We spent both days relaxing. The Guide book and conventional wisdom stated that the good beaches were in Na'ama Bay, some 7km down the road back towards the airport. So, on Thursday morning we decided to brave one of the local taxis. Brave being an important word. Without exception, the taxis are Peugeot 504s, which Jimmy says are at least thirty years old. The suspension said the same thing. It's a long time since I've done 70 mph in solid suspension. My stomach thought it was on a roller coaster. And that was just driving towards The Tower hotel to U-turn to get onto the opposite carriageway and double-back on ourselves.
We were stopped abruptly by a policeman. My topsy turvy stomach said Thank you. The driver asked the policeman what was going on. He replied "Tony Blair". We waited five minutes, or a little less, until a Tower Hotel people-carrier, with opaque windows and escorted by police cars and outriders passed by. We followed it down the road for about 4kms, until it turned off for the airport.
We were pleasantly surprised by Na'ama Bay. A modern town, catering exclusively for tourists, it was spotlessly clean, relaxed and impressive. Even though we kept looking in the windows of jewellers shops, it did not take us very long to reach the beach. We had to pay for the privilege of lying on the beach - or, rather, on loungers, but it was pleasant. The water was warm and so salty to make floating a pleasure and swimming a dream. There is nothing quite like the feeling of swimming in the sea. Although I am not a strong swimmer, I have a confidence.
Without resorting to national stereotypes, I felt a great deal of pity for the many Italian women on the beach - Sharm being a predominantly Italian resort. Sure, I can see that there are some advantages in having a hyperthin elfin-shaped body, with perfect G-string clad bum, designer hair and expensive bikini, but, erm, by lying in the sun, rubbing on the coconut oil you're not only bringing on premature ageing but you are missing out on the fun sensuality of splashing in the sea.
I was particularly fascinated by various groups of Egyptian women. Two just came to sit on the loungers, read papers and natter. Another two brought their small children. The children went in the sea, the adults didn't. I wondered about the little girl. She was so enjoying running about in her swimming costume. I wonder at what age she will be told it isn't becoming to do that. A group of teenagers were interesting. The most glamorous people on the beach, they showed far more decorum than the massed ranks of Italians, Norwegians, Germans, French and Brits. I was particularly taken by the three-piece bikini.
When the clouds began to gather we went shopping. On the first afternoon we chose my engagement ring and put down a deposit. On the second, we paid the balance, and took it away. As far as a Lebanese restaurant upstairs, where we partook of a fabulous Lebanese mixed salad and a mixed seafood platter, all washed down with the rather good Cru des Ptolemies white wine.
On the Thursday, on the way back in the taxi we were stopped at a roadblock. Turned out that Hosni Mubarak was being driven to the airport. He was popping to Cairo for a meeting with the Turkish Prime Minister, but soon returned to meet with President Assad of Syria. I really felt the hand of history on my shoulder.
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