I was having some trouble finding my seat on the bus from Nuweiba to Cairo. The numbers were only in Arabic, which takes me a moment or two to puzzle out, and in my moment of puzzling, a young Egyptian guy with lots of curly hair stepped forward to help me. (This happens all the time - people here are always ready to help a dumb foreigner figure stuff out.)
My seat, however, appeared to already be occupied by some guy's sweater and water bottle. In Arabic, the kid who was helping me told the guy, (I'm assuming here) something along the lines of, "This is the dumb foreigner's seat. Can you move your sweater and water bottle?"
The guy said something which could only have been an answer in the negative, and then turned back to his window. There was more discussion, with a couple of other passengers throwing in their two cents, and the guy giving curt answers and turning back to the window. Maybe he had a friend who wanted to sit there. Maybe he just didn't want to sit next to the foreigner. I may never know.
I glanced back to look for open seats. Two different guys gestured to the open seats next to them. The one I ended up sitting next to was named Mohammed - but he said to call him Moe.
Moe works in Saudi Arabia as the communications manager for a Saudi prince who wants to set up a TV station. He was on his way back to Cairo to visit his family. But the main thing he wanted to talk about was, of all things, his time spent working in Dahab (q.v. my post Dahab and the Egyptian Mafia). This mostly involved detailed stories of his many foreign girlfriends, and his love of tearing around the Sinai in a fast car with a bottle of whiskey and at least one beautiful girl.
As we rolled into Cairo, I asked Moe how much I should pay for a taxi from the bus station to my hotel. An old technique - if you don't want to get ripped off, ask a local how much they would pay.
He said, "I don't know, probably a lot. You're a tourist, so you'll probably have to pay fifty."
Fifty Egyptian Pounds for a cab ride anywhere in Cairo is extortion. A ridiculously high rate. (Nevermind that it's under ten bucks.)
"But," Moe said, "I will help you get a taxi."
We got off the bus, he greeted his family, I gathered my luggage. As per usual, I was beset by offers of taxis. Of course, the first guy wanted fifty.
"Twenty," I said.
"No, no very far away!" It wasn't far away. It was less than 6km. I started to walk to the next guy.
"Okay, thirty-five." Progress.
"Okay, twenty-five," I said.
"Let's go."
Then Moe walked up. He pat me on the back, said how much he enjoyed my company, gave me his cell phone number and said to call if I needed anything in Cairo. He helped me carry my backpack to a different taxi.
"This guy will take you. I've worked it all out for you," Moe said.
I thanked him profusely, and got in the car.
"Okay, you can pay this man fifty when you get to the hotel. See you later!"
And the car tore off into the vicious hurly-burly of Cairo traffic. Moe had just assumed that, as a tourist, I would have to pay tourist rates. I don't know what is the morally right thing to do in this situation. Suck it down and pay many times what a local would, because I'm from a rich country? (An Egyptian guy at my hotel said he would have paid ten, fifteen tops.) Should I try to get the dirt cheapest price I can? Is there, perhaps, a happy medium? I don't know. All I know is that my cabbie, who had overheard my bargaining, was grinning like a madman for the entire drive.
My seat, however, appeared to already be occupied by some guy's sweater and water bottle. In Arabic, the kid who was helping me told the guy, (I'm assuming here) something along the lines of, "This is the dumb foreigner's seat. Can you move your sweater and water bottle?"
The guy said something which could only have been an answer in the negative, and then turned back to his window. There was more discussion, with a couple of other passengers throwing in their two cents, and the guy giving curt answers and turning back to the window. Maybe he had a friend who wanted to sit there. Maybe he just didn't want to sit next to the foreigner. I may never know.
I glanced back to look for open seats. Two different guys gestured to the open seats next to them. The one I ended up sitting next to was named Mohammed - but he said to call him Moe.
Moe works in Saudi Arabia as the communications manager for a Saudi prince who wants to set up a TV station. He was on his way back to Cairo to visit his family. But the main thing he wanted to talk about was, of all things, his time spent working in Dahab (q.v. my post Dahab and the Egyptian Mafia). This mostly involved detailed stories of his many foreign girlfriends, and his love of tearing around the Sinai in a fast car with a bottle of whiskey and at least one beautiful girl.
As we rolled into Cairo, I asked Moe how much I should pay for a taxi from the bus station to my hotel. An old technique - if you don't want to get ripped off, ask a local how much they would pay.
He said, "I don't know, probably a lot. You're a tourist, so you'll probably have to pay fifty."
Fifty Egyptian Pounds for a cab ride anywhere in Cairo is extortion. A ridiculously high rate. (Nevermind that it's under ten bucks.)
"But," Moe said, "I will help you get a taxi."
We got off the bus, he greeted his family, I gathered my luggage. As per usual, I was beset by offers of taxis. Of course, the first guy wanted fifty.
"Twenty," I said.
"No, no very far away!" It wasn't far away. It was less than 6km. I started to walk to the next guy.
"Okay, thirty-five." Progress.
"Okay, twenty-five," I said.
"Let's go."
Then Moe walked up. He pat me on the back, said how much he enjoyed my company, gave me his cell phone number and said to call if I needed anything in Cairo. He helped me carry my backpack to a different taxi.
"This guy will take you. I've worked it all out for you," Moe said.
I thanked him profusely, and got in the car.
"Okay, you can pay this man fifty when you get to the hotel. See you later!"
And the car tore off into the vicious hurly-burly of Cairo traffic. Moe had just assumed that, as a tourist, I would have to pay tourist rates. I don't know what is the morally right thing to do in this situation. Suck it down and pay many times what a local would, because I'm from a rich country? (An Egyptian guy at my hotel said he would have paid ten, fifteen tops.) Should I try to get the dirt cheapest price I can? Is there, perhaps, a happy medium? I don't know. All I know is that my cabbie, who had overheard my bargaining, was grinning like a madman for the entire drive.
1 comment:
Oh, snap! I hate bargaining in most places -- maybe Egypt would be better, because you bargain for EVERYTHING. But to do all that work for nothing... damn. That hurts.
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