Beneath the Sands of Egypt

by Donald P. Ryan, PhD

  I was very curious as to how Thor organized his life, and as I was interested in writing, Sherry suggested that I take a good look at his office and see how he was logistically set up to write his many wonderful books. At least I knew that I would return home with some useful tips. Thor, I found out, was a disciplined man. He was usually at work at 8:00 A.M., answering correspondence and writing. A leisurely lunch, typically at the seaside, was followed by a busy afternoon, a short power nap of about fifteen minutes, a leisurely dinner, and then to bed by around 10:00 P.M. or so. Thor worked six days a week, but Sunday was for rest and quiet thought. On that day he preferred to commune with nature, usually enjoying a ride into the mountains or along the sea.

  At over eighty years old, Thor didn’t know how to drive a car. He was certainly capable, but chose not to, perhaps preferring to spend his time thinking rather than concentrating on controlling a fume-spewing machine around countless curvy roads. Thor’s lack of automotive skills was actually to my advantage. Many times over the several years I would work with him, I had the privilege of being the chauffeur on his Sunday escapes, driving to beautiful places while we chatted about an incredible breadth of topics, from his previous expeditions to our present work to future projects and global politics. Wonderful meals were always part of the schedule, and then on Monday it was back to work.

  Thor not only didn’t drive a car, but he refused to learn the ways of the modern computer or own a cell phone. A multilingual secretary could deal with some of that, and Thor could type with two fingers at best on a manual typewriter. He actually preferred to write on yellow lined legal pads, and on many visits to Tenerife I brought with me packs of these pads, which he greatly appreciated. (Most were presented as gifts from young Samuel, who was rewarded in return with a nice postcard of thanks.) Despite the fact that his thick old-school Norwegian accent had become something of a joke among his present-day countrymen (it is sometimes referred to as “the Heyerdahl accent”), Thor’s command of the English language was better than my own, and he was fluent in German, French, Italian, and Spanish and conversational in several others.

  I worked with Heyerdahl as his right-hand man for about seven years, setting aside my attempts to work again in Egypt until he passed away in 2002. My many adventures with Thor could fill a book of their own. Thor had several ideas in mind when he brought me aboard his research raft. First, he wanted an able coauthor to write an updated, condensed, and popularized version of American Indians in the Pacific, his scientific explanation for the Kon-Tiki expedition. The book, we decided, would be titled Lost Wakes in the Pacific and would be accessible to both scientists and lay readers alike. Second, Thor had ambitions to pursue a couple of new archaeological projects, including excavations at a site on the northwest coast of Morocco and investigations into the pyramids of Güímar, which lay within a short walking distance of his own home on Tenerife. Both projects were linked to his long-standing belief that the oceans of the world were not barriers between ancient cultures but natural conveyances whose winds and currents readily enabled people to move about and perhaps spread culture and ideas. “Boundaries?” Heyerdahl provocatively asked. “I have never seen one, but I hear they exist in the minds of most people.”

  The Moroccan proposition involved Thor’s interest in Lixus, the ruins of a settlement with a port that was utilized at various times by the Phoenicians, the Carthaginians, and the Romans. Located on the Atlantic coast and perfectly situated to take advantage of currents running east to west to the New World, Lixus might perhaps offer clues to possible contacts across the oceans over many centuries, if not a couple of millennia, prior to Columbus.

  The author (right) and Thor Heyerdahl during a lecture appearance.

  Richard Londgren

  I accompanied Thor to Lixus twice, traveling first to Casablanca and then traveling north up the coast. It’s a marvelous and complex site, which had already been partially probed by a few earlier expeditions. Finding the location of the ancient port would be a major goal, and modern technology such as ground-penetrating radar could be put to use to outline its contours. Morocco would be a splendid place to work, too. Here, unlike the crowded confines of the Nile Valley, there were miles and miles of wide-open spaces. Thor had been to Morocco a few times before, having launched the Ra expeditions from the port of Safi, and he had subsequently been awarded one of the country’s highest honors by the king himself.

