Next to the Sphinx and pyramids on the Giza Plateau, Abu Simbel's likely the most visually stunning archaeological site in Egypt. Put more correctly, the relatively recently rebuilt main temple, with its 4 massive colossi, remains one of the world's most fabulous sights.

The colossi are all of Ramses the 2nd: although from a certain perspective, albeit a Pre-Donkey Jim peculiar perspective, one of them looks female. Looks somewhat reminiscent of Queen Victoria, ask me. Only 3 are intact; the head and torso of the fourth one, make that the 2nd one, fractured at some point in distant time and now lie on the ground in front of its still seated lower half.

Rephrase that: Were re-laid on the ground. Because, by rights, Abu Simbel should be well under Lake Nasser by now. And of course its original site is, -- as is virtually all of Nubia. The temples themselves have been moved. So have the Nubians; the ones that didn't grow gills, that is. (NOTE: A colour-depleted image of Abu's other temple forms the backdrop to this webpage.)

The deal is you pay 60 bucks Canadian to fly to Ramses the 2nd's second site because the government has closed the road to it. Your tour leader says you'll leave at 8 a.m. and be back by about 2 p.m. (Back being Aswan.) So it's either their way or, there being no highway, it's no way.

You fly to Abu, get a bus to the site, wait for the mandatory guide to finish with the last group, hear his rapid-fire spiel in borderline English and snap your shots. To compound your enjoyment you have to leave the site at a snap not of your camera but of his fingers. You then hustle back to the bus stop, whereupon you wait for the bus to arrive in order to return to the airport. And, yes, you are back at your hotel in Aswan by 2 p.m.

Tour leader doesn't say that by the time you've done all of the above, you'll have spent maybe 45 minutes at the site itself. I suppose you end up thinking it was the best site you've seen on your trip because you didn't have time to actually see it. Absence may make the heart grow fonder, while imagination in place of reality may be equally wonderful, but I still think the government could have found it in its heart to let us stay until maybe 2 p.m. instead of, what?, noon. I'd've been happier being back at the hotel by 4 p.m.

While this should be self-evident it's worth emphasizing that, should you dare do so, it may well prove to be worth your ass quite literally. That's because the donkey trail over Magic Mountain back to the Nile from the Valley of the Kings is patrolled by, presumably, paid locals in full regalia. Has been for quite some time, I understand. And an essential aspect of their full regalia are wicked-looking automatic rifles.

A woman on a tour of Egyptian 'crumblies' I'm on in the Autumn of 2000, a blonde-haired Australian in her early twenties travelling with her new husband, a big fellow thankfully, mostly for him, slow to anger, takes to calling her ass (her donkey) just that, Mohammed. One of the armed guards overhears her. In fine English he advises her: 'No Mohammed, Never Mohammed.' Repeats it any number of times, growing more and more agitated as he does so.

The woman, whose nickname's Breezy, isn't about to be dissuaded, however. Yammering encouragement to this donkey she's so ill-advisedly individualized, she just belly-boots the indifferent creature farther along the trail. The anything-except-indifferent guy with the gun's keeping up with us, though. Keeps up with us, upslope and downslope, all the way to the other side of Magic Mountain, where stands a one-time workers' village partially restored.

By then, there being no deaf persons among our human horde, everyone else has noted his vociferous persistence; noticed it incrementally nervously to not just belly-boot. Everyone else includes Breezy's husband. Rather sheepishly he finally gets off his ass and, lacking anything more than a camera in terms of a threatening object, attempts to make himself bulwark-tall.

Fortunately, one of our male guides, no doubt more mindful of his continuing income than his immediate security, recognizes the potential dangerousness of the situation and takes the stalking guard aside.

I believe some baksheesh (cash bribery) exchanges hands because, when our guide comes back, minus 'Never-Mohammed', he informs Breezy the donkey's name is Ahab. Whereupon he takes this newly christened Ahab's reins and increases our pace right rapidly.

I'm not saying 'Never-Mohammed' would have done her Breeziness any damage but, for much more than a few minutes, the rest of us were in fear for her continuing good looks.