TPOL is back from his trip and ready to do the work of the people. I have plenty of reviews to write and photos to share which will begin tomorrow. For today, I thought I’d try to get back in the rhythm of posting from my laptop instead of from my mobile.
The points news since I left has not be very good. First, I read that Marriott is buying SPG. I doubt any points enthusiast is seeing this as a good thing. I know nothing about Marriott points and have always likened them to Delta in terms of accruing and spending points. How they will merge their program with SPG remains to be seen but let’s not pretend that it will be for the better.
Next, American Airlines has done something that I’ve expected them to do for a while. They are devaluing their awards program meaning you better book your Etihad Apartment before March 22, 2016 because the best awards program out there is about to become as mediocre as the rest.
All of this really makes me wonder how long this points game can last. We have dealt with a lot this year of which I’m too tired to recount. I’m sure we can adapt but in the event this is the Apocalypse, please remember what I’ve always stressed: Shut Up & Book!
Disclaimer: If you’re not a fan of the Travel Century Club and its characterization of what is or isn’t a country then you may want to stop reading. If you do continue, spare me the comments about how Hawaii Isn’t a Country, a title of a previous post.
Sorry for that whiny intro.
Abu Dhabi, my 75th ‘country’. Somehow each Emirate is its own ‘country’ but each state in the US is not according to the list.
75 is a good milestone though still 25 shy of the century mark. Somehow I thought I’d be a lot closer by now given how much I travel, but a shift from my obsession from only going to new countries to using points at the best resorts has kept this goal elusive.
At the same time and the more poetic reason I remain short is because nothing is better than visiting a country for the second or third time. For example, I recently went to Bali, China, Japan, and Mexico countries that I had traveled to before. Going again made the old memories more special and the new memories equally great. Furthermore, the pressure to go, see, do everything is lifted whether it be for personal curiosity or now to fulfill my duties as a blogger.
I’m hoping I have enough time in this life to get to 100 and beyond but in the event that I don’t, I can genuinely say that I’ve been to just about all the places I’ve wanted to see.
In high school, I along with an avid TPOL reader were part of a nerdy class section called Honors Humanities. Besides the torment of being labeled nerds, a title I embrace only in regards to points, we had to do quarterly projects for old school teachers who didn’t let students get away with anything. How far the education system has fallen.
Anyhow, the project which included presentations had to be fifteen minutes long. If that wasn’t stressful enough on its own, the transcript for the presentation had to be typed out and a fellow classmate would track our progress and make note if we made any mistakes. Now that’s precision.
My first project was on Egypt. I constructed a pyramid and wrapped ‘my little Chuckie’ with toilet paper to represent King Tut. I promise you it was better than I’m describing or at least I thought it was at the time.
Since doing research on King Tut (without the aid of Google) for that project (which I received an A+ on), I’ve always wanted to see King Tut’s mask. Fifteen years + two harrowing trips in Cairo traffic, I made it to the Egyptian Museum of Antiquities.
Well, guess what. King Tut’s mask is not on display. It is under restoration. Why? Because some genius broke the beard of the mask last January then as I would do if I were a child tried to glue it back together. Surely an artifact that’s over 3000 years old should be handled and repaired with better care. It’s not like it’s a toilet paper Chuckie doll.
Now I’m on the way back to the airport, disappointed that I didn’t get to see the king and complete the circle. Simultaneously, given the surprises of this trip, I’m hardly surprised.
The only glimpse of King Tut on the entrance ticket. This trip would’ve required as much research as that project to discover all the hidden mishaps.
I know I’m going to open myself to attack on this one and deservedly so but before you unleash your fury please understand I am candidly sharing this experience when I probably should keep it to myself.
As I had written, food poisoning struck leaving me delirious. In fact, on Saturday I forgot my beloved Blackberry at the front desk when I went to ask for medicine. Obviously, I was never in danger of losing my phone since nobody uses a Blackberry besides me.
Ill, I felt a need to strip myself of my possessions including my Garmin golf/run watch. I placed it on the night stand and went to sleep. During the night I recall hearing a noise of something falling and thought nothing of it. Fact: it is always something.
The next morning I packed my things and took the free, that’s right free, shuttle to the airport. Score another transport success for TPOL.
The security at Sharm airport wasn’t any different from a normal airport on a normal day for domestic flights. Flights to the UK required passengers to arrive five hours before departure.
Feeling better, I sat at the gate, happy that my Egypt sprint was coming to an end. This happiness was short-lived as I instantly felt sick when I felt for my watch and only found my masculine wrist.
A pointless check of my bags yielded nothing as I instantly recalled the noise from the night before. Frantic, I rushed to the coffee shop and asked to use the phone to call the hotel. The barista graciously let me borrow his and despite the call dropping multiple times I got a hold of the hotel who advised me to call back in 7 minutes for the results.
7 minutes passed and I tried to call but the phone would not work. Seconds were ticking away and I was doing a terrible job of running the two-minute drill. I asked another kind stranger for his phone and he allowed me to call. (On a side note, I have unlimited intl data on ATNT and I disabled voice for all the drunk dialing/inadvertent calls that run up my bill when I’m abroad. I’ll be changing that back.)
The good news was that the hotel had found my watch, the bad news is that they required 120 EGP or $14 to bring it to me. So much for free ride to the airport.
It’s funny how bargaining is enjoyable until the shit turns real and you actually need something done. They could’ve said double, even triple that amount and I would have agreed, chalking it up as a fine for my stupidity.
The thrill ride continued when I tried to exit the airport and was stopped by a mob of security guards. They yanked my boarding pass and let me leave. From there, I paced back and forth outside the terminal waiting for my savior to arrive. He finally did but it wasn’t in the 12 minutes the hotel had stated. (not sure about the odd times they kept quoting.)
The driver gave me the watch and I offered him the last of my EGP, 105, not the 120 required. I wrongly believed that this was a Hyatt car and they wouldn’t care about $1 difference especially when it is a ‘twelve minute’ drive to the airport.
Nope. Wrong. The driver called to security. The security told him to get over it. He insisted. They pleaded. I grew more nervous. I should’ve been proactive and gone to the ATM in anticipation of this being an issue specifically because I truly would’ve given 3x the money But, at the time, having exact change, was the last thing on my mind. Terrible reasoning I know.
The security escorted me back into the terminal where I withdrew 60 EGP. As bad luck would have it, the money was dispensed as one 50 and one ten. Back out the terminal, with the 24 soundtrack ticking in my head, I presented the 50 and 10 to the driver.
He took out a wad of cash with 100 dollar US notes and a stack of Egyptian pounds. The security snatched the ten out of my hands gave it to the driver who vigorously protested and escorted me back inside.
I made my flight with time to spare and am now reflecting on what transpired. I can’t say I blame the driver for demanding payment in full but maybe a hint of compassion would’ve been appropriate. After all, when I was a cabbie, I often extended a helpful hand without expecting anything in return. On the other hand, in the words of Jay-Z, “You owe me 120 Egyptian pounds, you pay me 120, not 105.” Then again Jigga did borrow the Egyptian tune for his famous Big Pimpin, so there is latitude for generosity.
In conclusion, Sharm el-Sheikh was supposed to be relaxation but that was hardly the case. Next time I come to Egypt I’m staying in Cairo where the chaos makes me comfortable.
Correction (12/1/2015): Above I said “I should’ve gone to the ATM”. It should read, I should’ve gone to a ‘different’ ATM. The only ATM in the terminal didn’t accept my card and that’s why I didn’t have the correct amount.
The chills, the sweats, and the impromptu runs to the toilet is how I spent my Saturday in Sharm. I’m not going to go into detail about that situation. Instead, this is a travel advice post for avoiding food poisoning especially when you’re somewhere that’s supposed to be relaxing.
The rule is simple: make sure your hots are hots and your colds are colds. Beyond that hope that the kitchen is clean, drink bottled water, and avoid ice.
I have plenty of experience with food poisoning and curiosly none of it has come from street food. In Prague, a glass of bad milk had me wrapped around the toilet. In Atlanta, it was sushi baking in the hot sun that impaired my enjoyment of Michigan in the Final Four. In Siem Reap, a bad batch of ice had me in pain for two days. Ironically, before ordering a drink I took a pic of the menu which said ‘We use clean ice.’
