EGYPT
By Sebastian LaTorre
Camels moving across the sand with the Pyramids of Giza rising behind them, a timeless scene on the edge of Cairo.
Two Weeks Between Chaos, Desert, and Ancient Stone
I bought a one way flight to Cairo on a Friday and left the following Monday. Four hundred dollars from Washington D.C. to Egypt, barely enough time to pack or overthink what I was doing. I landed just before sunrise. From the plane window the city stretched endlessly, bright lights glowing through a hazy yellow sky. Cairo looked massive, alive, and completely indifferent to my arrival.
By the time I stepped outside the airport it was still dark. Taxi drivers surrounded me instantly, shouting destinations, waving me toward their cars. I grabbed an Uber instead and watched the city wake up through the window. Tall concrete buildings covered in air conditioning units, empty streets slowly filling with traffic, the sky glowing gold through smog as the sun rose. Somewhere above it all, the call to prayer hummed through the air. I knew I had arrived.
I stayed at Dahab Hostel in downtown Cairo. After dropping my bag, I passed out on the couch, exhausted from the flight. When I woke up later that morning, the city was fully alive. Cars moved through intersections without hesitation, people crossing streets confidently without looking. I tried to cross once and hesitated. An Egyptian guy laughed and said, “Brother, you walk like an Egyptian.” He stepped into traffic and waved me through. Cairo teaches you fast.
The night markets were endless. I walked forty five minutes in one direction and still hadn’t reached the end. Streets packed shoulder to shoulder, vendors selling clothes, toys, food, souvenirs. Everyone trying to sell something, everyone moving, everyone talking. You learn quickly to say “la shukran” and keep walking. Some nights I wandered aimlessly through it all, phone in my pocket, playing Pokémon Go, eating kebabs, letting the chaos wash over me.
The pyramids were everything they’re supposed to be and more. Standing at the base of the Great Pyramid, the scale makes no sense. It doesn’t photograph correctly. It doesn’t translate through screens. You have to sit there, in the shade, with the heat rising off the sand. That’s when a camel handler approached me, fast talking in broken English, calling his camel the Egyptian Ferrari, the Egyptian Mustang. I laughed, hesitated, then climbed on.
We rode out to the panoramic viewpoint. At one point he helped me stand on the camel’s back, balancing in the desert sun with the pyramids behind me. It felt absurd and cinematic at the same time, like a scene pulled straight out of an old film. Touristy, sure, but unforgettable.
I took a day trip to Alexandria next. The city felt coastal and strange, like it was folding into the sea. Parts of it reminded me of the movie Inception, buildings leaning toward the water, a limbo-like atmosphere. Near the bridge and lagoon, people tried to sell us photos with their cameras. A kid, no older than ten, followed us around smoking cigarettes. It was jarring and oddly memorable. Alexandria felt lived in, not curated.
One of the highlights of the trip was an overnight tour into the Black and White Desert. We drove for hours, Cairo slowly fading into open desert. Apartment blocks disappeared, replaced by nothing but sand and rock. As the sun set, the Black Desert turned deep orange and red. That night we camped under the stars with a small group. One German, three Canadians, strangers turned friends by shared silence and sand.
The next day we reached the White Desert. Chalk formations rose out of the sand like sculptures. At one point we rode on top of the car, carving through dunes as the wind blasted past us. Later we went sandboarding, sprinting up soft dunes and sliding back down, laughing, covered in dust. It felt completely detached from time. Just movement, wind, and space.
From Cairo I headed east to Hurghada on the Red Sea. The city felt like another country entirely. The marina was lined with massive white yachts, many full of Russian tourists preparing for dive trips. The water was impossibly blue. I went out for two scuba dives and immediately understood why the Red Sea is legendary. Massive moray eels tucked into coral walls, schools of fish moving in sync, dolphins gliding through the distance. Floating above it all, everything went quiet.
Evenings in Hurghada were slow. Walking the marina, eating kebabs, watching boats return under orange lights. It was a pause before heading back inland.
Luxor hit differently. The scale of everything was overwhelming. Temples that felt permanent. Columns towering overhead. The Valley of the Kings was the most impressive site I saw in Egypt. Descending into the tombs, the hieroglyphics were still vibrant, painted in blues and reds thousands of years ago. Entire walls covered in stories, untouched by time. Luxor didn’t feel polished. It felt heavy with history.
A monumental statue standing inside the Grand Egyptian Museum, where ancient Egypt meets striking modern architecture in the heart of Cairo.
Back in Cairo, I visited the Grand Egyptian Museum, newly opened and massive. Wide halls, natural light, artifacts displayed with space and intention. Seeing the objects from Tutankhamun’s tomb in person was surreal. Items made for someone who lived thousands of years ago, preserved well enough to feel personal. The museum itself felt like Egypt claiming its history on its own scale.
Toward the end of the trip, Cairo felt familiar. Still chaotic, still loud, but navigable. On my last night, a major soccer match filled the city with noise. Horns, shouting, celebration echoing through the streets. I walked through it all, one last kebab in hand, knowing I’d miss the intensity.
Egypt doesn’t ease you in. It drops you straight into the deep end. Cities that never slow down, deserts that feel endless, water so clear it feels unreal, history so present it presses in on you. Two weeks wasn’t enough, but it was exactly right.
