Judy and this Blogger had flown from Cairo into Luxor, to catch the river boat up the Nile to Aswan. We were lodged in this wonderful, old British Empire era hotel, with horses and carriages lined up in front. We would take the carriages to the KARNAK Temple Complex, where, hand in hand, we would stroll at sunset where Alexander the Great walked.
One night, we shared an Ouzo with the Greek Riverboat Captain, who was going to take us Up The Nile. Ah, so Romantic, so Byronic. It could have been 1820.
One night, while we were sound asleep, there was an insistent and incessant knock on the room door.
‘ ALL GUESTS TO THE MAIN BALLROOM.”
We dressed and joined the herd of tourists massing in the ballroom. They sorted us out by passports,clustering the nationalities together. When it was sorted out, all the guests were lined up, around the room against the wall; the Egyptian hotel workers, and the Egyptian river crew who had joined us for dinner the night before ,huddled against the exits. In the middle of the room, were the Tour Guide, the Greek River Captain, and a dignified, dangerous stranger, in a white linen suit, who this Blogger assumed was German, because his cheek carried two dueling scars. Yes it was an outtake from CASABLANCA, 1942.
The majority of the tourists in the room were German, followed by some Japanese, some Aussies taking their once in a lifetime Grand Tour of the World, and a very lovey dovey Italian couple on honeymoon. A motley collection, all that was needed was Dooley Wilson playing AS TIME GOES BY. In fact, in the moonlight Judy was shape shifting into Ingrid Bergman, Good Stuff.
The scarred German spoke, in German, and the Germans gasped. He then switched to English, so everyone else could understand him.
“I am the German Counsel in Luxor, tonight the Americans will begin or have already begun the bombing of Baghdad. There is war. ALL German visas have been canceled. There are Lufthansa Planes waiting at the airport to take the German tourists to Rome. They have to go, but there are enough seats for everyone else, so we are going around the room, person by person, and ask each and every one one of you if you want to evacuate or go up the Nile with the Captain”.
Evacuate or Go Up the Nile, in the middle of a War between Americans and Arabs.
The roll call began, all the Japanese were evacuating, not much samurai spirit there. The French, the Bulgarians, the Belgians all leaving. The Lebanese leaving. All the Italians except for the lovey dovey couple, leaving. They will go up the Nile, trusting that their obvious love will protect them.
Now it is the turn of the Americans, nine of us. There are a quick seven votes for evacuation, and the call comes to Judy. Now honestly, I was half expecting that she would turn to me, in the best Ingrid Bergman style, and say, ” I will do what Gerry decides.” I mean I was expecting that, so I had decided to evacuate.
But she says:" I want to evacuate.”
And this Blogger was thinking to himself, whatever happened to the American woman who would stand by her man during an Apache raid.
So it came to this Blogger:
This Blogger then asked the greatest question of his life, better than “Is there a God?” , “What’s it all about?”,
” Why are we here?”
This Blogger asked:” If I evacuate, do I get a refund?”
The Tour Guide answered, “No.”
So this Blogger answered,very simply"Then I am going up the Nile.”
The Egyptians bust into raucous applause, yelling and screaming. The Greek Captain, walked over to this Blogger and gave him a great bear hug, and kissed him on both cheeks.
“Maxey Pasha, you are a man of courage.”
There it was done, for one night, in a throwback world, this Blogger was a man of courage, a hero, a Byronic hero to the Egyptians; this Blogger was Maxey Pasha, going up the Nile as Gordon Pasha of Khartoum.
If they had refunded the damn money, this brave Blogger would have left with Judy.
Judy left immediately for the airport with the Germans.
The next morning, when this Blogger left my hotel room to go UP THE NILE, there was a large black Nubian, in Bedouin robes waiting for me, with a squad of Tourist Policemen. He was a Guardian,on loan from Guarding a sacred temple to guard me;I really was Gordon of Khartoum.
