Some destinations are worth the wait
When I was in 6th grade, I studied ancient Egypt, lucky to have a teacher who believed Egyptology wasn’t too grand a concept for such young minds. I became mesmerized by hieroglyphics—enchanted by a language made up of pictures rather than letters. Tales of jackal-headed gods, buried treasures, and linen-wrapped mummies crept into my dreams each night. I learned that the pyramids were built between 2589 and 2504 BC—a concept as unfathomable as infinity. Or black holes. Or trying to imagine my parents as kids.
So when my dad and stepmother planned a trip to Egypt that very year, I begged them to take me along. Despite my tears, I was left behind, simmering in the kind of jealousy only a pre-teen girl can summon.
Even then, I was impatient—a character trait that’s followed me from childhood into my mid-50s like a Labrador puppy.
I touched down in dusty Cairo over four decades later—a micro-blip in time by Egyptian standards, but a lifetime for my impetuous self. Would Egypt live up to my imagination? Were my twelve-year-old expectations of King Tut, Ramses V, and the pyramids best left in the past?
My takeaways from the Land of the Pharaohs were not what I anticipated. What I discovered in Egypt went beyond knowing the differences between Isis and Osiris, or that pyramids have four sides, not three. In Egypt, of all places, I learned how to slow down.
The next day, when our flight from Cairo to Luxor is delayed enough to upend our limited time sightseeing, I’m outvoted three to one in favor of bypassing Luxor Temple and heading directly to our hotel’s pool. I tamp down my disappointment with a scowl my kids can feel as much as see. My first battle with self-restraint. Egypt may have been an ancient monarchy, but our family is democratic through and through.
While it pains me to admit it, heading to Al Moudira is a wise decision. After nearly 36 hours of travel, it’s a respite I didn’t know I needed. The hotel grounds are a honeycomb of courtyards surrounded by endless hectares of palm groves and exotic gardens, all with the feel of a grand country house hidden on the Nile’s West Bank. The camouflaged entrance, off a dirt road with overgrown flora, immediately eases any anxiety I have about missing our first sight.
I don’t expect anything in Egypt to be this tranquil. Al Moudira’s inner courtyards have gurgling fluted marble fountains. Fig and olive trees hover delicately over uneven terracotta tiled floors. Dusty green palm fronds contrast the flat and cloudless blue sky. Arched walkways lined with jewel-toned walls complete the sanctuary-like aura. I grab my journal, find a seat under a stained glass window, and start collecting my thoughts.
If our flight had been on time, we would have spent upwards of three to four hours racing around Luxor, ticking temples off our list, and ending up at the hotel with just enough time to shower before dinner. The delay allowed us to appreciate the inspiring setting, feed the resident camels, and watch the sun set like a ball of fire over the desert.
The following morning, we set off for our first official sight—The Valley of the Kings. Inherently mystical and mystifying, the vast desert landscape ignites in me a toddler-like giddiness. Among these 60+ subterranean tombs, King Tutankhamun and Ramses V are buried. It’s here that Queen Hatshepsut built her perfectly symmetrical, design-forward funerary temple. And it’s here that I’ll finally lay eyes on the centuries-old sacred carvings of the afterlife—the hieroglyphics that long ago sparked my career in art.
While I knew that throngs of visitors would be joining us on this underground treasure hunt, I couldn’t have imagined how many wannabe models, insta-influencers, and selfie sticks I’d encounter. At each tomb entrance, my family joined the queue of pushy tourists descending towards the sarcophagus. Yet, instead of getting annoyed, my default emotion, I opted to go with the flow. This was unchartered territory for me, but it yielded worthwhile results.
I didn’t race through the tombs; I soaked up as many symbols, colors, and characters as I could. I stayed in the moment. Even as that moment sent me thousands of years into the past. I found stillness in the permanence of the hieroglyphics—following the symbols of the stories to tune out the frenzy around me.
