#TBT | The Night I Left Egypt, For Good

*This is an excerpt from my diary just before I left Egypt for the last time. The six months that I spent living in Dahab on the Red Sea coast, working in a tiny little hotel, was one of the happiest times of my grown up life. Much later, after several sad goodbyes, a few naps, one enormous packing session and a good old scrub up of my soon to be ex-bedroom, I left Alf Leila Boutique Hotel for good, in the middle of the night. Over 36 hours later (after near misses with wandering camels and actually missing a connecting flight, a whole accidental day spent exploring the streets of Istanbul on two hours sleep and eating so much Turkish delight that I could've puked) I was back in my hometown.

I don't know how to feel. Nostalgic. Sad. Happy. Relieved? I go through all of them and more everyday. I'm leaving Dahab (for who knows how long) today. I'm so excited to go home. Be in my old bed, have all my things, eat delicious food and the joy of a steady internet connection. I'm relieved to escape for a while, escape the (few) creepy men and the (often) annoying sales tactics. The rubbish (everywhere), the stray dogs and cats (that break my heart) and the underlying threat of terrorism (no matter how small).

I'm sad because I've been here so long that Dahab genuinely feels like home. I have friends here, a routine. A job that I like, a home that I love. I have a favourite cafe, a gym membership, a yoga class, a sunbathing spot on the promenade. I know the best beaches to go to and where to get the nicest ice cream after an afternoon of sun escaping. I'll miss swimming in the sea everyday and eating sweet french toast for breakfast at the bakery downstairs, chatting to my little Bedouin friends and spending evenings watching crappy tv shows, eating junk, with Mieka and going barefoot all the time. 

And I'm nostalgic because that is a permanent feature in my life. Because I know that nothing stays the same, and even though that's a good thing it makes my heart twist in all sorts of semi-unpleasant ways. Part of me wishes that my savings would last forever, that Mieka was staying longer, that my parents where still coming and that I could pause this moment right here.

The last six months of my life have been fairly spectacular. I don't remember ever feeling this free, but it won't and can't last. I feel safe here. And comfortable. And as nice as that is, I'm ready for my next adventure.

Things are too comfortable. I need to feel that uneasy thrill of the unknown. The underlying stress of solo travel, when I only have myself to rely on. Meeting new people, pushing myself beyond my limits so I can change into a different person, but so slowly that I don't even realise it's happening until I look back on the me from six months ago and no longer recognise her.

I've changed in lots of ways since I started to travel. I've lived. More than I have for a really long time. I've grown up, a lot. I've changed my mind about things, including travel, and I suppose life in general. Life is not a list to tick off. Travel is not about bucket lists and world's best lists and seeing as much as possible as quickly as possible. Travel is about experiencing things for the first time and that doesn't mean what I thought it did.