From the deck I could see a jumble of dark wooden buildings with one brilliant blue door of a tourist shop blazing beneath a white mosque. The adjacent tourist street was well defined by overhead awnings. In short, just the sort of town for wandering and in truth just the right time for a little relief from the overwhelming grandeur of the Pharaohs. Having crouched in the tunnel of Cheop's Pyramid, stood like ants in the shadow of Ramesses II at Abu Simbel, sailed to Philae and marveled at lesser temples, each worthy of a trip to Egypt, I was on monument overload. Champing at the bit to get at what lay beyond not only the colossal but also the imagination, I longed for the leavening of local color.

At the end of the tourist street, the sunken Temple of Esna, dedicated to the ramheaded God Khnum who fashioned people out of clay, received only a glance. No clay people today, our quest was for "The People". Hadn't Dr. Zahi Hawass, the foremost Egyptologist who has devoted his life to the study of antiquities, said, as he stood in the shadow of the pyramids.

We captured our first people at a crossroads; robed men sitting on a bench having their morning hooka-fix. We pointed to ourselves and said our names and America. They gave their names in between long draws as the water bubbled like a fish tank and the fragrance of apple tobacco floated through the air. Children and donkeys gathered into a crowd and we moved on.

The guide had said there was only the temple and shopping, but we found exotica too commonplace for an Egyptian to note. We peeked rudely through an open doorway and caught a glimpse of a neat room with carefully made beds against each wall while outside two baby goats frolicked on the broad back of a black cow.

In the local laundry we saw a man ironing with the iron on his foot, and in a tailor shop, the steam came from a gulp of water spewed from the tailor's mouth. When the tailor wasn't gulping, spewing and changing irons, he was smiling at us.

Far from the street of tourist trinkets we found 21-karat bangles in a tiny gold shop. Next to the shop we were invited into a dark room completely filled with a huge grinding stone. The owner showed us the straw cushions where sesame seeds could be scattered before expressing the oil.

Children seemed to know their territory and would stop at a certain corner, and then another gaggle of giggles would fall in.

For lack of language we resorted to buffoonery. Stopping by a barbershop, quite swish inside with wood paneled walls, Judi pretended to shave the poor patron with a straightedge razor. Outside a group of children had gathered for this unusual happening. Standing on the platform outside the barbershop we began a rousing round of  "Row, row, row your boat". After several tries the children sang a credible rendition. In their midst a handsome gentleman on a bicycle introduced himself, "I am the social worker for the school."