Pyramids, Papyrus and Pandemonium: My Journey to the Shanghai Museum

One approached the "On Top of the Pyramid" exhibition with a certain expectation of… well, order. The advertised run, from July 2024 to August 2025, suggested ample opportunity, a leisurely stroll through antiquity. This, however, was clearly a misdirection. The purveyors of tickets, employing a strategy one might charitably describe as "tantalizing scarcity," dispensed access with the caprice of a fickle deity, revealing and then snatching away digital invitations on the Chinese buying applications. A persistent, almost masochistic, endeavor was required. Fortunately, for those of us unburdened by a Chinese identification number – a demographic that, one presumes, will remain distinct from my marital status – Trip.com offered a rare, clear path. A minor victory, certainly, but a victory nonetheless.

Upon entry, the initial greeting was a styrofoam sphinx, a peculiar likeness of Ramses II rendered with a grimace that initially I attributed to either a sudden, unwelcome body transplant or perhaps the discomfort of Shanghai's monsoon season. One quickly realized the true source of his discomfort: the sheer, unadulterated volume of children. The adult visitor was outnumbered by a ratio of five to one. These miniature, rambunctious citizens scurried with an almost predatory intent, turning what should have been a contemplative visit into an involuntary exercise in balance and evasion. Claustrophobia, it appears, is less an innate condition and more an acquired response to an environment populated by an unceasing wave of small, energetic beings.

The temptation to retreat was considerable, yet the exhibition's main draw lay tantalizingly close, positioned, with a certain ironic convenience, on the entrance floor. One engaged in a series of calculated pushes and subtle shoves, navigating the throngs. Explaining a passport number for the third time to a gatekeeper, whose primary function seemed to be the management of an assembly of howling kindergarteners, felt like a scene from a particularly tedious bureaucratic play.

Once inside, the exhibition began modestly: pottery pieces adorned with various forms of avian and piscine life from the Nile. This procession of what one might call "caged ceramics" continued, interspersed with rocks inscribed with inscrutable hieroglyphs. The placards, for reasons known only to the curators, offered little more than "A Risk with Hieroglyphs" in English. My companion, with an admirable if unverified certainty, maintained that the Chinese and Japanese explanations were far more illuminating. One simply had to navigate the endless parade of bewildering ancient bobbles, all while carefully avoiding the meandering trajectory of children undoubtedly forced into this display of the long-deceased pharaohs, who, one must admit, were not presented in their best light.

The more acquisitive attendees positioned themselves directly before an artifact, establishing a sort of temporary encampment, necessitating a degree of leaning and frankly, anatomical contortion, merely to glimpse the items, for which, again, no English explanation was forthcoming. Children, however, could scan a QR code for more information in Chinese. While undoubtedly helpful, the relentless pressure from behind and the constant violation of personal space from the front made any attempt at thoughtful reflection an arduous chore. Securing a satisfactory standing position to view the wrapped mummies of cats (many of which, we learned, were merely stones or sticks masquerading as felines – a truly ingenious act of ancient deception) required a Herculean effort.

To the exhibitors' credit, and demonstrating a profound understanding of local psychology, a gold artifact appeared with rhythmic precision every twenty meters. This served as a sort of gilded punctuation mark, ensuring the flow of children and their ubiquitous personal photographers maintained a fairly consistent, if breathless, pace. After approximately thirty minutes of this procession, my feet, having been subjected to the ministrations of half the population of Huangpu, demanded a strategic withdrawal.

The third floor offered a respite, though again, it was populated by a similar mob, now engaged in the consumption of western-style desserts and substandard, overpriced coffee. I parked myself, more or less, to take stock, to assess my life choices, and to ponder if joining the pharaohs, however public their afterlife, might offer a more congenial standing space.

Despite the prevailing chaos, certain elements did impress. The mummy boxes, devoid of actual mummies but retaining their original paint and vivid symbols, were quite striking. While biographical details for the departed were sparse, one surmised no prior acquaintance was required for appreciation. My specific interest in Pharaoh Merneptah and his account of conquering the Israelites proved unfulfilled; the Merneptah Stele was conspicuously absent. The exhibition, it seemed, was a rather haphazard collection across various dynastic periods, requiring a diligent cross-referencing of dates to avoid confusing the Old Kingdom with the Ptolemaic.

Yet, amidst the hurried flurry, pieces did catch the eye: the resurrecting Osiris, prone, perhaps slightly embarrassed by his return to such a throng. The thought of his long journey from the afterlife culminating in a greeting by a few hundred Chinese children and their "tiger mommas" was, frankly, rather bleak.

My endurance, however, was finite. After nearly three hours of what amounted to involuntary crowd-surfing, the allure of greater treasures — the Head of Nefertiti, the reliefs of the singular Akhenaten — proved insufficient to overcome the pervasive weariness. This exhibition, "On Top of the Pyramid: The Civilization of Ancient Egypt," has, by all accounts, welcomed over 2 million visitors since its July opening. One can only conclude they arrived en masse. The forthcoming 24-hour shifts for the exhibition suggest a commitment to public access that borders on the fanatical.

My recommendation, for those contemplating this archaeological pilgrimage, is to defer your visit until August, and to consider an ungodly hour such as 3 AM. The presence of pesty ankle-biters should be significantly reduced. Furthermore, one might judiciously race past the initial two to three hundred artifacts, as the exhibition, in a curious curatorial choice, appears to have placed its more prestigious items further along the linear path. This collection of 788 artifacts, most never before displayed in Asia, is significant. But be forewarned: bring a sturdy stick to part the Red Sea of humanity. Your sanity may depend on it.