“Money talks, bullshit walks”

It only occurred to me last weekend that in all the trips I had made to the Pyramids—and there were quite a few of those—I always missed the most interesting thing out there.

It hit me when our slick-haired tour guide, latched onto the front left door of our Jeep Pajero with his right arm thrust through the window and the rest of his body dangling dangerously outside, let out a loud chuckle as he yelled, you know the system, money talks and bullshit walks!

Probably just as proud of his ability to crack a joke in English as his feat of bribing the guards to let us near the Pyramids past 4 p.m., he clung onto the car as if it was the most natural thing to do, hopping off only once we had reached the gate.

That’s when I decided that my friends—one Egyptian and one Australian—could admire the monuments of ancient Egyptian civilization all they wanted, but this time, I was devoting my attention to the guide.

For most tourists, the culture of camel keepers, peddlers and self-appointed tour guides are probably the downside of going to the Pyramids. It’s nice to get a picture on a camel or pay someone to give you a quick history lesson, but often, you can’t shake off the feeling that you’re being milked for money.

Dressed in blue jeans, a white shirt and a black leather vest, our guide fit the profile of the street-savvy, self-appointed historian: his English was fairly good, he threw in a question about which city in Australia my friend had come from, he could recount the basic history of the Pyramids, he showed us how to pose like we were holding the Pyramids in our hands, and, like a true marketer, he wrapped up his tour by arranging a photo op with the camel and offering to take us to the papyrus shop (or ‘museum’ as he liked to call it), the Egyptian perfume store and the bazaar.

The store owners were just as enterprising—they started with the usual, welcome, welcome, they offered some historical background about how papyrus was made and which perfume oils were preferred by which Pharaohs, then they advertised their selection of souvenirs with a discount just for you, all the while assuring us that we were not obliged to buy anything and that they were happy just to teach us a thing or two about ancient Egypt.

It’s easy to brush it all off as good sales tactics. This network of guides, camel keepers, peddlers and store owners thrives on tourism. Both they and the police guards probably turn a good deal of profit from late-comers like ourselves, who would’ve never enlisted a random guide if we hadn’t needed someone to let us in past the 4p.m. ‘curfew’.

But it wasn’t just about money.

As I watched our guide explain how the Pyramids were built and the perfume store owner—another slick-haired man in blue jeans and a bright yellow sweater they call the ‘Dr.’—explain how Cleopatra used to put the oil on her knee so that Marc Anthony would have to kneel in front of her to smell it, I could detect an undeniable sense of pride in the stories they were telling.

If there’s one thing Egyptians are most proud of—besides the 1973 war, a few Nobel laureates and possibly the height of the Nasserite era—it’s the legacy of ancient Egyptian civilization. More than anything, Egyptians want foreigners and tourists to go home thinking that Egypt is a great country filled with warm, hospitable people.

And if you can get past the unscrupulous salesmen, the marketing tactics and the money talks, bullshit walks system, you might actually catch a glimpse of these genuine feelings.

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