Egypt - Hurghada 2012

'Mor! On n'est plus au-dessus de la mer, il y a du sable partout !'

That was my eldest daughter hailing me, thrilled by her view from the window. She is aware of my passion for Egypt and its desert, and had been on the lookout for the dark yellow soil to appear under the plane. I leant over to catch a glimpse of the long awaited sight. And there it was. I sat back slowly and enjoyed the feeling. We were over Egypt. I could almost sense its heat already and felt an immediate well-being at the idea of our close landing on the Pharaohs' land. Though of course: I was heading for Hurghada and its beach resorts, not quite the best place to get in touch with the enigmatic ancient Egypt I'm so fond of. But what the heck! This was the closest I could come to my favourite place, and travelling with three young children didn't leave me much choice. I had to go somewhere in order to find something fresh to write about and we all badly needed sun and warmth. As a matter of fact, there were no other places hot enough in February, not too far away from France, and that we could afford, so even if I have always hated all-inclusive-hotels (and the kind of people checking in there), I had no choice. Besides, I would be unable to visit any of Egypt's incredible sites during this holiday and thus have to focus on its people, which was what I intended to try to do.

I booked the stay the day after the Egyptian revolution's first anniversary. And in the middle of the consequences of the many dead at the football stadium in Port Said. I had tried to follow the events taking place in the country from home, but both French and English newspapers only briefly showed some pictures of demonstrators on Place Tahrir, without giving details for the rest of the country. People around me all responded to the news of our departure in the same way, asking: 'but are you not afraid of going to Egypt?' I indifferently answered that I wasn't the least, but facing such insistence, I nevertheless then sent an email both to the Egyptian tourist-office and to Magued, who guided my group almost ten years ago but with whom I had stayed a little in touch. Both answered there was nothing at all to fear. Well, the first could hardly say anything else or no tourists would come anymore, which would be a catastrophe for the Egyptian economy (tourism is one of the most important sectors in the economy, in terms of high employment and incoming foreign currency). But Magued agreed that the press didn't show the real situation at all: he lives in Cairo himself and has no problem whatsoever to go to work as usual. He reminded me about the fact that Cairo is a city of 18 Million inhabitants and that the events Place Tahrir hardly reached any of them. As for those living in Hurghada, they watch what's going on in Cairo just as we do in France, he wrote. So, there I had two sources to quote when asked again if I was afraid. I couldn't wait to go and find out more, hopefully getting the possibility to ask other Egyptians what they really thought about their new political situation.

Getting off the plane was an instant physical pleasure: after four months of bitter cold and grey skies in Alsace, the Egyptian afternoon-sun struck my skin with a forgotten intensity and the caressing warm wind blowing from the desert welcomed me back. How couldn't one be bewitched by this country? Closing one's eyes and listening to the busy voices and the Arabian music played by an vehicle's transistor, it was like being in an oriental tale and certainly far away from home. Incidentally, our hotel was called The Aladdin, but actually rather resembled a Vegas-hotel than an oriental place (though the blond Russian girls in charge of animation insisted on teaching belly-dancing). I tried hard to overlook the effects of mass-tourism and did feel a bit as in Egypt during the transfer from the airport in an old bus where the initial plastic-protections had still not been properly removed from the seats and windows. Outside, there was nothing to see on the right side, but desert, whereas on the left side we passed one hotel after the other, all in the middle of luxurious green gardens. The speakers were turned on to a local station and the man in charge of giving us some basic information and collecting money for our visas had a hard time competing with its volume. Thereupon there were the infinite papers to be filled, the one in the plane, that in the airport and the same once again at the reception. French administration might be known to be long and complex, but the Egyptian one outstrips it by far. Anyway, I was surprised and kind of deceived not to be harassed by any porters outside the airport or the hotel. No one even asked for a 'baksheesh' (tip)! This never happened at any of my earlier arrivals in Egypt and though many tourists feel annoyed by such insistence, I almost missed this first local contact. I felt a bit worried about spending a frustrating week in a place I loved without getting to see any of it. But still, how nice it was to walk in flowery alleys where white bougainvillea and red hibiscus flowers marvellously coloured the sight along with some other small yellow flowers planted everywhere! Our footsteps crunched from walking on the stony pad where workers dutifully broomed sand away twice a day, leading a never-ending battle against nature. The flowers all delicately perfumed the gentle air until we reached the restaurant and it's outside barbecue with its appetizing flavours of grilled brochettes. Along with these, we had a large choice of preparations of aubergine, courgette and fava beans and then various Agamiyah (Turkish delight) and fresh dates for dessert. That was a nice start for our holiday (but turned out to be a special oriental night whereas the next evenings we only had various all-European dishes). And then to be able to let the children play outside after dinner without bothering to put on jackets and gloves; they had fun on the sandy playground while we sipped a (Lipton!) mint-tea and listened to the waves rolling on the beach.

