How many Camels?

After the best part of a year with each other, Louisa and I prepared to bid each other farewell… but not without a romantic getaway to Sharm El Sheikh, Egypt.

Eating and living like royalty was a highlight, as was our stay at the 5 -Star Novotel, made possible because of the supreme power of the English Pound. We spent our days lazing poolside under the warm Egyptian sun - in a quest of unearthing an Arabian tan.

One of the highlights of Sharm would have been its world renowned snorkeling. The turquoise coloured waters of the Red Sea had to be seen to be believed. Wading face down along the coral reefs opened my eyes up to just how spectacular what lies beneath really is. As millions of exotic fish passed by my very nose I only wished my effectiveness at nabbing a foreign beer glass from a bar extended to the marine world. But, after entertaining the thought of souveniring my very own Nemo - the inevitable problems of getting him through customs, not to mention the $10,000 bail that accompanied the crime, meant I would have to be satisfied to look and not touch.

Many of the advances that the sexually starved Arabs gave Louisa were bordering on comical. Egyptian men simply do not know the meaning of discreet, with many a man blatantly looking her up and down. It became annoying how often I was told that I was “a very lucky man.” Indeed I was, but didn’t need a cheesy Egyptian, with balls that are about to burst, to tell me that.

A night’s shopping in the Sleazy Egyptian markets was enough to rid the demons of any obsessed shop-aholic. Not only do these places of business condone selling a hell of a lot of crap, but the hassle they provide completely ruins the shopping experience. Our introduction to Mohammed (a good chance that that was his name) was a prime example of why Egyptian men are incredibly good at what they do.

Initially we did not want to offend Mohammed when he invited us into his shop for some “Egyptian Hospitality” - unbeknownst to us, the first sling in their very effective sales pitch. We sat down and were offered a warm glass of karkadeh, the name given to juice extracted from the hibiscus flower. As we sipped on this tasty beverage we realised Mohammed was about to talk business. Thankfully, he sold something of some use to us - perfumes and colognes. After an hour of sampling the different types of essence we made a purchase - but were far from on our way.

Unfortunately we had unwillingly made a friend in this burly Egyptian - and based on the respect we had shown toward him felt the need to tell us of his life story. He answered my question as to why 4 days into our holiday we were yet to sight an Egyptian woman. He told us how their women are sold off. He filled me in on the literal “worth” of a camel, and how the offers for Louisa I had been bombarded with all week were actually fair-dinkum and quite flattering. He laughed with us at his work colleague - who’s father had a house with four floors, with a different wife living on each floor; that same greedy man had been able to produce 26 offspring. Mohammed elaborated on many of their beliefs, many so whacked out that it makes you question just how much shisha’s those sheikhs had been smoking.

It was fascinating listening and learning of their Egyptian ways - a culture far removed from the equality we are used to. However, when Mohammed tried to sell his piece of shit Nokia 3210 in exchange for my new Sony Ericsson, it was definitely my cue to bid him goodnight.

Prior to my travel to Sharm, I knew very little about Egypt. I was aware that Cairo was the capital. I had a vague idea of the colours on their flag. I knew the pyramids lay there. And, I knew that whilst in the country, when talking about a camel toe - you were indeed talking about the hoof of a camel, and not something a little more inviting.

Sharm el Sheikh is a man made paradise that seems out of place in these barren North African lands… so much so that I didn’t see any of the above (not even a camel toe). It is a beautifully safe place for tourists in search of a relaxing escape, and more so, the perfect chance to spend some quality time with the girl I loved.

But sadly, all good things have to come to an end. And after 355 days… it was time to return to Australian soils. See you over Christmas.

David

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