37 Days

gouna pool

The annoying Talayna in the villa next door have ruined the first nice weekend warm enough to swim in the pool: this is the Gouna two-step, at the first sign of good weather, the place becomes infested with loud people, who invariably travel in packs

I am returning to America in a little over a month, and am dreading it — although it shall be lovely to see me Mum in New York again, and of course my wife in Florida.

The idea of being in the same country as the toxic Orange Pig — who now seems to be gearing up to meet Kim Jong Un, yet another bizaroid lunatic, as some sort of pointless, empty suit macho political posturing event, prior to launching a possible nuclear conflict in NK (and, later, Iran) to save his lamentable presidency — is intolerable.

Everyone is waiting for Mueller to drop the hammer. How Trump reacts when Mueller nails him could very well lead to civil war — unless the Russian stooge continues with ever more outrageous circus acts simply to delay the inevitable. Imposing martial law is not out of the question, if millions begin to descend on Washington to remove this madman from the WH, and the Ar-15 crowd shows up to teach those libtard antifa traitors who’s who and what’s what.  This is where this is all heading; from my admittedly distant vantage point in Gouna, it is rather obvious.

In the meantime, the idea that America could be so easily brought to her knees like a cheap slut giving a blowjob to some diseased whoremonger lays to rest any notion of the supposed greatness of that country.

I can only imagine what my grandson will one day think, once his generation has to start paying off the trillions of debt that this calamity of a president and his corrupt, racist party has saddled them with.

I am most definitely going to book a round trip back to Gouna.  I will start moving my stuff into the new villa next Wednesday (I have the right to stay here in this one till next Thursday, the pool is no longer ice-cold, so I shall enjoy, starting Monday, when the Italian dickwads clear out of here, three days of swimming till then. So, bottom line: a three month rental, culminating in only three days of potential swimming time, unless the weather changes or other neighbors move in next door and have themselves a delirious Gouna party time, three days out of three months to enjoy the unheated pool during that entire time; kind of makes you wonder why you should bother having one, particularly when it gets really hot in a month or so and the pool becomes a magnet for breeding skeeters).

If the new villa is suitable (I like being closer to town for the convenience of it, as well as the proximity to the sea), I shall most likely book it again starting in early October.  I will miss Sandy when I leave here, but will not regret the intolerable skeeter situation in this house.

She just can’t keep her little eyes open for long, despite the charming olive oil dawsha next door

But I am absolutely dreading once again having to being in the skin-crawling presence of right-wing America when I get to FLA.

As it now stands, I will be in my hometown of the mind, NYC — where numerous places are trying to remove the despised Trump name off their buildings — to visit Mum for a brief time, and shall stop by the Egyptian Consulate in Manhattan.

It is now located in the East Village on 7th Street (at 110 2nd Ave Rm 201, to be exact, whereas it used to be uptown on the UES), and apply for a 9 month visa, which is possible to do.  I believe Donald Trump will be removed from office within a year, so that will work just fine.

I plan to spend a few days with Mum, or longer if need be, and plan to troll my old haunts in the East Village and elsewhere.  I look forward to that so much, even though the city I have lived in for 30 years has changed almost beyond recognition.

But it is New York, and now that I’m no longer a fat old Florida fuck, I can walk about just like the old days, no problemo — especially since the toe thingie has healed up nicely, thank you very much.

I do not want to live in America until the Orango Khanzeer is removed from office, but I must also bear in mind the responsibilities I have in the US, and not just think about myself.


Big toe on right foot almost healed!

But I will never waver in my absolute determination to oppose everything that vile disgusting ignorant animal stands for, and am determined to stay away from the US until he is impeached or voted out of office in 2020.

Until then, I will try to live as little as possible in an America that has been infected with acute Trumplandia disease: that is why I am now an expat (for the last 6 months, and counting) — I may not have any power to remove Donald Trump from office, but I can remove myself from directly being subjected to the ubiquitous stench of his malevolent, avaricious presence, him, and all the rest of the Bible-thumping, gun-loving retards who cheer his every despicable move.

In the meantime, there’s Real Madrid vs Elbar to look forward to tomorrow at 2PM.


One of the loutish wops from the next door villa. I tried swimming in the pool at 4:30PM, but then they turned on some blaring radio, so that was that. Nowhere in Gouna is peaceful, when it is nice. Sure enough, when the sun dipped over the mountains around 5:30PM, and the desert cold descended like some ice pick, as the wind ripped up, yup, they all took off for some drunken loud downtown dinner, oblivious at having ruined what could have been a beautiful first day in the pool.

Wonder if the dragos (who are nowhere near retirement age) in the villa next door will suddenly realize that their endless chattering and yammer means absolutely nothing in the scheme of things, that whatever insignificant things they say will be forgotten by morrow, and that it will at last occur to them, once and for all, to shut the fuck up and perhaps admire the mountains and the lagoon instead of coming here for the sole purpose of creating a three or four-day ruckus, every fucking week, probably, now that the weather is pleasant.

