Sales, Sales and More Sails

If you can sell sand in Egypt, then you are one helluva salesman. And there must be 100,000 applying for an interview. Sales techniques at the local market make it a proving ground for all perspective trainees. They stick to you like fleas to a dog or flys to camel dung. Persistent and unrelenting. May God shine upon you and may Allah bless you if your sister is available. Our visit to the town of Esna on the banks of the Nile was a scene right out of a movie sound stage. Sorry, but Disney couldn’t have even replicated this. A time capsule with all the services of a medieval Arabic town. Want to get your clothes pressed by someone ironing with their foot on a heated block of iron? How about the local taylor to sew you a new gambia? Fresh pita or falafel? How about getting your sofa restuffed with some genuine Egyptian cotton or get your favorite grains crushed for your cooking oil of preference. Don't forget to get blessed by the priest. Then there is the one stop shop for a mortician who will come to your home, fit you in a cotton wrap and have you buried before sundown. We bought a few scarves but even I got worn down by the non stop haggling over price and quantity. It was a full afternoon of sailing down the Nile for Aswan. Many little row boats with one or two fishermen and just as many river boats full of tourists going in the opposite direction. A few camel sightings and a lot of sand stretching to the horizon. We enjoyed the sail but the sun is taking it’s toll and I have a very red and sore nose to prove it. One of the goals for me was to see the Aswan High Dam and it did not disappoint. It was a joint venture between the Russians and Egyptians under the leadership of President Gamal Nasser. The lake that was created due to the construction is named after him, despite his death before it’s completion in 1970. It produces 20% of the electric needs of the county and helps to irrigate and expand upon desert recovery efforts. The felucca sail up the river was good fun and a swing by Agatha Christie’s Old Cataract Hotel brought the book, Death on the Nile right back into the forefront. It is a leisure afternoon and I am just back from getting some money from an ATM. The ship manager insisted I get an escort with one of the ship security guards and he arranged getting a taxi (if you can call it that) for the return trip into town. A grand total of $2.50. I gave him three dollars and told him to keep the change. They keep insisting the country is safe, but we have an armed policeman on all of our busses and we get an armed police escort vehicle, every time we go on an excursion tour. There are police and army checkpoints with armed pillboxes, where automatic machine guns are visible and if you thought Texas has a problem with firearms, then they must have learned it all from these guys. I don’t see the locals carrying guns but certainly security forces everywhere do. Shalom!!