“Falcon, water, Ra…that isn’t how you spell…wait a second! Guards! Guards! Seize him!”
Tomb me, or not tomb me. That is the question…
Yeah, no shit. It was quite apropos, though.
I hate to be biased, if not bigoted, but I had a bad experience with an Egyptian professor in my department who taught required classed for graduation. That particular dialect (and pronunciation) of International English reflexively makes me look to the nearest door.
That being said, replacements need to be groomed and exposed to the international media, so that when he passes (thought omitted), a successor is ready. As a scientist, I abhor those personalities who do not allow others attention - It is harmful for their careers.
A few years ago I worked directly with Zahi, or rather through his long-suffering assistant, when I was employed by a leading producer of English language media in Egypt. I would be hesitant to share on line any explicit stories of his behavior as I have no wish to cause my former employer trouble (as could easily happen, something I know from having observed a similar situation in the past - some of Zahi’s fans are pretty rabid.)
Let me just say that Zahi is both a floor wax and a dessert topping. The man is unquestionably brilliant and I have enormous respect for his intellect, his passion and his drive. At the same time, his ego knows no bounds and he has difficulty distinguishing between the treasures of Egyptian archeology and his own self-worth. On numerous occasions we were required to do the publishing equivalent of genuflecting to the man or he would refuse to deal with us. His rationale was that it was for the good of Egypt - Zahi inspires international awe and respect, Egyptian artifacts deserve awe and respect, ergo we must all promote Zahi.
I think he honestly believes he’s doing it for Egypt and not for himself. At the end of the day, it’s both. And boy do I have good stories, but you gotta get me drunk first and hear them in person as I won’t tell them on line.
As a person who’s son is personally vested in Dr Hawass, here’s a martini, dirty, with garlic-stuffed olives.
Do tell.
And here’s another one with anchovy-stuffed olives.
Dish.
No, honest, trust me: the booze cuts down the fishiness, leaving the salty, oily essence of the olive, only MUCH more salty and MUCH more oily.