a trek through the desert: a botanist’s unfiltered diary from a city that’s mostly dust and regret

the sun hung low over the cracked asphalt, casting long shadows like the city was a tired old friend finally admitting defeat. i woke up to a weather app that said the temperature was exactly 16.91°c, which sounds romantic until you factor in the 94% humidity that turned my hair into a frizzy cacti hybrid. feels like the air’s been marinating in a pressure cooker set to 1017 millibars. anyway, nothing like starting day one of this trip with a reminder that evolution is a cruel joke,

"i told you not to bring those boots,"

she said, squinting at my muddy toe nails. she was some unlicensed street vendor selling questionable but necessity-adjacent sandal repairs near the souk. i’d asked her if cairo was safe, and she laughed like a hyena on tequila, muttered something about scorpion-infested mattresses, then tossed me a flyer titled “‘Cairo After Sunset: A Lewis Carroll-esque Horror Story’’ that was clearly sponsored by a mosques with a budget for neon LED calls to prayer.

"avoid the trains,"

my hostel roommate insisted, while chugging lukewarm mint tea and reciting the lyrics to a local pop punk band i’d never heard of. he was probably just trying to impress someone, but the point stuck. instead, i wandered the medina, where a barista at a dingy café called “‘The Donkey’s Lungs’” taught me that even mop water here has attitude. he’d slipped on a spot of misplaced dignity earlier that morning and blamed it on the humidity. “hi almost slid into a pyramid,” he sighed dramatically, as if confessing to a crime. “now i’m basically cursed."

-linking to sources feels weird when you’re writing about a desert where the only reviews are whispered over shisha smoke. but here’s what i found: someone on TripAdvisor ranked the pyramids as “‘overrated but worth the photos’”,

tripadvisor.com, which is fair. another person on Reddit swore by the kebab stand near the cllux cafeteria, calling it a “‘fire dreams” location”.

neighbors? oh, they’re tricky.

here’s a vibe map, but let’s be real-if you get bored, stumble east toward tel aviv. it’s two hours by car, maybe less if the roads decide to existentialize. alternatively, bratislava has a nice desert analog if you squint and drink three cups of cheap coffee. “‘i prefer my aridity with a dash of venetian baroque,’” reckons a friend who’s basically a tourist herself.

basically, this city is a lesson in contrasts. there’s ancient stone and flickering neon and baristas who debate whether Base Schriskrot is salary-worthy. I’ll take the wonder, even if it smells vaguely of burnt sesame seed and disappointment. maybe tomorrow i’ll hike to that ancient watering hole no one tells you about-unless they do. but honestly? Probably not.

the end. now excuse me while i Google how to say “‘barf bag on the sidewalk’” in Arabic politely.