Four a.m., my eyelids basically glued together, I stumbled off of Turkish Airlines and proceeded to wander towards the exit and enter a part of the world foreign to most westerners— the Middle East, Egypt.
After fifteen months of asinine paperwork, including an October 2018 trip to the United Nations in NYC—and the momentary confiscation of my dive knife— I had finally reached my destination for graduate school. I picked up my bulging backpack from the conveyer belt only to realize my French press, pretty much the most important travel item for me, had been smashed into a million pieces. After locating an Orange SIM card and as much data as humanly possible, I grabbed my dive bag and gleefully walked right on through customs. A smile, a wave, and “mesa mesa,” from officials, I was in— much to every person’s confusion. “Why was this single, crazy, woman here and where’s her hair?”
Whatsup Egypt, you and I mare about to be real good friends— whether you like it or not. The application process for the Maritime Archaeology department had been a labyrinth of hellacious paperwork and any normal person would have been dissuaded and given up; I, on the other hand, have a gift—or curse— of unbridled determination and possibly improvident patience.
Outside of the airport, my cab driver greeted me and we headed towards my hotel, Pyramids Eyes. I had booked this hotel with the hope that I would wake up to the pyramids outside of my window. Sadly, I had unknowingly booked a corner room with no windows— but the rooftop had a stunning view of the pyramids and when I finally woke up at 3pm, my morning coffee was stunning.
After fifteen plus hours of travel, I was in no mood for guided group tours, “I just want a taxi to the pyramids, I’ll figure it out.” Much to of the dismay of management my itinerary was not any convential approach; they must have believed I was just your average tourist who wanted to walk up and snort some ancient history, and call it a day. That was a hard NOPE.
The gates close around 4:15 and I showed up at around 4pm, home girl was going to see the Pyramids, no matter what time it was. Onwards I flounced— my happy little self wearing beaten sandals, an attempted hijab on my head, some poorly fitting t-shirt, a long skirt, my coveted sunglasses, and my trusted sack from the Philippines.
Obviously, one of the tour guides was more than eager to show me around the pyramids. He must have figured out I was a bit more adventurous than the usual visitor and we ended up taking a camel out of the tour area, meandering through the streets of Giza and in search of some sheesha. This was when I first realized, I’m going to have a lot of people looking at me anywhere I go— but then again, I was some random hairless white chick riding a camel down Main Street.
“Can you ride a horse?” My guide, Hassam, asked.
“Yeah, I can.”
A few minutes later we had a pair of beautiful stallions and we were cantering off into the desert to watch the sunset. Brown cigarette in hand and the most beautiful sunset I have ever seen, the Pyramids on my right, the sun sank dreamily beneath the dunes— this was Egypt. A myriad of colors danced in front of my enamored eyes; pinks, oranges, reds, browns, and yellows—a painted desert glistened all of its eternal beauty to me. This was the beginning to the next chapter of my life, for a moment, this was home.
