Beneath the Sands of Egypt (25 page)

W
HEN
I
WAS TEN YEARS OLD,
I used to fantasize that I was a member of the crew aboard a strange raft adrift in the ocean:

There's a lot of provocative evidence suggesting that there were people from the New World in Polynesia, perhaps even before the Polynesians themselves. It was a heretical idea for sure in the world of anthropology, and critics often cited the notion that the seafarers of South America, as well noted by the Spanish conquistadores, were shore huggers and that their sea vessels were incapable of surviving the rigors of an ocean voyage. “There's one way to find out,” Thor challenged the critics. Build one, launch it into the ocean, and see what happens. Experimental archaeology, one could call it. Not only would the voyage prove possible, but it was relatively easy, as the winds and currents of nature's conveyor belt can readily transport one to beautiful island destinations.

“Donald!” called the female voice from nowhere. “Donald! Time for dinner!” At that moment the illusion was shattered and the
Kon-Tiki
yet again reverted to a pile of crudely assembled lumber perched on a Southern California hillside, the ocean transforming back into a sea of long green grass. Thor and the crew all vanished as the sun began to set behind the avocado groves and I answered my mother's call to return to the house. It was a great voyage that would resume the next day and the day after that. It all started with a little paperback book placed in a child's Christmas stocking. A paperback called
Kon-Tiki,
selected by a Santa who resembled my father, a man who knew the sea, having served as an officer on a battleship and captained his own sailboat. Why that book? I can never answer; he had no doubt read it himself and thought it would be a fine treat for his bookish son. He was right. Thor Heyerdahl and his
Kon-Tiki
lit in me a fire for adventure that has never been put out.

The voyage of the
Kon-Tiki
expedition took place in 1947, ten years before I was born, but with millions of copies published in over fifty languages, the wonderfully written book about the expedition was an international phenomenon. An obscure Norwegian
with a background in zoology quickly became a world celebrity and a symbol of bold adventure. Thor's shaky home movies of the voyage, accompanied by a wildly compelling story, brought him an Oscar for Best Documentary in 1950, while anthropologists cringed at his ideas and the methods of pursuing them. Thor, as both his fans and critics would learn, was just beginning, and would spend the next fifty-five years challenging traditional scientific dogma, backing up his notions with scholarly publications and lectures, and appealing to the common sense of the public with books that served to question and inspire. A few years after the famous expedition, Thor published an impressive, competently written scholarly explanation of the scientific theories behind the
Kon-Tiki
voyage, called
American Indians in the Pacific
. This impressive tome, with over eight hundred pages of closely spaced print and hundreds of bibliographic references, was barely read then and even still remains practically unknown. Inside, Thor presented a wealth of information supporting his notions, which suggested that the history of the Pacific was a far more interesting one than most could imagine.

During the mid-1950s, Heyerdahl led the first major scientific expedition to explore the archaeology of Easter Island. This remote island in the Pacific, known for its iconic giant stone heads, poses many questions, and, like Egypt, it's been fertile ground for both scientific and fringe ideas. The expedition's impressive work and publications continue to serve as a foundation for all further work on the island, and Thor's popular account of the whole adventure,
Aku-Aku,
was another bestseller. Apart from
Kon-Tiki
and a couple of my dinosaur books, it was a real favorite of mine and still is.

In 1969, Heyerdahl built another experimental boat, this time from papyrus. Proceeding on his belief that the oceans weren't obstacles but manageable highways, he noticed that a lot of ancient people in different parts of the world used what can be generically
called “reed boats.” These vessels were typically constructed out of bundles of naturally buoyant reeds or sedges and could be made in a variety of sizes. There seem to be many depictions of reed boats in pre-pharaonic rock found in Egypt's deserts, noted by their upturned bow and stern. As with
Kon-Tiki,
Thor wanted to test the seaworthiness of an ancient type of boat, and he did so by building the
Ra
near the base of the pyramids at Giza. The boat was then transported to Morocco, where it was launched into the Atlantic for a voyage to the Americas, complete with Thor and his remarkably diverse crew. For a variety of reasons, the boat began falling apart well short of its goal, and
Ra
had to be abandoned.

The following year Thor built another, christened
Ra II,
and the crew's easy and successful crossing took fifty-four days. I excitedly followed the story of the
Ra
expeditions as they happened, and when the documentary film came to the theater, I enjoyed every minute of it. Thor had done it again!

As I learned years later, there was a lot of confusion about what Thor was doing. The public certainly loved the adventures, but what was he trying to prove? Some believed that he was trying to prove that the ancient Egyptians came to America before Columbus. The style of the boat, its name, and the location of its construction were suggestive. The fact was that evidence from ancient Egypt provided the best models from which to reconstruct what was meant to be a testable generic model of a reed ship. For several reasons Egypt was a good location for putting it all together. In reality Thor never believed that the Egyptians had come to the New World, and at least during the time of the pharaohs they didn't seem to venture much away from the shores of the eastern Mediterranean and the Red Sea coast. But others might have and probably did, and I'd venture to say that someday there will be conclusive evidence that will rewrite the history books.