I cannot pretend I was surprised by what I found in Hurghada. I had been in El Gouna (20 km north of Hurghada) two years earlier and knew there wasn't much to see above the sea. I had thus checked to be sure in various travel-guides and googled the place. The fact is that thirty years ago, Hurghada was just a small fishers' village, whereas it now has a population of more than 80,000 and more than 200 hotels (each with several hundreds of rooms). I nevertheless couldn't imagine spending a week without leaving the hotel so I noted down a few possibilities, among which some old Coptic monasteries some 200 kilometres away. I also tried to find someone to contact in order to visit a local school, which I thought really interesting for my children or maybe someone I could talk to at the tourist-office, but Gosh, a week is a short time and I felt a bit as an intruder to come and disturb people without bringing something in return. Then I thought of bringing all the toys and clothes my children didn't use anymore and take it all to an orphanage, but again felt bad about it, as if acting like some Croesus passing by. Anyway, packing for five persons achieved to make me selfish about what to bring. Then I found the homepage of a young French woman, a diver, who had been living in Hurghada for the last six years. I got in touch with her and she agreed to come and pick us up in the hotel to take us around the city and show us some stuff worth seeing.

The first morning, I left my family at the beach, happily trying to get sand out of their mouth and hair and dutifully went to the 'welcome-meeting', which is always proposed by tour operators. Not that I really had any questions, but I thought I might meet an interesting person whom I could ask a bit more about today's Egypt and moreover get the price of an organised trip to the monasteries. Well... a very typical blond German matron showed up and gave the small group a lot of advice on how to get rid of stomach-aches and politely but firmly of Egyptian sellers. As for the excursion I inquired about, her company didn't sell it, because it wasn't interesting enough to attract tourists, none of the slightly cultural ones did. I asked for something on camel-back, getting into the desert and maybe visiting some Bedouin or any local village to see their way of living, but that was quickly turned down as well: you could only go into the desert on safaris by Jeep or quads, she said. I left the meeting at that point, while the matron tried to explain the difference of prices in various diving-clubs to two singletons, who had probably left Germany for the first time in their life.

Gosh, I was happy to get away from the hotel and its bowling alley and ice-rink (hello : this is the desert!) with Celine next morning. She had met her Egyptian husband here, at the Red Sea and had just had twins a couple of months earlier and knew quite a bit about the local way of living. She'd also just bought a flat in Hurghada with her husband. It was initially a social project and the owner wasn't supposed to sell it before five years, but well, he did. They paid him 20,000 pounds (around 2,500 Euros), twice the initial price of the place, and overtook his credit of 100 pounds (12,5 Euros) a month for the following 40 years. It was a large 3-pieces flat and they could use the ground in front of it, of the same width and indefinite length (it's just desert). The place was not yet totally finished, as Celine a bit worriedly told us: 'last week they began to dig in order to connect the gas, but accidentally broke the used water canalization and electrical wires'.

Celine first took us to a wonderful local market with coloured stands filled with strawberries and bananas from the Nile areas, living hens and pigeons ready to get cut up, bread put to dry in the sun on a carpet on the road and of course various spices and flowers. The soil was strewn with rubbish and when I saw a small grey tail disappear in a tiny opening, I was even more relieved to have put on closed shoes. The ceiling was made of straw mattresses and a carpet here or there to mend a hole and get some shade from the eternal filtering sun. The same sort of straw-roof covered the beach-restaurant of the hotel and yet again made the parasols on the beach, adding another sand-colour to the global landscape. Was all this made from Egyptian palm-trees? I wondered, and hoped it wasn't imported from China... This finally was real Egypt: dirty, smelly, noisy, hot and welcoming, with everyone willing to talk a bit, to get to know you... and to touch my second very blond doll of a daughter. When finding out we were French, most Egyptians at once uttered a 'Bonjour, Français, très bien' and then showed thumbs down while saying 'Sarkozy'. I can't help admiring their knowledge. This might just be a banal sentence, learned by heart, but most French people would be unable to say it in Egyptian and have no clue as to its political situation (which is of course very coarse to understand at this particular period, but anyway...). This was no place where to buy souvenirs, but it wakened our appetite for oriental specialities (the beach-restaurant only gave you the choice between hot-dogs, hamburgers and pizza). I bought some karkade (dried red hibiscus flowers) to make drinks back home and gave in to my kids' insistence on having strawberries, three months before we could even hope to have them in Alsace. Celine had written down the Arabic figures to enable us to understand the given prices and we more or less managed to read them and compare. A veiled young girl approached us twice, tending her hand for money, but otherwise, no one ever tried to sell us anything we didn't ask for, a rather new situation for a tourist accustomed to the Egyptian souks, where you're called out to for something else to buy the whole time.

