The second bull goes. And then the third.

Why the speed? Outrunning the demons, of course.

They’re not the smartest, Balinese demons. And they’re very bad at corners (which is why Balinese compounds have a blank wall directly inside the main gate).

Outside the palace, the green-shirted photographers who’ve immortalized proceedings from a bamboo ramp, make way for the pyre, over a tonne of it.

A coffin emerges from the palace, and onto the bamboo ramp. Guys lash it into the funerary tower with strips of fabric. One of the chaps sat astride the coffin, as matter-of-factly as if he were mending a boat, beckons for a hammer for some last minute adjustments.

They will ride atop the coffin, in the centre of this tonne-plus tower, on the shoulders of the banjar men.

I’m amazed by the strength involved, the coordination. The guys put their shoulders to the bamboo frame. Heft over a tonne of pyre, with six men on it, and process to the corner.

The drums and gongs build to a crescendo.

The men spin, and spin, and spin again.

The tower spins with them, wobbling high above the rooftops and the pylons.

Demons shed, the bearers run towards the funeral temple.

The second pyre comes. Two coffins in this one.

It spins, and moves.

The crowd surges forwards. The Balinese mount scooters, which follow the procession at a suitably stately pace, engine fumes merging with the day’s fierce sun.

Outside the funerary temple, the Pura Dalem Puri, the fire engines have hosed the road with water to keep folk cool. The hot tarmac sends a sauna steam into the air.

It’s a surprisingly open space, a Balinese temple. The bulls stand, in regal splendour, atop a stone platform, their bamboo framework sawn away.

Men clamber over them. One takes his kris, a ceremonial knife with magical powers, and with a gesture remarkable for its matter-of-factness cuts off the top of the first bull and hands it to the ground.

Men run up the ramp to the funerary tower. They hand the coffin down. Another progresses with a white-wrapped bundle, the last effects of the deceased.

They are piled, unceremoniously, into the body of the bull sarcophagus.

In fact, it’s hard to see the bulls now for the numbers of people scrambling over them. More padding — or kindling, rather. Sacred oils.

Under parasols not dissimilar to those which shade the statues of the gods, dressed for the day in chequered cloth and golden sashes, the women of the royal family wait, neatly colour coordinated like so many bridesmaids at a Western wedding.

Lines begin to form. Young men in white carry portraits of the dead men; an older man carries a stuffed bird, symbolising the deceased’s soul. Women of all ages balance elaborate offerings on their heads. A coloured rope binds family member to family member.

They wind across the square, less procession than disorderly queue, and deliver their offerings, which pile up high within the bulls, around the bulls, on the very steps of the pyre.

More processions. More offerings. It’s a festival of conspicuous consumption, an object lesson in religion as materialism.

One woman is weeping, perhaps the wife of a dead man. Perhaps a sister.

Meanwhile, children clown with feet and masks scavenged from the funerary tower.

The priest makes purification gestures. Says some words.

The petrol comes out, unromantically, sprayed from a high-pressure hose.

And the bulls go up!

It takes a lot of heat to consume a human body utterly. A lot of heat. Great chunks of ash and fabric go swirling into the sky. The bonfire pushes the audience back.

The fire brigade pull out the hoses, wet down the platform, contain a blaze that would otherwise reach several storeys into the sky.

It’s common to compare the scent of burning human flesh with roasting pork. And, in truth, the smell is not dissimilar. Just with a note of char-grilled hair, as well.

When the bulls’ stomachs give way, the bodies tumble down to the platform base. You can hear the hiss and sizzle of boiling fat, see the charcoaled toes disintegrate, feet become stumps…

It’s a gory thing, a cremation in Bali.

The funeral flame throwers come out, then. Metal gas burners on long handles. Men clamber onto the pyre and administer super-heated gas, one at either end.

The remnants that will process ceremoniously to the sea must be sufficiently burned.

When we leave, passing the hawkers vending bright dyed chicks and ice creams, the bodies are still burning, awaiting their transformation into ash.

And, on this most auspicious day, the sky not just in Ubud but in southern Bali too is full of the smoke of funeral pyres.

Interested in Indonesian ritual? Check out:

Lombok’s Bau Nyale Festival
Funerals in Tana Toraja
Murder and Reanimation in Halmahera
A Seance with the Governor

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