When food poisoning strikes it paralyzes the body making you question if recovery is possible. I have mixed feelings about taking pills to combat food poisoning. Taking Cipro in Cambodia only brought me and the toilet closer together. Taking whatever they gave me here did the same. I’m guessing the logic behind these pills is to flush the system of the toxins. But in doing so, it creates the side-effect that it is supposed to prevent.
Food poisoning is no joke which is why you should stay paranoid wherever you eat. Interestingly enough, the suspected culprit of this round of food poisoning came from the best Egyptian restaurant in Sharm.
a-live and almost well, I now continue with my regular blogging.
And now for the dramatic conclusion of my time in Luxor.
Fed up with the swindlers, I passed out early yesterday from exhaustion. All I wanted to do was wake up, get in a taxi, and get to the airport. Instead, I found myself walking the empty streets of Luxor searching for a taxi that wouldn’t rip me off too badly.
Even at 430am, their ability to haggle was as sharp as I ever. I knew that time was against me so I grew slightly worried that I would not find a taxi at this hour and on a Friday, the Muslim day of prayer.
When one taxi driver said, “It is impossible to pay what you have paid from the airport,” I thought I had finally lost it. The driver was making me question my own reality.
After a couple more ridiculous offers, I thought maybe I should just call it a defeat and pay whatever they asked. The alternative was to miss my flight and stay another day in this tourist exploiting paradise.
But lucky for me the taxi driver blinked and accepted my offer. En route the anxiety grew as I swore I heard the driver’s tire pop. Then at the checkpoint the driver said he left his ID papers at home.
Finally at the airport, I’m happy to be getting out of this place. I’m not saying don’t visit Luxor but bring your blood pressure medication if you do.
And so it finally came to be. TPOL had enough of the shenanigans of the Egyptian tour guides and let his voice be heard.
But before I get into that, let’s rewind to how I came to this point. On the way to the hotel my taxi driver abruptly stopped to speak to a dude on a motorbike. Said dude came to the window of the taxi and inquired as to where I was from. I said Iraq by way of America and he replied that he was from Egypt, a common response with everyone I have spoken to here.
Instantly, he broke into his sales pitch of taking me to the Valley of the Kings, the Valley of the Queens, and the West Bank. He said, “You can come as you wish, you can not come, either way you are welcome. We will not kill you.”
Reassured by his awkward kindness, I continued onto the hotel. At a tour of the Luxor Temple I met a woman who said she was a tour guide and could show me the Valley of the Kings for 100 EGP including transport and entry. The next day we went on the tour and her tune quickly changed. The 100 EGP would only be for her travel guide services and I would have to pay an additional 100 EGP ($12) to enter the Valley. While everyone believed that I was Egyptian and could have probably faked my way in for the local price of 10 EGP, Ms TPOL’s ‘European’ features killed that hustle.
Angry that I was paying double for what I bargained for, I voiced my displeasure to her. She tried excuse after excuse to rationalize her robbery to no avail. Sensing my frustration, she stated that in fact I was the problem. She said, “You are a bad tourist.”
Perhaps I should have been insulted but I took it as a compliment. If being a bad tourist means questioning why what we had bargained for was not honored then I accept the title of bad tourist. If being a bad tourist means refusing to pay more simply because Ms TPOL doesn’t like Egyptian but I do, then I’m a bad tourist. If being a bad tourist means not submitting to the injustice of being overcharged regardless if that is one dollar or one hundred, then damn it I’m a bad tourist.
To that end, I advise all TPOL readers to become the worst tourists of all time and not fall victim to price discrimination regardless of the excuse you are given.
Oh and if you do visit the Valley of the Kings don’t bother with a guide as they are prohibited from entering the tombs with you. All they can do is give you a wikipedia presentation and send you on your way. That’s hardly worth $2 let alone $12.
View of the West Bank, a place thought to be bad luck by ancient Egyptians. Now I know why.
The bane of my existence are taxis, specifically taxis from the airport. I write about them all the time and no matter where I go I always have to deal with their shady ways.
As a former taxi driver, I can sympathize with them for the long hours and poor wages. Still, that doesn’t give them the right to rip people off.
