A spa day, I spent it exchanging well wishes with everyone home and around the world, catching up on what I’ve missed. It’s been a lovely way to spend this holiday.
I’m entering my last week in Egypt before I pop off and over a little more East to see more family and likely ride more camels and probably roll around some golden sand dunes. I’m excited. And apart from London, Cairo will serve as a hub the coming while, facilitating travel to some of the beloveds in 11 neighbouring countries while taking side trips to three others. And that’s just this side of the world. I don’t know how I ever worried about places to go. Jesus (Baby, it’s your birthday!).
Obviously, I won’t be able to get to everyone this first run, but those I miss now, I will catch in round 2, inshAllah. Hurrah!!!!!
Speaking of rounds. Our beloved Luxor and Aswan tour guide Wa7eed was going rounds with every single person who deserved it. For example, the guy overseeing the washroom stalls at Abu Simbel, when he lied and told him the washroom was closed. Closed because he didn’t want someone going in (the tour guide) who wasn’t going to pay.
In case you’re unaware, in order for you to be shocked and awed by a bidet in Egypt, you have to pay. And it’s not really a have to, but rather simply respecting how the system is set up.
When I had finished my solo touring, I went looking for Wa7eed and found him yelling at a mix of military and police men. Not knowing what was up, I stood behind a bush and watched carefully. He was complaining to these men, none of whom was prepared to do anything. And so, instead, he was yelling that he would be filing a complaint with the head of his union who will then deal with the Ministry of Tourism* to make certain that the washroom fella deals with everyone equally, those paying and those not (who would primarily only be other tour guides).
I came out from behind the bush and stood next to him nodding and saying ‘Yes. Yes. He is right and I will support his claim. I don’t care that you are all carrying weapons and I am carrying two books,’ with my little fist raised. And by this, I mean I stayed behind the bush until he was done and he began stomping towards our car, at which point I ran after him.
In order for me to bring you tales from the bidet, I need to keep my ass, not have it shot off.
Which brings me to another Pro Tip: Before you turn the nozzle of the bidet, be absolutely certain that the nozzle is attached to the toilet rather than to an inconspicuous hose. Else you might get a spray of water that slams into the ceiling, and which then might ricochet off this very ceiling and hit you in the shoulder.
Honestly. Anyone who sees me leaving a public washroom probably thinks I have some kind of abnormal fetish.
Eat Turkey! Be Merry! I love you all.
*I made this name up. I don’t know to whom they will be speaking, only that it is to someone. The threat was strong enough that it had the washroom guy trying to apologize profusely. But Wa7eed wasn’t having it.
Today, I am grateful for:
1. Long conversations with T.
3. The power of hope.