It is the endless lament of the solitary expat: do I resent the extroverted happiness of others (who evince no obvious interest in talking with me), or do I simply crave solitude and the deep silence needed to reinvigorate one’s sense of spirituality?

Alas, even in the desert mountains, there would be no relief, for nowhere on this earth are we truly alone, as even the wings of our guardian angels do not flutter noiselessly.

leaving america



Eh el akhbar?


Only a week or so left

The days are getting much warmer in the money-losing operation that is Gouna; but the pool’s still almost too cold to swim in for long, even though the sand is starting to be too hot to walk on barefoot. The air is so dry here that I occasionally cough due to lack of moisture in my lungs, but it smells divine.

It smells like Egypt, the country of my childhood. It makes me think of me Mum, and when we lived here so long ago, when Egypt was paradise, but also think about what she is going through now, especially with the punishing late early Spring storms in NY continuing unabated for nearly a week.

sidi bishr

Mum and I in Sidi Bishr, a long time ago

It is Wednesday.  The Cairo long-weekend people won’t be coming till tomorrow; the Moslems first, then the Copts on Saturday. I will be leaving this villa next week, and go to one right by sea for the last leg of my stay in Gouna. Hope the toe shit clears up by then.

gouna lagoon

Bad toe, still

It is difficult, almost the Arab burden, really, living amidst plump, Continentals and Northern bulldogs (complete with thick Manchester or impenetrable Gordie accents) who travel in insular pairs and have no interest in culture.

Going to Sea Cinema now and then doesn’t count, nor does figuring out how to gin up a Black and Tan with kits from your travel luggage.

I mean, by that — excuse me while I stuff some plums in my mouth — some cursory understanding of the Western canon (no, not the AR-15 version), sprinkled with perhaps a dollop of familiarity with all the usual third world literary resistance manifestos, supplemented by some passing acquaintance with, say, the Life and Death of The Strokes.

But the harshest Gouna ordeal is having to countenance the unending bruting of native complaints by largely uneducated people who are forced to live in a place where freedom is a mirage.

Then course — going up the social matrix — are those who parrot the catch phrases, dress and attitudes of those who despise them, or, at best, contemptuously relegate them to the second or third shelf of International Classism.

Just flip though the pages of the ridiculous Gouna Magazine, or turn to Channel 1 if you’re here, watch the airheads spout rubbish, and you will see what I mean.

They can never be what they are not, no matter how much money their parents have, no matter how pathetically the International School tries to teach their overprivileged children English, as the servants live in crappy, hot little quarters in El Bustan, six to a room, and the gibberish of Life as It Should Be is plastered around town.

There is so much to write about here, and I am speaking in general about the Middle East, but none that I shall publish in this blog. Despite a number of sites being blocked, I still am able to get a decent idea of what is actually going on around here, in the, yes, lands I grew up in.

Then I think of the Zouz, my beloved wife, stuck in FLA.

It is unbelievable to hear the sort of news coming out of America, and the vast amounts of former Soviet Union and Hebrew money from Israel corrupting the collection of scoundrels in the White House, them and of course their low-life associates.

The scope of corruption and incompetence under the so-called administration of the illegitimate Manchurian candidate is flabbergasting. It is as if Trump and his family and henchmen are out to eviscerate the United States, as Republicans in the Senate and House sit on their hands and dumbly applaud because the tax bill went through or gun control legislation has yet again been squelched. This, from a pathologically sick country that has the demented braggadocio to label any country that disagrees with it as a “rogue regime,” except of course for Mother Russia.

For my health, I will not write a thing here that gets to the real heart of the matter, meaning what is actually going on.  In thinking about being an expat, my country — and America is my country, no matter what fuckface Trump implies about Arab-Americans — I will return in mid April.

And when I do, I shall not hold back on what I write — nice thing, that First Amendment.

You are a coward if you ditch your country when it is most in trouble, as Michael Caine once said in an interview.

So I will go back, and I will see what if the tide changes in the midterms. If it does not, after that, I am done — until the mad Orange pig and his family are escorted in chains to wherever they need to spend much of the rest of their lives. Maybe I will end up in the Lake District, or perhaps on the Left Bank somewhere.

In the meantime, I am thinking, too, of my son and grandson in Texas. Nice turnout, boys, keep it up, and let’s get rid of these leeches in the general.

Fuchs news (the original name in reality) is be shitting in their pants this morning; guess you only love conflict when things end up going your way.

Just wait till November.

This shit is only getting started.

