Climbing to Khufu: Bending to Eternity Inside the Great Pyramid

By Gloria Vasquez, first-time traveler from La Quinta, CA

Ahmed had warned us on the bus:

“When we get to the Great Pyramid, you can purchase a separate ticket to go inside. I wouldn’t recommend it if you are claustrophobic, have a bad back, or weak knees.”

At first I dismissed the idea. I wasn’t afraid of closed spaces and my back and knees were fine. But, at 76 years old, I had never attempted something so strenuous before.

The challenge voiced by fellow traveler Bruce made me reconsider. He had chimed in after Ahmed’s warning with these words:

“Hey, I didn’t come all the way to Egypt to not climb inside the Great Pyramid!”

As we walked closer to Khufu’s pyramid, I watched the line crawling toward the entrance. All ages were in that line. The five of my group who raised their hands that they wanted to try it were all around my age, some younger, at least one older than I.

The original ceremonial entrance was above the tourists’ line. Ahmed explained it was called the Robbers’ Tunnel because grave robbers had carved this easier tunnel, centuries after Khufu’s death.

If I was going to do this, I had to decide quickly. I wasn’t getting any younger and I had trained for over a year to be in shape for the challenges of the trip. The only thing stopping me was my own fear.

I looked around me, assessing my options: I could choose not to do it, be a safe elder, waving to the others as they entered or I could gather my inner resolve, think about what Ed would be whispering in my ear, and buy the damn ticket!

I bought the ticket.

I was now one of six going into the heart of the Great Pyramid. One of the others took my photo just as we were entering the easy part of the tunnel. I looked happy, refreshed, ready for anything. I would not look like that walking out.

Once inside, we walked upright toward the Ascending Passage, the narrow, chiseled tunnel the robbers had created 1,900 years ago. The lighting was muted, with bare electric bulbs recessed in niches on either side of the tunnel. I was surprised there was electricity at all. No crouching yet.

The actual Ascending Passage required bending over while walking. At 5’2-1/2” tall, I had an easier time than some in the four-foot-tall space. The path had wooden floorboards with metal strips crosswise to help steady our steps. I couldn’t make out what was beyond. My heart beat faster with anticipation.

Eventually, I could stand upright again in a small area preceding the Grand Gallery. This gallery signaled where the Robbers’ Tunnel met the actual original ceremonial path to Khufu’s burial chamber. I was no longer following in the footsteps of grave robbers, but standing where high priests, family members, and slaves would have been carrying Khufu’s coffin.

Waiting for our group to assemble, I imagined myself as one of Khufu’s daughters. Dressed in finely woven linen, I would have been part of the line of mourners bidding Khufu safe passage to the afterlife. Four thousand six hundred years ago. Just thinking it gave me chills.

As we walked upward through the Grand Gallery, my breathing was a bit more labored, but not uncomfortable. All the training at incline on the treadmill paid off. I could see the end of the Grand Gallery portion, but not what lay ahead.

Now the hardest part—the crouching, duck-walking ascent in the most cramped tunnel. Ahmed’s warning echoed in my head—I realized why he had mentioned backs and knees. I was literally walking like a duck, with my head tucked forward, for several hundred feet. And people were passing me going down at the same time. I remember seeing two Asian girls dripping with sweat, trying to fan their faces with their hands as they momentarily stopped to get their breaths.

It was hot. It was humid. Many bodies jammed into a very small space. Plus, I was still ascending. My thighs were throbbing, my breathing coming much quicker, and sweat dripped from my forehead, trailing off my nose. My hair was sopping wet.

Finally.

I can stand up again. Ahead is a vertical wall with metal rungs to climb up to another level. Okay, I can do this.

One more short tunnel portion and I am standing in the sarcophagus room. What a stark contrast to the photos I remembered of the opening of Pharaoh Tutankhamun’s tomb. This room is dimly lit, with only the empty granite sarcophagus standing in the middle. Air conditioning units whir in a corner, trying to bring down the 114-degree temperature.

I am standing inside a 480-foot-tall structure built to house the mummy of Khufu and honor his passage into the afterlife. His mummy is long gone, as are any of the treasures buried with him. Robbers over the centuries made sure of that.

It is eerily quiet, despite the number of people in the room. I peer inside the open granite mouth of the sarcophagus. Somehow, 4,600 years ago, Khufu’s body was transported here and laid to rest with much pageantry. I marvel at how his heavy coffin would have traveled through the tunnels I have just experienced. Pushing and pulling by slaves, with his family following behind.

How did the sarcophagus get to this room? How was it chiseled out to accommodate Khufu’s coffin?

The descent was almost as daunting as the ascent, I learned. Duck-walking is no fun in two-way traffic. I was now concentrating fully on putting one foot in front of the other and not tripping or hitting my head. Why hadn’t I noticed the descending bodies so much on my way up to the middle? I exchanged gazes with a few questioning faces—how much further? Is it this hard the whole way?, their eyes seemed to ask.

The Grand Gallery seemed effortless, now that the challenging part was over. My legs were tired, my balance a little off. I could see daylight ahead at the entrance. As I emerged into the bright sunlight, a breeze hit my sweaty face and cooled my wet shirt. I had made it.

When all six of us were gathered together at the entrance, we high-fived and celebrated the experience. I remember commenting on how my quads were quivering. And how good a cool drink of water would feel.

I stood in the sunlight, breathing hard, my legs still shaking. I had made it.

Perhaps you’ll opt to duck-walk in Gloria’s footsteps during Egypt & the Eternal Nile by Private, Classic River-Yacht.