  We needed to obtain formal permission to excavate at Lixus, and eventually a meeting was arranged with Moroccan antiquities authorities to approve our proposal so that we could immediately begin work. A small group of us, including a colleague of Thor’s from Norway, traveled to Morocco for this meeting in the country’s capital, Rabat. Anticipating a congenial welcome, we were instead treated to a long-winded lecture in French about our arrogance in wanting to excavate at such a site as Lixus, and our intentions were questioned. Although my French listening skills weren’t perfect, I was readily getting the gist that something was seriously wrong by the growing look of irritation on the faces of my colleagues. Thor finally had had enough and spoke up, addressing our honest intentions and commenting on the unexpected rudeness. We got up and left, and I quickly called home to inform an American member of our team, airline ticket in hand, to by no means come to Morocco, and certainly not with the expensive and sophisticated equipment he had arranged for us. Thor, though, was somewhat defiant and insisted that we drive up to the site of Lixus the very next day. There we were greeted quite cordially by the local archaeologists, who seemed to be well aware that we’d be coming. Perhaps the friendly reception at Lixus was the result of a fear that the antagonism shown us at our original meeting had gone way overboard and that Thor, with his international clout, might offer a bad report. We were never quite sure of all the dynamics involved, and the speculation regarding our reception is full of intrigue but unproved.

  With strange things occurring around us, I departed to the airport to return to Tenerife while Thor and Jacqueline kept their plane tickets but decided to quietly take a ferry to Spain. The ferry was delayed, and upon arrival on the opposite side of the straits, Thor was surprisingly greeted by a “journalist” who inquired as to how he’d enjoyed his trip to Morocco. With that, the strange Lixus affair never improved much. Despite his royal connections and repeated overtures, Thor’s efforts to excavate at Lixus were thwarted and eventually abandoned.

  We would have somewhat better luck in Tenerife itself with the Güímar pyramids. Thor was convinced that these curious structures were the work of the indigenous people of the Canaries called the Guanches. With their probable origins among the Berber people of North Africa, the Guanches settled the islands during the first millennium B.C. Their culture is fascinating, and their language is extinct, but a number of words survive, especially in place-names. They raised sheep and wheat, and some lived in the countless caves that dot the volcanic landscape. Most curiously, the Guanche practiced mummification.

  Through the efforts of Thor, Fred Olsen, and others, the site of the Güímar pyramids was preserved, and I watched and occasionally advised as the area was turned into an “ethnographic park.” A research foundation with the acronym FERCO (Foundation for Exploration and Research on Cultural Origins) was formed, and one of our first projects was a program of excavation that we hoped would help us solve some of the fundamental questions the pyramids posed: Who built them, when, and for what purpose? A local archaeologist, Tito Valencia, and I started by excavating a small natural cave that seemed to penetrate underneath one of the smaller pyramids. There had been local legends that perhaps it led to secret chambers, perhaps containing Guanche mummies, but a bulldozer associated with a sewer project had used the cave entrance as a convenient place to shove loose debris. The entrance was small, and when I first took a look at the spot, Thor suggested I crawl inside and see what I could see. The volcanic rocks were sharp against my chest, and I inched my way in a body length or two. Within moments I was struck by
an eerie tingling feeling on my skin and in my hair that became increasingly uncomfortable, to the point where I decided to quickly extract myself from the tunnel. As I returned to daylight, Thor began to laugh. I was covered from head to toe with fleas; the cave had served as a refuge for some of the local feral dogs, who enjoyed its cool interior.

  The Pyramids of Güímar on Tenerife in the Canary Islands are enigmatic structures and an archaeological challenge.

