THE TERRACE OF THE WINTER PALACE HOTEL AT TEA TIME IS THE SMARTEST RENDEZVOUS IN EGYPT
By Karl K. Kitchen
You can tell how long any one has been in Luxor by the spot where he takes tea on the terrace of the Winter Palace Hotel. A new arrival invariably hugs the edge to get an unobstructed view of the Nile. The visitor who has been there several days is content to sit farther back, while the winter resident prefers to take his tea in the garden on the other side of the hotel, or if he happens to be an American, to replace tannic acid with cocktails at the bar.
The tea hour is “the” hour in Luxor. It is then, that the hotels—of which the Winter Palace is the most important—are at their liveliest. All the tourists are back from their excursions to the Valley of the Tombs the Kings, Medinet Abu, Karnak and the other glories of the past, and tea is not only an appropriate social function but a welcome stimulant after a tiring day in the broiling sun.
The Winter Palace is the rendezvous for all the foreign colony of Luxor at this hour. On its spacious terrace, which flanks the Nile for the entire length of the hotel, or in its beautiful gardens are to be found the most famous travelers, the greatest Egyptologists and archeologists and world celebrities who have come to Luxor to pay homage to King Tut.
During the day the Winter Palace and the other hotels are practically deserted. Every one is climbing over ruins, visiting tombs or engaged in some form of sightseeing or adventure. But when the sun begins to set beyond the Libyan Hills, the terrace garden—and bar—take on an air of activity and gayety. And the visitor to Upper Egypt sees Luxor at its best.
During the short winter season— it Is now only three months—there is nearly always a Nile steamer, loaded with tourists, at the river bank. Their white-clad passengers swell the animated throng in and about the hotel—completing a picture which for color and exotic highlights is not surpassed anywhere. White-robed native waiters move about the terrace with trays of tea and the most marvelous pastries. From the lobby may’ be heard the strains of dance music, for the dansant is part of the round of pleasure on the banks of the Sweet Nile.
But even more agreeable than the strains of music which are wafted about by the late afternoon breeze — at least to many tourists —is the metallic rattle of the cocktail shakers in the Winter Palace bar. At the Luxor Hotel the Tut-ankh-Amen cocktail is the drink of the hour. But at the Winter Palace “double dry Martinis” are de rigeur. And they are made by a black barkeeper who handles a wicked shaker.
In such surroundings—the bar and the terrace of the Winter Palace are the high spots in Egypt, in the opinion of many travelers—the events of the day are recounted as the sun sinks behind the yellow Libyan hills and its golden glow is replaced by a silver, shimmering dusk. And It is here that you get the “low down” on the tomb of King Tut-ankh-Amen.
For ninety-nine out of every hundred tourists, who visit Luxor the tomb of Tut-ankh-Amen is merely the excuse and not the reason for their trip. And those who are permitted to see its interior invariably find it the least impressive of all the “sights” in upper Egypt. The Great Temple of Karnak is the stellar attraction of Luxor. It dwarfs everything else in this part of the world—in fact, everything else in Egypt.
At tea time the air around the Winter Palace is filled with rumors about the tomb, and what its excavators have discovered. Every one. who has been to the valley of the tombs of the kings returns with some story about alleged happenings there—the deadly curse of the tomb on its despoilers, its hidden store of jewels and treasure, the latest deductions of Howard Carter and his archeologist collaborators.
Prof. James Breastead, the famous American egyptologist of Chicago; A. C. More and Prof. Percy Newberry, who is one of the greatest authorities on the valley of the tombs of the kings, are surrounded by questioning friends who are intent upon hearing the significance of the latest discoveries. When Howard Carter appears upon the scene, as he often does, for he has a villa on the opposite bank of the Nile near Gournash, he is the cynosure of all eyes. There is no question that he is the hero of the hour —as far as the tourists are concerned.
In his white sun helmet and gray flannels Howard Carter, despite his small stature, is a picturesque figure.
Despite the fact that everything found in the tomb of Tut-ankh-Amen, except the shrines protecting the sarcophagus. has been removed, and is either in Cairo or boxed up for future shipment, it is amusing to find scores of natives peddling hundreds of scarabs, beads, ornaments, jewels and even statues alleged to have been found in the tomb. And it is even more amusing to find tourists buying large quantities of this junk, which is concocted by the natives.
