Egypt

Bloody Hell Egypt is hot in July. Pauline referred to the temperature (40 blood boiling degrees) as “Evil’. This became the word for the week.

Our holiday commenced with a huuuuuge queue at check in where I was *delighted* to discover that we were flying with Monarch. Sock Monkey has heard about them before. And the word used to describe them was ‘shit’.

After standing amongst a grim collection of chavs for longer than I cared, we were informed that we were not flying at 4.20pm after all. We were now flying at 9am the next day, check in was 6am and the airline had booked us all into the Hilton. I had to stop myself from saying “oh whoop de doop the Hilton” because I know fine well that just because it says ‘Hilton’ on the door it doesn’t necessarily mean that it is nice. And Sock Monkey can now confirm that the Hilton at Gatwick South Terminal is not pleasant. Its run down and a bit sad. The lifts have a mind of their own and the whole place reminded me of the hotel in ‘The Shining’. Every time we walked down the 100 mile corridor I felt it my duty to say, "Red Rum, Red Rum" in the creepiest voice I could muster whilst looking for a child’s peddle car to ride.

So imagine, if you will, 300 people all checking into a hotel at the same time. This was after we all had to hang around for an hour and a half because we had to wait until 3pm to check in. I believe this is because the rooms were full of other Monarch passengers who had been stuck the previous day.

And imagine, if you will, 300 people sitting in the lobby bar because there is fuck all to do at the Hilton Gatwick. I thought, “they must have a pool and Jacuzzi. I shall lie in that all afternoon.” Did they Hell. There were no amenities. And there was nowhere to go except back to the airport. So everyone just sat there boozing. And I sat there muttering bad things about package holidays and said ‘chav-tastic’ so many times I was beginning to think I’d developed Tourettes. I did get to play with my new phone though and the first thing I did was call my travel insurance to ask for a claim form for being delayed.

They provided us with dinner. I would like to meet the person who thinks chicken escalope goes with pasta, fish, salad, boiled potatoes and tinned carrots. It was like school dinner.

We’d been standing outside smoking (everyone smoked because everyone was a chav – except us of course!) and heard that other people had been supposed to be flying the previous evening and were still stuck there. We were seriously beginning to doubt our re-scheduled 9am flight time.

So, after pacing our boozing and only allowing ourselves 2 drinks at lunchtime, we bought a bottle of the most horrible tasting and horribly expensive wine and went to our grim little room at 8pm because we had to get up at 5 o’clock the next day. This made me most unhappy.

Bright and early P got up at 4.30 and went downstairs for a cigarette. I figured that I may as well get up too and went for a shower. Imagine how pleased I was when P returned, I am still in the shower, dripping wet with wet hair, for her to inform me that we weren’t flying at 9am. We were now going to fly at 11.20am and check in was now 9am and not 6. AAAAAAAArghhhhh I could have had another 4 hours in bed! P found this out from a woman who had had a note shoved under her door. Oh also at 4.30 P saw one of the people who was a bit pissed by 8pm the previous evening having a hissy fit about the delay and the police were there! There was no point in me going back to bed because I had wet hair and was awake now. We went downstairs and found a big notice about the change in flight times. Then I decided that we should go over to the sodding Monarch desk and speak to them.

Right so it’s about 5.30am on a Sunday morning and we are back at the terminal for Groundhog Day. I sidle up to the Monarch desk and have the following brief conversation:

o Sock Monkey: We are on flight (whatever it was – I shall call it 666) and we have just discovered that it is now scheduled to leave at 11.20am and not 9am.
o Her: Yes
o Sock Monkey: Couldn’t you have told us this before we got up at 4.30?
o Her: Didn’t you get a note?
o Sock Monkey: No. Other people did. We saw the notice in reception after we had got up. Also other passengers at the hotel told us they have been there for 2 days. When did you know our flight was delayed?
o Her: Oh I know who you are talking about. Her travel agent booked her on to the wrong flight.

