For three days of the year each May, Egypt’s Red Sea resort town El Gouna transforms into a hedonistic alternate universe–one governed by non-stop pounding electronic music, where parties go on until the next day, and sunburnt European tourists are living their best lives. Last week, I was invited to attend the 11th edition of the Sandbox Festival, and the second I saw I’d be boarding the region’s first-ever party plane (a direct flight from Dubai to Hurghada, no less), my answer was an immediate yes.
For context, I’m not a music festival person. I am actually as introverted as they come, and my idea of a perfect weekend includes being non-verbal in my room, lost in a show or a book. But something about partying 30,000 feet in the air intrigued me. The one-way flight dubbed Airbox—organized by Escape Code, an Egypt-based luxury travel concierge, and Sandbox Festival— was to take off on May 7 from Dubai’s Al Maktoum International Airport (DWC) and land in Hurghada, Egypt, where we would take a 30-minute transfer to El Gouna, where the open-air festival kicks off on May 8 and runs through May 10. In addition to a direct flight to Hurghada from Egypt—which doesn’t exist yet—those who purchased the flight also received a festival pass and a ride to El Gouna from the airport for AED 2,126 ($579).
On the day of May 7, I packed my bags—and by packed, I mean I hurled an assortment of random clothes into a suitcase and hoped for the best—and made my way to the airport. When I got there, I genuinely thought I was in the wrong place. This wasn’t Dubai International Airport, that’s for sure. According to some people (and I haven’t verified this, so take it with a grain of salt), the Al Maktoum Airport sees about two flights per day—meaning that it was a ghost town (the staff must be so bored all day!) I walked down to the check-in desks and was relieved to see the lineup of enthusiastic party-goers, who clearly, had already begun pre-drinking. I was definitely in the right place.
The excitement was tangible—I had so many questions: Where was the DJ going to set up? Would there be strobe lights? What happens if there is turbulence? The whole thing felt surreal in the best way possible. Like a real life episode of Atlanta, which captures more than any other show, in my opinion, the reality of living in a world that doesn’t feel real.
As we boarded, the energy was already electric—people were mingling in the aisles, someone had brought a portable speaker (spoiler alert: this becomes crucial later), and everyone was in full festival mode before we even took off. It may have been a charter flight, but it felt like there were no rules.
That is, until there were. The flight ended up being delayed by a couple of hours after (surprise, surprise) authorities swooped in last minute and insisted that the crew keep the DJ’s speakers in cargo for the entire duration of the flight, despite all the government permits and approvals sought months beforehand. Organizers tried their very best to fight it, but no luck. Still, the party must go on… Enter: the guy with his portable JBL speaker. A true man of the people.
@milleworlddotcom a time was had #sandboxfestival #elgouna #egypt #partyplane #fyp #sandbox #airbox #dubaiparty ♬ original sound – milleworlddotcom
Now, this is where things got very interesting. Unfortunately for you, dear reader, I’m not going to go into details about what happened during those three unhinged hours. Let’s just say that what happened on Airbox, stays on Airbox.
I landed in one piece at the Hurghada International Airport around three in the morning (appreciate the concern, Lovin Dubai comment section) and was whisked away to my home for the next two nights: the Steigenberger Golf Resort, a five-star escape perched right on the edge of the Red Sea’s ridiculously clear, almost-too-pretty-to-be-real waters.
After a few hours of sleep, some much-needed caffeine, and a moment of existential reflection (Was I really in Egypt for a rave?), it was go time. I arrived at Sandbox around 11:30 PM (the last set ends around 5AM) after an adventure-filled day, exploring El Gouna via a boat and, very casually, a light aircraft. The festival was already in full swing, packed with festivalgoers dressed in crochet, mesh, and dusty boots ready to dance, sweat, and lose track of time entirely alongside some of the most revered DJs, which included ANOTR, Ricardo Villalobos, Bibi Seck, Deer Jade, Parallelle, and Nesta, among many others. Notably absent from the lineup was German-French DJ Marie Montexier, who was removed from the festival following online backlash over her pro-Israel statements (good riddance!)
