I’m standing alone in Cairo airport, watching the sun rise over the
desert construction site. I am almost there, almost in Dahab. I’ve done it. I am a Goddamn traveller. I, Molly Nurse, am a motherf*cking badass.
Okay, at this point I should definitely take this story back a few steps. Why was I standing in an airport, in Egypt, at dawn you ask? Well that is a really bloody good question. We should rewind a little.
See technically, this particular story started the previous afternoon when I boarded a train from my local station, my leftover worldly possessions jammed into a backpack that I knew was too small for my clothes but the perfect size for my ego (58 Litre FYI, that’s right I’m a REAL BACKPACKER), waving goodbye to my parents, while both my mother and I quietly sobbed like the emotionally unstable females that we are.
Three trains, many hours and one almost panic attack later, I found myself at Heathrow airport, where the lovely lady at the EgyptAir check-in desk would look at me with genuine concern and ask why I, a young, naive British girl, was going to Cairo. Alone. I reassured her that this was simply a stopover, a small change of plans I’d had to make, not to worry, I’d be safely heading for tourist central, Sharm el-Sheikh, straight away. Tbh, she seemed as unconvinced as my parents had been.
But I got on that plane anyway and that, friends, is what I was doing standing in front of an airport window in Cairo at dawn. Waiting for my final connection. But the previous afternoon is not actually where this adventure began. I didn’t actually decide to run away to Egypt on a whim. That would be literally insane. No, this adventure started months before, technically years I suppose, but that's a different story.
To Be Continued...