Not every chapter of Egypt is written in hieroglyphs. Some are etched in the sands of El Alamein.
I’ve explored many parts of Egypt over the years, but visiting El Alamein was something I had long wanted to do. It’s not one of the country’s great temples or pharaonic wonders, but it holds a different kind of weight, quieter yet no less powerful.
El Alamein is a name etched in history as the site of two pivotal battles during World War II, where Allied forces halted the Axis advance across North Africa. The cost was immense, tens of thousands of lives lost along this stark stretch of coast. Today, the landscape holds their memory — war cemeteries and memorials that feel almost out of place amid the vast silence that surrounds them.
The drive from Alexandria alone was worth the journey, open, coastal, and almost entirely empty. The Mediterranean accompanied me most of the way, its calm surface belying the ferocity that once filled this horizon. That stillness set the tone for the day.
Standing at the memorial, I felt the strange intersection of history and serenity. The breeze, the vastness, the sense that time has softened what was once unimaginable, it all lingers. El Alamein doesn’t ask for attention, it simply asks for presence.
It’s not a stop polished for tourists, and that’s precisely its strength. It invites reflection, not performance. Stillness, not spectacle. And for anyone drawn to history, remembrance, or simply a place that makes you stop and whisper wow, El Alamein is an extraordinary stop, moving, unexpected, and unforgettable.
This wasn’t a typical sightseeing day. It was a personal pilgrimage, one that stayed with me long after I left. A quiet reminder that travel’s most powerful moments rarely announce themselves, they simply wait for us to arrive.