God bless airplanes! We woke up one day in cold, rainy Hamburg…but by noon were soaring blissfully over Cairo, the fabled Nile River and soon the sunny Sinai peninsula. The view out our exit-row window brought to mind the stuff of Elisabeth Peters novels: drama! intrigue! romance! all churning down below in the ancient country of Egypt. Our destination: Sharm el Sheikh… yes, the Red Sea Riveria…that sunsplashed seaside playground to multiple continents of sunseekers. In reviewing a map, I noticed that Sharm el Sheikh was comfortably tucked between the Suez Canal and Gulf of Aqaba…with Saudi Arabia a stone´s throw to the east and Jordan a nip to the north. I supposed I wouldn´t be quick to don my stars-and-stripes bikini or fly an American flag from our hotel room balcony.

Our delicious 5-star hotel – the Grand Rotana Resort and Spa (as with all the local hotels, a veritable bargain thanks to the occasional terrorist attack every few years in Sharm el Sheikh) – delighted us with a surprise upgrade to a super-deluxe ocean view room. A late lunch at a waterside table overlooking the Red Sea and Tiran Island revived our energies, followed by a spectacular sunset which rendered everything a glowing pink. Strains of opera arias caught my attention, and we followed our ears to an outdoor amphitheatre where the opera Rigoletto was being presented on a giant screen to a modest but appreciative group of onlookers. I blessed whomever had this brilliant idea and settled in for an hour of music under the stars.

We wasted little time in planting ourselves next to the spectacular pool for a few days, with reading material in one hand and sunscreen in the other. Friendly pool employees jumped to adjust our pool chairs, put up our umbrella, bring us refreshments, clean our sunglasses, and practice their commendable command of the English language. We were in heaven. Everywhere we went, employees were standing by to treat us like national treasures – which, as you can imagine, is not always the norm – especially in a resort town that caters primarily to package travelers. I give both the hotel and the Egyptian tourism authority a big thumbs up on their five-star hospitality!

I quickly took to scoping out the wide variety of tourists sharing our turf. Particularly entertaining were the older German couples who insisted on bringing a weeklong supply of Das Bild (a tacky German rag, not unlike the Enquirer) and speaking their mother tongue with every employee in sight. More of a shock was the large collection of Russians (collections of which stormed the hotel in big tour busses every couple of days)… men with huge bellies and horrifyingly small Speedos, and each ´female accessory` looking like an underfed supermodel on a very tight clothing budget. Some of their more eye-boggling outfits would make a Snoop Dog video look like a church service. I wondered if they had read the brief synopsis of Egypt in the airplane material on the way down: “Egypt, a Muslim country….”

(Side note on Speedos: For my male readers, may I offer a small fashion reminder that it is NEVER in ANY WAY for ANY REASON considered OK to wear a SPEEDO in public. NEVER. EVER. Write that down. Memorize it.)

The remaining population of hotel guests seemed to cover both Western & Eastern Europe, with a fair smattering of Brits. Truly, other than perhaps in the London Heathrow transit lounge, I have never heard such a wide variety of languages being spoken in such a small radius. As an American, I was an apparent rarity. The staff always seemed really surprised when they heard my response to ´where are you from?´ - not sure if this was a good sign or a bad sign.

Interestingly, I noticed that the baby decided to alter my figure just in time for our trip… without giving me enough time to buy – er - a swimsuit with more fabric. Soenke was totally impressed with this curvacious turn of events, but I cowered underneath my flowing sarong whenever possible, insisting that “the baby needs shade”.

On two occasions we broke up the monotony of stunning ocean views and poolside mango smoothies with a trip into ´town`. And what an experience THAT was. The town´s hotspot, Na´ama Bay, closely resembled an Egyptian Las Vegas with a splash of Disneyland thrown in for good measure. Wall-to-wall themed nightclubs and restaurants lined the pedestrian-only streets – with enthusiastic and enterprising ´marketers` stationed every few meters begging you to frequent their establishment for the evening. Also well represented were tacky and overpriced souvenir shops and perhaps a few respectable handicraft stores. It was fascinating like a train wreck, and resembled nothing of the Egypt I had dreamed about. With some effort I did manage to wrangle an authentic Egyptian fish dinner out of a restaurant called Onions (the food was a lot better than the name suggests), although I still question the wisdom of eating any living thing which formerly resided in the Red Sea.

Our evening was capped by a special surprise drive back to the hotel involving an illegal taxi and a non-English-speaking driver. Now really, we didn´t KNOW it was an illegal taxi until the self-appointed ´transportation manager´ had already walked us 10 minutes to his waiting driver, and by then my feet hurt and I realized that they probably really needed the money so tossed caution to the wind, crossed myself several times, and hopped in (Soenke followed with raised eyebrows). Heck, at least it had seatbelts (the ´real´ taxi we took from the airport to the hotel seemed to have no modern equipment of ANY kind – we even suspected there were hamsters running under the hood to keep the engine going). We soon realized our illega-mobile – probably built sometime before Egyptian independence - had serious transmission problems, as the driver struggled to keep it in gear. Speeds varied wildly depending on whether we were in gear or not – no small concern considering other cars whip up and down the main road at dizzying speeds, weaving around slackers like they were mere slalom pylons. On the final, long, dark side road to the hotel we spotted an unruly-looking group of young Egyptian men loitering by the road – with no building or car or anything but blowing desert sand in sight – and our car began slowing. I breathed deeply, commended my spirit to heaven, and hoped death would come quickly. At the last minute, second gear caught and we zipped by the deathmongers with nary a scratch. As soon as we got to the hotel, I got a BIG FAT LECTURE from Soenke on security issues and had to swear on whatever holy book we could find that we would only utilize hotel transportation (happily, a 2006 E-class Mercedes) for all future in-town excursions. No problem!

———————–
Photos:

The Grand Rotana pool in Sharma el Sheikh:

Soenke is exhausted from all that relaxation:

Soenke’s favorite poolside snack: miniburgers (how much more Egyptian can you get?)

I just LOVE vacations…

A gorgeous sunset from our balcony: