Hurghada, I’m hurrrrr! Stepping off the bus and into a new cloud of dust, I head to the toilet (number ones) not bothering to remove my backpack during urination… (it’d be more difficult to try and take this thing off then get it back on again). Backpacker life.
A short car ride from the bus stop and I’m at my hotel, Zak Inn. Small, semi clean and cheap. It has a pool, a cute balcony and parts of the floor are as level as the side of a pyramid. The shower…. let’s say, if I was any bigger, I’d be using the pool to bathe and store my luggage in here. It’s a tight squeeze #noroomforactivities. Side note, falafel and flat bread consumption has increased by 120 percent. May not fit in the shower by end of week. A problem for future me.
Mid city, yet one block back from the water, I put sleep deprivation aside and hit the Hurghada streets in search of… Hurghada… and a dive centre. The coastline here is spectacular… the deep gem stone colours of the water pressed against the warm golden sands and rocky shores of Hurghada is a visual orgasm, begging for minimal clothing. In a place where one should remain clothed (unless in specific resorts) or suffer consequences much greater than sunburn or humiliation, it’s the ultimate tease. I’m a nun at a Ryan Gosling look alike convention… tortured.
Turn 180 degrees, you’d never imagine it was the same place. Like living in night and day. Sure, you see this picture and it’s incredible. Who wouldn’t want to be here? If you see the full picture, like many beautiful things in life, it’s broken… and there’s a twisted kind of beauty in that too, an honesty, hope, and room for improvement.
Hard to tell if Egypt is mid construction or post destruction. The amount of dilapidated, abandoned and half assembled buildings with vines of twisted metal rods adorning chunks of cement. Either a tornado or earthquake hit the entire country… or Egypt is in preparation, for mass population.
A quick trip to the pharmacy for some Voltaren turned… interesting. In Egypt, there’s injections of Voltaren in addition to tablets. Romain, the pharmacist, asked me to close the front door to the shop. Cut to, I’m standing in a back room (same dimensions of my hotel shower) with a curtain as a door, dress up, ass out, thong down (seemed unnecessary), getting a needle in my ass with what I hope is an anti inflammatory… It was only 20 Egyptian pounds.. figured it was fine (Rohypnol is more expensive right?) but when that warm wave rolled over me and I began to lose feeling in my leg, there was a moment I thought, “is there a chance the injection wasn’t voltaren and I’m about to be assaulted. Fuck”. Another younger man walked through the door as I pulled my dress down. It was red flag city as I made a beeline to the door. The next thing I remember was waking up on the floor sweating and shaking violently. A white male walked by outside and yelled out “help”. He kept walking. The younger Egyptian man patting my face with tissues during my early onset menopause made me realise everything was ok… no one had been harmed, there was no ill intent, it was just a bad reaction to the injection, but, it highlighted I’m a tad careless with my morality and should not accept injections in roadside chemists/ pharmacies. Have now purchased my own vile of anti inflammatory and needle to administer, in the safety of my hotel. My DIY approach raised eyebrows.. infact women doing anything themselves seems to surprise the locals here.