My crumpled 10 EGP

Just coming up on my fourth week in Egypt…the last couple of days have been especially amazing. I decided to make a weekend trip to Sharm el Sheikh – a popular holiday spot by the Red Sea. Yesterday I watched the limp game between Brazil and Portugal. While the game was forgettable, my experience was anything but. It was close to 50C in the sun, a little cooler in the shade. I sat in a comfy wicker chair sipped on fresh watermelon juice, smoked on strawberry sheesha and watched the game with an Arabic commentator. Behind me lay the turquoise waters of the Red Sea and in front were huge desert dunes – a surreal experience.

I had an urge to blog last night but I hung out instead. This afternoon seems like the perfect opportunity to put thoughts to screen. Jay-Z “Song Cry” is playing on itunes right now…brings back memories…what do the songs from the blueprint album make you think of? I’m sure it defined a summer for you…for me…the summer I spent with Toops in Waterloo, 2001. Anyway, 2010…here…now…9 years later, in Sharm sitting in an outdoor café surrounded by the hotel’s pool. Very cool spot to work (or blog).

Sharm is a getaway for Russians – I’d say 70% of the guests at the hotel are Ruskies. I’m also happy to say that there are also Egyptians here enjoying their own country. When was the last time you saw a Dominican enjoying their resorts? Or a Cuban having a mojito in the pool with you? Egypt derives a lot of revenue from tourism – but unlike other parts of the world, Egyptians are also enjoying their own shit too. This I like.

One drawback here (as in many other foreign countries) is that white people are treated with slightly more respect and attention. This must go back to the colonial mentality - it is actually pretty ironic. The only place where I find white people are not treated differently in normal life is well….Europe and North America! In Canada you have the right to question discrimination or at least make a scene about it. In fact I usually don’t feel like a second-class citizen in the US or Canada. In Africa, Middle East, and Asia discrimination is accepted; the only thing is that they discriminate in against the locals and in favour of Europeans/Americans! “They might have given us our independence but we still treat them like masters when they come to visit us on holidays”. Strange.

Before I forget – I have to let you know about the second fight I’ve gotten into with a cabbie. I’m sick and tired of being ripped off – so now I do the unthinkable – I bring Allah into the argument. This motherfucker (sorry for the harsh language but he deserves it, and he probably really does fuck mothers, haha)…picks me up from my hotel. I have no idea where my destination, Hard Rock café is. I ask him about the meter and he says they don’t use it in Sharm – okay – I’ll take his word (first mistake). He quotes me 50EGP ($10 CAD). I knew this was way too much as it isn’t even 50EGP to the airport. I finally bring him down to 20EGP ($4). We literally drive for 3 minutes, he stops and announces that we’re here and asks me if I’m Muslim. I flip out. I asked him what kind of Muslim he was, Islam doesn’t allow you to cheat and lie…what would Allah think. Lol. He gets offended – I get out of the car and fish in my pockets for a 10 note ($2). I was not paying 20EGP for this bullshit ride. The only note I had was a crumpled 20 – fuck – but I wasn’t letting this go. I ask him if he has change and he replies “la” (NO). So I tell him to wait and I would go get change cuz I AINT PAYING 20. Fuck it was hot and I was sweating. He yells at me and tells me to get back into the car – I said no. Finally he opens his glove box and shows me change…damn liar. I yell “give me ashra (10) – I will give you 20”. Back and forth for another minute. I say, “fine lets get the BOLICE” (they don’t say P in Arabic…think BIZZA, BOLICE, BUSSY, ahaha). He relents and gives me the 10 and I give him my 20. He wags his finger furiously and yells “you no good! you mafia!” and peels off. I smile…I now have a crumpled 10 in my pocket.

The rest of the afternoon was great. The Brazil game was on…see the above paragraph.

I fly back to the busy, bustling streets of Cairo. Car horns, throaty Arabic, cigarette smoke, soot, hijabs, cotton pants with gold buckles…ahhh my home away from home. I have three work days and then fly back to Toronto for my cousin’s wedding. Rathika is younger than me but yet she bought her first car before me, bought her first house before me, and is getting married before me…shit I need to grow up.