The wind has a name in the desert, but it's badly known. They felt it as they stepped off the plane. The flight had been as smooth as fine leather and the staff nothing short of wonderful. Jackson and his wife Denise rarely travelled, but had experienced their fare share of tired personell who should have quit the service industry several years earlier.
They touched down in Hurghada to a less than balmy seventy degrees, not what they wanted, but better than the frosty Illinois winter. Denise laughed at him picking sand out of his teeth before they had even boarded the shuttle to passport control, only to have to do the same a minute later.
After having suffered through the cattle drive that was passport control they settled on a hot bus to wait for their fellow resort guests. The fifteen minutes it actually took for the last few stragglers to find the transport was made insufferable by the appearance of an old woman who took the seat in front of them. She struck up a conversation with another senior citizen and together they tried to outdo each other when it came to throwing bile at the world. The discussion quickly went from poor service, to the problem with youth, education, the French, farmers, social media and so on in a cacophony of endless tiresome complaints.
"If you hate the world so much, why travel as frequently as she seems to?" Denise whispered in Jackson's ear.
Once they arrived at the resort and settled in with a cup of hot tea they went over their plans for the coming week. First off Cairo and the pyramids. That's when the real adventure would begin.
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