The bay remains open, and Alexandria remains as warm and welcoming as ever. The beacon on the Mediterranean dims, but it is far from extinguished.

In Luxor, The great river flows on, and life, in all its forms, persists without end.

Aswan never seeks the spotlight; most often, it plays second to nearby Luxor. But on the proud banks of the Nile, its quiet humility has completed it. It is like a jewel, hanging low at the southern tip of the Nile, heavy with the weight of time.

Cairo, to me, should have been like a middle-aged gentleman—dignified and refined in a tailored suit, having seen the world’s splendors, nostalgic for lost times, yet guarding a quiet grace in his silence.