“She may as well return the Sphinx’ beard since she already has one,” laughed our Egyptian guide, Menal, when she mentioned that Mrs. Margaret Thatcher has promised the return to Egypt of the pivotal piece that supports the head of the famous sculpture. Like the Elgin marbles from Greece, the beard has lain in the British Museum for decades.

In a last-ditch effort to save the deteriorating monument whose human head, fashioned in the likeness of the Pharoah Chephren (whose causeway from his pryamid it guards), is attached to the body of a lion, the Egyptian government has partially obliterated the Sphinx with scaffolding. Lying directly in the valley before the pyramid of Chephren, it was hewn out of a single piece of limestone. Over the centuries it has been eroded by sand, has had its nose partially shot off by Arab vandals and had its beard stolen. Yet its enigmatic smile — like that of the Mona Lisa — still frustrates those who would guess its secrets.

The Sphinx, along with the three Great Pyramids (the burial monuments of Cheops, Chephren and Menkaura) and the Temple of Chephren (where mummification rites were enacted), is all that remains of the legendary Seven Wonders of the World. They lie in the area called El Giza on the west bank of the Nile River. Lunching one afternoon in March at a delightfully atmospheric restaurant at the city’s edge, I was suddenly aware of the shadows cast by the pyramids against the windows. The monuments were only yards away.

Although for decades I have read about these mystical monuments and have studied photographs, they were far different from what I had imagined — larger, more complex in construction. The limestone facing, of course, has long since disappeared, having been marshalled for the construction of other buildings; thus the 2,300,000 huge blocks weighing 2 1/2 tons are exposed. Dating from the Old Kingdom, about 2,000 B.C., these pyramids were erected gradually as the limestone blocks were hauled by slaves from local quarries on sledges, the ropes being oiled to expedite the carriage of the stones.

A thriving industry in the neighborhood of the pyramids is the obligatory camel rides, usually 10 minutes long. Before our group alighted from the safety of the bus, Menal starkly warned about falling prey to unscrupulous camel drivers who precipitate their quarry onto a camel, drive him far into the desert and demand $100 for his return to Giza. Although luckily I was not “kidnapped,” I somehow was tricked into mounting a camel to have my picture taken — to the tune of $17 rather than the usual $7.

Such chicanery is part of the Egyptian experience. Once one has alighted at a monument, he is immediately besieged by hustlers and beggars. Just out of the cradle, the children learn the fine points of separating the gullible tourist from his Egyptian pounds. Nothing if not ingenious, children on the walls dangled tin cans from fishing rods to induce tourists to donate at the temple of Edfu, from whose precincts they were excluded. Begging and bargaining are a way of life in this country — as throughout the Near and Middle East — and the sooner one learns the intracacies of the game, the better. Roughly the procedure is that the seller names a ridiculous figure, the potential buyer an equally ridiculous one and then gradually a final sale is agreed on. Thus, one member of the tour bought a splendid brass salver featuring the aristocratic profile of Nefertiti for $40 when the initial asking price had been $240. If one pays the demanded price, he is thought to be a nincompoop and the Egyptian merchant will have no respect for him.

Probably there is no city in the world comparable to Cairo, built to accommodate 3 million and bursting with 18, many of whom share their ancestors’ mausoleums in the sprawling City of the Dead. Ordinary sights include chickens on roofs, goats wandering through narrow unpaved streets that would be quagmires if it were to rain, junk smothering rooftops and, in the bustling — and exotic — bazaars, men selling everything from fruits and vegetables to expensive and finely crafted jewelry.

One afternoon after examining the splendid exhibits of the Islamic Museum, my friends and I meandered through boulevards and byways hunting for Cairo’s oldest mosque, the El Azhar, dating from Fatimid times. After innumerable inquiries of the basically amiable natives, the great entrance decorated in Persian style and the three graceful minarets of the mosque suddenly loomed before us. As in all mosques, one had to doff his shoes before entering and offer a tip for their safekeeping upon leaving.

Perched on the Citadel overlooking the city is the sumptuous Mosque of Mohammed Ali, a Turk who ironically employed a non-Muslim as his architect. In violation of the principle that a mosque should be simple, this one was purposely decorated to overwhelm the Egyptians. Hovering over the courtyard is the clock tower, presumably a gift from King Louis-Philippe of France in exchange for the obelisk that graces the Place de la Concorde in Paris. If the story is true, it was a bad deal since the clock has never worked. Still, as Menal philosophically pointed out, the obelisk is a good advertisement for Egypt since it induces many to see the land from whence it came.

Although Egypt is a largish country areawise, only the narrow strip along the Nile is habitable. One can travel to Aswan on an excellently appointed train or a river steamer or go by air. From Aswan it is an hour’s trip by air to Aby Simbel, the repository of many of the monuments that were mercifully salvaged when the dam, which has created as many problems as it has solved, was built.

Sailing down the Nile from Aswan to Luxor via Kom Ombo and Isna is an ideal way to get the feel of the magnetic landscape. With buffaloes and camels slurping up water on the banks of the river and with farmers working what arable land the river provides in time-honored procedures, one can project himself into Old Testament times. The bulk of the people are poor, but no one seems on the verge of starvation. As with all Arabs, rootedness in one’s native place is a prime condition of life for these people.

Apart from Abu Simbel, the premier features of a Nile journey are the temples at Luxor and Karnak, within a few miles of each other. Once known as Thebes of the Hundred Gates, Luxor luxuriates in its wealth of monuments recalling one of the most viable of all ancient civilizations.

Not too far away are the Valley of the Kings and the Valley of the Queens, both in strictly arid areas. I managed the tombs of King Tut Ankh Amon, whose golden artifacts are exhibited in Cairo’s marvelous Egyptian Museum, and that of Ramses III before being felled by a virus that effectually did me in for 24 hours. When, supported by two friends, I emerged from the bus more dead than alive that night, I must have looked as though I were on a nine-day bender. Strangely enough, I had confined myself to bottled water and to only the safest foods. But though these contretemps do happen, they fortunately fade from the memory, leaving only a pleasant residue.

And that is what permeates my mind when I think of this land of the pharaohs with its slender minarets, its ancient monuments, its colorful merchants and its swaying palms. It is a flight into another world, a world at once curiously a mixture of the modern and the implacably ancient.

If one is troubled by hot weather, it is best to travel in Egypt during February, March or April.