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Phil John:
THE PERFUME SHOPPE
(PART ONE)
Eichwalde, November 11th, 2002 - Travel Story # 1 - 1636 Words
I decided to take a stroll down the main street, heading South. The weather was still the same as during the day, only darker, but the 100 degrees of aridity were still on the agenda, and I didn't bother at all. That's the perfect weather to live in, just about the right temperature, but it better gotta be dry. It was, so no problem there. I walked down the sidewalk, passing some hotel entrances strongly reminding me of Vegas, just a bit smaller, and strangely, Vegas seemed to have been the more exotic place by far, the more crazy one at least. Al-Ghurdaqa wasn't that non-crazy either, one hotel after another arising alongside the shore, each bigger and more sloppily built than the previous one. Catch the wave as long as you can, for it won't last. Once the reefs will be destroyed, the beaches dirty and the hotels run down, no one will come any more but those who won't carry loads of money with them. Still, that didn't disturb the average investor in Egyptian tourism, just as it didn't disturb them elsewhere, and you sure had to go someplace for your vacations, and not everybody's a millionaire. Sure they want to be one. Why not, you could spare yourself the trouble of staying at home and go places where people are far worse off than yourself, thus raise the confidence in your own home and stand the routine awaiting you back there. The faces I passed looked friendly, but here you never know, are they really friendly or do they just pose for your wallet. The first word you learn down here is baksheesh, and the second better be a strongly uttered "no". I learnt that towards the end of my voyage, and it proved to be a matter of survival, more or less, and once you stand up to one of those poor wrecks feeding huge families by extorting money from supposedly wealthy last minute travelers, once you actually say no, you'll discover that it works. It's all a giant pissing contest. But I learnt to partake in that only late, and now, day one, I was new to the field. I know how to avoid the average solicitor on the street, whatever cause they may be fighting for, animal rights or the rights of fur-bearers. You just need to look busily into one direction and pretend you don't see them. Behold now the more advanced Egyptian spin. They follow you. They'll make you notice them, not being able to look away. Not on your first day, nevertheless, not when you haven't learnt to say no. It's "laa" or "mesh" in Arabic, just in case you were wondering, but here in the town of Hurghada you'll survive with "nein", English "no", Italian "no" and "nyet". But what if somebody doesn't seem to intend to sell something to you, or offer you a superfluous service like showing you a sight you're seeing anyway? What if somebody'd actually ask for help? How do you respond to "ah, you speak German, could you help us please, we need some assistance for some (incomprehensible noun phrase you suspect to be important)", following the innocent-seeming "where are you from", invoking the stupid response of "Germany". You're trapped, and you don't know it yet. You could've known, you're just stupid enough to fall for it. Maybe you wanna fall for it. Maybe you secretly wish to be dragged into some store, being seated on a couch, offered the ubiquitous "tea of friendship", and suddenly realizing you're sitting in a shop full of perfume bottles and they may want you to buy something. A very strong "may", in fact. It actually happened that quickly, there was no big transition in reality either. Not even a new paragraph, that would come just now.
The guy talked to me. He probably realized he would have to repeat it, as he saw me checking out the room. In the back, there was a counter, linked to a back room. Some people were standing there, looking at their prey. I knew it was stupid, and that they were just looking for customers, but still, you know, it's the media. Hamas, Jihad, Al-Qaida, those terrorists who blew up those buses at Luxor (at the very same parking lot I were still to visit, by the way), you name it. I'm sorry guys, I'm the most tolerant person, but drag me in a room full of strange people and let that happen somewhere near to where George Walker Texas locates his Axis of Evil, everything's put into perspective. In case you hadn't noticed before that you were no longer in Euramerica, here you had it. The other. The sublime. The smell of fear. Actually, of perfume, but that didn't matter at that time. What did you want me to do? Help you out? Oh, no, that's a guest book. I'm supposed to write something into it. Yes, guest books can be made of paper and need not be on the internet, just a small side note, that was not part of the conversation. But what conversation, actually, he was trying to not explain something, or re-explain his initial approach. You must not call Muslims a liar, I once read. I stayed true to that for the entirety of the trip, only rephrasing the accusation once I smelled a scheme. Fear again, fear itself. I was bigger than the guy, and the exit was near. He wanted me to say something about the perfume. I was supposed to drink the tea. I smiled to that, pushing the word "poisonous" back to some rear section of my brain, and though it lacked sugar, it was fine. Was I now indebted to him for accepting the beverage? It was called tea of friendship, were we friends now? He actually was learning German, went to some German university even, and as he saw me trying to read some Arabic letters, and partly succeeding, he even offered me to come by later to exchange language skills. I smiled. Dryly. I was still in his shop. "I don't know anything about perfume, I'm really sorry." I was about to learn. He brought a bottle and let me smell. I still didn't know. He put it on my hand, and I approved, somehow. He got something else. I approved less, praising the first like it was the heavenliest thing on Earth. I told him, out of genuine interest even, inquisitiveness being my major flaw, whether it was oil, for it felt so oily. He now posed as being very important, demonstrating that this was essence, dropping it in water and letting me watch it dissolve. I showed that I was impressed. I had to persuade him of my not wanting to buy something, because I still had no clue about perfume and he was just squandering his efforts. My cell phone vibrated. Awkward moment number gazillion. I said sorry, I was awaiting a call from my little sis. After the call, he inquired about the phone. Whether he could buy it. Cell phones would be very expensive in Egypt. So they are in Germany, I replied, matter closed. I sat still. That I was firm about. I love my cell phone. It gives me a sense of connectedness to those in my address book. Plus, it's like those cute Star Trek communicators. A dream come true. Mine, not his. -- "I'm not exactly sure what you expect me to do." He offered me to leave if I felt awkward. Well, I was too polite to be doing that just now. I said, it's ok. We know it wasn't. He probably had realized by now that he was indeed wasting his time. He offered me some bathing oil products. I smiled to that. "Tell you what, I'll write something in your guest book." I did. I praised the selection and the friendliness of the personnel. I just signed with the forename. Why disclose critical information. He asked me about the language exchange. Now I had to apply everything I'd ever learnt about American customs and double-talk my way out of it. Yes, I'd very much like to, but I have to switch my hotel, they booked me for the wrong one, and I was about to move. That was true. I told him the name of the hotel I was staying at, but of course not the one I was going to. Fear. Critical information. I told him I'd have to reunite with my sister. Well, you could see his face blossom into the biggest smile. "Bring your sister with you then." You wish, you horny bastard, I thought to myself. "I'm not sure, that depends on her", I said. I shook his hand, I believe, smiled, and exited the shop. I waved him good-bye, and continued in the direction he had seen me going to. After some steps, and him having returned to his lair, I switched the sides of the road and turned around, back to the hotel. I wasn't ready to face another such experience, not on my first day. I went faster and more determinedly. Maybe I was being unfair, for I wasn't sure about the genuineness of his offer. Maybe he even meant it. Poor him, but in that situation, he was just the shop clerk trying to sell something under false pretenses. That's a no-no. Strangely, they always succeed in making you feel bad about turning them down, and somehow, it's their job, and they do it better than in Europe, that's for sure. But I was spent, didn't want to think about it. It was a story you could tell or write down some day, but the moment as such, the horror, I tell you.
November 11th / 21st, 2002 [HTML Version]
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