- Note she didn’t answer my question about when they knew the flights were delayed. My point was that I was sure they must have known the day before and if they had told everyone we needn’t have had to have schlepped to the airport only to be sent to The Overlook waiting for Jack Nicholson to arrive.

When P asked her if we were definitely going at 11 the woman explained that they had had a problem with one of the planes, they were aiming for an 11.20am take off, would do their best but could not 100% definitely guarantee it.

o Sock Monkey: How many planes have you got?? What, about 3?
By this point I was quite enjoying myself because I wasn’t being rude or nasty or anything I was just asking sarcastic questions.
o Her: (patiently) No, we have a lot of planes but not of that particular size. It’s a big plane.

Suitably entertained I bought the Observer and waited for The Overview to start serving breakfast. By this point we had our letter saying the flight was further delayed. It arrived after the time we should have originally checked in. A couple of hours later we were in a queue which was approximately a mile and a half long, looking at a departure board which ominously declared that our flight time was now 4.30.

When we were having our passports examined by the Passport Man, someone handed him a note and he said, ”That’s your flight. Its now leaving at 11.20.” This meant that we pretty much had to go straight to the gate (once they had figured out which gate it would be). So what obviously happened was that not everyone knew this because when we were on the plane the captain announced that we were ok to go but were missing 5 passengers and if they didn’t arrive in the next 2 minutes we’d miss our slot. It was like being in some sort of farce! Eventually they arrived, all the chavs cheered and away we went! I hate charter flights. I am a snob, I know it and I don’t care.

The hotel was fine. It wasn’t luxurious but the staff were so friendly and genuinely helpful. Shame about the Germans, though. The place was crawling with ugly, unsightly, old Germans and bad-haircutted young Germans with absolutely hideous tattoos. I have never in my life seen:
a) so many tattoos or
b) such horrible tattoos

I mean one bloke had a Buddha on his big fat beer belly and his belly button was Buddah’s mouth! We would sit at the beach restaurant at lunchtime and watch them go to and from from the All Inclusive bar and decide whether or not they were ‘acceptable’. This, naturally, is because P and me are Bathing Belles and therefore qualified to carry out this screening process.

Our room was at the front of the building, in a block which was outside the main entrance to the hotel. Every morning we would sit on our balcony watching them arrive from the sister hotel across the road (our hotel was on the beach front so they came to our hotel for the beach). The procession would start about 8am. None of them appeared to have heard of sunblock, hats, shirts…

We, on the other hand managed to get through an entire bottle of sunblock. We only had a teeny tiny bit left on the last day so had to ration it to danger areas. So I managed to burn my unprotected thighs when I sat in the pool for about 5 minutes.

It was also virtually impossible to stick your head outside unless you were wearing a hat. I’d sit under the umbrellas at the pool and squirm around whimpering the second a shard of sunlight looked like it was within about a meter of my flesh. To get from that pool to the beach restaurant for lunch we had to walk the whole length of the hotel gardens. I did this by walking as fast as I possibly can, hopping from piece of shade to piece of shade whilst P followed behind declaring ‘Evil. Evil.’

We went on a snorkeling trip which was good. Funny thing was that the guide who picked us up from the hotel put the fear of God into everyone by saying that lifejackets were available for anyone who had not snorkeled before or wasn’t a good swimmer then proceeded to show us his Fish Recognition Guide and point out all the poisonous fish. He said a Lion Fish kills you in 20 minutes of you get pricked by its spine. It does not! I researched it and although it is agonizingly painful, makes you vomit, pass out or have breathing difficulties it won’t kill you. One of the girls said to us, “Oh my God I don’t want to get in the water now!”

