Vegas East
OK, maybe I’ve lived in America a little too long and don’t see the big picture as much as I should. But honestly, if I asked you where you would find a city plopped down in the middle of the desert, far from any sources of fresh water, loaded up with huge hotels and casinos that would be virtually empty save for the planeload after planeload of tourists, what would you say? There’s really only one place they would build something so foolish, right? Wrong. Welcome to Sharm el-Sheikh, or the place I’ve come to call Vegas East.
We read a lot about Sharm while we were in Dahab, and how it is the Mecca of tourist spots for European travels in the same way that Cancun is for North Americans. Given that, we were prepared for a sterilized, pre-packaged taste of Egypt, but here, they don’t just turn it up to 10, they turn it up to 11.
Our car pulls in around 1pm, and the first thing we notice pulling into the hotel, is that it is huge (with acres of manicured grass, just like you would expect in the desert). Land is clearly cheap, as this place sprawls forever (which will come back to haunt us). As we are checking in, Ang asks offhand if the hotel is busy, as so far, it seems like we are getting into the start of low season. The desk clerk tells us it is Russian season in April and May, which means they are quite full. I didn’t realize there was an official Russian season, but once we walk to the beach we see what he means, as there are definitely Russians everywhere. The good news is that I no longer stand out because of my pasty, white skin. The bad news is I stand out now because I am the only one not wearing a banana hammock.
We wander up to the end of the beach to see if we can see any restaurants off the hotel grounds, but soon come the conclusion that one hotel just blends into the next, and that town is a $10 cab ride away. Now I’m starting to feel a bit like a hamster in a cage, where I can’t get out of the resort, and I’m not willing to eat $14 hamburgers. It’s not the money (OK, it is a little bit) as much as it is the feeling that you’re being taken advantage of just because you’re stuck.
Supposedly the place to go in Sharm is Na’ama Bay, where the restaurants and shops are, and there are some no shows on the 3pm hotel shuttle, which opens up some room for us. It is only a few minutes by car, but a world away from everywhere else we have been in Egypt. TGI Friday’s, Hard Rock Café, Baskin Robbins, you name it, and they are all here. With our hopes set on a gritty falafel stand that could take the place of Yum Yum’s, our choices look more like a strip mall in San Diego.
Hungry, but not quite ready to settle for a chicken wing platter, we take a taxi down to the old market, which supposedly is less westernized and closer to what we are looking for. We stumble through the streets a little, looking for some souvenirs here and there, when we spot one of the locals walking by with a couple of shawarmas on a plate. We ask him where to buy them and quickly find ourselves being led through the pathways of the market to a back alley, where a street vendor has his cart set up. They set up a table for us next to some old tires and its quite the romantic dinner – a scene pretty much straight out of Lady and the Tramp.
While at the market, we also book a day trip out on the water to do some snorkeling. The area around here is part of a national park and quite well known on the diving circuit, so we are looking forward to seeing it tomorrow.