We thereafter made a quick halt at the biggest and oldest mosque of the city (built in 1969...), before heading for the harbour, next to which a new one is being erected, a beautiful light but enormous building. We did not stop at the new marina with its alley of fancy shops, but went to see the old harbour, where the fishermen were resting on their boat or cleaning and repairing it after an early day on the sea. The picture was all blue and white, all ships painted in these same colours and reflecting the blue water and sky. Here laid also the fish market, with its typical odour that you might need to be born next to the sea to enjoy. I love it and though it was only ten in the morning, I instantly felt like having some nice grilled local fish. There were enough to choose between and a couple of proud sellers showed us some of their most special specimen: big coloured fish unknown to our European eyes, but also bunches of scorpion fish, skate and needle fish. It was not a crowded place (except for cats, these descendants from the Goddess Bastet are all over Egypt) and the laughing young men kept opening their fridges and asking us to photograph them. You could buy your fish and get it prepared directly and even have it grilled right there in three different ways in order to eat it at once. That's what I call fresh fish! Yummy!

We then went a bit further along the sea road, protecting our eyes from the strong wind blowing sand into every gap, and stopped at the shipyard. No sign said it was forbidden to go in there, so that's what we did. It's a strange sensation to wander around under boats, their heavy wooden hulls suddenly naked and exposed to the view and will of tiny men, tempting to restore whatever harm the sea did to these elegant monsters. Small towers of brick, wood and stones maintain the fragile balance of several tons of material while the workers replace what needs to be and repaints it all, wearing at best a scarf in front of their mouth and nose to protect themselves against the chemical products. Two men were working with some wires in an electrical cubicle and suddenly jumped away from it at the sound of a boom. Fortunately, they didn't seem to suffer any damage, but the wires were smoking. They sure work at this place and not one man stands still watching. Some quickly paused to come shake hands and even smile on a photograph, but most just greeted us politely from afar. The workers are aware of the luck of having a job to do and a pay to earn. On our way back to the centre of the city, we passed a load of men sitting on the road in their dirty djellabah’s, their tools in front of them, patiently waiting for someone to stop and hire them. No laws protect them and no social aid prevents their starving if they don't work, but they're smiling all the same.

Celine calmly drove her Skoda through the streets of Hurghada and managed to find enough room to pass between a donkey and an old bus, understanding the unique Egyptian way of passing a round-about along with running children, thousands of taxis and various undefined vehicles and loadings. She had also discerned when to respect a red light and when better not, something you probably have to live down there for a couple of years to perceive. She stopped in front of an Egyptian 'fast-food' selling 'sandwiches' and we enjoyed both typical foul and tasty falafell (made from fava beans) and regretted they were out of humus. Our youngest daughter kept crying while we were waiting for our food to be prepared and one of the cooks tried to distract her with a pocket-ketchup, before much more seriously writing down some medicine we should get. It was written in Arabic and we couldn't read it, but he assured us it healed all sicknesses. 'Just give it to her with some mint,' he advised with a toothless smile. Well, we didn't test the medicine on our baby, but once again, really appreciated the Egyptian kindness and willingness to help. In France, no one would ask you what was wrong and even less try to help, especially not in another language!

We had our lunch on the top of a hill with a wonderful view on the red sea and its gradual shadings of warm blueish turquoise and the orange Paradise Island in front of Hurghada. A restaurant used to offer the possibility of a meal with a breath-taking panoramic view on the sea from its terrace, but now it's just a closed building. No one's there, the place is godforsaken; even its pigeon house had been obstructed. A bit earlier, a Dutch couple stopped us and asked whether we new where to find the ferry heading for Sharm El'Sheik. I had also read about it in all my guide-books, as a regular line, cheaper alternative to the air-plane also taking the daily trip. But Celine explained that it had been closed for more than a year and is said to have an engine failure. No one knows if it's going to be repaired or if it will reopen...

