Michael Appelt

In this episode of Musical Poetry, Michael Appelt reflects on one of the most powerful travel experiences of his life: one unforgettable week in Egypt.

From the Pyramids of Giza and the newly opened Grand Egyptian Museum (GEM), to the monumental temples of Abu Simbel near Aswan, relocated in a remarkable UNESCO-led rescue between 1964 and 1968 to protect them from the rising waters of the Aswan High Dam, each day felt iconic.

But this musical poem is not about monuments.It is about a moment.

Anchored before the lock of Esna during a Nile cruise, the ship waits its turn. Around it, life unfolds: the layered calls to prayer from nearby mosques, an episcopal church standing quietly apart, blue rowing boats circling the hull as traders throw tablecloths skyward, diesel smoke mixing with the scent of burning sugar cane.

Ancient faith, modern engineering, daily survival, all negotiating space along the timeless river.

The episode explores pause, movement, control, coexistence, and what it means to flow, even when redirected.

On the Nile, Before the Lock

Anchored before Esna, our tourist vessel waits, mighty, idle, held by turn and rule.The river pauses us.

From the bulk of mosques, great and small, near and distant, male voices rise in layers. Praise floods the air, claims it.The chant swells, overlaps, then hardens, a fervent reminder of what life, under their God, demands.

Apart from this,the episcopal church stands. Humble. Silent. Almost shy. It does not answer. It does not contend.

Engines intrude. Motorbikes sever the moment. Hustle resumes; the pitch lifts, not only from heat.

Blue rowing boats arrive, swift, intent, oars the length of their hulls.Two men to a boat, both shouting, bargaining. One stands, balanced, defiant of water, flinging tablecloths, big and small, skyward to our sundeck. The other rows, steady, practiced, holding position against current and steel.

Hallo? Excuse me! Five dollar! Hey! Olla! What colour? Midday peace contracts, survives only between calls.

Diesel smoke drifts upward, meets the sweetness of burning sugar cane. Modern breath, ancient fire, one air.

At last, our turn. The ship glides forward, into the lock, to bargain with gravity: once a waterfall, now a bottleneck in the unbroken traffic of the Nile.

The river moves on, contained, redirected, remembering what we no longer hear.