A third reed boat, named
Tigris,
was built in 1977 with the intention of connecting three locations of ancient civilization that seemed to have developed around the same time: Mesopotamia, the Indus Valley, and Egypt. There's evidence to suggest that all three areas had such boats and might have been in contact during the formative years of their cultural development. The
Tigris
was afloat for months, sailing from Iraq through the Persian Gulf and the Indian Ocean, to Pakistan and into the mouth of the Red Sea, where it was burned in protest against the wars taking place in that region.

After
Tigris
there would be other Heyerdahl expeditions, including archaeological excavations in the Maldive Islands, in Peru, and a return to Easter Island. Through these years of provocative expeditions, he became a beloved figure, not only in his native Norway but throughout much of the world. He also became a major international spokesman for global cooperation and environmental issues, the latter especially in matters involving the world's oceans. The man's adventurous spirit and “thinking out of the box” mentality continued to inspire me and my archaeological work, and I followed his work to the extent I could.

I finally met Heyerdahl, and I can thank both Howard Carter and Giovanni Belzoni for the privilege. I was in London in November 1992 for the exhibition at the British Museum, discussed in the previous chapter, celebrating the life of Howard Carter on the seventieth anniversary of the discovery of Tutankhamun's tomb. During my weeklong visit, I hoped to accomplish a little of this and a little of that, including the excursion to Howard Carter's grave and a visit to the headquarters of the Royal Geographical Society. The society is a distinguished organization, established in 1830, and its members are a veritable who's who of exploration during the last two centuries. In days gone by, its lecture halls
hosted reports of searches for the sources of the Nile and expeditions to the poles, and it remains a prominent institution to this day, addressing all aspects of geography. The society also houses a vast archive of material relating to various and sundry geographical projects, and I found, much to my surprise, some items related to Giovanni Belzoni.

I spent an afternoon scrutinizing this interesting stuff, and as closing time for the archives approached, I packed up my notebooks and headed for the door. Nearly out of the building, I was startled by the approach of a large entourage heading inside, consisting of what appeared to be journalists, photographers, and a host of other people. At its center was a man whose visage I immediately recognized. It was Thor Heyerdahl himself. The one man in the world I would choose to meet if I were ever presented with such an option. Thor was in London to give a lecture, a fact of which I was unaware, and now here he was—confident, charismatic, and a few feet away. I joined the surrounding crowd, and after a few moments I decided to make a bold, spontaneous gesture totally against my nature. I rudely pushed my way through the throng and stretched out my hand. “Thor Heyerdahl!” I exclaimed. “I'm an archaeologist, and I've wanted to meet you my entire life.” Thor, I would later learn, was rather embarrassed by his fame and probably took advantage of the moment to escape from his adoring fans. I was one, too, of course, but at least one who claimed to be an archaeologist. On top of that, there was only one of me versus dozens of the others.

Thor excused himself, and we were directed to a small, comfortable room, where we sat and began to chat. I was terrified of making some sort of mundane, starstruck comments, and no doubt I did, but Thor set me at ease and made me feel as if I were at least as interesting as himself. He was also accompanied by a beautiful woman, Jacqueline Beer, a former Miss France and television/movie
actress who would become his wife a few years later. The details of the conversation are hazy because I was so overwhelmed. I did mention that I had once sent him a copy of an article I'd written on the subject of papyrus, and in response he had sent me a lovely postcard, which I kept as a treasure. Again the details escape me, but I do recall the conclusion: “Thor,” I offered, “should you ever need some guy with a Ph.D. to carry your water bottle on a future expedition, I'm your man!” Thor graciously handed me his card with an invitation to “stay in touch.” I wasn't sure what to believe. “Stay in touch…” Why would this international celebrity want anything to do with a pipsqueak like me? Nonetheless, I exited the Royal Geographical Society walking on air and couldn't wait to return to my hotel to call Sherry and tell her what had just happened. “Guess who I just met!” I yelled into the phone. Naturally, she couldn't guess…another Egyptologist, perhaps? “Mighty Thor! I met Mighty Thor!” She had of course heard of the man for years and was impressed. The very next day, strangely, would bring me a completely unexpected counterpoint to the whole experience.

The following morning I had an appointment to meet archaeologist Paul Bahn, who shared a mutual interest in Carter's grave site. We met at the appointed hour in the morning and I immediately found him to be a friendly, bright, witty fellow. His academic credentials were impressive: an author and editor of many archaeological tomes (including the textbook I myself used in teaching), a protégé of the esteemed British scholar Lord Colin Renfrew, and an expert on, among other subjects, the enigmatic Easter Island. Our initial interaction was quite pleasant, and I enthusiastically described my own work in Egypt. Sometime within the conversation, I excitedly announced that I'd actually met the world-famous explorer Thor Heyerdahl the previous night. Paul's demeanor immediately changed to one enraged with anger. “That man,” he
announced, “is a fraud and a liar,” and the vitriol continued despite my attempts to moderate it. Didn't everyone love Thor? I thought naïvely. Did he not command the respect of even those who disagreed in detail? Apparently not. My encounter with Paul was a reality check. In less than twenty-four hours, I had met not only my boyhood hero and the foremost inspiration for my archaeological career but, coincidentally, the one individual, as I would learn, who could justly claim the title of Thor's most aggressive opponent. The subject was abruptly dropped, and we focused on the cemetery visit. Just a few years later, Paul would write a book about Easter Island, with a whole chapter—and then some—dedicated to “debunking” the
Kon-Tiki
expedition and Thor's ideas about Polynesian prehistory.