Back at the hotel, we searched for a real mint-tea, without any luck. Sherif, our waiter at the main restaurant, was truly sorry not to be able to offer some. He joked with the children and explained that his wife is pregnant, and he looks forward to having kids. Unfortunately, it was difficult to communicate correctly with him because his Russian was much better than his English. And then of course, he had a lot of work and was given more by the waiter wearing a tie and a jacket (Sheriff had no jacket), while he himself dispatched orders to those dressed in djellabah’s.

Getting back to our room at night, we discovered two geckos on the walls, running away as soon as we entered and then hiding in some mysterious place. I found it difficult to get to sleep, knowing them to be watching us and picturing them walking across my children's beddings. And then, if there were two geckos, what else was hidden in the room? (snakes? scorpions?) I finally fell asleep but was wakened a couple of hours later by strange sounds from the plumbing in the bathroom. Nothing was to be seen anyhow and I suppose it's only natural to have some disorder when using water pumped from the Nile more than 400 kilometres away. I didn't find out if this hotel got it by pipeline or tanker-lorry, but it makes you wonder each time you open the tap. The more recent city of El Gouna where we stayed two years earlier had been entirely designed and planned before being built out of nowhere and thus included water-previsions and the filtering of sea-water for the use of the whole city. Knowing that, I'm sort of confident in an ecological will growing in Egypt as well, but when I asked Celine about it, she smilingly said that there are no bins for those who want to recycle, but on the other hand, all garbage is gone through by locals. Some specialize in glass, others in metal and so on, they collect it from the bins in the street and take it to factories and sell it. Celine also told us about a controversy around the man who owns El Gouna (yes: the whole city) and who's running for Presidency; it's around a drawing he published on the Internet, showing Mickey dressed in Islamic clothes. She said no one would have noticed or commented it if someone else had published it.

Egyptians are surprisingly good sellers: Mohammed for instance came back to see us on the beach in the morning, ready to give us a better price than the day before on the 'rastas' (his name for dreadlocks) he wanted his hairdresser to make with my daughter's hair. He wrote down a new price, in Egyptian pounds, while the one he had already given us was in Euros. I desperately tried to calculate fast enough to be able to bargain, but soon realised he was far better than me, especially with three girls talking at the same time, which doesn't help recalling the tables of seven and eight (nice excuse for me). So I eventually agreed to the plaiting of my eldest daughter's beautiful and impossible curly hair, while my second daughter brilliantly resisted the seller, who kept asking me to give her to him after that. Well, the result –just one and a half long hour later, was very pretty (and practical it must be added: we didn't have to brush it for the next three weeks).

We went to the lounge one of the first evenings to have an aperitif before dinner and met Ahmad, the 'taxi-man', working there each day and night to help tourists book their taxis. He was bored behind his small counter and called the children, waving chocolate bars and a big smile, contrasting with his strict dark suit and white Armani-shirt. He then went on folding papers to surprise and amuse them and we got to talk with him. He came from Luxor, where he had a house 'like a jungle' with lots of trees. Having been to the enchanting Luxor three times, I could perfectly picture the place which must be wonderful. He had no children yet (he was only 25), but a bunch of nieces and nephews. When he goes home on holidays, he spends most of his time with them, teaching them foreign languages and writing and insisting on their getting a dream, he believes that's the most important thing in life. He said he finished head of his promotion (literature, history, languages), but couldn't get a job, not even as a teacher on the school he graduated from, so he came here and works to pay the rest of his studies. He was very proud to tell me no one helped him, he managed by himself, working and studying at the same time. He's now specializing in Russian and when I asked for his dream, he answered he wants to become a good guide, taking Russian tourists to Luxor, from Hurghada. He thinks the changes in Egypt are good and can only be positive and that 'they mustn't go back. People are too poor and have no culture'. He repeated a couple of time also that many Egyptians weren't 'civilized', but unfortunately I didn't get the opportunity to discuss that precise term with him.

I told Ahmad I went to Egypt in 1998, just after the terrorist attack and his charming smile disappeared as he recalled the events. He remembers being very young and feeling sad; at school they usually sang and did arts in the morning, but they didn't anymore after that, no one smiled or laughed for a while after those events ; 'people had died for nothing, it was horrible and difficult'.

