Hold The Dream

In 2010, getting to Abu Simbel meant joining a mandatory pre-dawn police convoy from Aswan—an orderly, diesel-scented caravan slipping into the Nubian Desert at 4 a.m. On our small bus, pilgrims half-slept through incense, eucalyptus, and hard-boiled eggs while the road cut through a lunar emptiness that felt like pure amnesia. Then, just before arrival, we stopped to watch the sun detonate over the horizon, turning groans into reverence. Abu Simbel rose from the rock like a

Walk through the Aswan souk—spices, hibiscus, and a reckless pile of strawberries—plus practical food safety tips for Egypt.

An obscure tomb in a ghost village on Luxor’s West Bank invites a traveler to reckon with what it means to release someone—and why we rarely do. You don’t come to the tomb of Amenemonet expecting grandeur. No giants. No polished hieroglyphs. Just a slope of dust behind the ruins of a king’s forgotten temple, a cracked entryway yawning from the heat, and the promise of a dead priest who wanted to live forever.​ Tomb, TT277, is tucked into the abandoned village of Qurnet Murai