I landed in Cairo and someone immediately tried to take me somewhere.
Not aggressively. Smoothly. The kind of smooth that makes you feel rude for saying no — like they’re doing you a favor and you’re the problem for not accepting it.
I said no anyway.
I didn’t know where they were taking me. Neither, I suspected, did they have a clean answer if I’d asked. You learn to read that energy when you’ve been moving through the world long enough. The offer was friendly. The destination was not my concern.
So I figured out my own way. And Cairo started exactly how Cairo was going to continue — chaotic, layered, and completely unconcerned with whether or not you were comfortable.
This was not a planned trip. My sister and I booked it the way I book most things — last minute, loosely held, full confidence that it would work out. It did not fully work out. And it became one of the weeks that lives in you long after you’ve unpacked.
I always wanted to see the pyramids, and I asked myself…what am I waiting for?
A Level 4 travel advisory doesn’t mean anything, right?
Nobody Warned Me About the Guns
Nobody warned me. That’s the part that still gets me.
Not the travel blogs. Not the forums. Not a single person who’d been to Cairo before me mentioned that you would spend the entire trip navigating around armed men positioned on nearly every block.
I don’t mean security guards at a checkpoint. I don’t mean a soldier in the distance.
I mean a young man — sometimes barely old enough to look like he’d finished school — standing close enough to touch, rifle loaded, expression unreadable, at an intersection you’re just trying to cross.
There was one moment I keep coming back to. A man stepped closer than I expected. I don’t think it meant anything. I don’t think he was aware of it. But the rifle was right there and I didn’t know him and my body made a decision before my brain did.
I stepped away.
Not dramatically. Not in a way that made a scene. Just a quiet shift — a few more inches between me and a loaded weapon in the hands of a stranger.
That instinct, that small involuntary step, told me more about how I was processing Cairo than anything I could have said out loud.
I genuinely don’t know if all of it is necessary. I’m not from Cairo. I don’t know its history the way the people who live there know it. What I know is how it felt to walk through it. It felt like living inside a threat assessment. Like the city itself was always slightly braced for something.
There’s a version of safety that makes you feel protected. And there’s a version that makes you feel like protection is considered necessary — like you’re being told, without words, that the world you’re moving through requires this level of force to stay ordered.
Cairo gave me the second one.
I never fully relaxed. And I’m not sure I was supposed to.
The Pyramids Did Not Hit the Way I Expected
I got to the pyramids faster than I expected. That part surprised me — how quickly you can go from landing in a country to standing in front of one of the greatest structures humanity has ever built.
What surprised me more was what I saw on the way there.
I don’t know what I expected the approach to look like. I’d seen pictures. I’d watched documentaries. I had some image in my head — desert, tourists, the monuments rising in the distance like something out of a dream.
What I didn’t have in my head was this: poverty. Dense, visible, right-up-against-the-gates poverty.
The closer we got, the more it settled over me. Streets that looked like they’d been forgotten. Buildings holding themselves together through sheer will. People living their actual lives — not performing for tourists, not set-dressed for cameras — just existing in the shadow of something the entire world flies across the ocean to photograph.
And then the pyramids.
Ancient. Massive. Completely indifferent to everything around them.
I stood there and I didn’t feel wonder first. I felt something closer to grief.
Millions of people come here every year. From every country on earth. They spend money to get here, money to stay here, money to take photos in front of these structures. The pyramids are one of the most visited, most photographed, most talked-about places on the planet.
And the people living closest to them — within walking distance of a wonder of the world — were living like the tourism economy had nothing to do with them.
I’ve seen similar things in other places. Landmarks surrounded by struggle. It’s not unique to Egypt. I know that. But something about Cairo hit different. Maybe because the scale is so extreme. Maybe because the contrast was so sharp and so immediate. You don’t get eased into it. You just see it all at once.
I don’t have a clean answer. I’m not going to pretend I do.
I just know I left the pyramids quieter than I arrived. And that’s not usually how it goes when you’re standing in front of a wonder of the world.
This was also something I had been obsessing over since childhood. The Egyptian periods. The pharaohs. The history I’d read about, studied, turned over in my mind for decades. I was finally standing inside it instead of reading about it. That part — the part I’d anticipated for years — landed exactly the way I hoped it would.
The contrast around it was just something I hadn’t anticipated at all.
Nobody Warned Me About the Camels Either
I need you to understand something about camels.
When a camel sits down, it does not sit down like an animal. It folds. Like a machine. Like someone hit a button and all the mechanical parts started contracting in sequence. The legs go, then the body drops, then the whole thing settles and locks in like it was engineered to do exactly that.
It’s crazy and hilarious all at once and I genuinely could not process what I was watching the first time it happened.
And then there’s the face.
The facial expressions on a camel are completely out of control. Whatever they’re thinking, they are not hiding it. Full contempt. Full unbothered energy. Full “I have been here longer than any of you and I will be here after all of you are gone” locked in at all times.
You’re trying to have a moment in front of one of the great wonders of the world and the camel next to you is making a face like it has personally assessed your life choices and found them lacking.
Ride it. Not because it’s comfortable — it’s not. Not because it’s graceful — it’s not that either. But because nothing will snap you out of tourist mode faster than being on the back of an animal that moves like a Transformer and looks at you like you’re the weird one.