@milleworlddotcom @Sandbox Festival was a movieeeee #sandboxfestival #elgouna #elgounaredsea #escapecode #egypt #fyp #musicfestivals #trendingaudio #summerfestival #redsea #parallele #techno #housemusic #electronicmusic ♬ original sound – milleworlddotcom
Overall, the 2025 lineup read like a who’s who of the global electronic scene—equal parts underground credibility and crowd-pleasing favorites. Across five stages nestled between the desert and the sea, each set brought its own mood and vibe, so if you weren’t feeling one, you could just wander a few sandy steps over and fall into a completely different soundscape. One minute you’re deep in a minimal techno trance, the next you’re dancing to a funk-infused house set. At one point, I was dancing next to a guy waving a neon-lit hand fan covered in mushrooms, while a very inebriated woman yelled “Yallah! Yallah! Yallah!” at two very confused French DJs who clearly had no idea what was going on.
Throughout the night, I kept running into nearly everyone from the party plane. Each encounter felt like a real-life reenactment of the Spider-Man pointing meme—eyes widening, fingers outstretched, silently screaming: “You!” We may have been strangers before Airbox, and we’ll probably never cross paths again, but there’s something weirdly tender about sharing a chaotic, unhinged flight-slash-rave at 30,000 feet. Sorry guys, like it or not, we’re bonded for life.
I left the festival after a couple of hours, telling myself I’d pace things and go all in the next day—after a solid night’s sleep, of course. But if you thought I actually got any rest, you’d be sorely mistaken. By midday, I was being whisked away to a Sandbox yacht party on the Red Sea. The three-level boat came with a live DJ, free-flowing drinks, and partygoers still in yesterday’s outfits dancing like sleep is a myth invented by people with office jobs. At one point, my social battery flatlined so I quietly slipped away from the crowd and found an empty, dimly lit room below deck—possibly a crew cabin, possibly a hallucination—where I sat completely still and non-verbal for a solid 20 minutes. No music, no small talk, just me and the hum of the engine below me. Then, like clockwork, I reemerged, sunglasses on, back at the party like nothing happened.
By the time I made it back to the hotel, I was drained—But I had made a vow to myself. This was my second and final night at Sandbox, and I wasn’t going to let it pass me by horizontal in a hotel robe watching people’s stories from the festival I was supposed to be at. So I showered, changed into the outfit that made me look the least bloated (it was a neon orange mini dress from IAmGia) that I could find in my chaotic suitcase, and headed back out into the night—exhausted, yes, but as a wise philosopher once said (Drake): “I’m here for a good time, not a long time.”
I arrived at the festival sometime after midnight, just as the energy was hitting that sweet spot. The air had cooled into a perfect breeze, thick with dust and the distant scent of something… vaguely herbal. I was running purely on fumes and French fries. I did a quick lap around the five stages before landing at the main stage around two—where Amsterdam-based DJ Duo ANOTR would be playing for the next three hours.
I wish I could go into vivid detail about their set, but it was quite literally a blur. Was I just dehydrated or having a spiritual experience at Sandbox? One track folded into the next, and before I knew it, hours had passed. I’d somehow made it through the full three hours—miraculously—still standing. Against all odds, I kept the vow I made to myself. Character development?
By the time the music wrapped and the crowd started to drift off in the soft blue light of early morning, I felt like I’d survived something—barely. My phone was dead, my feet hated me, and my social battery had completely flatlined. Sandbox broke me and healed me simultaneously. Would I do it all again? Ask me after 12 hours of sleep, three electrolyte packets, and a back massage. But yes. I’m still not a music festival person—but apparently, I am a party-plane-to-Red-Sea-rave-until-sunrise person. Who knew?
