Somewhere between Cairo and Paris, it became Sunday, at which point I became acutely aware that my Grand Egyptian Adventure was over. And, in case I needed a not-so-subtle reminder, the cold winds of Western Europe slapped me across the face for good measure as I stepped out of Charles de Gaulle and into my taxi. Speeding away from the curb, I silently crunched the numbers:

Thirty-one days + five domestic flights + four local cabs + two tuk-tuks + one quad bike + the most insane supper of my life = millions of memories.

For the second time in as many years, I’ve visited this legendary land of kings and queens and gods and pharaohs. And, after all the