<—– Continued From
Hurghada is the name of a palm tree said to have been visible from a distance and used as a navigational point and resting area for the fishermen when they returned from their trips. The tree is long gone, in its place, the marina. At the far end of it, sits the port of Hurghada where giant ferries take passengers to Saudi Arabia. Behind it, stood a majestic mosque.
“Is called the Mina mosque,” explained Mondi. “Mina means ‘port’.”
I’ve never been inside a mosque. I usually refrain from entering places of worship. Being a devout believer in science, The Universe, Karma and the inarguable laws of nature, I feel that I might tarnish a house of prayer. But it is an impressive building and Mondi took me in.
We removed our shoes and headed into the main hall, empty of worshipers. I looked up and around, impressed by the high dome ceilings and was pointed out the Quran inscriptions on the panels of the walls and ceilings.
There was a lot of ‘Only one true god’ in the pamphlets that were in a range of languages but I steered clear of the propaganda. I had enjoyed what I had experienced so far of the Muslim world and didn’t need any fuel for fires I was keeping at bay within me.
Later that night we passed by Jolly Café, on Sheraton street. “The most famous street in Hurghada,” Mondi claimed.
At Jolly Café I bartered with Abdullah and Ahmed, the manager\owners for food and, my latest thing, a bus ticket. I was travelling in the wrong time of year. It was way too hot to stand by the side of the road and so I’d come up with a new strategy. As I was staying with Mondi, I didn’t need bed. Just food and a bus ticket to Cario.
“Can you play us something now?” Ahmed asked.
I auditioned with my standard crowd-pleaser, Folsom Prison Blues by Johnny Cash and was accepted to play that night for three hours. There was no microphone so I strummed out instrumentals until the traditional Egyptian singer who sings nightly came by with one.
But I was knackered and for the next day I had bartered a snorkel trip and needed some rest.
I couldn’t wait to go – as the mafia says – swim with the fishes.
Originally published on The Nomadic Diaries
Do you have previously published work that you would like to syndicate on The Good Men Project? Click here:
Got Writer’s Block?
If you believe in the work we are doing here at The Good Men Project, please join us as a Premium Member, today.
All Premium Members get to view The Good Men Project with NO ADS.
A $50 annual membership gives you an all-access pass. You can be a part of every call, group, class, and community.
A $25 annual membership gives you access to one class, one Social Interest group, and our online communities.
A $12 annual membership gives you access to our Friday calls with the publisher, our online community.
Register New Account
Need more info? A complete list of benefits is here.
Photos courtesy of the author.