The manufacture of fake antiques is one of the most important industries in Luxor, which has a native population of some 15,000. Scarabs are turned out by the thousand. Every authentic antique is duplicated a thousandfold, with the result that every day more fraudulent antiques are sold than the tomb of Tut-ankh-Amen could hold if every one of its chambers were filled to overflowing.
“I’ve got one of King Tut’s rings,’’ said a stout lady tourist from Pelham Manor to me, proudly exhibiting a badly made imitation gold ring set with a pale blue scarab.
“How much did you pay for it?” I asked, for I wanted to be polite, especially as I was most comfortably seated on the terrace overlooking the Nile.
“Only 125 plasters. I always call the piasters plasters, it’s so much easier,” she explained. “Let me see, that’s $6 in real money. The man who sold it to me offered to give me a written guarantee that it was genuine. Think of having a ring that was worn by King Tut (she pronounced it to rhyme with mut) thirteen hundred and fifty years before Christ. Isn’t it wonderful?”
Fortunately, I was able to turn the conversation to the lateen sails of a boat on the shimmering river below and the gorgeous twilight—not to mention the arrival of an encore of “double dry Martinis”—which distracted the attention of my overcredulous companion.
An inspection of the shops near the Winter Palace—the most important stores of Luxor are located here on the bank of the Nile—revealed the greatest collection of junk—grimcracks and geegaws—l ever saw outside of a five-and-ten-cent store. Yet they were filled with tourists who bought Birmingham antiques and mail order tapestries at prices that enable the shopkeepers to live for nine months without working. Occasionally, after a great deal of haggling, an American of the cloak and suit manufacturing type will strike a fair bargain and get 10 per cent off for cash, but the majority of the purchases have only a sentimental value.
Between tea and dinner is the shopping time, for the day is taken up with sightseeing, and after dinner one rarely leaves his hotel—or his Nile steamer if he is visiting upper Egypt in that fashion. The night train for Cairo, thirteen away, leaves at 7 p.m.. and the departing tourists have to purchase souvenirs for the “folks at home.”
Dinner at the Winter Palace—and, as I pointed out before, everybody who is anybody puts up there—is an 8 o’clock function. It is distinctly formal in respect to dress and only a resident of Los Angeles, where cafeterias and toothpicks are in vogue, would dream of entering its dining room without a fried shirt, or, if of the opposite sex, a low and behold gown.
The meal is a table d’hote affair of the Grand Hotel type, served by Nubians attired in white costumes that look like a cross between a night gown and an ill-fitting pair of pajamas. The courses are interminable and even if you enter the dining room when the doors open it will be long after 9 before you reach coffee and cigarettes. The coffee, by the way, is excellent, if you are fond of cafe a la Turc, and the cigarettes, if you enjoy Egyptians, are the last word.
And right here I might as well debunk the Egyptian cigarette. Strictly speaking, there is no such thing as an Egyptian cigarette. No tobacco is grown in Egypt. The cigarettes that are made in Egypt are made of Turkish tobacco. But that doesn’t prevent them from being the finest cigarettes in the world—handmade of the choicest tobacco grown in the richest soil in Turkey. And a cup of superlatively good Turkish coffee followed by a superfine cigarette, not forgetting a cordial, makes one forget the flies, dirty donkey-boys, blind beggars and complaining tourists that one has encountered during the strenuous sun-scorched day.
If one is fortunate enough to be in Luxor during the full moon there is nothing more impressive in all Egypt than an after-dinner visit to the great temple at Karnak. less than two miles away. It is alone worth the trip to Egypt—the most massive and imposing ruin in the world.
When I returned to the winter palace after my visit to Karnak, with its marvelous temples, pylons and pillars of Rameses the Great. I encountered Mohammed Bey Fahmy, the governor of Luxor, enjoying a cigarette on the moonlit terrace.
“You have been to Karnak?” he asked, guessing how I had spent the evening.
“Yes.” I replied.
“Then you, will have something to write about when you get back to America.” he added, with a genial smile. “For you have seen the most marvelous sight in Egypt.”
And before I called it a night under the mosquito-bar of my bed in the hotel. I was tempted to take a drink of Nile water, having heard that he who had drunk of it must return to the land of the Pharaohs. But the memory of the tomb of Tut-ankh-Amen flashed through my mind, and I ordered a Scotch and soda instead.
I don’t want to take any chances of returning—until I am ready to lie down beside King Tut for a long dreamless sleep.
Evening Star, Washington, DC, April 27, 1924