I fell in love with Egypt the instant the turquoise Red Sea surf unfurled across the white-hot sandy horizon beyond my tour bus window. The clear, vibrant ocean inspired me in a way that the muddy, vessel-clogged Nile was unable to. I had only 48 hours to consummate my affair with the brilliant blue-gold mirage that became Hurghada. That meant one thing: Shopping.

The “capital” of the Red Sea stretched for some 25 miles (40 km) along its shores. Hurghada, population about 40,000, was founded in the early 20th century, and remained a small fishing village until the 1980s when Arabian, American and European investors transformed it into the leading beach resort on the Red Sea.

I quickly discovered that this tourist town lacked the chaotic market charms of Aswan and Cairo. The colorful shamble of stalls, spices and water pipes had been traded for Western-style boutiques run by beautiful, designer-clothed men of fashion magazine caliber. Disappointed, cranky and dribbling with sweat from the 10-hour bus ride, I headed back to my hotel. Fatefully, I paused outside a tiny store to admire a T-shirt.

“Lady! Lady!” I heard the familiar, demanding call, and began to trot out of range as a handsome Muslim man zeroed in on me. Like a jinn, he had materialized out of the very heat itself on the otherwise deserted street. “Come back! LADY!” He was frowning terribly at me now. “Later! I promise!” I called past my shoulder. At this point nothing and no one would have wanted to get between me and my air-conditioned hotel room.

Bartering at its best! The Luxor markets provide a welcome contrast to the tourist shopping strips.

Now, I really did have some souvenir money to spend. And I am one of those tourists who experiences an absurd amount of enjoyment wearing a smart T-shirt with the name of my favorite destination on it. The cheaper, the better. I am also a Canadian, and we always keep our word (or at least feel terribly guilty when we don’t).

So the next evening, freshly showered, I stepped back into the empty T-shirt store. “Lady! You came back! You promised that you would come back and you did!” Mohammed was obviously pleased to see me, and more pleased to make the sale of a blue “Red Sea” T-shirt.

I was happy to chat with a local, and happier still to pay US$ 6 for the well-fitted cotton shirt. Social and financial transactions apparently complete, I made a move for the doorway.

“Please, I want to give you a gift.”

(Uh oh.)

“Oh, no, I am very happy with the shirt. It was fun meeting you. I don’t need a gift!”

“Please come to my other store.”

(NO WAY! My inner Lonely Planet screamed, with my mother’s voice chiming in shrilly.)

“You kept your promise, you came back to me and I want to give you something very special to remind you of me.”

(I’m sure you do.) “I cannot, my mother and friend are waiting for me in the hotel. We are going out for dinner soon.”

“Look, it is just there (pointing directly across the street). It won’t take long. I want to give you a special present: Egyptian perfume.”

(Ah! My way out!) “That is so kind, but I really don’t like perfume. I never wear it. I am allergic (sneezing to punctuate).”