Dive like an Egyptian

I will never again complain about a lack of legroom on commercial airlines. I’d heard about these airborne cattle cars that pass for charter flights before, but finally experienced it firsthand on my way to Egypt aboard Air Memphis. For some strange reason we had to take an airplane from Tennessee to get from Warsaw to Hurghada, a resort town on the Red Sea famous for its spectacular coral reefs that equate to scuba diver paradise. But we (my Polish Cleopatra and I) had to endure four hours with our knees locked against the seat in front of us, the stench from thousands of Egyptian smokers who had come before us still clinging to the interior. Elvis was not on the plane, although one of our flight stewards (read: air waiters) resembled a slimmer Egyptian version of Wayne Newton.

Upon arrival, we were shepherded through customs where for the low price of 15 dollars, you too can receive an Egyptian visa to enjoy the sun, sand, and endless gratuity requests for doing anything from lifting your luggage off of the baggage carousel to holding the door open for you on your way to the restroom. And this was only within the first half hour after touching down. The next step involved delivering a busload of sun-starved Poles and the three token North Americans (Angie from Iowa and Yvonne from Saskatchewan, two teachers at ASW, were also diving that week) to around a half dozen different all-inclusive resorts with names such as The Desert Rose, Jungle Land, The Titanic (where the whole building is shaped like the infamous vessel but there is much less chance of being sealed in a watery grave), and the Magawish (actual spelling). Unfortunately, the two of us had booked a room at the Hilton Long Beach Resort, the last stop for the bus and located way out in BFE. There has never been a more appropriate usage of this metaphor since we were literally out in Bum____ Egypt.

Upon checking in, it became apparent that 90% of the hotel guests at the Hilton were Russian. It was also evident that at the conclusion of the 80’s, the nations of the world shipped any clothing with neon, ruffles, tightness or whiteness to the former Soviet Union. It was a garish display that would’ve made Elton John, David Bowie, or Pat Benatar proud. In fact, we dedicated hours to just sitting in the lobby with a drink in hand pointing out the pure majesty of this retro fashion show. My mom was a pioneer of this “sport” back in my childhood. I remember asking her what she was doing when she would just sit in a place like a mall or the state fair watching the world go by. She termed this pastime “people watching”, much like one would go in search of birds with their wide variety of plumage. Should it worry me that I am content to just sit and watch people go by? I guess there is the element of play by play commentary added when you’re with a partner.

The primary motivation for coming to Egypt was to learn how to scuba dive. I spent four days getting my PADI (Professional Association of Dive Instructors) open water certification in the warm, clear water of the Red Sea while trying not to get too distracted by all the colorful, and sometimes dangerous, fish swimming by. My instructor almost put me down on top of a Devil Scorpion fish during one of my drills. That could’ve been painful. She was not impressed with my adult ADD and inability to remember what she had told me on the surface long enough to perform the skills 10 minutes later on the bottom of the ocean. I just kept getting so nervous. It didn’t help matters that she was also a blonde Polish girl. I’m used to getting yelled at by one of those at home, but not on my vacation! (żartuje kochanie!)

The last couple days we went out onto a boat and explored some of the larger reefs located near Hurghada. My better half spent her days lounging by the pool, with the occasional venture out to snorkel in front of the hotel beach. We went together one afternoon and spotted moray eels, blue-spotted stingrays, lionfish, coronet fish, and many other species right only a couple hundred meters from the Hilton cabana bar. It was an amazingly colorful scene right off of the Discovery Channel.

Egypt also gave us a wide variety of local experiences, most exiting of which was the daily 25 km journey with my personal Egyptian cabbie who upon learning that I liked it when he went fast interpreted that to mean that I love danger. This meant cranking the steering wheel to and fro, causing the car to violently lurch from side to side at a speed approaching 180 kph (105mph). It was all I could do to show no fear, nervously smiling as my sphincter tightened enough to produce precious gems. We were also treated to endless haggling sessions over tea as merchants tried to convince us that they were making us “a very special deal” since we were from Poland. It didn’t take much prodding for them to share their low opinion of the ubiquitous Russians.

Upon further review: Air Memphis a definite thumbs down, although with a slight bribe we are able to finagle an exit row on the way home. Hurghada airport is your best bet for scoring bargains. Don’t even bother with the endless row of shop outside the hotel gates. Scuba diving in the Red Sea, though I have nothing to compare it to, certainly lived up to its billing as some of the best in the world. All inclusive resorts centered around the next feeding time is certainly something I will take a pass on next time.