His friend, the doctor of the hotel, came by and greeted us. He used to learn French during two years at school and remembered a couple of words, but his English was good, he said he studied medicine in English. He has some friends in France and showed us their picture on his cell-phone.

We had booked a short trip of three hours on a small glass-boat with a small group of people, just 7 or 8 'Thomas' had said. I insist on the 'small' because we had already gone out to see the reef in a big half-submarine (a yellow one!) advertising the view of dolphins two years earlier and we didn't get to see anything (but it was a very windy day and most people vomited on the boat), an experience we didn't want to repeat. Thomas' partner's name was Mido, and they both had their names written on their t-shirt, but when I asked, they presented themselves with their real names: Muhammed and Ahmed, of course, 'but tourist can't remember that,' they explained. They both had a German wife, living in Germany and Muhammed had a little three-year old son, who lived with his mother. He said he saw them about every three or four months and that was very good. Then he excused himself as a new couple passed the place and went trying to sell his tours to them. I asked Ahmed what would happen if he didn't find someone else to go on the boat with us, which made him laugh immensely and he said: 'it's in three days, I'll find someone, no problem'. The next days, we saw him talking to various people and the morning of our trip, another family with small kids turned up, but then talked for a couple of minutes and left for the reception with a man. Another man told us to follow him to the boat, which turned up to be quite a big one and with a group of more than twenty people, well... After half an hour's navigation, the boat stopped and we all got down to look though the glass-bottom, on the beautiful fish and corals. It was truly beautiful. Hani, from the crew, helped catching a glimpse of the fish hidden in small cavities and we did see a lot of small black, white and yellow striped fish, a parrot-fish, the ugly face of a hiding muraena, a nemo (a clown-fish but he kept calling it Nemo, a better known name since Pixar made the animated film) and some eel-sorts. When he then cried out 'ray, ray', everyone got very existed and we all managed to see the big black and blue ray gracefully flying away in the waves and bubbles.

Coral here is of various colours, mostly brown and grey, but sometimes lit up by a yellow, red or purple spot and enormous wonders of shells lie all around. I was relieved it's still possible to see so much untouched nature in just a couple of minutes and so close to the hotels, but of course, we also came across some nearly fossilised coke-bottles and other less attractive treasures. The signs all-over Hurghada, from the airport to the beach, reminding travellers of the illegality of bringing home and even touching corals seem to be effective. Before leaving the country, the man in charge of the group in the bus would once again remind us about it. 'You can take home hashish if you like', he joked, 'we don't care, but don't take corals'. Back on the deck, we continued sailing for a little while in order to approach another boat and the crews were so happy to meet each other that they clapped and sung. They put on music while those who wanted to swim and snorkel could enjoy the view of the red sea's beauties. After that, they sold ice-cream at some crazy prices, more expensive than in France, but eventually succeeded in selling a few, as they were not to be found in the hotels. Fifty pounds for two ice pops, that's the quarter of an average school-teacher's monthly income down here! Before he completes it with extra lessons in order to be able to make a living of course, but still... So, it was an expensive morning, but it was worth it and it would have been a pity to stay at the Red Sea and not get to admire some of its famous reefs. On the way back, the crew served coca-cola to everyone and after four days in Egypt, I was still longing for a real mint-tea.

Gippy Tummy! Maybe not the most interesting topic, but nevertheless very typical of travelling in Egypt, so typical in fact that it's also called the 'Pharaoh's Revenge' or again the 'Cairo Two Step' so I thought I'd quickly mention it. The whole family made this exhausting experiment and thus put a damper on our discovery of local customs and unabled my leaving the hotel for the rest of the stay. On the other hand, we got to meet the hotel-doctor, Waleed, on a much more regular basis, seeing him in the morning to check the kids and get some medication (hoping to get rid of the illness before the flight back home) and again at evening, when he wasn't busy, but instead came out in the lounge and chatted with Ahmad. Waleed was still a young man and very proud to tell us he graduated from the famous Fayoum Faculty of Medicine, where he'd been studying all his medicine-courses in English. He now works in the hotel-group every day from 10 am to 2 pm and 6 pm to 10 pm and that for a period of 20 days after which he has some holidays. Sometimes, though, he replaces a colleague during his break and vice-versa and they thus manage to get a bit more often free, sometimes as soon as after fifteen days of non-stop work. He then goes back to his family and his brother who has 5 kids. He told us he likes to play the 'mean uncle', knowing children don't like doctors, which our kids confirmed, hiding whenever they saw the white coat. He was, by the way, very sorry for the high prices he had to bill us, but pleaded he wasn't responsible for them and thought they were ridiculous (the medical examination cost 70 Euros and the medicine a total of 85 Euros). He then gave us three extra pills for free, in case of fever. Doctor Waleed's sister just had her first child, he said, a beautiful little girl, born on the nicest day: on the first anniversary of the revolution. 'She's a lucky girl', he smilingly added, 'she's born in a free country'. I ventured I hoped not too many changes would occur, as I really love Egypt the way it is, but he answered changes were needed and people had to change, but that it would be difficult and take a long time. Of course, I agreed with that and said I hoped the living would be better for the Egyptians, but nevertheless hoped they wouldn't change in their way of being.

