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I dived my hand through the inside sleeve of my backpack, searching for my passport. As my fingertips brushed the navy-blue cover, I released my breath. From here on out, it’s just me, myself and I, I tell myself. A seventeen-year-old Australian female, alone. My future was unclear, and my safety net had diminished the moment I brought the one-way bus ticket into the unknown. No longer within the sheltered bubble of resort life and my vacation job that I decided to expand from. I now walked the tattered streets of Cairo, crowded with locals celebrating the end of Ramadan month. “Nonsense you’re in Egypt now!” My new companion graciously shrugged as he handed the money over to the bus driver to compensate for my exceeded luggage amount. I had only met him five minutes earlier and he was refusing to let me pay him back. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I repeated “Shookrun Katear” (Thank you so much) for as many times as he’d allow me to. The crescent moon hung in the air just between the highest point of the mosque and my destination, the night air hugged me as I walked towards the square. Pushing my sleeves a little further up my arms, I looked up again and there it was, the sight I had come to see. Khan El Khalil’s aura was unmistakable. My eyes frantically darted from each market stall, to the dozens of cobbled medieval buildings within the square, frightened that I would blink and miss a glance. The sounds of traders making deals and working in their wares grew louder as I drew closer, the myriad of colourful lights swath the alleyways and stalls. Hundreds of faces reflected on the coloured ornaments, I couldn’t help but dream of a house of my own decorated with those treasures. As I wondered through the magic that was Khan El Khalil, I learned that the buildings were hundreds of years old and stores had been passed down families from generation to generation. The heavy stares from what felt like everyone were undeniable, I drew plenty of attention probably because I hadn’t spotted a single other westerner in the area that night. I took a deep breath and relaxed myself into conversation with the admiring locals. Generosity poured from them through their actions and complimenting words. They sought nothing in return and believe me, I insisted on returning. However, I was met with a slap on the hand by a gentle faced lady, when reaching towards my purse in attempt to repay her. From gifts, to tours, to affection, to food and drink. I was left with a content stomach and a bag filled with gifts, without spending a single pound. My new friend, a store owner took my hand and swept me through the Souk, engulfed by sudden scents of cinnamon, cumin, spice and saffron, laced with gurgling shisha smoke and spicy Turkish coffee. Festivities continued on until the morning light and I embraced every moment, joy radiated from every individual and contagiously latched onto me. I danced through the crowds and parted ways with many. Translucent waves stung my eyes the entire night, in the end, my heart was full to the brim. I experienced God through everyone I had crossed paths with. I was shown so much hospitality and kindness in a nation so undeserving of the stigma that has been placed on it, growing up in Australia. We were interconnected, the people and I, regardless of the obvious religious and cultural differences, I was welcomed. As comfortably as the petite Arab woman welcomed me, a stranger into her home. I welcomed the anticipated unknown. Would I run out of money and be stuck in Egypt? Or would I make a way to stay? I didn’t know, but that was no longer on the forefront of my mind. The bustling streets of the megacity that is Cairo, had captivated my full attention.