I landed in Luxor and had to rely on my own wit to get me to my hotel since Uber is only in Cairo.
“100 Egyptian pounds,” the first driver said. “80, 70, 60,” the next three offered. The fifth escorted me to a billboard with ‘official’ prices. My hotel, spelled incorrectly, was 55.
“You see, this is the real price, the one made by the police,” the driver said as he pointed to a uniformed official. “Don’t you trust the police?”
That last statement was hardly reassuring. I said no thanks and proceeded to take a seat outside the airport and engage the drivers in a friendly contest of patience.
Who would break first? Would I give in to inflated tourist prices on account of being exhausted? Or would the driver realizing there are virtually no tourists in Luxor come down to a fair fare.
Moments later, a driver approached me and asked, “Where you go,” though he already knew from gossiping with his colleagues in Arabic where I was headed. Not known to him was the fact that I could understand what they were saying.
“I’m going to my hotel,” I said. Then my favorite game of ‘best price’ began. Here’s how it went:
Driver: “My friend I want to be honest with you.”
Me: “Why?”
Driver (off-guard and with big smile): “Uhh, because you are my brother.”
Me: “Ok, then 30 EGP (10 more than I originally wanted to pay).”
Driver: “The police price…”
Me: (interrupting). “30.”
Driver: “40.”
Me: “30.”
Driver: “35.”
Me: “30.”
Driver: “Brother it’s five EGP.”
Me: “30.”
Driver: (walking away)
Me: (sitting)
Driver: (turning around) “Ta’al.”
Me: (knowing this means ‘come’, insert smiley).
The rate should’ve been 20 but I gave in a little. I was tired but not tired enough to get exploited. Sorry boss.
I’m sitting here at Cairo airport after the whirlwind tour of a great, memorable city. Actually, I’m lying here like a degenerate across 4 chairs in the terminal as I don’t have Star Alliance lounge access. As an aside, I’m glad I don’t have to go to another lounge. The pressure of taking the photo of the food spread gives me great stress.
This time of reflection has me thinking about waiting terminals from past flights and how I used to endure the wait before boarding.
I recall from my childhood the leather sex swing seats at HNL airport that were rather comfortable. No doubt those chairs made an impact on my sexuality during my formative years. I also think of the lawn chairs in Addis Ababa airport which let those passing through without lounge access wait in comfort. Finally, I need to reference Singapore’s Changi Airport which is an economy flyer’s best bet for a restful layover before he learns of flying SQ.
Anyhow, as I shamelessly lounge on these decently comfortable chairs, I can’t help but wonder who decides which chairs should be placed in an airport terminal. There must be an efficiency engineer who purposefully places armrests between chairs so those without etiquette don’t overtake the waiting area. There must be calculations made about the distance between facing rows so the unrefined doesn’t use it as a footrest. There must be assessments about how close to put the power adapter to the seat so the shameless blogger doesn’t recline and write at the same time without consuming power.
Here at CAI there aren’t those restrictions. Thus I would like to thank the chair purchaser for making my wait time more enjoyable.
A memorable day at the pyramids gave way to an afternoon of disappointment as I sit here stuck in Cairo rush hour traffic on a road to nowhere. I was supposed to go to the Museum of Antiquities but it will be closed by the time Uber arrives.
It is well-known that Cairo has terrible traffic. Taking this into account, I gave myself 1 hour to get to the museum and 2 hours to explore it. I was working under the assumption that the museum’s website gave accurate information. It said that the hours of operation were till 7pm. They aren’t. It closes at 5pm.
Consequently, my meeting with King Tut will not take place and the only chance I have of visiting the museum before I head home is on a layover on the return from Sharm el-Sheikh. That means leaving the airport, braving the traffic, and returning in time to board.
I don’t make a point of going to museums because I prefer to experience live history. The one time I actually wanted to go I foolishly relied on a dated website not the concierge to tell me the operating hours.
Though I don’t believe in guided tours as winging it on your own almost certainly produces better stories (pyramid story to follow at a later date), I learned a good lesson in being proactive with my vacation plans.
Stuck in Cairo traffic
Update: The museum actually closes at 4 making the traffic experience even more pointless.