  Denis Whitfill/2000 Excavation at the Pirámides de Güímar

  We excavated much of the cave and found that after a couple of short bends it ended with no secret rooms to be found. We concluded that there was no particular evidence to suggest that it was even related to the pyramid above it. Near its entrance, though, we found some of the distinctive pottery and stone tools of the Guanche, with radiocarbon dating providing a date of about A.D. 1000.

  The Pyramids of Güímar are a complicated site, and altogether we conducted four field seasons of excavations there. The latter three involved interesting combinations of volunteers and archaeological professionals who worked together to mostly dig test pits and make maps. A lot of our digging indicated that whatever this curious place was, it had been heavily used and reused, and we often found a jumble of material from different eras, including rusty nails mixed in with old Guanche artifacts.

  One of our major goals, of course, was to determine the true nature of the pyramids themselves. Old Spanish records suggested that these were indigenous constructions, and it’s possible that they were used for solar worship by the Guanches. Stairways up their western sides leading to flat summits seemed to support the notion that such approaches would indeed be suitable for greeting the rising sun. There also seemed to be deliberate orientations along walls of two adjoining pyramids, which accurately aligned to the setting of the sun through notches in the mountains to the west during the summer solstice. There were some, however, that weren’t buying the idea that Pirámides de Güímar were either old or native. Alternate theories included the idea that they were Spanish agricultural terraces or were piles of rocks from farmers of the last few centuries clearing their fields.

  Thor found these ideas ridiculous. Building three-dimensional terraces with large stone corner blocks would be an absurd waste of time and energy, and as far as their being mere rock piles, there were plenty of examples of those, some even across the street from the site, which resembled, as one might suspect, piles of rocks. No, there was something very strange about the Pirámides, and during our investigations we visited other sites with similar structures, including some in utter ruins on other islands in the Canaries.

  To solve some of these outstanding questions, a deep probe into the pyramids bore the possibility of providing some answers. Would digging shafts to penetrate their interiors reveal secrets of their building history? If we reached the original building surface and found organic remains that we could carbon-date, perhaps we could gain an idea of their antiquity, or lack thereof. Could there even be burials inside?

  Digging within the pyramids proved a very intimidating challenge. We brought in one of the best American engineers we could find and quickly learned how difficult the task would be. The pyramids consisted primarily of small, coarse volcanic stones mixed with loose soil, which presented a veritable nightmare in terms of maintaining the archaeological integrity of the digging and, more important, the safety of the archaeologists. Our talented engineer attempted to address the problem using traditional mine-shoring methods, placing beams in our initial shaft’s walls to prevent the dreaded cave-in. While well suited for mining, the method failed to keep the upper stuff from mixing with the lower stuff, thus violating our need to maintain a clean record of potential strata as we dug deeper. The situation was very frustrating.

  I took the issue to Thor, who with his busy schedule could visit the site only for brief periods every day or so. He thoughtfully considered our dilemma, and in short order removed an old envelope from his shirt pocket and drew a little sketch with a pencil. “Try this,” he said. The drawing illustrated a set of square boxes that, like nesting Russian dolls, could fit one within the other. We would set the first and largest box on top of the pyramid and excavate inside, the box dropping down with us as we dug, preventing stratigraphic contamination and at the same preserving our lives. When the top of the box reached the surface, we could then insert another, just slightly smaller in size, and add more as necessary.

  When I presented the idea to our engineer, he was extremely skeptical but was ultimately willing to give it a try. We built our first box out of reinforced wood right on top of the pyramid, about one meter square and two meters tall and in some ways resembling a phone booth—minus the phone, of course. We slipped the curious device into our shallow mine shoring, crawled inside, and began to excavate. It worked like a charm. Once again, as I had grown accustomed, Thor’s genius was reliable. The following year we returned, but this time we had ordered a set of nesting boxes made of steel that would allow us to dig a shaft whose beginning dimensions were two meters square. With a wonderful crew of very experienced archaeologists, including an incredible amateur nicknamed “Termite,” we were able to reach bedrock in two shafts dropped down through the center of two different pyramids. The results were disappointingly inconclusive. Datable material was ultimately not forthcoming, nor were Guanche burials encountered. On the other hand, our efforts were a mere sample, and theoretically it’s possible that we could have missed a burial by inches and a continued search for datable material could prove worthwhile.

