EGYPT

LUXOR

I didn’t sleep well in my rolling cabin and arriving in Luxor at 6 a.m. was a trip in itself. The train station—and everything around it—was falling mapart. As mostly locals got off the train, it struck me that I was probably carrying more money than some of them would earn in a lifetime.

Outside, half a dozen cabbies immediately surrounded me, shouting, “TAXI! TAXI!” I had no plans and no idea what to do, so I pulled out Google Maps. The Nile was less than a mile to the west. Tip: looking at your phone while being harassed by taxi drivers makes them think you’re calling an Uber or meeting someone—they backed off.

I started walking through the eerie, abandoned streets of early morning Luxor. Trash was everywhere. For the first three blocks, a taxi driver followed me on foot, yelling, “TAXI! TAXI! I take you!” Eventually, he gave up—we were too far from his car by then.

By 6:30 a.m., the only signs of life were a few scraggly cats and dogs picking through garbage. As I neared the Nile, I quite literally stumbled upon the entrance to LUXOR TRMPLE!

At last, a human approached—a security guard in fatigues. I asked him when it opened. 

“Seven,” he said. That’s in six minutes!

I paid the 500 EGP—about ten bucks—and strolled into the 3,400-year-old structures virtually alone, in absolute awe. It was one of those rare moments where you stop and realize: this is it—you’re truly in the moment, and it deserves to be cherished.

I couldn’t help but imagine that the ancient rulers of this once-great civilization might be watching as I explored the remnants of their world. It felt surreal, even spiritual.

The only thing that seemed oddly out of place were several hot air balloons rising above the West Bank of the Nile. I had no idea that I’d be in one of those balloons just 48 hours later.

I didn’t sleep well on the train, and arriving in Luxor at 6 a.m. felt like stepping into another world. The station—and much around it—was crumbling. As mostly locals disembarked, I realized I was likely carrying more money than some might earn in a lifetime.

Outside, aggressive taxi drivers swarmed me. With no plan, I pulled up Google Maps. Pro tip: looking at your phone makes them think you’re calling an Uber—they backed off. I started walking toward the Nile, trailed for blocks by one persistent driver on foot until he gave up.

The streets were eerily empty, strewn with trash. At 6:30 a.m., I unexpectedly found myself at the entrance to Luxor Temple.

A guard told me it opened at 7—just six minutes away. I paid 500 EGP (about $10) and entered alone. Standing among 3,400-year-old ruins in silence was a powerful, almost spiritual experience. It was one of those rare, unforgettable moments of pure presence.

Oddly, the only modern sight: hot air balloons drifting above the West Bank—one of which, I’d soon discover, I’d be riding in just two days later.

My plan was to walk 2 km from Luxor Temple to Karnak along that which is called Sphinx Avenue because it is surrounded by 807 Spinx sculptures.

After the terrible dinner and breakfast on the train—and feeling the onset of dehydration—I found an air-conditioned café and ordered two Americanos and four glasses of orange juice to revive myself before the two-kilometer hike to Karnak.

Feeling refreshed, I stepped outside and was approached by a frail-looking man with a horse and buggy. He looked at me and called out, “Karnak?”. 

It was meant to be.

“How much?” I asked.

“Four hundred,” he said.

With the sun blazing and the heat rising fast, I agreed and hopped in. His English was minimal, but he did his best to point out landmarks along the way.

My plan was to walk the 2 km from Luxor Temple to Karnak along Sphinx Avenue, flanked by 807 ancient statues.

After the train’s awful food and feeling dehydrated, I stopped at an air-conditioned café for two Americanos and four glasses of orange juice. Revived, I stepped outside—only to be greeted by a frail man with a horse and buggy.

“Karnak?” he asked.
“How much?”
“Four hundred.”

With the sun already blazing, I agreed. His English was limited, but he cheerfully pointed out landmarks as we trotted toward Karnak. It felt like the right choice.

Upon arrival, the driver asked, “Where next?”
“Valley of the Kings,” I said.
“I wait,” he offered.
“No plans,” I replied. He didn’t understand and pointed to a shaded area with other drivers. “I there,” he said.
I shook my head and walked to the ticket office.