I actually already went a couple of times to Tunisia and Morocco and people were not at all as friendly as in Egypt, especially in the first place. Tunisians were often not at all happy to welcome tourists, cheated us, got angry when we didn't buy something we had showed an interest in and also openly laughed at us. And at dinner we were always in a hurry to finish so that they could finish their work and get off – actually a bit like being waited on in most French restaurants. There was no joking, no communication and hardly a smile. None of this ever happened to me in Egypt. Its inhabitants really are the most friendly in the world and always willing to stop and chat. I cross my fingers it will stay like that, while of course, I hope their everyday-life will get better to...

At the pool, a waiter asked me –in Dutch– to come to the special barbecue-party the next evening. When I answered in English, he easily switched language as well and went on without the less surprise, presenting his menus and firmly intending to sell his dinner. I liked the idea of changing restaurant and eating outside for a change and ending our holiday with a nicer meal. It was just 90 pounds per adult (how much was that again? Gosh, my brain really didn't work anymore!). It didn't seem expensive and I told the waiter it all sounded very nice, but that I couldn't make the booking before being sure my family was even able to eat anything. What a nuisance sickness could be!

Ahmad told us that night that the next day would be his last at the place. He didn't know where he'd be working afterwards or even if he'd be working, maybe in another hotel in Hurghada, maybe he'd return to Luxor for a while. I asked if he hadn't got a contract or something to protect him, and if it was regular just to end one's job like that. Well, he did have a contract and even two: the official one with dates, rules etc. and the other one, allowing the hotel to do as it pleases whenever it pleases. But he wasn't the least worried: he'd find something else, he said. He had brought a newly folded paper-star and also more chocolate as he thought that would be good for our stomachs. For the same purpose, he had also bought a packet of nuts we didn't know, sort of small Egyptian pecan-nuts, but he didn't know their English name and we weren't able to read the Arabian characters, so they remained a mystery. Then he took out some coins, piastres, 'not worth anything' he said himself, for the children to play with and showed them different money games. He said he usually played the same games with his nephews and nieces and if they win, they can keep the coins and he gives them for them to play with when he's not there. But every time he comes back, they've spent the money and he brings new coins to play with and then always leaves them there again. He gave the coins to our daughters in spite of our protest and I told him he'd never become a rich man if he gave away his money to all the children just like that. But that just made him smile and he said he already was a rich man (??) I added I thought it weird to play with money in a country where there isn't much if any. That made both Ahmad and Waleed laugh and answer that there's lot of money in Egypt, Egyptians just say there's none...

Before we told both of them goodbye, we took a picture of them and exchanged e-mails with both. We took a picture of Ahmad with our three girls around him and he was really happy about that and the fact we behaved so nicely. I instantly thought he was referring to the unbearable Russian tourists, but he denied, no Russians were OK he thought, and generally much nicer and warmer than European. He told me about a German family, whose daughter he'd also given a paper-folding and who went straight toward him to give him a kiss on the cheek. Well, the mother went completely mad about that, yelling at him while dragging her daughter away. I said that German people indeed were not amongst the most warm ones and didn't have the habit of generally touching eachother, for example compared to French, who kiss to greet eachother whereas the German will shake hands. And then there was the fact that he spoke Russian and English, but neither German nor French for instance. He agreed with those points, and thought a bit about it, but still remained persuaded Russians were nice people. That was an admirable position for someone experiencing loads of people I had had enough of after just a week. I kept thinking about those top-less blonds at the pool and the beach, tongue-kissing their boyfriends in front of tens of Islamic men from the staff. If I felt outraged, how come they weren't?

