The Art of the Hustle

Egyptians are amazingly adept weaseling money out of tourists. The areas where it is worst (of course) is around the famous attractions. The biggest Pyramids and the Sphinx, Sakara, Dashur, and Memphis inhabited by a very insistent contingent of Egyptians hawking a multiplicity of identical crap. Then comes the welcomed invading task force of Japanese, British, and French uniformed in immodest clothing, floppy brimmed hats, Tiva sandals, full wallets and armed with cameras. Like most wars fought against former farmers on their land the invaders are beaten back with heavy losses. Since my roommate and I have grown accustomed to the force full selling techniques in downtown Cairo we thought we would be well prepared for the next league.
These people are pros. They move in small squads; none carrying the same product (weapon) so not only are they not stepping on each others toes, they can also cover more sectors with fewer people. Want a perfect replica solid alabaster Sphinx? Talk to Ahmed(100 pound good price!). Semi-Authentic Arabian headdress? Talk to Muhammad (100 pound good price!) . Authentic Egyptian jewelry made in downtown Cairo? Talk to the other Ahmed(100 pound good price!). I can't be sure of the true price of the products however with a bit of market research I am guessing that the average cost to the retailer (Ahmed Ahmed and Ahmed) has a rather extreme mark up. So the widget they are selling for US$20 cost them roughly 8 cents.
Hayk, my roommate, loves to barter. We had decided to see the Giza Pyramids in style. So instead of walking we decided it would be more memorable if we rented horses. The starting price was 420 pounds. After 15 minutes or so of... debate the price had dropped to 200 pounds. Not bad for two horses and guide for 3 hours. Hayk had never ridden a horse before. Having never developed a touch for animals and their particular temperament quirks he was ill prepared for riding his horse which had been abused by the aforementioned Camera wielding Japanese. My horse tried to bite me once. Since my brother's last horse was a particularly vivacious harridan who's alacrity in tormenting, demoralizing and expertly heckling anyone who got in her personal sphere still makes the base of my neck twinge; the location where she planted a particularly vicious bite while I was feeding her. I should be gracious though. As soon as my horse swung his head around to plant a nip on my shin I saw the scenarios unfolding. The first was I get bit and the horse loses the meager respect for me which in hindsight was probably the only thing keeping me in the saddle. So I selected option B. Moving my foot a touch higher resulted in the less common combination of boot and soft flatness between the nostrils. For the rest of the ride my eunuch was a saint.
Hayk however was less fortunate. The second time he snapped the reins the horse decided that it was better for both of them if they went their separate ways. Which incidentally was Hayk in the sand and the horse smugly cantering away. After Hayk's dirt nap we regained control of the horse and kept moving.
After trotting for about 10 minutes we crested a dune. There they were. The worlds three largest monuments to despotic opulence and their half woman-half lion guardian. When one is confronted with this type of sight for the first time there are several different reactions; I reached for my camera. Then our guide (Ahmed wouldn't you know) said "I make photo to you" and took my camera. After which he proceeded to (whoop) let my camera slip from his hands and fall (soft whistle) none to lightly (crack) to the rock (tinkle tinkle) his horse (whiny that sounded like "Ha! sucker") was standing on. So to reiterate the score: First time within a Berry Bond's swing of the three largest monuments to human slavery still in the world and our guide had broken my camera.
Swiftly moving forward to the Pyramids we went through a gate and were confronted with several Mounted (on camels) Egyptian Tourism Police who confiscated our horses and informed us we could reclaim them outside of the protected area. So we walked the rest of the way to the biggest Pyramid, which I though would be considerably bigger, and went in.
It is a 45 meter slide bounce and scramble down into to the stale and urine scented air. Moving a bit deeper in the air gets more stale and the scent diminishes or possibly I just acclimated to the aroma. After the jaunt through the stone chute we ended in a room. That was stone. And about the size of two short buses placed side by side. And I am having to draw out the description to make it seem copiously much more fulfilling than it actually was.
When we got out there was the expected regiment of tourist hustlers pushing Coke, water and odd lumps of clay which were supposed to be the Pyramids. Fighting through the horde we recovered our horses and proceeded back to the stable. Halfway there our guided demanded a "tip" which we "didn't understand."
Honestly would you tip the guy who broke your camera in front of a wonder of the world? I thought not.