Bad dustup today.
So let’s see… if you were to talk to English people in Gouna, you might notice that few of them are young or from London or liberal or upper class or read the Guardian.
Instead, who you will run into will be mostly argumentative right-wing aging proles with enough money to live here in a lifestyle they cannot possibly enjoy back home, and who know very little or care about what is going on in Egypt right now.
Like ze German colony, they be mostly interested in small bore real estate deals: one apartment here, another villa there, the Orascom deal payments stretched out for 6 years before which you flip, if you’re lucky enuf that nothing bad happens till then, and there you have it, the Gouna lifestyle, as the drumbeats in the mountains get louder.
But if you wanted to understand the spectacle of truly crazy Arab real estate development conceits, complete with English crooks, you could do no worse than read this Dubai-related article.
But who gives a shit? I don’t. I mind my own business. I don’t say nothing about nothing.
Wish I wasn’t going to miss Billy Strings at the Suwannee Reunion festival in March, though.
I have been to this Florida music campground venue many times in the last 18 years or so, and have had a passion for bluegrass since forever.
Despite my Leaving America blog jive there are many things I like about the US; pickin’ and fiddling music being one of them.
Where I live in FLA is another.
Like you see here.
The stories I could tell you.
Alas, insider stories aside about the real Treasure Coast, I will indeed regret missing Billy Strings, as I am staying here till mid April.
I’m already looking forward to going back home, except for the constant presence in the next county of the vile, orange asshole.
Instead of being with my beloved Erin, who thinks I am a narcissist for lurking in Gouna all alone without her for all this time, what have I been up to?
Well apart from fielding endless phone calls from the many, many warm and interesting friends — for after all, Gouna is nothing if not a warm place — I have made here, I’ve also half-swept the back porch several times today, and inside the house too.
The desert sand is everywhere; even inside the house.
Maybe I should do a better job keeping it all nice for this desert cat who’s adopted me.
But then again, it ain’t my house… is it?