We stood in the lobby for fifteen minutes watching several people enter holding placards tattooed with the names of likeminded tourists taking guided tours around Luxor before I leaned in and told Gina, “We’re getting stiffed.” Having given Abdul a deposit for half the cost of our two day-long trips while disoriented and bleary-eyed the previous morning, I wasn’t completely convinced that I hadn’t been scammed. Seconds before declaring the situation a conspiracy, a portly fellow, clad in a Hawaiian shirt and slacks, walked up to us and introduced himself as Bob. Gina and I returned the salutation with smiles. Used to the chuckle that typically ensues after revealing our names, we turned the question back on the man of clear Egyptian stock, “What is your real name?” “Baswhan. But, most people can’t pronounce my
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