Bahhady, bahhady, bahhady, or “Why I’m sticking with WAL-MART” or “why none of you bastards got anything for Christmas.”

It was bad, man.  I have forgotten how irritating the third world can be.  Pardon me, there is an advisory on the wall here reminding me that we can no longer say “third world.”  The politically correct title is now “developing nation.”  The only thing developing is my fucking migraine.  Wow.  The second you get out of the taxi, you are swarmed by shills that try to divert you to their stores by any and all means including by surrounding you with 10 people and marching you up three flights of stairs to the store in question, where you must have tea and socialize and get whatever the store carries handed to/rubbed on/ sprayed on, or draped over you so you can “admire the quality.”  Super only for you mah frien special discount so I can start my day, first sale of the day special.  Escaping this trap only convinces the next shill (six feet away) that you still have money that he must take from you.  God, these fuckers are annoying.  I managed to make it in the tourist bizarre for almost two hours before my Battle Buddy escorted me to a cab and put me in time out.  Apparently I was beginning to get a 1000 meter stare and local police units were being summoned.

By the way:  “Handmade” does not mean it’s worth a shit.  The crappy finger painting your six year old niece did of the family dog is handmade.  That does not make it a Rembrandt.  Ragged seams, poor stitching and uneven button hooks are all shitty.  Even if they are handmade.  Truth to tell, clothing made on machines by 10 year old slaves in Laos is often higher in quality than “handmade” clothing made by hand by 10 year old slaves (probably still from Laos.)  The machine at least can make a tight stich.  I guess it’s just a sign of my running-dog imperialistic mentality of oppressing the poor that makes me resent being obviously, badly lied to and swindled.  I need to take some more cultural sensitivity classes I guess.

Pepsi does exist in the Sinai!  Next time I’m downtown and not hiding from the police, I will try some!  Coolness. 

I was really impressed by the quality of some of the knock-offs here.  If you look at the quality of forgeries in the US, it is often quite low.  The stitching is bad, they often switch thread colors to whatever happens to be on the bobbin, and the materials are obviously lower in quality.  I do not honestly believe Gucci would be a world famous brand if they shipped purses where the fastener was attached to the bag with a straight pin.  Some of the knock-offs I was offered in Miami had the names misspelled.  I am not very good at spelling, but Tommy Hillfinger was not too hard to spot.  True story.

There were some really good looking things out there that were reasonable priced, and the materials and workmanship were very nice.  The sunglasses were much nicer than the fakes you get in the US.  Remember the “fauxklies” that they used to sell around WCU campus?  Buhhhhh… About the only way that you know these ray-bans are fake is that they say “Ray-Ban” 17 times on the frame and lenses.  Although to be fair, given the criminal decrease in the quality of the classic wayfarers, these glasses might have actually held up better that the real ones. 

Rolexes do not tick.  Important consumer tip there.

Egypt does not play about a few things.  There was a local equivalent of a GNC at the “mall” that had a twelve foot tall poster of a freakish body builder with Arabic writing all over it.  In very large letters it said in English, “many fine steroids sold here.”  I guess “meathead” is universal. 

I will have to give a shout out to the Islamic culture about one thing.  It is a very strict, formal culture steeped in ancient traditions, as such it is highly conservative. They wait until after they serve you tea to offer you a date with their sister.  She is seventeen and knows not the touch of a man.  For you only mah frien.  Special sale for first customer of the day. In Honduras, the street urchins would hit you with that shit before you got out of the taxi.  I really can do without that.

I guess I can’t really be surprised about the hunger of the vendors.  This place is a ghost town.  Everybody I met wanted to assure me that all violence was in Cairo, and I should call all my friends and tell them that Sharm El Sheikh was as safe as a cradle.  For a world class dive resort, even in off season, things are sort of dismal.  Although, if one more fucker had tried to hug me, I was going to disprove the theory that violence was limited to Cairo.  They all wanted to teach me new words in Arabic.  When one of them offered to go to America to “supervise and ensure that there was no violence in schools anymore” I asked him how to say “green stick fracture” in Arabic.  His English was actually much better than you might expect, either that, or he was a very perceptive man.  He departed rapidly.  At this point my battle buddy decided that all the shouting and police whistles were directed more or less at us, and we departed the scene at once.

Always negotiate the price of the cab ride before you get in the cab.  Unless you are making a getaway.  In that case, pay the nice driver the three extra bucks with a smile.

 

BTW.  Christmas decorations can get a little off in non-Christian countries.

Gayest Snowman Ever