The Decadence Chronicle. Episode 122: Egypt

I rolled over to her side of the bed. Only her smell remained, trapped in the white hotel sheets. She had gone diving; second day in a row. I sighed. “Will I ever be able to keep up with ‘Action Girl’ or will I die trying?” I thought. Because I had tried the day before and almost drowned -or so I felt-, as I failed to snorkel on that clear blue, wild fucking sea. A wave -ironically- of existential angst came and hit me. “Am I ready to embrace love? Do I deserve it? Is it even safe to let myself go into it, if my experience have proved, time and time again, that I will fuck it up until the very end?”

Suddenly, some loud techno music started blasting from the poolside, in front of our room. “Good morning, everybody! I’m the entertainer of Falcon Hills. Time to have some fun!” an annoyingly energetic voice shouted, echoing in every corner of the hotel. Existentialism time was over. I got up and, as I scratched my head, took a shit and stared blankly into the bathroom tiles, some generic upbeat electronic music kept going in the background, as a monotone voice continuously repeated “Sharm el Sheikh”. As if we all needed to be reminded where we were. To maybe never, ever coming back to this tourist shithole.

I went to the nearby kiosk and got some stuff for breakfast. The shop owner looked at me and said “Denmark, Denmark! Jeg elsker deg!” I faked a smile and head back to the hotel, sat by the pool and went online on my phone. Not long after I was done eating, The Entertainer himself came by my table. “Wanna play ping pong?” he asked. I couldn’t say no. I love playing ping pong.

The guy looked like a tired hooker faking an orgasm. His forced smile was too obvious and his demeanor, too evident. So I quickly got myself out of that game and into the deserted streets again. I needed a walk and some sun. Everything around me screamed decadence. If you think that a touristy city is crap, wait until you see one in low season. Not the place you wanna be when you are depressed. Not the place anyone would really want to be if they had a choice.

I walked for a while, looking for an ATM. Shopkeepers on my way kept asking me where I was from, trying hard to sweet-talk me into buying their shit. Cab drivers, driving slowly next to me, were honking and shouting “Taxi! Taxi! Good price!” And me, getting increasingly pissed, started thinking that, perhaps, Copenhagen wasn’t that bad after all. Even when it’s gray, grim and cold.

People come and go in the lobby. I look at them, as if hoping to find her in the crowd. It’s been only a few hours and I already miss her. Though I’m wary about us -and love, altogether-, she makes me happy. Last night we drank some beers and smoked shisha until we got high. We kissed and touched, shamelessly, in that empty Egyptian bar. We loved each other. We were blissful. And she said I was the love of her life. We talked about moving together to Chile and having two kids; a blond boy and a dark girl. We would bully the white one and treat the girl as a privileged little princess. Because the world will do the opposite, in time. And that’s unfair. But life’s unfair anyway. So I will eat some sweet date delights, finish this nonsense writing and enjoy the pool and the sun. Fuck it.

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