4:50 am: waiting for the sun at Abu Simbel

I'm sitting on a bench, huddled in my jacket, watching the eastern sky gradually lighten. It's 4:50 in the morning, and I arrived at Abu Simbel 20 minutes ago. The security guard looked at me with mild confusion when I showed up in the darkness, but he just checked my ticket and waved me through. I'm the first visitor here today.

The temperature is hovering around 10°C, and there's a light breeze coming off Lake Nasser that cuts right through my layers. But I don't mind. I've been dreaming about this moment for weeks.

The massive façade of the Great Temple is still shrouded in darkness, the four colossal statues of Ramses II barely visible as looming shadows against the night sky. But as the pre-dawn light slowly increases, I can make out more details minute by minute. It feels like watching a photograph develop in real time.

I came early for a reason. Yes, I know the site doesn't officially open until 6:00, but the security was already here, and they didn't seem to mind. I wanted to see these temples wake up with the sun, to experience them in the quiet before the buses arrive from Aswan. To have a moment alone with one of humanity's most impressive achievements.

the journey here

Yesterday's bus ride from Aswan took about 3 hours. I dozed for most of it, having packed up my hotel room in exactly 19 minutes that morning. The landscape between Aswan and Abu Simbel is stark desert - beautiful in its emptiness, but not varied enough to keep me awake after the previous days of exploration.

I checked into a simple guesthouse near the temple complex yesterday afternoon. The owner, Mahmoud (a different Mahmoud than the gardener in Aswan), explained that most tourists come on day trips and leave by early afternoon. "You are smart to stay overnight," he told me. "Morning is magic time here."

He wasn't exaggerating.

waiting in the dark

I count seven minutes until the official sunrise, though the sky is already painted with streaks of deep orange and purple. I'm sitting completely alone with one of ancient Egypt's most spectacular monuments. The only sounds are the occasional bird call and the soft whisper of the wind.

It's in these quiet moments, sitting in darkness waiting for light, that I feel the weight of time most acutely. These temples were built over 3,200 years ago. They stood in their original location for millennia before being moved block by block in the 1960s to save them from the rising waters of Lake Nasser after the High Dam was built.

I think about the contrast between my visit to the High Dam a few days ago and sitting here now - one representing modern Egypt's infrastructure achievement, and the other ancient Egypt's artistic and spiritual legacy. Both impressive in completely different ways.

first light

The sun is starting to break the horizon now, and the effect is immediate. The façade of the Great Temple begins to glow with warm golden light, the four seated figures of Ramses II emerging from darkness in all their 20-meter glory. Their faces are partially damaged, but their imposing presence remains undimmed by the centuries.

I take photos, but I know they won't capture this feeling - the stillness, the gradual revelation, the sense of being impossibly small in front of something so ancient and enduring.

The Temple of Hathor dedicated to Queen Nefertari sits to the north, smaller but equally impressive in its own way. The morning light is just beginning to touch its façade, where six colossal statues (four of Ramses II and two of Nefertari) stand in eternal guard.

plans for the day

In a couple of hours, the first tour buses will arrive from Aswan, and this tranquil experience will transform into something more crowded and hurried. But for now, I have these temples to myself, and I plan to savor every minute.

Later today, I'll explore the interior chambers, where I've read that twice a year (February 22 and October 22), the sun's rays penetrate to illuminate specific statues in the innermost sanctuary. While I'm not here on one of those special days, I'm curious to see how the light plays inside the temple even on an ordinary December morning.

I'll spend the full day here before catching a late afternoon bus back to Aswan. From there, I'm considering heading north to Alexandria, though part of me is also drawn to the idea of crossing into Jordan. The restlessness hasn't quite caught up with me yet - I think the majesty of this place has temporarily stilled it.

But for now, I'm content to sit in the growing light of a new day, watching as the sun continues its ritual illumination of Abu Simbel, just as it has done for thousands of years. In the face of something so enduring, my 500-day journey seems like the briefest of moments - 115 days gone, 385 still ahead, all of them as fleeting as this morning light.

The air is warming slightly now. I pull my jacket tighter and wait for the sun to fully rise.