Flashy ecards & Egyptian Love

An Egyptian bellboy fell in love with me.

Only, I didn’t know it until I got a Valentine’s Day ecard from him a year and a half later.

Elizabeth and I had arrived in Hurghada, Egypt after a nightmarish plane ride from Moscow on which 1) I got sick from the fumes, and 2) a drunk Russian man in the seat next to mine repeatedly passed out, resting his head on my shoulder, while his friends across the aisle looked on a laughed.

In St. Petersburg, Elizabeth and I had gone to a Russian travel agency and booked a 7-day package (hotel, 2 meals/day, and airfare) for $400. Everyone else on our tour — and practically every non-Egyptian in the city — was Russian. In short, we were a novelty, which made us pretty popular.

It was 2004 and we were a little uncomfortable being American women in an Arab country, given the stupid foreign policy decisions our country was regularly making; so we told people we were Canadian. Apparently not many Canadians make it to Hurghada, so we maintained our celebrity status, even with our newly assumed nationality.

Our “three star” hotel — where the shower, on full force, dribbled water like a leaky pipe — was staffed by young Egyptian men who were practically fluent in Russian, though they’d never formally studied it, and their English was good. We spoke with them every day of the 5 days we were there, mostly making friendly conversation or asking questions like where to buy snorkels to use in the Red Sea.

On our fourth day, we booked a tour ticket to see the rest of Egypt. We’d leave the next day. As we sat in the lobby at 5 am the next morning, waiting for our bus to come and take us to Luxor and Cairo, our new friends waited with us and wished us well. A couple of them asked for our email addresses, which we gave them. A few minutes later, our bus arrived and we went our separate ways.

Then, in February 2006, I was digging through my Hotmail inbox (don’t judge my email choice — it was early 2006) and was greeted by the aforementioned ecard, complete with giant, hot pink heart and the words: “I love you, Kim. When you come back? Love, Gerghis” Apparently one of these men read more into the snorkel conversation than was there.

I never did respond to that email, and I no longer have that ema il account. Gerghis, if you’re out there, sorry about that. But sometimes a snorkel is just a snorkel.

Recommended Reading:

1. Bronze Enema Statue: Gotta Love the Russians
2. The 4-Hour Workweek vs Eat Pray Love: Getting What You Want from Travel
3. Travelers Social Media Love-In
4. Eat, Pray, Love Quotes and Book Review
5. Why I Love Farmers Markets (and Reusable Bags)