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The air tastes like dust: millians of motes are suspended in the air, blurring distant light. And there’s a tinge of gasoline on the wind blowing in through the open window.

The sides of the highway are subdued in sand-tones featuring hand-drawn scenes of the art and culture of a civilization long past. In stark contrast, the road itself is filled with neon. There must be no enforced laws concerning underlighting, a phenomenon I haven’t seen much of since playing Need for Speed: Underground.

There are uniformed police at regular intervals, and the driving is as bad as the rumors: stoplights, stopsigns, and even lanes are mere suggestions. When entering an intersection it is customary for drivers to flash their lights on and off to alert perpendicular traffic of their intention to cross at insane speeds, headless of the proper right of way.

The hostel is dimly lit at 2 AM. I’m glad I didn’t have to find it by myself.

I have arrived in Cairo.