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The heat is on

gouna poool

It’s the right toe and knee that still throb

Third day in a row that the daytime temps are reaching the low to mid 80s in El Gouna, Egypt, as opposed to the awful nor’easter weather poor Mum has had to endure back in Westchester.

Here’s what’s going on.

Turned on the AC in the TV room for the first time this morning. With the low wind, and the heat, flies and skeeters are back, necessitating that I retire at night to sleep in The Tower of Isolation.

Today’s two big events: the pool and the match.

I may be able to finally use the beautiful pool that I’ve only looked at since moving to this villa in mid December. Up until now, it was cold as ice, but now the harara is climbing enough during the day that it may be comfortably swimmable by early afternoon — we shall see; as I noticed when I went to take the pic you see above that some weekend mamelukes are shouting in that bullshit macho way that Egyptian guys love using when talking on the phone, and the irritating sound’s coming clear across the lagoon.

Also, I don’t know if there is chlorine in the pool; don’t smell it, at any rate.  Many birds stop by here to wet their beaks. With my toe injury still healing, could I contract avian flu by swimming in gorgeous but contaminated water?

The other big excitement around will be to watch Barcelona vs Atletico Madrid at 5:15PM.

For the past weekend, I cut down my consumption of food to 1 bowl of peanuts (for the protein) a night + plenty of water + vitamins + the Synthroid pill I must take every day to continue living. I keep forcing myself to eat this way as some of the stomach and face fat has been quite reluctant to come off, but come off it shall; I’m going to force the issue now.

But for the first time. I am starting to see the faint outline of my cheekbones as the jowls slowly melt away in the desert heat.

I have not been able to walk much during the past 3 days due to the fall I sustained a few days ago outside (just a knee scrap and bruised wrist) and injured big toe, but I am being careful:  I am using antibiotics and real Listerine (alas now gone, and which cannot be replaced here except with a zero alcohol version, which makes it useless to treat wounds, and you cannot even buy rubbing alcohol in the pharmacy here), and making sure the toe doesn’t get infected.

Also the pool push ups that were working so well to vaporize the moobs have stopped temporarily as my wrist heals from that nasty fall, which, I hate to say it, was caused by Sandy the cat who darted in front of me as I was going down the steps outside taking out the garbage.

So the way it looks now, I move out of here between next Tuesday (the 13th of March) and Friday (the 15th), and depart Egypt entirely on Saturday the 14th of April.

I will probably stop by New York on my way to Florida, and spend a few days with my Mum, who is going through a rough patch @ the moment. I most likely will not pass by Cairo and see my relatives there on the way back, for a variety of reasons, including the heat and hassle of it all.

The news from America keeps getting stranger and stranger by the day.  The latest titbit of White House corruption to interest me involves Jared and the UAE and a shadowy Arab-American figure called George Nader, much if not all of this delicious development has gone unmentioned in quasi official media here.

This Trump White House is turning into some old school American spy novel, which each new revelation being some horrible page-turner reality show disguised as plot twists in some masterful International cloak-and-dagger fiction: the mad President, the corrupt son-in-law, the dishonest sister, the Likudi prime minister staying one step ahead of the police, the grifter-glam daughter, the ex con Joisy father-in-law, the shadowy Lebanese operative, the deeply compromised porcine Americo-Jewish Trump fund raiser, the swarthy Gulfies in beards and flowing robes, and the money, always the money in some cynical political exchange in return for providing the means to keep afloat the white albatross of the Manhattan building aptly known as 666, which I actually went to for a legit job interview in the 80s, not realizing I could sell America down the toilet as part of some real estate deal, instead of actually, you know, holding down a real job.

The heat is on, and it’s going to get a whole lot hotter by the midterms.

You can count on that, especially if current majorities in the House and Senate are preserved by outright voter fraud, gerrymandering, the attempts by Republican legislative scum to kneecap the Mueller investigation, and further Russian manipulation of Trump’s eleemosynary base, who mostly get nothing but scraps off the Mar-a-Lago table, as ultra rich swine dine together in ever extravagant luxury, not believing their luck, as the sadly uneducated old geezers in trailer parks who barely get by on SS checks and Medicare, SNAP, Medicaid and SS disability payments, continue to swallow the Big Fat Republican Lie, no matter how manipulative the FOX news crowd gets, no matter how much damage these craven people are doing to the United States and its interests at home and abroad, no matter how tragically American society in the devastated heart of the country turns into an opioid-infested, gun-loving death cult that is self-imploding on an accelerated basis, wherever you look that once used to matter.

It’s going to be harsh, brutish fun to watch in the coming months all that unfold, but meanwhile I still have 6 weeks to enjoy life in the complete slice of unreality that is here in El Gouna.

And that’s how it is, today, on Sunday March 4, 2018, on the shores of this deeply superficial, snotty Egyptian resort, where my knottiest problem today is, should I dip my toes into the pewl, or not?


leaving america