The Book of the Dead Exhibit

Just down the street from us is one of the most famous places in London: The British Museum. Home to the Rosetta stone, and a host of other pieces that range from Egyptian relics to famous works from the Tang dynasty, it is truly a must see for anyone visiting London.

The things they have there are just remarkable. A family friend of ours who studied at the LSE in the early 80’s told me that he would often go to the central study room and request to see old maps “because I dig old maps”. As he was a Master’s student, he was granted access to handle maps from the 15th, 16th, and 17th centuries and would spend hours just studying them.

For the past few months the museum has had a special exhibition of the Egyptian Book of the Dead. Mikaela was really keen to go, so we got tickets and finally went a few days before it closed.

The Book of the Dead isn’t a specific book per say, but rather a collection of books, that had a special purpose. When the Egyptians died, they believed that the spirit of the deceased began a dangerous journey and would pass through several levels of tests, or portals, with minor gods acting as guards barring passage. Only by giving specific “spells” or oaths to each of the guards could they pass through to the next level. After passing these different degrees or stages would they be allowed to go into their concept of heaven, which wasn’t all that different from their own world. There they would wait and work in their prosperous fields and wait for their family members to join them.

The Book of the Dead was a written account of this process, with accompanying illustrations, that people wealthy enough would have commissioned and had buried with them. It was essentially a map; one that reminded the spirit of the oaths and spells they needed, and the paths they had to take after dying. Rolled up, and bound by leather, they were then placed in the sarcophagus with the body. When the first scrolls were initially discovered, they were unrolled (one of the scrolls was over 37 meters long!) and deciphered. Several scrolls on display remain unopened.

While the name “Book of the Dead” sounds a bit morbid, almost like an exhaustive list of faceless deceased people, it is actually the opposite. In fact, the true translation for the name of the book is actually “Book of Coming Forth by New Day” or even “Book of Emerging Forth Into the Light”. With this understanding, the mummies, and images of old dusty crypts that I have always associated with ancient Egypt took on a new dimension for me. I saw instead humanity and life infused into these seemingly dead, silent objects encased behind glass.

One of the outer mummy sarcophogi they had on display was open, standing vertically, allowing you to see the inside of the sarcophagus. The inside was covered with thousands of tiny little characters detailing the Book of the Dead. Meticulously hand painted, I couldn’t help but imagine the devotion and artistry that went into this object by someone who must have worked hours skillfully writing along the inner recesses and dips of the wood. What once would have been just another object to me was now a masterful work of art. It was remarkable.

Some interesting tidbits that I saw and scribbled down throughout the exhibit:

• Before the mummy was buried, the priests attending the burial performed a ritual in which they anointed and blessed parts of the body (in particular the head) with oil which was kept in special jars.

• One of the dialogues between the spirit and a god guarding the passage way was spoken by a priest before the mummy was buried. The spirit declared itself “cleansed from sin” from itself and others. This was followed by a priest asking the spirit, “What does that mean?” Another answer was given, followed by another question. Notice in the picture below, the black and red ink. The characters in red ink are the words the priest speaks, and the words in black are the responses.



• A spirit was ultimately judged by his heart. Not by his acts, not by his words at the time of judgment, but by the quality of his heart. It was weighed opposite a feather of truth (Below).


• When a spirit had passed all the levels guarded by minor gods, and after he was declared clean in judgment, he was introduced into the presence of Osiris by a minor god who declared the spirit’s cleanliness before Osiris. It was then welcomed by Osiris after declaring “make a way for me for I know you. I know your name.”

• The heaven they entered was a glorified version of the Nile where they continued to work in a “fertile land” where they were later joined by their family members.

• To quote one curator in the blog link below: “The worst thing that can happen [along the journey to the afterlife] is what is called the second death. This meant you were killed and your spirit couldn’t come back and so you would have no afterlife at all.

Overall the Book of the Dead was an enlightening experience because we saw how people thousands of years ago interpreted and experienced death in a way that brought out the humanity in themselves and their loved ones. Walking away from the museum, I thought of the many things in life we pass by or ignore simply because we don’t understand them. Mummies and stuff never really interested me, but since I knew what to look for, they gained new meaning.

How much more could I gain if I searched for different ways to interpret many of the things around me?

Food for thought.