  Working for Thor was always an adventure, and I made regular trips to the beautiful Canaries for work sessions. Thor was constantly on the move, and occasionally we met in such places as New York City for events like the formal Explorers Ball or a press conference, or perhaps in British Columbia to investigate a possible Northwest Coast Indian connection to Polynesia (it’s not as weird as it sounds). Twice he graciously agreed to visit my university, Pacific Lutheran, conveniently an institution founded by Norwegians and a regular stop on the tour of Scandinavian royalty and cultural luminaries.

  Being Thor’s right-hand man never ceased to be a fun challenge. Modern technology enabled our full-time cooperation, and many a night would be interrupted by the sound of my fax machine going off with the latest news and requests for information or advice that would be a daunting challenge for anyone. I, however, was usually prepared. Trying to anticipate anything and everything that Thor might possibly need, I regularly collected relevant information, and with advanced library skills and a knowledge of Internet search engines I aimed to deliver answers in the shortest possible turnaround time. The 3:00 A.M. faxes were by no means annoyances (to me at least—I can’t speak for my wife) but were an exciting call to action. I couldn’t believe I was actually being paid to do this; it was just too much fun and too wonderful!

  Working for Thor did have its downside. I had to deal with some of his uncivil opponents, who occasionally resorted to name-calling or other degrading behaviors. Thor did not take kindly to meanness and preferred his opponents from earlier in his career, who were stridently opposed to his theories but could express themselves without the degree of viciousness that often came with the later attacks. Thor was his own best ambassador and his opponents tended to moderate themselves when they met the man in person, when the idea of Thor came face-to-face with the reality of Thor.

  Thor reluctantly accepted the role of celebrity that had been imposed upon him but recognized that it enabled him to conduct his life and work in the manner he chose. He recognized, too, that in public, he was the Thor Heyerdahl and a Norwegian, and should he be seen in public with a dirty shirt or rebuffing his fans, the word would be passed on. Many a restaurant meal was interrupted by autograph and photograph seekers, and there were times—especially on Tenerife, where there are loads of Europeans vacationers—when Thor preferred to hide and relax while his wife and I hit the streets shopping. And then there were those who came to seek
Heyerdahl on Tenerife, confident that he harbored the elusive answers to some of life’s and history’s most profound questions. It wasn’t always easy being Thor Heyerdahl, but he took it all in stride and lived life to its fullest.

  On April 18, 2002, Thor Heyerdahl passed away. He had been diagnosed with a brain tumor the previous year but told no one. With decades of dangerous adventures behind him, he was a survivor, and I suspect that he felt he would somehow even overcome this daunting challenge to his very existence. There had been a report of his diagnosis in the Norwegian press, but I dismissed it as yet another celebrity rumor. Thor would have told me, I concluded. I called him up and asked him, and he confidently assured me that he felt fine, which to me meant that the story was false. In retrospect, he hadn’t denied it.

  The last time I saw Thor alive was in Oslo just about a month before his final days. I had traveled to Norway to attend a board meeting of FERCO. I arrived earlier than the other committee members, and my first encounter with Thor left me shaken and distraught. I had last seen him vital, strong, and in good spirits just a few months previously in Tenerife. Now he looked gaunt, and his physical persona seemed to have aged, as if his eighty-seven years had quickly caught up with him. Usually tough and resilient, he walked the cold winter streets of Oslo uncharacteristically bundled up. I reported back to my recently arrived colleagues and announced that something was seriously wrong with Thor. When we all met, the group agreed. Thor was his usual jovial and charismatic self, but he seemed to have seriously physically deteriorated. In characteristic fashion, Thor took command of our business meetings, during which he addressed several contentious issues.