Travel Writing (Travel Articles)

Floating in the Desert: Three Days in Siwa Oasis

Nine hours. That is how long it takes to drive from Cairo to Siwa, and by the sixth hour, as the last petrol station disappeared behind us and the road melted into a shimmering line of heat, I was beginning to wonder whether the oasis was real at all. Then, quite suddenly, it appeared: a dark green island of palm trees floating on an ocean of sand. If you have ever doubted that a place can take your breath away, Siwa is waiting to prove you wrong.

I made the journey last spring with my father, my older brother Karim and my cousin Ziad, who had promised us "the best holiday of our lives" and then fallen asleep before we had even left the city. We drove west along the coast road to Marsa Matrouh, where we stopped to eat grilled fish beside a sea so turquoise it looked painted, before turning south into the Western Desert. The final stretch was long and empty, yet strangely beautiful. Rocky hills gave way to rolling dunes, and at one point a lone camel watched us pass with complete indifference.

Siwa itself feels like a town that has quietly refused to hurry. Donkey carts rattle along dusty lanes, children wave from doorways and the air smells of warm dates and woodsmoke. Above the town rise the ruins of Shali, an old fortress built from blocks of salt and mud that partly melted in a rare, heavy rainstorm about a hundred years ago. Climbing its crumbling walls at sunset, we watched the whole oasis turn gold, then pink, then a deep, velvety blue. Nobody spoke. Nobody needed to.

The moment I will never forget, however, came on our second day. Our guide drove us deep into the Great Sand Sea in an old four-by-four that groaned at every slope. Halfway up an enormous dune, the engine coughed, the wheels spun and we slid slowly backwards until we were stuck fast. For a few anxious minutes, the silence of the desert felt anything but peaceful. Then our guide simply laughed, handed each of us a shovel and announced that we were now "real desert explorers". Twenty sweaty minutes later, we were free — and Ziad, finally wide awake, was sandboarding down the very dune that had trapped us.

If you visit, do not leave without floating in one of the salt lakes just outside the town. The water is so salty that you cannot sink even if you try; you simply lie back and drift beneath a sky without a single cloud. A word of advice: keep your eyes closed and never rub them afterwards!

Siwa is not a place you simply visit; it is a place that slows you down until you notice everything. I went expecting a long drive and some palm trees. I came home with sand in my shoes, a sunburnt nose and a memory of silence that I still think about. If you are tired of crowded resorts and noisy cities, take the long road west. The oasis is real, and it is worth every one of those nine hours.

Luxor: Where Every Stone Has a Story

Imagine walking along an avenue lined with stone sphinxes, each one carved more than two thousand years ago, while the call to prayer drifts across the Nile and the evening sky turns the colour of apricots. This is not a film set. This is Luxor, a city in southern Egypt often described as the world's greatest open-air museum, and if you visit only one place in your lifetime, it should be this one.

Begin on the East Bank at Karnak, a vast temple complex that was built and rebuilt over many centuries. Nothing prepares you for the Great Hypostyle Hall. One hundred and thirty-four gigantic columns rise around you like a forest of stone, so tall and so tightly packed that the sunlight falls between them in narrow golden beams. Look closely and you will see that almost every surface is carved: kings making offerings, gods in tall crowns and rows of hieroglyphs as crisp as if the sculptor had left yesterday.

From Karnak, follow the Avenue of Sphinxes, an ancient road almost three kilometres long, to Luxor Temple. Try to arrive after dark; that is when the temple is at its most beautiful. Lit from below, the temple glows amber against the black sky, and its towering statues seem to watch you as you wander between them. It is, quite simply, magical.

The next morning, set your alarm early — painfully early. At dawn, hot-air balloons rise silently over the West Bank, and from the basket you can see the bright green ribbon of farmland along the river end abruptly at the golden desert cliffs. Hidden in those cliffs lies the Valley of the Kings, where pharaohs were buried in tombs cut deep into the rock. Inside, the corridors are cool and hushed, and the painted ceilings still glow with blues and yellows that have survived for more than three thousand years.

Luxor is not only about the past, though. Take a felucca, a traditional wooden sailing boat, across the Nile at sunset and let the wind do the work. Wander through the souq, where the scent of hibiscus and cumin hangs in the air and friendly shopkeepers will expect you to haggle. Visit between October and April, when the days are warm rather than scorching, and carry plenty of water: you will walk much further than you think.

Some places you see, and others you feel. Luxor is both. It will fill your camera with photographs and your head with stories, but above all it will remind you how short one lifetime is beside the patience of stone. Pack your bags, book your ticket and go. The pharaohs have been waiting long enough.