At dawn, this Blogger was met by a Captain of the Tourist Police, assigned to take a bullet for me, or so this Blogger thought.
The lesson of this tale is simple, rich people are cowards because they don’t care about the non refund policy.
One night, we shared an Ouzo with the Greek Riverboat Captain, who was going to take us Up The Nile. Ah, so Romantic, so Byronic. It could have been 1820.
One night, while we were sound asleep, there was an insistent and incessant knock on the room door.
‘ ALL GUESTS TO THE MAIN BALLROOM.”
We dressed and joined the herd of tourists massing in the ballroom. They sorted us out by passports,clustering the nationalities together. When it was sorted out, all the guests were lined up, around the room against the wall; the Egyptian hotel workers, and the Egyptian river crew who had joined us for dinner the night before ,huddled against the exits. In the middle of the room, were the Tour Guide, the Greek River Captain, and a dignified, dangerous stranger, in a white linen suit, who this Blogger assumed was German, because his cheek carried two dueling scars. Yes it was an outtake from CASABLANCA, 1942.
The majority of the tourists in the room were German, followed by some Japanese, some Aussies taking their once in a lifetime Grand Tour of the World, and a very lovey dovey Italian couple on honeymoon. A motley collection, all that was needed was Dooley Wilson playing AS TIME GOES BY. In fact, in the moonlight Judy was shape shifting into Ingrid Bergman, Good Stuff.
The scarred German spoke, in German, and the Germans gasped. He then switched to English, so everyone else could understand him.
“I am the German Counsel in Luxor, tonight the Americans will begin or have already begun the bombing of Baghdad. There is war. ALL German visas have been canceled. There are Lufthansa Planes waiting at the airport to take the German tourists to Rome. They have to go, but there are enough seats for everyone else, so we are going around the room, person by person, and ask each and every one one of you if you want to evacuate or go up the Nile with the Captain”.
Evacuate or Go Up the Nile, in the middle of a War between Americans and Arabs.
The roll call began, all the Japanese were evacuating, not much samurai spirit there. The French, the Bulgarians, the Belgians all leaving. The Lebanese leaving. All the Italians except for the lovey dovey couple, leaving. They will go up the Nile, trusting that their obvious love will protect them.
Now it is the turn of the Americans, nine of us. There are a quick seven votes for evacuation, and the call comes to Judy. Now honestly, I was half expecting that she would turn to me, in the best Ingrid Bergman style, and say, ” I will do what Gerry decides.” I mean I was expecting that, so I had decided to evacuate.
But she says:" I want to evacuate.”
And this Blogger was thinking to himself, whatever happened to the American woman who would stand by her man during an Apache raid.
So it came to this Blogger:
This Blogger then asked the greatest question of his life, better than “Is there a God?” , “What’s it all about?”,
” Why are we here?”
This Blogger asked:” If I evacuate, do I get a refund?”
The Tour Guide answered, “No.”
So this Blogger answered,very simply"Then I am going up the Nile.”
The Egyptians bust into raucous applause, yelling and screaming. The Greek Captain, walked over to this Blogger and gave him a great bear hug, and kissed him on both cheeks.
“Maxey Pasha, you are a man of courage.”
There it was done, for one night, in a throwback world, this Blogger was a man of courage, a hero, a Byronic hero to the Egyptians; this Blogger was Maxey Pasha, going up the Nile as Gordon Pasha of Khartoum.
If they had refunded the damn money, this brave Blogger would have left with Judy.
Judy left immediately for the airport with the Germans.
The next morning, when this Blogger left my hotel room to go UP THE NILE, there was a large black Nubian, in Bedouin robes waiting for me, with a squad of Tourist Policemen. He was a Guardian,on loan from Guarding a sacred temple to guard me;I really was Gordon of Khartoum.
At dawn, this Blogger was met by a Captain of the Tourist Police, assigned to take a bullet for me, or so this Blogger thought.
The lesson of this tale is simple, rich people are cowards because they don’t care about the non refund policy.
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