In a hurry to check something in the Luxor temple, I went in there without bothering to put on my boots, which meant a walk back to my hotel with dusty shoes. Never mind, I thought, I'll probably see a shoe-shine kid on the way. I usually give ten Egyptian pounds for a good shine, which doesn't hurt me and I like to encourage young entrepeneurship. Sure enough, I hadn't long come out of the temple when a middle-aged man came running from the riverside over the road to where I was, shouting "shoe-shine, mister?" He wasn't the urchin-type who I usually got a shine from, but I needed the sand and dust off. "Ten?" I asked, to which he just gave a nod and urged me to sit on the kerb. Then another, slightly younger man came over to join him carrying the shoe-shine kit. The first man showed me his hand, which looked scarred and clenched from a obvious injury, making it apparent why the other was to do the work. "My brother," he explained, gesturing at the other.
Now there were two of them, I knew there was going to be a problem and should have got up and walked off, but while I was considering my options, my shoes were being unlaced and the laces taken out by the younger man, who was telling me he'd learned English in London during his studies. I pointed out there was no need to remove my laces, but he insisted as he liked to do "a good job". But moments later he was holding up a lace to show me its frayed end. "Broken", he confirmed, "but it's OK, I have others." Then the clean and polish was under way watched by the older brother. All finished, the younger man sorted through the bottom of his cleaning kit for two more shoelaces which he began threading back in replacement for the originals.
Then came the big news... He'd done a good job for which he was only charging me fifty Egypian pounds, he stated confidently. I pointed out that I'd already agreed ten with his brother, who gave a shrug and sat looking blank. No, it's fifty insisted the other man, and so the haggling and arguing was under way. I offered twenty just to cut my losses and get back to the hotel, he demanded forty, I stuck to twenty, he eventually agreed twenty-five, I took out twenty and handing over two tens saying that was it and goodbye.
But he looked down and unfurled a note, saying, "Hey, why you give me fifty and a ten and not two tens? You said only twenty!" Sure enough, the note he had between his hands was a fifty. A bit puzzled, I thanked him for his honesty (really, I did!) took it from him and handed him another ten. "Hey," he said again, showing off another fifty note in his hands, "why you still give me fifty and not ten? You supposed to give twenty only." This time I knew for sure I'd given him a ten, not a fifty, and I cottoned on to the little game. Standing up, I strode quickly off, turning back to shout, "It's OK, you keep the sixty!", at which he stared down at the note with a confused look on his face and shouted something back which I didn't hear. Of course, when I got back to the hotel I found, as I knew I would, that the "fifty pound" note I'd supposedly taken back had turned into one for fifty piastres and he'd improved my settlement of twenty by almost another ten. He was obviously keen to do even better.
Noticing later that the replacement laces I'd walked off with were almost too short to tie and very substandard, it occurred to me also that the "broken" lace he'd held up to show me wasn't the one he'd removed from my shoe. The whole point of removing the laces was to gain a good quality pair for sale later in exchange for a pair that were the cheapest possible.
So, take heed, visitors to Luxor with dirty shoes. But it's all part of lifes' rich tapestry, I suppose. And an educational experience, too, for somebody who thought he was clued in to the ways of Egypt. If I've learned anything from it, I'd say it was that not all Egyptian sharks are in the Red Sea. Oh, and some of them are pretty slick with sleight of hand.
R.J. Thompson
Experience is not what happens to you;
I do get suspicious, when someone insists on polishing my flip flops.
