Some dreams don’t fade.
They wait.
For most of my life, Egypt was one of those dreams. Not a passing interest, not a casual “one day”. It was lodged deep. Ancient history. Pharaohs. The Nile. A civilisation that shaped how humanity understood time, power, death and eternity. I read about it as a teenager. I wrote about it at school. I carried it quietly for decades.
And yet, like many lifelong dreams, it stayed safely in books.
It’s easy to admire Egypt from a distance. To marvel at photographs, documentaries and museum displays. It’s much harder to actually go. Egypt is not an easy destination. It’s complex, intense, noisy, chaotic, and demanding. Which is probably why the dream sat there for so long, quietly deferred.
Two years ago, just before my 60th birthday, Mardi asked me a simple question.
“What do you really want to do next?”
My answer came instantly. No hesitation. No weighing options.
“Egypt.”
If I hadn’t said it then, I’m not sure I ever would have. And that was the moment I realised something important. Sometimes dreams don’t need more planning. They need a decision.
So we committed. Not casually. Fully.
We counted down the days for 24 months.
What followed was one of the most extraordinary experiences of our lives. And one of the hardest.
This trip involved ten flights, eleven different beds, seven hotel changes, multiple countries, early mornings, long days, relentless movement, and constant sensory demand. Historically, that’s not how Mardi and I travel. We usually put down roots. We rent an apartment. We build familiarity. We create a cocoon. That’s how we manage my vision impairment and Mardi’s autism. Stability matters. Predictability matters. Sanctuary matters.
Travelling with disability changes everything.
People who travel without disability often don’t see the additional cognitive load involved. When there are two people with disability travelling together, the complexity doesn’t double. It multiplies. Every transition costs more energy. Every unfamiliar environment demands more focus. Every airport, every crowd, every unexpected interaction requires active management.
Take airports, for example.
Even with a highly organised operator like Viking, who did an excellent job supporting us, there are limits to what any tour provider can control. Security processes are what they are. Being searched by someone who doesn’t speak your language. Being told to turn left, open a bag, step forward, raise an arm, place a cane on a conveyor belt, stand on a box, all while managing paperwork, bags, crowds and noise. Add to that smoke-filled terminals, people playing videos on phones without headphones, conversations on loudspeaker in multiple languages, and constant aural clutter.
None of this ruins the experience. But it does tax you.
And yet, we went.
We chose Viking deliberately because we knew we needed structure, support and predictability. We needed our hands held at times, and there’s no shame in that. Premium travel isn’t indulgence when you live with disability. It’s access. It’s participation. It’s dignity.
What matters most is that we didn’t miss a thing.
With Mardi beside me, and with my brother and sister-in-law alongside us, we were able to fully immerse ourselves. We stood inside tombs carved four thousand years ago. We watched sunrise at Karnak. We drifted along the Nile. We walked through Petra. We stood before Abu Simbel. We experienced not just history, but presence. The dust, the heat, the sound, the scale.
This was not a passive trip. It required resilience. It required patience. It required us to do things while afraid.
And that’s the point of this story.
Some dreams demand comfort. Others demand courage.
Egypt gave us moments of awe that will stay with us forever. But more than that, it reminded me of something fundamental. Waiting until something feels easy is often the surest way to never do it at all. There will always be reasons to delay. Energy, health, confidence, timing. None of them ever align perfectly.
At some point, you decide anyway.
I’m glad we waited until we were ready. And I’m even gladder we didn’t wait any longer.
If there’s a place, an experience, or a dream you keep circling but never quite committing to, ask yourself one honest question.
If not now, when?
Sometimes you have to do things afraid.
That’s often where the real living begins.
You can read my full blog about the journey here (Egypt) and here (Jordan).
