Billmon: Sharm El-Sheikh

Sharm is one of those Third World beach resorts specifically designed to be as far removed as possible from the gritty realities of how the other four-fifths of humanity actually lives. It's the Cabo San Lucas of Egypt, an incongruous little bubble of luxury and suntan lotion perched on the southern most tip of the Sinai peninsula, like a cheap piece of costume jewelry pinned to a mummy's desiccated earlobe. You can fly here nonstop from Frankfurt, spend a long weekend working on your tan, and be back in the office with Gunter and Hans without ever setting eyes on an Egyptian who wasn’t checking you into your room or serving you a Mai Tai.

If Sharm had existed when the Israelites were wandering Sinai around looking for the Promised Land, they would never have made it. They'd still be lounging by the pool ordering drinks and trying to put the tab on Moses’ room.