Issue 10 Sharm Dos and Don'ts - Nightlife from the Archives of the Tanked Up Magazine

Home

Underwater Pics

Non-Celebrity Diver

7 November 2024

Blog

MDC

LDC

	ISSUE 10 ARCHIVE - SHARM DOS AND DON'TS - NIGHTLIFE Traveller Nightlife Dos Do Take one of those police intoximeters with you to the bars. Cocktails can vary enormously in strength, and you are paying to get as off your head as possible. If after three or four Mojitos you register as sober enough to drive on your own hand-held breathalyzer, you know you are being diddled. Simply threaten the barman enough and he will happily agree to make your head spin. Do Heed my advice, men, and know that your highest chances of a pull in the 500 decibel bass beat of the clubs is with wasted Italian chicks [surely you know Italian girls don't drink... Ed]. As they can't understand you, you will come across as really funny no matter what rubbish you talk about shark encounters. And 'deep wreck penetration' sounds phonetically like 'my dad owns Maserati, honest', in Latin. Do Check my advice, ladies, and know that your chance of max'ing a one night stand is with a British diver. The fatter the better. If he's with his mum, that's totally cool as well. If he has been to 100m and owns a VR3, he is generally awesome in bed. [Right guys-you owe me one there-Ed]
	Do Try karaoke wherever you can find it. Because a Brit diver inherently has a lower pitched voice, he can do Tom Jones way better than the locals. You will be fawned upon after by all the crowd, and who say you sound so Welsh. Locals and their songs – they have to repeat the word "habibee, habibee" countless times whilst pulling a face like an idiot to appear romantic. They get scorn. You get to thrust your loins and wait for the knickers to land at your feet. Do Take your lady somewhere really special if trying to impress. The KFC or Pizza Hut just won't do it. Splash out for a cab to the Hyatt and try the Thai restaurant there. As good as a Michelin starred eatery back home. Ring ahead to make sure there's no angle grinding though. They like to repair the wobbly hotel walls at night and see it as a bizarre form of background music. Do Remember that chicken tikka masala in Sharm is really made from chicken. You can tell by the amount of bones in the meat and the occasional eye and foot still attached to the bird. We have become complacent back home and expect chunks of breast meat. In Sharm you will be helicoptered to the local medical facility for ENT extraction of wishbones and claws from your trachea.
Do Pretend that you are a 'sommelier'. That way you can send back all the wine sold to you. Come on Sharmers, admit it. It all tastes sodding awful. No wonder Cleopatra tried it on with so many Romans. She was trying to get their recipe to make anything grape orientated reasonably palatable. My lesson was cruelly learned when ordering a £50 bottle of red for the lady. It smelled of old socks and tasted of cheese. I sent it back to be reprieved by the waiter who said that he thought it was fine. My fake sommelier card meant that I got an apology and vodka and Tizers on the house. A safe alternative. Do Wear your wetsuit out when clubbing. That tells all the opposite sex you are here for action and are not just a two week in the sun scumbag. Casually have your BCD and your dive knife thrown over your shoulder and you will be instantly recognisable as a diver. That sets you apart as an alpha male and better to extend the gene pool with than the tattooed chav in the corner who is using his afternoon's quad bike experience as a chat up line to three Ukrainian super models. Do Invoke Jacques Cousteau's Disco Law. "I get further with a nice word and a dive knife than just a nice word". That'll get your dance tune played by the europop DJ before anyone else's. It works at karaoke and even the check-in desk as well. [But make sure the wife carries it through the scanners for you]. Do End your wonderful night with a gentle stroll to the taxi rank. There you will be met by a harmony and karma that will soothe your evening, relax your partner for the chill and the rest of the free fruit at your room, and guarantee whatever saucy ideas come to fruition later. That, or you will be dumped unceremoniously two kilometres from your hotel as they won't let taxis up to the door. Book a limo dude. Stylish. Nightlife Don'ts Don't Think the VIP area of the Buddha Bar is really for VIPs. The last one I saw in Sharm was Charles Dance, and his star has faded more than Rusty Lee's. Everyone ends up in the VIP bit and frankly the normal part of the club is much emptier for any free-form cossack dancing you may have been working on for when a talent show next rolls into your home town. Don't Under any circumstances chat up a Russian girl at Pasha. Yes, some may have the cutest looks and sweetest smile, but they all have a boyfriend in tow. A mate of mine thought he was in there, and off the dance floor came a half man/half bear. They call them 'flatheads', 'cos of the Spetsnatz-style crewcut. And they know how to use a knife. Mate couldn't dive for two days as he had to keep his trachea open with a Bic biro. Don't Go to the Casino. What they don't tell you is that gambling is illegal in the Islamic world. If you just happen to win at roulette, or slam everyone at Texas Hold'em, then the big bugger at the door will take your winnings as you try to depart.
Don't Expect the entertainment to be entertaining when at a Eurohotel. Our continental cousins consider a man with a squeeze box playing polka to be as good as the X-Factor final. I once stayed at a German-only place and they brought on a comedian. He made Tommy Cooper look like Eddie Izzard. Since when was getting a banana caught in a lederhosen zip seen as amusing? Not since Stan Boardman last had a gig. Don't Buy bootleg Viagra. It ain't the same as it's made in India under their rather bizarre patent laws. What you are in fact getting for your twenty quid is a blue tablet made from recycled Nivea suncream bottles or triple dose. My mate Keith bought four, missed out on the alleyway love but stayed as white as snow on the nudist beach. His mate Geoff got the real deal and had to be medi-vacced home with a cushion on his lap. Don't Eat at the Chinese downtown. Tony Blair ate there and they are still going on about it. If you do fancy a big photo of the Middle East Envoy staring at you as you choose numbers, then all well and good. But even I find Cherie's risus smile can put me off a dim sum. Don't Do that dance at the Hard Rock with the staff. They find it humiliating, so you should just keep your distance, let them finish and go back to what they truly love, waitin' on tables. The more you go and join in the Greased Lightnin' with them, the more the manager thinks that the poor buggers who are awesome at customer service love to actually dance. And if that happens, we'll all be forced to do the bloody Macarena next whilst desperately waiting for our half gallon Pina Coladas. Don't Get thrown by the booze labelling. The more ancient the name, the worse the product. The world's first pyramid Saqqara, is the name of their premium beer. Three and I've got colitis. "Obelisk" wine. Shit. Ramases Vodka... if that contains alcohol, then I am Moses. I stick to my favourite, the best of them all. Luxor Bypass Gin and Terminal Four tonic. Don't Get fooled by those fishy eateries on the strip down from the taxi rank. Remember you are there to dive and see stuff underwater. So the fact that the coral grouper that was so photogenic is now sitting on ice at the entrance to "Al-Fazaalam Ristorant", we have comfy seats, is an anathema. Why do they serve up the very thing you are there to get close to. It's like eating leopard stew on safari when you've had a whinge about the lack of animals you have ticked off that day. Tell your cheery smiled maître d' that you are going to Hard Rock where the beef is reared on fields cleared from Amazonian forest. Don't Let your mates overhear you when chatting up ex-Commie girls. My mate did and when he used the line "I always wanted to learn Russian" just as the music stopped, it brought the house down. He barely speaks English anyway, so the chances of him figuring the Cyrillic alphabet are nil. Best be honest in these situations gentlemen. "I've just got off a liveaboard for two weeks surrounded by blokes. You are stunning and half my age. Will you trade my £500 dive watch for...". Works.
Previous article « Sharkipedia Next article » Cooking the Catch - Spiced Mackerel Back to Issue 10 Index