I didn’t know that P had never been snorkeling in her life prior to the 5 minute try out with her new snorkel in the hotel pool the previous day. So I was hugely impressed that she did a whole day in open water. Particularly as they made us put our masks on and jump off the boat. We had two guides with us and we had to stay in our group (which they called ‘Nemo’. “Nemo Group this way”). Because the area we were visiting was so huge (Ras Mohammed National Park) you needed a guide or you’d get lost. I asked P if she had seen the film ‘Open Water’. One of the things the guide pointed out to us was a shipwreck. I can’t say I was very impressed because it wasn’t a ship any more it was just bits of old crap at the bottom of the sea. But you could see its cargo. Toilets! Hundreds and hundreds of porcelain toilets.

I was extremely pleased with my swimming t-shirt I bought the previous day at the hotel dive centre shop. I burn like mad when I snorkel. I got absolutely frazzled in Borneo despite being smeared with factor 30 sunblock. So I managed to find one of those t-shirts which are made from swimming suit material, have a crew neck and sleeves halfway down your upper arms. I’d tried to get one in the Speedo shop before we went but they only make them for 4 year olds. I tried to get shorts too but couldn’t find any. Once I went snorkeling in Malaysia and I didn’t apply sunblock right at the edge of my swimming suit around the arse area and ended up with Blazing Saddles for days. These days I like to wear a swimming suit which has a bottom half more like trunks. However. Despite my ‘measures’ I still managed to get burned. I burned my ears!!! I’ve never had burned ears before. They felt really hot and as if someone had ‘boxed’ them. So the next time I go snorkeling I shall wear a hat. One of these should do the trick.They are pretty expensive but you can’t be too careful.


It’s a shame that the trip we booked to St Catharine’s Monastery was canceled. This is because we were the only people who booked it. This was a bit shit. Sock Monkey has been before but P hadn’t and I knew she would love it. But the good thing was we didn’t have to get up at the crack of dawn that morning. We sat at the pool and did nothing instead, then we went snorkeling of the hotel’s beach. There is a small reef so there were some fish. I saw 5 (non-deadly) Lion Fish. This was very pleasing because they stay at the bottom of the sea but because the water was pretty shallow they were visible. I pointed them out to Pauline but she was decidedly unimpressed and wanted to know why on earth she would want to look at deadly sea creatures. There was also a ray fish and an assortment of other fish.

We only ventured into Na’ama Bay twice which was quite enough thank you. The last time I was there about 7 years ago it was pretty much still full of people who were doing their PADI but it has now been transformed into a sort of 18-30 Hell Hole. Pauline had heard about a proper Egyptian restaurant which she wanted to try. You give Pizza Hut, KFC and MacDonalds a body swerve, and its upstairs from the Hard Rock Café. Good choice. Nice food, lovely décor. The rest of the time we ate at the hotel. They had a fantastic Chinese/Japanese Restaurant and a great Lebanese Restaurant so we just ate there.

Oh my God the hotel ‘entertainment’. Every evening in the beach bar they had a singer. God he was dreadful. He sang the same songs every night, in exactly the same order. I can’t now remember any of them but they were of a similar ilk to ‘Mustang Sally’. It was so hot in there even though it was outside. Obviously there was no air conditioning so it was boiling. Weirdly it was quite humid so it was a real effort to sit with your legs crossed as the combination of sunblock and sweat just meant your top leg went Whoosh! Off.

Friday night they had a Foam Party. We started our holiday saying ‘How tacky’ but we got quite friendly with a lady and her 23 year old daughter. The mother was a party animal and we met them in the bar in the evenings a couple of times. Night of the foam party they were there and we all ended up joining in. It was actually quite good fun (unless you got it in your eyes). But we had to have a shower and rinse our clothes when we got back to our room at 1.30am and the soap suds coming out of our clothes was like you’d opened the washing machine when its on.

I also took myself off to the spa and treated myself to a coconut scrub, hammam, and massage. Even after having a shower at the spa and a shower before I got into the pool (I was covered in oils) I was still removing fistfuls of coconut from my bikini top. I had enough to make about a hundredweight of Bounty Bars.

So although it was a shame to miss Moscow, we had a really relaxing time which was more what we needed rather than a stressful city break. We will try to visit the Cat Theatre next year. Providing Moscow is not on fire of course.