Home » Egypt » Cairo to Istanbul in a G-string

One week in Egypt and I didn't have to spit on anyone yet. Cairo is not the hell hole everyone says it is and Egyptian men are really not as sleazy as their reputation has it. I actually find most of their comments rather amusing, my favourite one being: "I like your shoes." Many ask me to marry them like they would ask me for the time of day, the best offer I got until now is 100 camels and 2 kilos of bananas. I said I'd mention it to my father and see if it was OK with him.
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Cairo to Istanbul in a G-string

Xtinemichaud
2005-12-23 16:38:47

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up above the head and shoulders thrown back. With my goofy Gilligan hat and army-style pants, this didn't go without entertaining every other rider that crossed me. "Hey! You cowgirl!" one guide finally shouted sarcastically through his chuckles, as I held on for dear life half way off my saddle, right arm still up in the air.

Two hours of this led me to a very important conclusion: G-strings are not suitable camel riding apparel. With only thin quick-dry pants between my bare bum and the rough saddle of a galloping camel, I was left looking as if I had slid accross 100 yards of carpet on my bare arse.

In fact, the bruise was so bad that a week later it still hadn't healed up and was threatening to fester. I only brought two pairs of nylon full back undies and wearing this would never allow it to heal or even form a scab. I needed cotton underwear.

So I had to go shopping for underwear in Egypt, in the small town of Marsa Matruh. On the main commercial street I first asked a saleswoman where I could find lady underwear. Sign language was not enough, so I ended up having to draw a pair of panties in my diary for her. She then wrote down under my picture what I believed was the name of the store where they were sold three blocks up the street, and told me to look for a woman in a headscarf.

In reality, what she had written was the word "panties" in Arabic, and I went around showing this to every salesman I met, carefully hiding the picture with my thumb, thinking I was asking about a store. After having embarassed myself to a degree I until then did not believe possible, I was finally made aware of what I was doing and shown the pantie-selling store ran by an old galabaya-wearing man (who also sold ladies' headscarves, hence my confusion).

I was presented with a selection of oversize granny undies that seemed to date back to the Second World War. The best I could find were electric pink and yellow parachutes which I can surely use again for my first pregnancy. Two pairs set me back a grand total of 75 cents, so overall it was still a good investment. Now let's hope this bloody bruise heals up, 'cause I've got some more camel riding to do in Jordan.

So much for G-strings...