Here's the curator's blog for more info:

http://blog.britishmuseum.org/2010/09/22/what-is-a-book-of-the-dead/

Fresh Winkles for Sale

Here are some of the more interesting things we've seen whilst traipsing about recently:

I've never seen an American baby pull this one off... have you?



Taken at the market in Winchester: Fresh what?!!??


You can buy anything in England!


Look at the lower plaque: A very unfortunate name... why would a parent do that?


This cake shop in Oxford is prepared for every occasion:


I didnt know grooms on cakes with dents in their faces gave thumbs up...


Watch out for those tempting British Blondes:


Yes, they truly are beautiful. (It's what's on the inside that counts)

Valentines Day and the London Eye

After a few years of officially biffing it on Valentines Day, I knew that during our time in London, this was a now or never chance to salvage my limping reputation as a romantic. Screw this one up, and it was to the dog-house for me.

Forever.

So, departing from my usual male-techniques of logically thinking through ideas, weighing options, and coming to the best conclusion, I walked outside to seek inspiration.

Any inspiration. . . please. . . anything!

Luckily the gods, knowing my impending doom and knowing I was desperate, alerted my Neanderthal brain to a popular place to visit in London. The fact that it also just happens to be colorful, constantly moving, really really big, and visible from most anywhere along the Thames. . . probably helped.

The London Eye is a massive ferris wheel that rotates large capsules holding up to 30 people at a time. The rotations, or “flights”, take 30 minutes and provide spectacular views of London and the Thames. Given that we were going at dusk, we got to see the city transform from twilight to night and watched the city lights illuminate the increasingly dark forms filling the horizon.

The wheel is right across the river from Parliament, and Big Ben, and up river from the City of London. Take a look at the pictures we took:











Thankfully, the gods smiled upon me and I live to write another day.

Damn, Ohno and Notagain

I don’t know if I wrote this when we were living in Zimbabwe, but the Shona people have an interesting way of naming their children: the mother names the child based on what she experienced during her pregnancy.

So a few examples of some classic names we know: NoRest, Mistake, Blessing, Gift, and Misery.

And Morris.

Nevermind that last one, but I asked Mikaela what she would name our kids if she followed Shona custom. Her reply?

“Damn, Ohno, and Notagain!”

Borough Market in Southwark

We have had the great luck to make some wonderful friends while living in London. Gareth and Melissa Dickson from Brisbane live in our dorm complex, and are great fun to be with. Melissa is studying (excuse me… “reading” is the appropriate term in the UK) her PhD in English at Kings College for the next three years, and Gareth is currently writing a novel through correspondence with his university in Australia. They had a bit of a rough spot when the floods hit Brisbane as their apartment, which they are renting out, was flooded and they discovered “flooding” wasn’t part of their insurance policy. They are great to be with, and we find that we are laughing most of the time we are with them.

On a blustery cold Saturday afternoon, we went to the famous Borough market in Southwark. Crammed in between the pious Southwark Cathedral, and the grungy enclaves under the high street overpasses, Borough market features some of the more organic, vibrant wares and personalities of London’s markets. The steam and smoke from the many grills, steam pots and open stewing vats of Caribbean curries collect and mix with the chorus of shouts and yells of the merchants. Add the fact that Southwark used to be the scandalous fringe of London society, the atmosphere has an edgy rawness about it which is hard to find anywhere else in London.

After grabbing a few bratwurst for lunch (which are, in my opinion, heads and shoulders above English sausages), we sneaked into the cathedral to relax. It was there that we discovered a shrine to Shakespeare replete with a stained glass window filled with some of his many famous characters. This shouldn’t have been a surprise to us because not a few hundred meters up the Thames, the original globe theatre stood in the time of “Good Queen Bess”. It is known Shakespeare frequented the church, but this wasn’t the only impact Southwark has made on the arts. Charlie Chaplin was born there as well as modern actor Michael Caine.

While at the market, we walked around and checked out some of the interesting selections: boar salami, massive wheels of cheese, meter-long stalks of bright pink rhubarb, and of course, our favorite, South African biltong (sold by an Australian…). There even was a stall which had a clear cookie jar filled with truffles resting on ample beds of cotton. Just 100 grams of the stuff was going for 96 pounds! Realizing it was probably my only opportunity to ever smell it, I lifted the lid and smelled its tart, unique scent. Not my favorite, but what do I know?

