Tawila is an Arabic adjective that means tall. In this form, the gender definition is feminine, as signified by the vowel ending. So let me tell you a few tall yarns, just for the hell of it.
Today began badly: no internet service, again.
I figured it was time to pay the bill, so decided to go to Abu Tig to the Orange Office there and do so.
But first, I had to sweep the villa clean.
It has been windy for the last day or so, and there’s been sand everywhere.
It got cold, too — again.
Last night Sandy the desert cat slept with me. Tommy was bothering her again, and whenever that happens, she yowls.
I am her protector.
So I let her in, and we slept with the TV on, but then I let her out around 3AM so she wouldn’t crap or pee in the villa.
This morning, as I was sweeping the designer brick front steps, I had to chase Tommy away by throwing a glass of water at him.
Then, after calling the Orange TV Triple Play help line to alert them about the Internet situation, I went to Abu Tig marina.
To do this, I had to deal with the Gouna microbus fiasco, which I will not describe here: it is too comically inept to even get into, other than to mention that I was almost nailed while getting into the Marina Line bus by a pair of pliers that fell down from the roof of one of these no-suspension contraptions. It had slipped out of the hands of a bus driver who was perched atop the roof of the adjacent West Golf line bus (the drivers park them in a slender as Red Sea rainbow sardines row in the dusty parking lot that’s in front of the Budget taxi and limo service office) and attempting to rig together a fan gizmo that was seriously falling apart.
At the Orange office in Abu Tig, I had to wait for some old German guy to decide on a TV/Internet plan. The crux of the matter was that he was staying 3 months and 4 days, and Orange only offers monthly plans (in 30-day serial increments, beginning anytime during the month.) or 3 month plans, etc, but not a plan geared specifically to this old coot’s stay.
So this guy spends at least 25 minutes trying to convince the desk clerk to let him buy a plan that matches the exact length of his stay, as I sat on my hands waiting.
Finally, I had enough. I said, can I pay my bill while you step aside and decide what you want to do?
The German asshole ignored this. You know the type: old, slow, rigid, overtanned, with in-shape but weird girlyman-looking, slimly athletic legs (he was wearing cargoes) for his age, and determined to get what he wants by being as obnoxious as possible. I turned on a dime into the taweel Luca Brasi of Gouna, and punched the Nazi fag shithead in the face. As he lied in a pool of blood gurgling out of his ugly old German mouth, I calmly paid the bill and left.
Okay, so none of that actually happened: I waited for the old coot to leave, then I paid the bill.
What is it about old turds that makes them oblivious that others exist in the universe?
I took the joke bus back. But first I had to wait for it by the hot dog stand in Basin 1 in Abut Tig. There, I was easy prey for all the tuc tuc shitheads who kept circling around and around right in front of me as I waited.
Finally the bus appeared, and when it was less than 20 feet away, another tuc tuc shit head appeared and made an abrupt (and dangerous) U-turn right in front of the oncoming bus, slowed down just so in front of me, and said in that annoying assholean way of theirs, tuc tuc?
So I punched him in the face, too, then kicked him in his lib-lib nuts for good measure. As he writhed on the street, also with blood gurgling out of his mouth (just like the Kraut), I stepped over him, got into his white Uber tuc-tuc, and drove home.
Okay so none of that happened either, but it could have. I certainly thought it.
Now for the good news.
With the weather warming up, I’m planning on taking a trip out to Tawila island.
Because of Operation Sinai, rumor has it the Egyptian navy is shooting at any zodiac that tries to head from here toward that often-contested peninsula — after all, Sharm is only 45 minutes by fast boat.
All I know is that I need a break from being trapped in this villa, even if it means only seeing only one island instead of three ( there are five in all that run parallel to the coastline of El Gouna: two are off limits for military reasons, and three that are usually accessible to the public).
When it finally became beautiful again today, I realized I had that I need to work out my frustrated writer hostilities by doing something other than trying to at least figure out the plot of my game-changing Gouna novel, that being the tallest tale of them all.