The ultimate stretch of the West Bank of the Nile would have to be the domain of the ancient valleys. From the looming presence of the colossi of Memnon, the Valley of the Kings and Queens and the great Hapshetsut's mummification temple stood for thousands of years, helpless against the ravage of time and plunders.
I crossed the Nile back to the East Bank, where the temples of Luxor and Karnak laid ahead with the broken remains of what could had been great worship places the Egyptians observed in sight of the last bastion to eternity - the dark journey ahead of the twelve gates where amulets, hymns from the Book of the Dead, Book of the Night and the likes, frankincense and myrrh, prayers and for those pockets that could afford the pharaonic investment of a team of hieroglyphics expert carvers - modern day Luxor bore a complex example akin to a thriving Petri dish that formed an echelon of society crawlers that rose from the putrid brew of corruption and fake usurpers. No different from the pretenders and queen schemers claiming thrones and burial sites unsuited for the limitations of gender yet blind to the temptations of a colossal amassing of treasures and power. Even the priests of the olden days weren't any closer to sainthood.
Luxor was just a representation of what the bigger malaise spreading throughout Egypt like a bad viral infection borne along the flowing waters of life.
