Fifth Journey Day 105: The Boat Leaned Too Far

Date: August 21, 2025
Location: Alexandria, Egypt

I arrived in Alexandria this morning, and the first thing I noticed was that the air felt different from Cairo's. The heat is still there, but the sea water makes it less intense. I could smell salt and fish mixed into the dust. It was a heavy, restless scent. The horizon looked blurred, as though the sea and the sky had not yet decided where to separate.

I spent two quiet hours walking along the Corniche. The stone wall next to me felt warm under my palm, like it had been touched by the sun. The waves pressed against it steadily, without hurry, leaving dark patches of wetness that dried almost immediately. The traffic on my other side was moving quickly and making a lot of noise, but the water helped balance it out. I felt stuck between two different rhythms.

People moved in small groups: a man leaning against the railing, two children chasing each other, women walking slowly with bags of fruit. I didn't look for stories in them — I just noticed their outlines and how they filled the space between the sea and the street. There was a small fishing boat in the water, and its rope was pulled tight against the current. I looked at the boat for more than I expected. Maybe I was looking for something more stable.

The light here is softer than Cairo's bright light. It doesn't make everything bright, but it gently scatters, catching the spray and turning the edges of the water into silver. I thought of paper soaked with ink, how the ink spreads in different shades across the fibers.

I felt less like a visitor and more like someone listening at the edge of a conversation that wasn't meant for me. That felt right for today — not to intrude, not to demand, but to wait long enough to let the air shape my thoughts.