In a city that can sit heavy on you, the laugh matters more than you’d think.
What Happens When You Don’t Book in Advance
My sister got chiggers.
That’s the short version of what happens when you book a trip to one of the most visited cities on earth the way I book trips — which is to say, last minute, no plan, full confidence that it’ll work out.
The housing was mediocre at best. And by mediocre I mean chiggers were involved and we laugh about it now but we did not laugh about it then. That’s the kind of memory that’s hilarious in retrospect and deeply unpleasant in real time.
Here’s the thing you need to understand about me. I have booked flights to countries I didn’t know I was flying to until the night before. I have looked at a world map mid-trip, spotted a country nearby, and said “cool, let’s go tomorrow” — and then gone.
That’s how I ended up in Qatar once. I was already in the region, pulled up a map, saw it sitting there, booked the flight. Qatar worked out fine because not as many people travel there. Availability isn’t an issue. You can find genuinely nice accommodations with almost no notice.
Cairo is not Qatar.
Cairo has the pyramids. It has the Sphinx. It has history layered on top of history and millions of people flying in from everywhere to see it. When you show up last minute expecting to find something decent, you get what’s left.
We got what was left.
Book Cairo one to three months out. The good accommodations fill fast and the demand is constant. And if you have flexibility on where you sleep — a friend told me the best parts of Egypt aren’t in Cairo. Alexandria came up. I haven’t been but it’s on the list. The coast sits differently, they said. Better value, more relaxed, significantly lower odds of a chigger situation.
Cairo After Dark
Imagine this.
The bread is always fresh. I don’t care what time it is. I don’t care if it’s 2am and the rest of the world has been asleep for hours. Somewhere in the streets of Cairo someone is pulling bread out of something hot and it is fresh and it is real and the smell of it cuts through everything else the night is throwing at you.
Nothing prepares you for how tight it all is either. I don’t mean tight in a claustrophobic way. I mean tight in the way that communities used to be before everyone retreated behind doors and driveways and decided proximity was a problem to solve.
People here live close. Actually close. The kind of close where you know your neighbor’s schedule not because you looked it up but because you can hear it, see it, feel it through the walls and the shared street that belongs to everyone.
The villages don’t sprawl. They stack. They compress. And within that compression there’s a rhythm that actually works.
The mopeds never stop. You’d think at some point the streets would quiet, the conversations would move indoors. They don’t. The mopeds weave through at all hours, and the people on them are not rushing. They’re talking. Full conversations at low speed through streets still full of people doing other things.
Everyone is on their phone. Sitting on stoops. Walking. Leaning against walls in groups. Not hiding from each other — still present, still talking — but the phone is always somewhere in the hand or the eyeline. Cairo is ancient and wired simultaneously. That tension is everywhere once you start looking for it.
Did I feel safe? I wouldn’t use that word.
But I didn’t feel lost. And those are different things.
Jerusalem had me genuinely disoriented — the alleys twisted in ways that felt intentional, the tunnels swallowed you, the layout didn’t follow any logic I could hold onto. Cairo at night was unsettling in its own way but it was readable. The energy was loud but it wasn’t hostile. People were living their actual lives around me and I was just something moving through it.
Not safe. Not lost. Somewhere in the middle of those two things, walking through streets that smelled like fresh bread at an hour when there was no reason for bread to be fresh.
What I Found That I Wasn’t Looking For
I found the best earrings of my life in Cairo.
I don’t know how else to say it. The kind of find that makes you feel like the trip justified itself in a single moment. One of them I lost during a country line dancing session later — which is a sentence I could not have predicted writing about a trip to Egypt, and yet here we are. The other one I still have.
And this was my first time on the continent of Africa.
Not just Egypt. Africa. The continent itself. I’ve been to 60+ countries. The Middle East is practically a second home. But I had never set foot on African soil before Cairo, and something about that landed differently than I expected.
It wasn’t dramatic. No lightning bolt. But there was a quiet significance to it — standing somewhere that had been part of human civilization longer than most of the world can comprehend, on a continent I’d never touched before, having arrived on a last-minute trip that almost didn’t happen the way all of this almost doesn’t happen when you let hesitation win.
What Cairo Actually Is
Some trips are planned. You arrive knowing roughly what you’re walking into and the trip delivers somewhere in the range of what you imagined.
Cairo was not that trip.
Cairo is not a city that softens itself for you. It doesn’t ease you in. It doesn’t apologize for what it is. It puts everything in front of you — the chaos, the history, the beauty, the contradiction, the guns, the camels, the poverty beside the wonder — and it lets you decide what to do with it.
I wasn’t ready for it.
The housing was mediocre. Someone got chiggers. The guns were unsettling. The contrast at the pyramids sat on my chest in a way that didn’t fully lift. I didn’t feel safe walking through it at night.
None of that cancels the experience.
Traveling doesn’t always provide ideal scenarios. It does always grant you the capacity for new experiences and growth. Not comfortable growth. Not growth that arrives with clean accommodations and a clear itinerary. Just the kind that happens when you put yourself somewhere unfamiliar and let it do what it does.
Cairo did what it does.
I’ll be back for Alexandria.
Next week I’m taking you somewhere new.