A Little Cruise Up the Nile circa 1873

A dahabeeyah on the Nile (1891)

I was surprised and delighted to discover that the library had a copy of A Thousand Miles Up the Nile by Amelia Edwards. Surprised because it was originally published in 1877 and delighted because this copy, in an age when the library has a tendency to discard books with a vengeance, has managed to still be on the shelf since it was purchased for the system in 1983. Thirty years ago!

The year is 1873 and Ms. Edwards and her traveling companion (who is identified only as L.) have taken refuge in Cairo quite by accident; because the weather that year in Europe had been so rainy. They have escaped to warmer climes and have secured for a cruise up the Nile a 100-foot dahabeeyah, or houseboat, known as Philae. Here is how she describes their first moments on board:

And now we are on board, and have shaken hands with the captain, and are as busy as bees; for there are cabins to put in order, flowers to arrange, and a hundred little things to be seen to before the guests arrive. It is wonderful however, what a few books and roses, an open piano, and a sketch of two, will do. In a few minutes the comfortless hired look has vanished, and long enough before the first comers are announced, the Philae wears an aspect as cozy and home-like as if she had been occupied for a month. 

As for the luncheon, it certainly surprised the givers of the entertainment quite as much as it must have surprised the guests. Being, no doubt, a pre-arranged display of professional pride on the part of dragoman and cook, it was more like an excessive Christmas dinner than a modest midday meal. We sat through it unflinchingly, however, for about an hour and three quarters.

Later, after the guests have left and the boat is underway:

Happy are the Nile travelers who start thus with a fair breeze on a brilliant afternoon. The good boat cleaves her way swiftly and steadily. Water-side palaces and gardens glide by, and are left behind. The domes and minarets of Cairo drop quickly out of sight. The mosque of the citadel, and the ruined fort that looks down upon it from the mountain ridge above, diminish in the distance. The Pyramids stand up sharp and clear. 

We sit on the high upper deck, which is furnished with lounge-chairs, tables and foreign rugs, like a drawing-room in the open air, and enjoy the prospect at our ease.