I visualized the trip for months. And now here I was – crossing the Adriatic, the Ionian and the Mediterranean Seas on the boat from Venice in Italy, through Syria, to Alexandria in Egypt.

My dream had become a reality, but for the first week or two I was mentally worn. I carried a lot of emotional baggage and was in a low spirit. I missed my daughter and wife and all that routine of home. I wanted to quit hundred times. But I knew that if I give up, those feelings and thoughts wouldn’t just go away. The cost of quitting would be a lifelong purgatory, a state of regrets. I’d be trapped in the knowing that I surrendered. So, I needed to drag myself through the early stage of the trip.

To add to that, being on the boat was physically uncomfortable at times. Very uncomfortable. The Mediterranean Sea was roaring and I was seasick for good portion of the passage. I realized that even though there would be plenty of hard days, I valued the overall experience enough to preserve.

The sight of the coast of Syria rising up out of the horizon felt relieving. But, as I was to learn soon, the Hand of the Fate had different plans. The boat had never taken me to the land of the Pharaohs. But that’s a different story.