Some things here are not quite as they seem. The bar in this hotel is my type of authentic – wood panelling, leather chairs, red carpet, soft music and lighting and very few people. Don’t get me wrong; I love loud music but there’s a time and a place. Last night was perfect until 12 Americans turned up and immediately implemented a talking competition. Before announcing who I thought the winner was and suggesting they take a well-earned break after some intensive participation, we withdrew lest a diplomatic incident ensue.
But back to the original subject. 0n arriving in said bar and after perusing the drinks menu, I ordered two beers – a Stella for me and a Heineken for the CB. Now there’s not much slight of hand to be achieved with Heineken other than perhaps a sly spelling switch of the e and i. Notwithstanding errant typos, a Heineken is a Heineken wherever you are. But regarding Stella, those of you with even a peripheral understanding of the beer world will have noticed that there’s a word missing. Stella is in fact Stella Artois, the famous Belgian sharp, crisp, ice-cold drop which slaked many a Thursday afternoon thirst after golf until my club infamously stopped stocking it. I still haven’t forgiven them for that. This Stella’s imposter status was obvious as it approached, perched on the immaculately liveried waiter’s tray. The label was not red and white. It was yellow and blue. Gasp!! And it said “Authentic Egyptian lager”. I’d have been really peeved if it hadn’t been so good.
The CB and I have decided that sight-seeing is best done in this part of the world with a guide and security as discussed in The Dry Argument #1. We got back to the hotel this afternoon after a pretty full day and decided that rather than go for a walk and possibly risk, well, let’s leave it there, we’d observe the very popular park and square next to our hotel on one side and the ocean on another from the relative safety of the bar. As if to justify our decision, just now numerous police cars and ambulances with lights flashing and sirens blaring have edged past the hotel. Traffic moves for no one in this place. To us it looked like Armageddon. To the two guys running the bar – meh. Maybe the coppers and ambos were going home for dinner and were time constrained.
So far this post has been consistent with the theme suggested by the title (in a satirical way because this is hardly dry) with the hotel bar figuring prominently, despite my pathetic attempt in the Prologue to deflect. And I just thought of the most ridiculous answer to a question I am yet to determine for that silly quiz show Jeopardy, where the answers are questions. In this case it’s “What is a Middle East pub crawl?”
Let’s change the subject….sort of. While considering things that begin with “b”, how about beds. There are 9 people on the Alexandria excursion – 4 couples and one single. Our guide went to great pains to establish who wanted a double room and who wanted a single as we approached Alexandria. This information was then conveyed to the hotel. With only 5 choices and four of them being the same, the margin for error was up there with Donald Trump losing the 2020 presidential election. So the CB and I got two single beds and Bill from Sydney did a Biden and got our double (I’m surmising) without even trying. After 19 hours of flying and two connections then a long day in the Egyptian sun, supplemented by some Egyptian wine – yes they do – which is not preserved with anti-freeze, absolutely not, we are ready for any flat surface. To sleep on. Proximity will not be an issue tonight.