My journey from Ireland to Egypt yesterday began as it was destined to end – with delays.
But given what’s happening elsewhere in the world, I actually felt more patience than usual. Either I’m maturing like a fine whiskey, or the bar has simply dropped that low.
First up: the Dublin-to-Cairo flight took off about 30 minutes late. No big deal. The real torture wasn’t the waiting – it was the in-flight entertainment. Long flights used to be fine, but now the movie selection is mostly Hollywood drivel that bores me within 20 minutes. I’d rather watch a screensaver of a bouncing logo. At least that’s honest about going nowhere.
Surprisingly – the lamb dinner was really good. First time I have ever been able to say that about an in-flight meal.
Arriving into Cairo, we entered what I can only describe as a philosophical holding pattern. Circling the airport for about 30 minutes while the screen confidently alternated between “7 minutes to landing” and “25 minutes to landing” – a kind of existential game where time itself became optional.
Row 39 ensured I had absolutely no illusions about a swift exit. My usual tactic of making a dignified but determined move toward the front was clearly not on the cards. Behind me, an Egyptian gentleman was expressing his feelings in low, muttered commentary – the sort I would normally be providing myself. It was oddly comforting to hear it outsourced.
The problem? Three buses were needed to ferry all of us from plane to arrival hall. But, apparently, only one bus existed. I assume the other two were off winning some kind of Cairo traffic lottery. So the single bus took one load, then a second load, and by the time it came back for the lucky souls in row 39? You guessed it – about another 30 minutes had elapsed between the doors opening and row 39 actually exiting through it.
Surely, I thought, that must be the end of it.
But no, that was not the end of the delays. In 25 years of shuttling between Ireland and Egypt, I have never stood so long in a passport inspection queue. How long? You’re getting good at this: about 30 minutes.
Finally, I cleared immigration control. No checked luggage. I was free! Or so I thought. In the past, after immigration and bags, you simply walked out to the taxis or to meet your driver. Not anymore. To my horror, I saw several rows of weary travelers being herded through the “nothing to declare” section of customs inspection. Every single passport was rechecked. Every single bag got a jaundiced eye, scrutinised with a level of suspicion that suggested we might all be smuggling something deeply interesting. Most were sent to a huge scanning machine that looked like it had judged thousands before me.
I stepped up. The officer looked at me. “Where you come from?”
“Ireland,” I said, with the innocent smile of a woman who has already missed three imaginary connecting flights.
He waved me through. No scanner. No bag search. Luck had remembered my name.
I would normally end a day like this completely exhausted and at least mildly dangerous to be around. But here’s the strange part – this time was different. I didn’t lose my temper. Not once. I found myself simply watching it all unfold, as if I’d accidentally upgraded to a more evolved version of myself without being consulted.
Somewhere between Dublin, the endless circling over Cairo, the heroic single bus, and what felt like a three-act performance of queues, I seem to have acquired patience. Or possibly just surrender. That quiet realisation that sometimes… it is what it is and things could always be worse.
My driver, who had been waiting since 20:45 and didn’t finally collect me until 23:10, greeted me with a smile that suggested he knew something I didn’t. And indeed – the day wasn’t quite finished with me yet.
At the hotel: no drinking water, no internet, and a television that might as well have been a piece of abstract art for all I could do with it. Morning brought its own surprises – no running water at 6am and a shower with a slippery floor, apparently designed as a test of balance and faith. At this point, it felt less like inconvenience and more like a gentle message from the Universe: “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
But of course, that’s not where the story ends.
Because somewhere between the absurdity and the acceptance, a far more useful thought arrived –
How do I make sure my clients never have to experience this, given the new regulations?
NOTE: Yes, I could have arranged an escorted airport service for myself, just as I do for my guests. But the only way to truly understand how things work and what changes is to go through them exactly as you would – step by step, as if for the first time, from airport arrivals to tours and departures. That’s how I find the gaps, and that’s how I make your experience smoother.
If you are planning a trip to Egypt – contact me first for my tips on getting through the airports quickly and comfortable, and the three different options I provide – email me maraegypt@gmail.com
Last updated on 09/04/2026 by Marie Vaughan