The reality of Egyptian resorts, where love is put on hold and female tourists are treated like ATMs in bikinis.
Officially, hotels have strict discipline. Bartenders and lifeguards are not allowed to shine at discos with guests. If caught, you will be fired immediately. The law only allows children's round dances and German pensioners to be animators. Only male cleaners rub shoulders near the rooms – usually without romantic ambitions, but with a talent for spinning swans out of towels.
But where there is a ban, there is a shadow scheme. The code phrase “Let's go dance at the club” triggers a well-established mechanism. The answer is “okay” — you are almost in the pocket. If the scheme breaks down, the eastern friendliness evaporates, and yesterday's princes begin to demand compensation at least for the entrance tickets to the club.
Locals are attracted not so much by European looseness as by wallets. Top searches include the latest iPhone “as a token of love,” a laptop “for work,” or a one-way ticket to Europe.
The scale of the disaster is such that women have begun to unite. The Internet is full of “black lists” of Egyptian women's lovers. For each conditional Ahmed or Mustafa, there is a dossier with a photo, place of work and catchphrases. It reads like a criminal summary.
Typical entry: “Mahmud, 28 years old, diving instructor. Target audience: single women 35+. Legend: sick mother, needs money for surgery. Promises to pay after the wedding. Processes 5-7 candidates at a time.” Or: “Ihab, waiter. Presses for pity. One rented him an apartment, the next day she found him there with an Italian woman. Extremely dangerous.”
Although there are exceptions.
One experienced traveler found a brilliant defense. She ordered a T-shirt with the Arabic inscription: “I won't sell my apartment, Habibi!” The local ladies' men laugh, appreciate the joke, and then carefully clarify: “Do you really have an apartment? By the way, you are very beautiful…”.
Egypt is steadily working as a factory of illusions. The locals know very well: women are willing to pay for the feeling of an oriental fairy tale. And as long as this formula works, the assembly line will produce new “princes” with rented iPhones and memorized phrases. Each “habibi” here has a specific price. The only question is whether you are willing to pay it.
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