Before I wanted to be a movie director, a scriptwriter, or a novelist… before it all, I wanted to be an archaeologist.
Learning about Ancient Egypt was somewhat difficult when I was a child in the pre-internet days. Our local library only had two or three books about the subject and these – as you can understand – were sometimes hard to come by during school project time.
But I remember going to those shelves every visit, in the hopes of finding them, especially the one about the legend surrounding the discovery of King Tut’s tomb, and when I did I snatched it off and tucked it under my arm to borrow. There was something about the whole story: the luck involved in finding it at all, let alone relatively undisturbed; the gold and loot; the ‘mystery’ surrounding the supposed curse that later struck those who were involved in the project. I lapped it up. I wanted to be a treasure finder and locate forgotten civilisations.
These romantic notions were put aside in high school when a trainee history teacher, who was first a trained archaeologist, told the class that, honestly, you spend the best part of your time with a dusting brush in the sun, getting a bad back from bending over. Maybe he was jaded, maybe he spoke the truth, I don’t know, but by then I was turning to other interests anyway.
I still loved the story, though.
This is why I snapped up tickets in the first week they became available. I was excited – Titanic was incredible, hopefully this would be too.
After months of waiting, we turned up the other morning just before 10am, thinking there would be a queue outside. To my surprise people were already streaming inside. We followed and discovered that in the school holidays the exhibition is opening at 8am to accommodate the crowds. Wow.
A little while later we were walking through the open double wooden doors at the entrance to the exhibit. It was time.
I won’t go into too much description because I don’t want to spoil anything, but I will show one thing:
I remembered this photo from one of the books when I was a child. It shows the stacks of treasures and possessions for the king’s afterlife. What I thought back then was, ‘Goodness, it’s messy. It looks like our garage, things piled up and what-not’. The other day this photo was projected on to the wall and next to it on display in a cabinet was one of the stools (you can see it, dark with curved edges, on the floor). My heart rate rose in recognition: I know that! It was a nice moment. I couldn’t believe there I was, and there it was.
Kids being kids, they raced through quickly, especially Riley, which I was prepared for but still get droopy-shouldered about. Never mind. They enjoyed it though, however Keira was one canopic jar away from being grossed out.
What museum experience would be complete without a cheesy commemorative photo?
Or something from the gift shop?
Or having your kids, no matter how you hiss between your teeth against their doing so, get their hands over all the fragile merchandise…
A nice day.
