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Waxing Lyrical - Egypt
by Jennifer Taylorson | Date >
2006-09-09 | Country : Egypt | City : Cairo
| Area : Cairo |
| Waxing Lyrical
Why is it that everything is just that bit trickier to accomplish whilst in a foreign country? Could it be the obvious difficulty in communication? Or maybe it is just that they do things differently? When we do get what we want why it is never quite as we wanted it, distorted and quite altered from the thing we had had in mind?
Take for example matters of extreme necessity such as hair removal. Even in a woman’s country of domesticity there are some weighty considerations that must be carefully assessed, such is the gravity of such a subject. The method of hair removal for example: waxing, plucking, sugaring, laser therapy or perhaps electrolysis? The skill of the therapist, the cleanliness of the salon, and perhaps most importantly, the most vital question of all – how much to have removed from ‘down there’? These concerns are of the utmost importance in ensuring an agreeable outcome. If it must be done, let it be done well!
Now firstly, might I suggest that removing any type of hair, be it from your head to your bikini area, would best be done at home whilst safely ensconced in what is to you familiar. However, if a situation arises where you feel you have no other option but to venture into the unknown, before you take the plunge, consider this; my story:
Believing myself to be somewhat of an expert in such things as hair removal – it, like many other women, being my unfortunate burden to bear – I set out in Cairo with no thoughts of failure or misadventure. How difficult could it be to track down, purchase, and self administer a little wax?
Staying in downtown Cairo I began my investigation in the nearest pharmacy. Trying in vain to avoid any embarrassing exchanges between myself and the male pharmacist I looked high and low on the shelves of the small shop hoping to see something that resembled a packet of wax. After a good ten minutes or so of searching I eventually admitted defeat and through a rather comic mime routine elicited that unfortunately there was no wax to be found in this particular pharmacy.
Somewhat embarrassedly, and in retrospect, ill advisedly my second move was to ask the hostel staff where I might locate what I was after. Unfortunately, it being an almost exclusively male dominated workforce they were somewhat vague about the subject but promised to query their wives on my behalf. Soon to be moving on to a coastal area, time was of the essence in this covert mission of mine. After waiting patiently for a couple of days (the situation getting rather hairy) I decided that perhaps I had better take matters into my own hands. Accompanied by my friend and travelling companion, Teresa, we again set forth to search the local pharmacies. Eventually after a long hot day of exploration we found something vaguely resembling some wax. Happy to have found what we were looking for we made our way back to the hostel to decipher the Arabic instructions on the packet.
Back in the hostel we entered our small room, locked the door and set to work – only a friend as good as Teresa would help me wax my legs! On opening the packet we realised that what we had bought was not wax at all, it was sugar. Having had no prior knowledge of how to administer sugar it was a comic endeavour. The sticky mass refused to stick to my legs, instead leaving sweet, sticky slug trails where Teresa had inexpertly applied the sugar, which slid off my legs in moments of inattention. In the end Teresa had managed to get more of it on her hands and in her hair than on my legs.
Getting a little desperate now, we approached the cleaning lady who worked at the hostel. She was a Motherly sort of woman with a cheerful and attractive round face. Using my, by now, practiced mime routine I explained that I needed her help – would she wax my legs for me? After a little bargaining she agreed – a time was set; she would come by my room in half an hour.
Laying a towel on the bed she indicated that I should lie down and remove my pants. Now, having had my bikini line done many times prior to this I thought it a little strange, however, relieved to be getting the help I needed I obliged thinking that perhaps this was just bikini line etiquette Egyptian style. So, she set to work. As she made her way up to the dreaded bikini line area I couldn’t help but noticed that she was removing a little more hair than I would usually have taken away. However, the pain being more prevalent in my mind, I didn’t think too much of it. It was not until she expertly yanked my legs apart and set to work on places where there should definitely be hair that I started to panic!! Ahhhhhhhhh, before I could do anything enough hair had disappeared to ensure that there could be no turning back. Being British, not wanting to cause my helper any discomfort at causing me so much distress I Lay there trying not to look like I was in pain yet feeling the searing sting of every yank ripping the hairs out of their follicles, monitoring the increasingly bald expanse being relieved between my legs.
Finally it was over. Relieved that my ordeal had come to an end, yet mourning the loss of all my hair I went to find Teresa. Like any good friend she found it all very amusing and continued to laugh at me during the next six weeks of itchy re-growth.
The moral of this story: Before leaving for the airport the check list should be as follows: passport, money, insurance, tickets, and bikini-line wax.
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