After Luxor, we embark on our trip’s next phase: sailing up the River Nile. Aside from providing a contrast to the city chaos, sailing naturally forces us to slow down. The places we’ll be visiting, including Esna, Edfu, and Kom Ombo, are harder to get to and promise to be less crowded.
The Meroe is a dahabiya I discovered on Instagram—one of Nour El Nil’s iconic candy-cane-sailed fleet of traditional wooden boats. Over five days of sailing, we disembark along shallow riverbanks and walk to crumbling, sun-bleached temples and necropolises. We watch elderly fishermen in their rickety boats, with white egrets guarding the bow like sentinels. We pause idle chit chat as the call to prayer echoes above us. On the River Nile, serenity is an all-sensory experience.
There are 20 passengers on our boat, a mix of friends, couples, and families with young kids in tow. By day, the upper deck is our open-air living room where we sunbathe, read, sip mint tea, and play backgammon. By night, it’s our al fresco cocktail lounge and dining room. A place to sample Egyptian delights like koshari, a mix of pasta, rice, vermicelli, and lentils topped with chick peas and crispy fried onions.
Life aboard the Meroe is wonderfully lazy. Photo ops are plentiful, whether that be a passing sailboat or a water buffalo cooling off in the shallows. When we stop at a quiet riverbank, a soccer ball materializes, and within minutes, the passengers and crew are enmeshed in a lively barefoot match. The spectators include common cuckoos, darting dragonflies, and braying donkeys.
It doesn’t take long for the other passengers to recognize my bird obsession, though packing my own binoculars is a telling sign. They endure my bird chat and bird apps. A crew member gives me a laminated brochure of Egyptian species. I’m looking for the hoopoe, a bird I’d become fascinated with back when Sunday night Bird Bingo was a recurring family activity.
Hoopoes, with a distinctive crown of feathers that they can raise or lower at will, are widely found across northern Africa. But after days of searching, I’ve yet to see one. I try to keep my childish impatience in check. I’ve seen glorious birds along the Nile so far: Eurasian moorhen, purple herons, barn swallows, storks, egrets, gulls, and grebes. How can I complain? But the hoopoe eludes me. I’m determined to find one.
On our final morning, a woman named Amira wonders if I can help identify a bird she’s just photographed. I’m secretly pleased she has the faith in me to ask. I’m even a touch smug. I glance down at her Nikon, and my smug look disappears faster than you can say BINGO.
My coveted hoopoe. A lesson in humility, indeed.
Egypt is the kind of destination whose scale deserves the level of focus I haven’t had since middle school. For perspective, the Great Pyramid is 4600 years old, predating Cleopatra by 2000 years. How is anyone meant to absorb thousands of years’ worth of history in twelve days?
As it is, my family isn’t known for sustained levels of attention. So when we arrived at the newly opened Grand Egyptian Museum (GEM), it inevitably fell to me to inform our guide that we’d like the highlights reel. The museum’s collection includes 100,000 artifacts spread over roughly five million square feet. She’s just proudly recounted the story of a Canadian guest with whom she’d spent nine hours.
I ask if we can do it in less than two. She winces.
Knowing our travel style and its limitations is another piece of knowledge gained. Were there things in Egypt left undone? Surfaces barely scratched? Yes. But I can live with that, because the price we would have paid to rush it was too costly.
On a personal note, I vow to return and spend nine hours in the museum. If a Canadian can do it, so can I.
Egypt surpasses every expectation. The pyramids defy scale. King Tut’s 5,000 treasures render us speechless. The remnants of color in the temples and tombs remind me that, while we see Egypt in washed-out, faded tones, we can close our eyes and imagine the kaleidoscopic world it once was.
Upon reflection, I don’t think my twelve-year-old self would have appreciated Egypt. She wasn’t ready. Maybe the universe, and my parents, conspired to make her wait for a reason. Ahhh, Egypt had one final lesson in store: delayed gratification.
I know now that patience means letting go of control, accepting unpredictability, and allowing experiences to unfold in their own time. I can see now how my behavior back then was petulant, even irrational.
It turns out, my parents were right. It just took me 43 years to admit it.
