Traveling Egypt as a Lesbian: What Surprised Me Most

I recently spent a week in Egypt with a queer friend of mine, and I want to share what it was like navigating the country as two lesbians—cautiously, but curiously.

We kicked off our trip with a few nights aboard the Jaz Viceroy, a Nile River cruise we chose after comparing what felt like dozens of nearly identical boats. We went with the one that looked the nicest in the photos, and luckily, it lived up to expectations.

Before the trip, we had done a fair amount of research about LGBTQ+ travel in Egypt. While homosexuality isn’t explicitly illegal, public expressions of queerness can be criminalized under broad "morality" laws. So we decided to be conservative in our presentation: we booked separate rooms and didn’t show affection in public. Both our partners couldn’t join, so it was just the two of us—and we aimed to blend in as much as possible.

To our surprise, the cruise staff was incredibly professional and unfazed by two women traveling together. It helped that they seemed used to hosting international guests. I was also worried about finding vegetarian food, but the boat staff handled it with ease. Egyptian cuisine includes plenty of lentils and vegetables, and I had multiple tasty options each day.

An unexpected delight was the tour group we were assigned to. It felt like fate—or some hilarious cosmic joke—that we ended up in the queerest little microcosm on the boat. Our group included us (two lesbians), a gay couple in their 50s (who were recently married and sharing a room), and a lovely family of four with two teenage daughters—one of whom gave off strong queer or non-binary vibes. We all got along well and exchanged stories in hushed tones over temple visits and bus rides. Among the many groups milling about the ruins, ours stood out for being quietly queer-friendly. It felt special.

After the cruise, we had just one night in Cairo together. My friend was on a work trip through China and had squeezed in this detour to meet me. We stayed at the Mena House Marriott, right by the pyramids. The front desk woman made a passing comment about being impressed by two women traveling alone—though we’re both in our 30s, so not exactly backpacking teens.

A quick note: we splurged on a “pyramid view” room, but it was definitely not worth the upgrade. The view was partially blocked by buildings, and the best angle was actually from the hotel restaurant—also obstructed. If you're going, save your money and just book a standard room.

We had read about a so-called gay bar in Cairo listed on Google Maps, but decided against visiting. Too many stories online warned about police sting operations and arrests under the guise of "public indecency." The bar had no photos or verified presence, and it simply didn’t seem worth the risk.

We spent the day seeing the pyramids—which, despite the tourist crowds and hype, truly lived up to the moment. Again, we felt safe. No one paid us any mind. I should add: we both present as fairly feminine, so we easily pass as straight. That certainly helped us stay under the radar.

After my friend left, I spent another few days solo in Cairo. I stayed cautious, stuck to Ubers for transportation, and mostly kept to well-trafficked areas. I never felt unsafe, but I was hyper-aware of my surroundings, especially without a travel buddy.

In the end, Egypt was beautiful, complicated, and full of stories—ancient and modern. As a queer traveler, you’ll want to be cautious. But if you're aware, discreet, and respectful of local norms, you can absolutely have a meaningful and safe trip.