Miss Popularity
A woman traveling alone in the Middle East will always experience the country at a slight skew from other tourists. In Dahab, I have my crew, who I met traveling in other parts of Egypt and am lucky enough to hook up with again. We hang out at night, but during the day, they go diving and I am at the mercy of the locals, which really means local men.
Because of the nature of beach resorts, even one as low-budget as Dahab, Western women expect to relax a bit here. Egyptian men are aware of this. They are a bit... relaxed as well. The hassle here is of a different breed: men won't follow and don't spout as many cheesy lines. They will, however, make assumptions and make their moves fast. When women walk around a Muslim country in bikinis, it's not hard to see why the men are more self-assured about groping than in the city.
My hotel manager Ziggy takes me on a few trips to the Blue Lagoon. It's a beautiful spot, and I enjoy being included in the group with his best friend and best friend's girlfriend. However, after Ziggy inexplicably attempts to lift me underwater a few times, and I begin to question his motives. I'm usually not so slow, but Dahab fried my brain.
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| The Blue Lagoon |
Ziggy strongly hints—well, okay, comes right out and tells me—that the 5EP/night I pay for my hut includes free hash. I am intrigued, but his offers become a bit insistent. One night when I'm leaning toward a good smoke, he tells me that we cannot do it in public, but we can enjoy the smoke by ourselves on the roof. He winks. I pass.
When I emerge onto a lounge chair after a good 3 hours gaping at the reef, a waiter comes over with a friendly smile. We chat for a while, and he seems nice enough. He asks me to smoke hash in a secluded spot near the Blue Lagoon. I pass. As I start dozing off in the strong sun, he suddenly strokes my face and arms. I jump back and angrily sputter how sick I am of Egyptian men. He brings me a free cool karkaday (hibiscus drink) and admonishes me, "I am not like the others." What, mister, you think I should feel bad or sumpthin'? I drink my drink and jet.
At the Blue Hole, I meet a local guide who is eager to take me dinner. I am not so eager. The man offers me tea, which I don't touch, and asks me again if I can meet him tonight. I say no and walk away. He calls after me, "Then pay for your tea."
I also meet a horrible old man named Zamir at the Blue Hole. Zamir runs a sad little snorkeling shack in Mashraba and claims to be an expert. Later I notice no one ever takes a snorkeling tour with him. On first meeting, he grabs me underwater to "guide" me. We get in an argument about the length of time I stayed in the water, a misunderstanding, which quickly escalates into a screaming match.
"AMERICANS ARE CRAZY!!!" he screams.
"NO, EGYPTIANS ARE CRAZY!!!" I shriek back.
The Canadians riding the truck with us recoil in horror.
The next day, I run into Zamir outside an Internet café. He apologizes in a hangdog manner and promises to show me manta rays. I am totally intrigued, so I decide that letting things go is the Dahab way.
Of course, I am wrong. In Dahab, I always swim or snorkel with a T-shirt on, both for modesty and for avoiding the strong sun. Zamir repeatedly asks me to take my shirt off, purportedly to avoid dragging my shirt on the reef in the shallow waters, while staring blatantly at my chest. I assure him the shirt stays on and the reef will not be touched.
After we enter the water, Zamir first grabs my hand, then pulls me in tightly with his arms. To get my attention as I drift around, he grabs my legs. Every time I pull away, he angrily tells me that we are friends now and he should be allowed to touch me. Whuh? Because of his age, I genuinely am not sure if he means well and assumes Western women don't mind being touched, or if he's the Sleazy McSleaze, which I think he is. I try to be semi-gentle and just tell him I don't like being touched by anyone. In addition, I say that I don't really need to be guided because I can't understand him underwater anyway. It doesn't work that well, but he backs off a bit.
Incidentally, there are no manta rays. A dive master assures me they are long gone from Dahab.
The following day, I hide from Zamir. I mention to several different locals that I find him disgustingly creepy. They all nod solemnly and agree that he is. "Didn't you know?" they ask. Well, not after one day's experience fellas, but thanks for the heads-up.
Yasser from the hotel/restaurant Christina takes a liking to me. I meet him through Zamir, but he does not take the opportunity to warn me. When I am hiding from Zamir, I hide out at the Christina with Yasser's help.
The Christina is near Deep Blue, so I end up spending most of my non-snorkeling time there. I flop into the Christina for breakfast. Yasser brings me a plate of goodies from their buffet. I mention I am thirsty. Coke or juice or tea magically appears. There is never a charge for anything. I notice I am out of cigarettes. Yasser gives me all of his. Yasser also asks if I need a massage.
"No thanks, I'm good," I reply.
"Maybe I need massage," he says.
"I'm sure you can pay someone to do it," I say.
Long pause.
"Well, I am here. For anything you need. Just ask," he intones.
It's weird getting an Egyptian fan. I wonder why some women find "intense" so appealing? To me, it's very similar to "loopy." Yasser stares at me from afar while I have lunch with a male friend. Yasser begs me to let him cook me an Egyptian meal. Yasser tells me he wants badly to speak with me, then simply stares at me in silence. Yasser frightens me a little.
I often wonder if I'd get the same amount of attention if I were blonde. Many of these men seem to have never seen an Asian woman up close. Every time I meet up with my fellow travelers, mostly men, I heave a great sigh of relief. It doesn't stop the staring, but it's a respite from the "flirting." But being in Dahab is more than worth some minor hassle, and I would probably snorkel with Zamir again in exchange for being there right now.