In the early 90s I had the pleasure of several trips to Cairo. The River Nile flew just below my hotel balcony and exuded an unbelievable air of mystery and darkness to me.  I just imagined where it came from – deep from the heart of Africa, a continent yet totally unknown to me. The Ancient Greek historian Herodotus called Ancient Egypt once a “gift of the River Nile”. When I travelled many years later on a small pinasse from Luxor to Assuan in the wonderful company of my then 70-year-old mother I finally understood why: The Pyramids, the Treasures of the Valley of the Kings and  the endless necklace of villages along the river would not be thinkable without it. My mother from her vantage point of the slowly cruising pinasse was struck by the deep green of irrigated fields of cotton, wheat and orange orchards which farmers had wrested from the desert since eternity.  At night we sat on an island, eating wonderful Nubian food from the barbecue and smoking Shisha she told Mohammed,  our funny Nubian captain, how paradisiacal she found this landscape. Under the stars of the desert an amazing discussion about paradise enfolded.