I thought about Ahmed, one of the guides I had had on a cruise on the Nile, years ago and how he humorously warned our group of tourists of the way of behaving and dressing when going on shore: he asked women to wear trousers or at least skirts under the knees, but smilingly said he personally had nothing against mini-skirts and even micro-skirts while on the boat. Well, back then, I already felt it a sort of insult to walk around in a bikini in front of the Egyptian staff, while their women go to the beach all dressed up and swim in long sleeves and long dresses and trousers (which is of course just as extreme a behaviour). Of course, one shouldn't pretend to be who one's not, and I never went veiled in Egypt or elsewhere, but still, isn't there a minimum of respect to show the country you visit? The Egyptians I asked about that answered most tourist were not aware of the country they visited and didn't seem disturbed about it at all. Celine, on the other hand, thought a bit like me I think. She was dressed in regular jeans and a white polo-shirt herself. She had once had to book a private boat for a group of Russians who wanted to go diving for a whole day and had money enough to pay for their own boat and instructor. Well, at lunch, they took out a bottle of vodka, for just four persons. She warned them there would be no diving if they drank strong alcohol before, but they emptied the bottle all the same, so she took them back to the hotel. Another time, she had a woman changing from bathing-suit to summer dress without even trying to hide herself, just taking it all off in front of everyone, friends, fish and Egyptian crew. Well, at least I wasn't the only one to think that's just too much.

On my last day in Egypt, I felt as if I'd just arrived. One week really was too short to do anything at all, especially when illness came into it. Sitting on the beach, I finally managed to find some intimacy, except of course for the Egyptian staff trying to sell the activities of the hotel (spa, beauty-centre, water-surfing etc.) and then again those who had already managed to and never passed without a joyful 'salut Français, ça va ?' But at least, out here in the sand, there was no loud music (Russian or else) and the other tourists were sort of hidden each on their deckchair behind private folding screens. I just had to close my eyes or look to the other side when the fat and much too sunburned old man went by wearing his hideous tanga and the same for the fake blond showing of her top-less silicone-work. Maybe that's how the Egyptians manage to deal with this kind of people: maybe they just look away, but then again, they might as well take photographs on their mobile and show it all at home. Anyway, if I managed not to think about the body-builder drinking a beer-glass full of strong alcohol at ten in the morning while teaching his son to play darts, well, then I could really enjoy... well, not Egypt, but at least, being on the beach. The soft and regular sound of the waves, a seagull from time to else and this morning, as a boat left the beach, we saw a whole shoal of flying fish. Incredible glittering silvery show! And then the heat: in the middle of winter, in February, to be able to feel the sun burning the skin on my shoulders and put a foot in the sand and feel its warm and soft caress... Those simple pleasures are priceless!

As the wind took up, some jellyfish landed on the beach, not enough to frighten the swimmers, but just enough to get the attention of the children. A little Russian girl made a point of coating one, not with breadcrumbs, but with sand and it certainly ended up looking like some escalope. When my daughters came back from the pool, they tried to rescue it by putting it back into the water, but of course, it had been dead for a while, so instead, they collected some stones and shells and made a beautiful little jellyfish-grave under the sand. Yet something else hidden under Egypt's mysterious tons of sand.

Blue sky, blue water, yellow sun, yellow sand... probably the colours of all beaches, but certainly the colours of whole Egypt. And then green palm-trees wherever there's water. Colours always struck me when in Egypt, from my first getting out a plane in Luxor, surrounded by nothing but sand and then the magical sunset on the Nile-river, when everything turns orange, red and pink as if the earth is set on fire before night. Even the Red Sea and its crowded surroundings had more intense colours than the so famous French Riviera supposed to offer a special light, well-known by artists. My sister lived in Nice for several years, but I never saw the same intensity as in Egypt. No wonder they used to venerate the sun as their God. One evening, as we went to the restaurant, the sun had set more than an hour earlier, but still the black sky had a redly, burning and mysterious halo, through which millions of stars looked down at us as they had once on the Pharaohs.

Next time I go to Egypt will be on the Nile, hopefully at a slow speed, as if travelling during the nineteenth century, far away from other tourists and closer to the country, taking time to enjoy all the wonders of such a welcoming place and population. Inch'Allah...