I left Jordan by way of what was advertised as a ferry. In reality, it was a cargo ship that crossed the Red Sea each night, porting in Egypt.

Before boarding, I had the most surreal customs experience of my life. After running my bags through the x-ray, they asked me to take out all my vitamins. The officer frowned – no labeled bottles, apparently a problem – and told me I had to step aside and wait for someone to verify them. 

I was escorted past passport control and into a small room, where they offered me a cigarette and coffee. One of them lit up – I’d never seen someone smoking inside a government building, no less among the No Smoking signs posted everywhere. I couldn’t help but laugh.

The officers chatted with me while I waited. They taught me some Arabic phrases. Eventually, a man arrived and inspected my vitamins which officially cleared me of suspected drug trafficking. I was sent back through customs with about twenty minutes to spare before departure.

Once stamped out of Jordan, I was told to walk straight ahead to find the ship. After walking for a bit, I saw trucks loaded with cargo backing in and out of a huge boat. I climbed up the ramp myself and hoped I was in the right place. I was, and inside, a worker led me into a large room where Egyptian passport agents sat beneath the Arabic signs. Very few English speakers were among me.

I put my bags down, relieved I was (probably) in the right place. People were sleeping on the floor. Cigarette smoke thickened the air. Groups of men laughed loudly over dominoes and cards, gambling late into the night. Around 11pm, the ship began its crossing. There was constant noise for the whole four hour trip – coughing, laughter, the slap of dominoes. One broken door slammed open and shut with the rocking of the ship.

At 3am, we docked.

Immediately upon stepping out into the Nuweiba port, I was swarmed by taxi drivers shouting prices and destinations. I waved them off, looking for one person: Ahmed. He was my Airbnb host in Nuweiba and offered to pick me up himself. I finally spotted him and climbed into the wooden bed of his pickup truck. As we drove toward his seaside home in the middle of the night, the cool, salty air hit my face and I felt excited to see what Egypt had to offer.

Ahmed described Nuweiba as a spiritual place. Many people come to visit and some never leave. They come to retreat from society, meditate, and reconnect with nature, and end up staying – just as he did. Over the few days of my visit in Nuweiba, he made me herbal teas for healing and barbecued fish he’d spearfished himself, packed with nutrients.

One afternoon, Ahmed handed me snorkeling gear and led me into the Red Sea. After swimming about two hundred feet from shore, we were floating above a coral reef bursting with color. Tropical fish darted around beneath us, and I saw a wild stingray slowly gliding along the bottom – the stingray was my favorite part! The waves were rough, though, and I swallowed so much saltwater.

He also showed me a spot on the beach where you can see Israel, Jordan, and Saudi Arabia all at once. It was like those “see three states at once” viewpoints, but cooler. My American mind couldn’t comprehend that you can do that with countries.

After a few nights, I was in the pickup truck bed again, almost late to catch a bus to Dahab. The ride was only an hour, but still memorable – like when I looked up from my phone to realize the bus was driving on the wrong side of the highway for several minutes. Or when the driver lit a cigarette without opening a window, slowly fogging the front half (my half) of the bus with smoke. This is Egypt, though.

I did arrive safely in Dahab, a city on the southern part of the Sinai peninsula. I dropped my bags in the hotel rooftop tent that would be my home for the next week. That night, I had dinner with Heity, my volunteer manager. He’s a guy that is so relaxed, the hotel staff would slap his beer belly whenever he walked by. I spent Thanksgiving eating an Egyptian food platter – scooping shared dishes with bread instead of silverware.

Carmine Hotel felt like its own small world, maybe even a sitcom. A guitar-shaped swimming pool. A tiki-style bar. An artsy common area filled with music on some nights. There was Yousef, an older hippie who lived on the roof. Ayman, a professionally competitive Uno player. Adam, who rode bicycles barefoot. Mohammad, who spoke no English but patiently taught me Arabic anyway. And Nima, who told me he’d “give me his heart to keep me warm” when I asked for an extra blanket – this is Egypt. 

Volunteering at Carmine Hotel meant meeting local tour guides, and if they liked you, they’d invite you along for free. At sunset on my first full day, Maged handed me the keys to a four-wheeler and we took it through the mountains and down the beach – something most people pay money for.

They also showed me where to eat authentically. Every morning and evening, I’d buy three pita sandwiches: two with falafel and cheese, one with beans and eggs. Delicious, and enough to keep me full for hours. The total cost? 75 cents. Total, not each.

After eight days in Dahab, I boarded a minivan bound for Cairo. Since the Sinai Peninsula has a history of terrorism, the roads are lined with police checkpoints. We were stopped fourteen times, I counted – IDs always checked, and sometimes they’d search the van or have K9 dogs sniffing for drugs or bombs. A six-hour drive stretched to almost ten.

When I finally reached Cairo, I had one of the first genuine culture shocks I’d had in a long time: the driving. Only in Cairo is it normal for cars to consistently drive in the wrong direction. Only in Cairo do drivers honk the horn and flash their lights to let others know they’re merging or passing on a six-lane highway, instead of just staying in lanes and using turn signals. People texted while weaving through lanes at full speed. Traffic police were ignored. It was chaos, and I wouldn’t say the organized kind.

This is where I met Mando in person for the first time. A mutual friend had connected us after hearing I wanted to visit Egypt. Mando, born and raised in Cairo, invited me to stay with him and his family for two weeks. This is something so unique to hospitality outside of America – it’s hard to imagine an American doing the same for a foreign friend of a friend they’d only spoken to via Instagram.

But there I was, suddenly part of his household – parents, siblings, uncles, cousins. They told me stories of a distant brother-in-law who is a famous Egyptian movie star. They took me to rooftop restaurants owned by various family members, all with perfect nighttime views of the pyramids. 

Cairo is never quiet. My sleep was often restless, interrupted by constant noise. Each morning, Mando brought me breakfast (falafel and eggs) and detailed the plan for the day. Together, we rode camels around the Great Pyramids of Giza, stood before the Sphinx, visited the Grand Egyptian Museum – the largest museum in the world dedicated to a single civilization – and saw King Tut’s mask. We cruised down the Nile River. We attended wedding celebrations.

Cairo is one of the most unique cities I’ve visited. It’s relentless, chaotic. Gritty. Alive at all hours. I understood this fully one night when Mando said he needed a haircut and called his barber at 1am. The barber answered, said the shop was busy and told him to come in the morning instead. By the time I woke up, Mando already had a fresh cut. Does this barber never sleep? I asked. Emma, you’re in Cairo, was Mando’s response.

It was so fun. His family welcomed me completely. We shared meals every night, and they made sure I never wanted for anything. His sister would lend me clothes for nights out and told me her wedding is next April. I was invested – adamantly. Egypt is messy, loud, generous, unforgettable. Sometimes when it’s too quiet at night, I find myself missing the distraction of beeping cars and shouting street vendors. I’ll always be appreciative of the strangers who made space for me in this foreign city.

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