They say that true friendship is forged in the fires of adversity. Or, in our case, under the blazing Egyptian sun, fueled by questionable digestive tracts and a profound inability to read a restaurant reservation.
After a few days of dividing, conquering, and occasionally getting lost in our own thoughts, our merry band of four finally reunited. Of course, this didn’t happen with some grand, cinematic morning embrace. No, we managed to find each other after breakfast, because let’s face it, priorities are priorities, and coffee comes before comrades.
Breakfast Blues and the 18-Day Slog
Breakfast is usually a joyous affair, a time to plot the day’s laziness while hoarding pastries. However, the vibe was a little muted today. Our usual beacon of morning joy, Mohammad—the world’s most cheerful breakfast waiter—was distinctly lacking his usual sparkle.
A Soldier of the Dining Room
When we asked if he was alright, poor Mohammad confessed that his teeth were giving him absolute agony. Yet, there he was, balancing plates and pouring brews like an absolute trooper. As if dental torture wasn’t enough, he casually dropped into conversation that he works 18 days straight before earning a single day off. Let that sink in. Eighteen days! It certainly put our grueling schedule of lying by the pool into sharp, slightly guilty perspective. We gave him maximum respect, a hefty dose of sympathy, and internally promised not to complain about anything for at least the next three hours.
The Great Sun Lounger Migration
Post-breakfast, the daily tactical warfare began: securing four sun loungers together. The pool area was packed, forcing us to colonise the opposite side of the pool. Now, for the sun-worshippers among us, this might have been a tragedy. But for me? Absolute perfection. It offered far more shade, meaning I could pretend to be part of the holiday vibe without crisping up like a stray piece of bacon. We settled in for a tough day of heavy-rotation sunbathing, occasional dipping, and doing as close to absolute zero as humanly possible.
Of Coral Reefs and Culinary Snobbery
Once the sheer exhaustion of lying still wore off, Darren and I decided to man up and go on a scouting mission. We are, after all, men of action. Our mission? To track down the booking for our planned boat trip.
A Tour of the Local Aquarium (Sans Glass)
As we sauntered along the waterfront, I took the opportunity to play tour guide and showed Darren the patches of coral reef I’d discovered a couple of days ago. It’s a proper little underwater metropolis out there. I pointed out the dazzling variety of fish darting through the coral—nature’s own neon light show. By the time we dragged ourselves back to base camp, the girls were exactly where we left them, their jaws getting a thorough workout as they chatted away at nineteen to the dozen.
The Buffet Dilemma
It was at this point that the holiday wheels began to wobble slightly. Tracy declared that lunch was officially cancelled for her; she was feeling a bit under the weather. Michele wasn’t feeling particularly peckish either, which left just Darren and me to fend for ourselves. Tracy retreated to the sanctuary of her room, Michele stayed behind to catch the rays, and the lads headed for the international buffet.
Now, I have a confession to make. I am not what you would call a fan of the “mass-feeding trough” style of holiday dining.
To give you some context, during our 2017 trip to Mexico, I grew so utterly traumatised by the sight of greedy folk piling their plates three-storeys high that I upgraded us to the all-inclusive à la carte package at a ridiculous expense, purely so I wouldn’t have to witness the buffet carnage every night.
So, it was with a slight sense of trepidation that I entered the arena today. But credit where credit’s due: the international buffet here really isn’t that bad.
The Live-Station Savior
I wasn’t in the mood to gamble, so I kept it simple: spaghetti with Bolognese sauce. The live-station chef looked at me, smiled, and said, “Today, I cook you something special.” And boy, did he deliver. He whipped it up fresh on the spot, and it was magnificent. His only condition was that I had to return after eating to give him my honest review. True to my word, 30 minutes later, I sauntered back up to his cooking station. When he asked how it was, I told him it was excellent. He beamed a massive, genuine smile and thanked me warmly in Arabic. It’s the little things, isn’t it?
The Comedy of Errors: Which Restaurant Are We In Again?
On the way back to find Michele, Darren and I decided to do some reconnaissance for our evening meal. We were booked into the steak restaurant for our big Thursday night dinner. We found it, patted ourselves on the back for being master navigators, and knew exactly where to go later.
Shadows of the Pharaoh’s Revenge
By the afternoon, Darren went off to check on the poorly Tracy, leaving Michele and me to enjoy a quiet, relaxing afternoon together. However, King Tutankhamun’s revenge seemed to be hovering over our camp. Just as Tracy had succumbed earlier, my own stomach started to play up and throw a few warning shots across the bow. I managed to power through and even squeezed in a quick catch-up call with my eldest son, Drew, before the evening festivities commenced.
The Wrong Table for Four
Dressed in our holiday finest, we met up for pre-dinner drinks and marched confidently over to the steak restaurant we’d located earlier. We tried to check in, but the host was staring at his clipboard with a look of utter bewilderment. Our names simply weren’t on the list. Feeling generous, they allowed us to sit down anyway and handed over the menus.
Darren and Tracy nipped off to the loo, leaving Michele and me to peruse the culinary delights. I stared at the page. Then I blinked. Then I stared again.
“Michele,” I whispered, “There isn’t any Asian on this menu. It’s all Steak.”
Then, like a bolt of lightning, the penny dropped. Darren, in his infinite wisdom, had marched us into the entirely wrong restaurant. The reason the steak house had no reservation for us was because we were actually booked into the Asian restaurant. We weren’t just at the wrong table; we were in the wrong culinary hemisphere.
A Regrettable Retreat
Blushing with embarrassment, we gathered our things, made our excuses to the bewildered staff, and hot-footed it over to the actual Asian restaurant. But honestly? With the benefit of hindsight, we should have stayed right where we were and pretended we loved stir-fry. The actual Asian restaurant was a bit of a letdown. Note to self: next time Darren leads the way, double-check the signs.
Pool Sharks and Egyptian Market Masters
You would think a disappointing dinner and a collective case of delicate bellies would send us straight to bed. Absolutely not. There was pride on the line, and that meant one thing: a couples’ pool tournament.
The Pub Team Revelation
It was Cleary & Cleary vs. Farrant & Parsons. Michele and I took up our cues, feeling reasonably confident. We played hard, but we ended up losing 1-2 in a tense decider. It was only after she had thoroughly whooped our backsides and cleared the table that Tracy casually dropped a minor detail into conversation.
“Oh yeah, I used to play for a pub team,” she smirked.
Unbelievable! We’d been hustled by a seasoned pro in a holiday resort. Next time, I’m checking everyone’s sporting credentials before money or pride changes hands.
The Ultimate Haggling Masterclass
Defeated but entertained, we began the slow walk back to the bar near our rooms. On the way, Michele spotted a selection of fridge magnets. Now, no holiday is complete without a piece of plastic crap to stick on the fridge, but what happened next was a sight to behold.
The vendor wanted £250 Egyptian pounds. Michele, channeling her inner Del Boy, looked him dead in the eye and went to work. To everyone’s absolute amazement, she managed to haggle him down to £200 Egyptian pounds. It might only be a saving of a couple of quid in English money, but the moral victory was priceless. She walked away with those magnets like she’d just negotiated a global peace treaty.
We rounded off the night with a quick nightcap at the bar, toasted to Michele’s financial wizardry, and laid out the master plan for tomorrow’s snorkeling adventures. Despite the dodgy bellies and the restaurant musical chairs, Egypt is keeping us thoroughly entertained. Stay tuned for day seven!
