I actually don't know how I got here, in Buttfuck,Egypt

and other lessons on how travel opens your intuition

I found myself at 31 years old, with a master’s degree and a successful business under my belt, crying beneath my custom-made ray-ban sunglasses at the train station in Edfu, Egypt today, begging my driver to take me to Luxor, though it turned out he didn’t have the permit to cross regions in Egypt (this was after the fact that it was already offered to me the night before at 10 pm, after the unforeseen time limit of 9 pm when drivers could get the permit, or so they say).

I have tons of stories of my travels to share, and maybe I will here on substack, but for now, all you need to know is that this was certainly not my first rodeo. I spent three years in India on lower-class trains, hitchhiking around India, Nepal, Peru, Vietnam, Eastern Europe, and more places, all in search of an adventure (or a feeling, I’m pretty sure I was numb and didn’t know it back when I was 22). So how did I end up like this? Well, partially because I grew out of my incessant need to budget travel and haggle and live as the Romans do, and partially because the Romans I’d been rubbing elbows with the past few years are artists and entrepreneurs in LA and digital nomads at the peaks of their careers.

I have been on a 2-month journey processing my grief of 14 deaths, 3 strokes, and 9 endings of important relationships, all within 2 years. (well, the strokes were a year before, but there was a gap).

I walked the Camino de Santiago, I fell in love again, I re-energized my business in Ibiza, saw old friends, and made new friends; and now I was in Buttfuck, Egypt, all because a voice told me she was Isis, 4 years ago, 2 days before my mother’s strokes.

And I wanted to see what the fuck that was all about.

She taught me many important things, but I wanted to be closer to her energy, to better understand her world and teachings, and perhaps, better understand myself.

I began this journey down in Aswan, where her temple lies near Philae Island, the Island of Isis where I stayed for a few days in utter solitude (no really, I had no wifi, no data on my phone, and the people at the hostel abandoned ship. Thankfully it was peaceful and quiet and safe, but not without a few bricks being shat).

Although the journey of my connection with Isis and Horus and the crew is for another post, I came to Egypt with tons of people telling me it was illegal to meditate at the temples. What a bizarre thing, but I could see if it were a group that could be seen as ritualistic and confusing for other patrons. I didn’t want to join a tour group because as I said, not my first rodeo. What did Woody Allen say (I know, cringe), that he wouldn’t want to be a part of any club that would allow him? I sort of feel that way about groups, I just don’t like the dynamics that happen, I always feel uncomfortable or left out, and I just do better in one-on-one or small groups rather than big ones— unless I am leading them and can safely exit the dynamics.

So alas, I told my friends I was rawdogging Egypt and here we were, in Buttfuck itself.

I mean that with great respect to Egypt and the Egyptians, please forgive me if things don’t translate well with this joke.

In Philae Temple, I meditated, and a guard found me. He asked if I was finished, and I asked if I could stay a while. He said yes, and that it had to be a secret. I had a huge grin and sent a big thumbs up, I was stoked because Isis and I were balls-deep in a conversation that needed to continue for the sake of my future.

Well, this same guard then showed me other places to touch the stones and the hieroglyphics. Okay, cool, seems ok. Then we went into the sanctuary, and he noticed that I was shaking (another story, for another day) and he also placed his hand on the temple and started shaking. Well, he was standing right next to me, showing me where to touch the temple, as my back was up against the wall and he was in front of me.

I swear to God. Every woman knows that to gently yet firmly get out of a situation without letting them know you are scared (because it could get worse) is an ART.

Thank God I have so many years of art school under my belt.

Well, I snuck out of there, unscathed, but confused. What were the odds that this dude had a kundalini awakening and wanted to feel connected to another being like himself?

Or maybe it was bullshit and he was making a move?

Maybe he was really spiritual and sensitive and felt the energy of the temple.

No idea, but nobody’s backing Baby into a corner.

So I continued on, and another guard saw me touching the walls. I sprung back, afraid I was going to get in trouble. He shook his head, and walked me to a corridor, and said to touch there, not out in the open for everyone to see. Cool, ok, well the open stone was telling me to touch it, not this one, but I get it, keep it hidden.

He walked me to the back of the temple to show me the art on the outside— also dope. He offered to take a photo of me, I thought okay sure I don’t have any, so he did, and I was on my merry way.

Except that, after I turned and paced away a few steps, I noticed he unbuckled his belt (this was a guard, in uniform, with a gun mind you. So was the first guy). He peered back at me, and may I tell you I swiftly moved and looked away faster than he could pull anything out. I thought about telling someone, but barely anyone was there and I was alone. So I just went on my day.

It sucked a bit because every time I get dysregulated it’s harder to connect with the energy. So Hathor’s temple was numbing to me, but that was okay, I was going to Dendera in a few days anyway, and I would have time for her.

