The Great Sphinx of Egypt is pictured along with the Pyramid of Khafre on the Giza Plateau, just outside of Cairo, Egypt.
A camel rests near the Pyramid of Khafre on the Giza Plateau, just outside of Cairo, Egypt.
Stones cover the ground near the Pyramid of Khafre on the Giza Plateau, just outside of Cairo, Egypt.
Giza Plateau is just outside of Cairo, Egypt.
The remains of boats can be found in pits on the Giza Plateau, just outside of Cairo, Egypt.
Visitors sit near the pyramids on the Giza Plateau, just outside of Cairo, Egypt.
I fold my nearly six-foot-tall frame into the square-shaped stone opening of Khafre Pyramid in Giza, Egypt. The narrow passage is illuminated by what little sunlight sneaks around from behind me and from the glow of soft yellow lights lining the floor in front of me.
Crouching, I grip the wooden handrail parallel to the angle of the descent. With each step, I do my best to secure my feet on the rung-lined wooden slats covering the ground below me on the path.
Crossing one foot in front of the other, pointing my toes toward the wall on my left, I continue to descend until the tight passage opens up into a small room. I unfold myself into an upright position. I inhale a deep breath through my nose and hold onto it for a beat. I exhale.
The air is thin. I muster all the self control I can to remain calm. To, at the very least, appear to remain calm.
Along with me in the small room are four others. Unlike me, two are ecstatic and eager to explore more of the tunnels and rooms inside of the pyramid. And so off they bound over a waist-high wall into an adjacent room. There are also two other individuals who, like me, are ready to exit. More than ready to exit, perhaps.
But the tunnel we’ve descended is also our way out. The passage is wide enough for only one person to fit at a time, and someone else has already begun his own trek down into the pyramid. The three of us must delay our exit and wait for this person to reach the small room. So we do.
As soon as the new arrivals’s feet hit the ground in the room with us, he quickly moves onto the next. Without a word, the gentleman to my left then enters the passage to exit, and he instructs his companion to my right to follow him.
To our dismay, as he re-enters our end of the opening, the tunnel darkens. At that moment, the three of us discern the silhouette of yet another individual from the outside beginning to descend.
“Wait!” cries the gentleman attempting to exit. “Can you please wait? There are three of us trying to get out!”
I appreciate that he counts me in along with himself and his friend. And fortunately for us, the newest one to enter heeds our plea and steps back outside.
My two trapped counterparts waste no time in entering the tunnel back to the top, one immediately behind the other. And I know I have to do the same. I follow as closely as I can to these strangers with whom I now share a bond.
Please don’t stop, please don’t stop, I will them both as I do my best to avoid stepping on the climber in front of me.
They do not stop. And the light in front of us expands to envelop us with each step.
I keep climbing until I reach the end of the tunnel. Until there is no more stone closing in above me, below me, beside me.
I unfold myself and, straightening my back, I inhale. I exhale. All is well again.
(Note: Marjorie Appelman is a retired English, communications and journalism teacher from Mason County High School and co-founder of the travel blog Tales from the Trip, which is on Instagram and Facebook. She can be reached at marj.appelman@gmail.com.)
