So, I just got back from Giza, and wow—where do I even start? I thought I'd seen it all in travel shows and Instagram, but nothing could have prepared me for the real deal. I mean, the best things to do in Giza are right there, steeped in history and vibrant with life. But honestly? At first, I found myself wandering in circles, completely overwhelmed and wondering if I'd made a huge mistake coming here.
This spot? Total surprise.
Let's kick things off with the Great Pyramids, obviously. You can't just waltz into Giza and ignore these giants—they're like the rock stars of ancient architecture. I remember standing there, looking up, and feeling pretty small. The first moment I caught a glimpse of them in the distance, I thought, “Okay, this is it!” But when I actually got there? Admittedly, the sheer size threw me off a little. I had imagined something a bit… more defined, you know? I expected to be completely blown away, yet all I could think about was how I needed to snap the perfect selfie.
As I meandered around, I overheard some locals chatting—something about a hidden spot with a nice view of the Pyramids at sunset. I almost dismissed it. “Why would I want to know about some secret spot?” I thought, but thank goodness I followed my gut. I found the spot—a rocky hill away from the main buzz of tourists. And when I got there, wow! The sun dipped low, pouring golden light over the Pyramids. It was breathtaking. Suddenly, I was alone in this magical, timeless space. I just sat there for a while, soaking it all in. Funny how one little detour turned my mood from skeptical to stunned.
The afternoon that changed my whole mood
And then there's this quirky little café I stumbled upon. Honestly, I wasn't expecting much. You know those places that look a bit rundown, like they haven't been touched in decades? That was this café. But I was starving and too curious to pass it by. I plopped myself down at a table—and right away, I was hit with the smell of spices and fresh bread.
I figured, what the hell—I ordered a koshari, which I had heard of but never tried. When it arrived, I was taken aback. It looked like a chaotic pile of rice, lentils, pasta, and that tangy, spicy tomato sauce drizzled all over. Now, I'd never consider myself a picky eater, but this was a visual adventure. I took my first bite, and—wow, let me tell you—that was a revelation. Each bite was so comforting and delicious! It was like all my worries about the day melted away. I remember thinking, “Is this what happiness tastes like?”
As I sat there, I met a local named Galal. He noticed my struggle with the Arabic menu, and we ended up chatting for hours. We talked about everything—from Giza's rich history to our personal lives—and I learned more from that one afternoon than I thought I would in the entire trip.
I almost missed this, no thanks to my bad sense of direction
Now, I've got to confess—my sense of direction is the worst. I almost missed the Sphinx. Like, I needed a map, a guide, and maybe a miracle to get there, and I still ended up wandering into some odd back alleys. It's funny because, in the midst of all this wandering, I stumbled upon a tiny market. I was initially just looking for a shortcut, but it was packed with color and so much energy!
There were vendors selling handcrafted jewelry, spices piled high in vibrant mounds, and the air was a chaotic mix of laughter, shouts, and the occasional call to prayer. I picked up some fragrant spices—cardamom, cumin, and a blend I couldn't name—and even snagged a little necklace with a scarab charm. I don't know why I ended up there, but it all felt so serendipitous, you know?
Eventually, I found the Sphinx, and wow, it felt smaller than I imagined but still somehow powerful. There's something about these ancient wonders that carries an aura of majesty, and I was glad I didn't miss it.
A moment of doubt or surprise
Of course, there were those moments of doubt that hit—I had some wobbly interactions with taxi drivers, confusion over prices, and the usual travel hiccups. One evening, I found myself scouring for dinner and ended up at an overpriced tourist trap. After paying far too much for a meal that was mediocre at best, I stepped outside feeling a bit defeated, like, “What am I doing here?” I always thought of traveling as this seamless fun ride, but it's messy, it's human.
But then I found myself looking up at the stars—really bright, twinkly stars over the desert—and suddenly, I remembered why I was there. This isn't about perfection; it's about the messy journey, the serendipitous encounters, and even the mistakes that add character to the experience.
Reflecting back
Now that I'm wrapping up this coffee chat, the lingering impressions of Giza are still swirling in my mind. From the awe-striking pyramids to the chaotic market and that life-changing meal, everything felt so real and vibrant. Each moment was laced with the unpredictable beauty of travel. I don't mean to say it was all sunshine and roses; there were confusions and misfortunes sprinkled in. But isn't that what makes life—and travel—worth it?
As I sip my last bit of coffee, I'm left reflecting on how sometimes you've got to lose your way just to find something unexpected and spectacular. The best things to do in Giza aren't just the iconic landmarks; they're the heart of the place—the people, the chaos, the laughter, and even the moments that catch you off guard. I think that's what I'll cherish most about this trip.