The next day, as I made my way through Aswan to another Isis temple, I told my driver I would walk to the ferry to Elephantine Island since it was a 5 minute walk away. On my walk over, a kid not older than 20, through his red basketball shorts, was jerking himself off staring at me. That, was uncomfortable. I had had enough dicks flying towards me in the past 24 hours to last a lifetime.

Fast forward a day or two to Edfu, where as I walked around and felt Horus with me deeply, listening to his wisdom, a guard? a man? a… I don’t know his role, but he was there, and he was following me the fuck around.

God. Dammit. Can I meditate and look at art in fucking peace?

Wherever I went, I would turn and see his face peering. His dark skin against his blue and yellow striped shirt, and white pants like the guards would wear.

I would have some moments, and he would appear, and I would be on the run again, like a fugitive.

By the end of this, my driver was meant to take me to the train station in Edfu, as I mentioned, he didn’t have the permit. I tried to tell him I would pay, but he wanted to charge me $200. He was out of his damn mind. So alas, the train it was. There would be a VIP or Air-con train for foreigners. Even if it was more expensive, my safety was worth it.

Well, I was too afraid to go into the station at first. I desperately needed water, I was nauseous from little sleep and a bumpy car ride, and anxious from being followed by a man moments prior. On top of the amount of dicks that were whipped out around me, I was starting to get why all my friends thought I was nuts for not booking a tour, like a normal person, in Egypt. Well, I for one was not going to add to the tourism industrial complex, I was going to experience real Egypt, because I was a real traveler.

Well, we get to the station, and not a soul, including the driver, speaks English. I used Google Translate to ask him to help me get a ticket multiple times. Finally, I understood that I needed to buy it on the train. Okay, cool, the station doesn’t sell tickets, only on the train, that’s fine…

And the real traveler that I am, I felt myself clinging on to this man, only due to the familiarity and safety of his car, begging not to be left alone. There was not a woman in sight— a tool I used in travel scenarios like this, is I stick with women and children, if men are with the family that is okay, but if I don’t see women around, it’s not a safe place. I told the driver I didn’t see any women and I didn’t feel comfortable. He walked me to the train station, told me this is where the foreigners stay (on Google Translate, thank you Google Baba), and sat with me until my train came (bless his soul). He also connected me with a man who was a train conductor, a family man with a woman and her teenage daughter, and told me they would take care of me until I got to Luxor.

The train came, and I sat on the dirty, smelly seats, immediately understanding I was on an Ordinary train which was for Egyptians only. It reminded me of the general class trains in India, as I walked on I was half expecting my ass to get grabbed, but it never happened thankfully. I sat with the woman and her daughter, they offered chips. and I stayed with my phone, as I was texting a friend since I was in the train station to calm myself.

I told my friend I had been crying, and he being an African man who lived in Egypt, didn’t have the same issues I was having, so he stayed with me to make sure I was ok, as I shared my location (thank you Google Daddy) and texted him as I gave myself a UTI holding in a liter of chugged water so that I didn’t have to even look at the bathrooms on this train.

How I used to sleep on floors of trains like this in India amazes me. That 22-year-old was brave and adventurous, and this 31-year-old is bougie, sensitive, and stubborn as hell.

Thankfully, this family took me in as one of their own, and when we got to Luxor, the dad even grabbed my hand, walked me to the entrance, and made sure I had my driver there for me taking me to my hotel, and my god. My faith was renewed.

This would keep happening in Egypt. I would feel abandoned, like I did on Philae Island being totally alone in the hotel with no connection to the outside world, but then met with such deep kindness and love that my mind was blown.

It was never about the money, it was always about doing the right thing, whether it was refunding me because they didn’t have a working shower and abandoned ship, or whether it was about making sure I felt safe with a woman’s presence, it was the exact opposite of the tourism industrial complex that poisoned people to think that you were a walking ATM (the Egyptian government included, it costs $120 to take a train from Cairo to Luxor. You heard what those trains are like— even with an AC, it’s not $120). This greediness, looking at tourists like they are monkeys in a circus, is by far one of the most disgusting things I’ve faced here. (That, and men whipping their dicks out every minute— especially the guards with guns. That shit is scary, even for an American who’s seen a gun or two before.) Egypt isn’t the only place like this, tons of countries have this culture, especially when the economy depends on tourism. However, this isn’t the real Egypt, this isn’t the real culture. The love I experienced of the Nubians in Philae Island, or the Arab mother on the train, was the Egypt I was falling in love with.

So as my nervous system got shocked into tears, and opened into the deepest love and expansion, with truly some of the kindest people I have ever met in the world, I have to say, I don’t think I have ever hated and loved a place so intensely, all at once.

I guess that’s what happens in Buttfuck, Egypt.