Despite the unsavory reputation that Southwark has gained over the centuries, it recently has made a comeback with new building projects, high-end residential areas, museums, art centers and restaurants. London’s city hall even moved south of the river, and in a few years time, Southwark will be home to the tallest building in Europe. While Southwark gets its modern 21st century makeover, the true spirit of one of the best places in London can be felt and experienced at Borough Market.

Lewes

The next morning we caught a bus with Philli to a neat little town nearby called Lewes. Interestingly enough, it is considered to be the cradle of the American revolution as Thomas Paine, the author of Common Sense, (the book that inspired the minds of the American colonists to rebel against England) lived and taught there. Commemorating this fact, and endearing itself to the hearts visiting Americans, the city has a plaque on the inn where he debated over civil disobedience, and signs over the house he once lived in. While they toot their 21st century horn about it, I wonder how that little bit of press went over in the 18th century!

The other neat feature to Lewes is its castle. Marking the center and highpoint of the village, it stands sentinel on its crumbly hilltop fiercely guarding the surrounding hills dotted with contented sheep. The castle was built shortly after the Normans invaded southern England, making it nearly one thousand years old. The view of the castle, draped with vines on its lonely hill, and hedged in by the encroaching village, felt like a classic English postcard.
As we walked around the castle via a small footpath that weaved in and around various houses, it we discovered that we weren’t the only ones who had found inspiration from the picturesque location. A plaque on a quaint house told us that Virginia Woolf, the famous feminist author, lived and wrote for a few years in that location at the base of the castle. The house was octagonal, had a perfect view of the upper stone turrets, and apparently used to be a windmill before it was converted to a home. The literary connection for us went a bit deeper though: Woolf was a member of a group of writers, philosophers, and intellectuals called the Bloomsbury group. In the first half of the 20th century, this group included John Maynard Keynes (founder of the IMF), E. M. Forster and Lytton Strachey. They lived and worked in the Bloomsbury area of London, near where we live.

Despite the castle, and the beautiful views, the best part was riding on the upper floor of the double-decker bus back to Brighton. Often lining the country roads in England you will find tall hedges that block the view of fields beyond. Driving in a regular car, you usually can’t see above the bushes, but on the top floor of the double-decker, you effectively clear the tops of the hedges, and miles of green fields stretch before you. Considering we got to sit in the very front seats, the views were pretty neat; even though we felt like we would fall out every time the bus made a sharp turn!

Brighton

A few months ago Mikaela and I went to visit Phillippa Milton, one of Mikaela’s best friends while growing up in Zimbabwe, in the famous coastal city of Brighton.

Brighton is located about an hour’s train ride south of London right on the shores of the English channel: just a hop, skip, and a few splashes from northern France. It was a holiday/resort town during the latter bit of the 19th century, a place where the royalty and aristocracy alike would go to benefit from the invigorating effects of both the fresh sea breeze and the occasional swim. More importantly, it was a place where people could escape the grey bustling streets of London for some sun, a change of pace, and place to see and be seen.

In Brighton, we met some of Philli’s friends from her “uni” (the pan-British abbreviation for “university”) and went down to the famous Brighton pier. One of Brighton’s main attractions, the “pleasure pier” as it is formally designated, stretches over 500 meters into the channel providing pedestrians stunning views of miles of uninterrupted English shores on either side. To the west, you can see the rotting bent beams of the previous pier biting through the waterline, and looking inland, you can see the city of Brighton combing the low lying coastal hills with rows upon rows of neatly connected houses.

As you walk onto the pier, the whitewashed and windswept charm of the Victorian seaside is abruptly ruffled by flashy noisy penny arcades. Walking past the barrage of noise, we were greeted by the lowering sunset and had a gorgeous view of the horizon over the channel. To make things even better, we found a South African biltong hut and were reminded of Zimbabwe as we chewed away on our favorite snacks.

Philli had some other friends staying with her that night, and I was designated as the chef for dinner (Philli: I don’t know what to do… Christian, you can cook, right?). With everyone’s help we were able to put on a decent Mexican meal of fajitas, guac, salsa, and Mexican rice.

No matter where you are in the world, Mexican food always tastes good!