Georgina Lunn

Written for SceneTraveller.com

Ditch Bali’s hype – Dahab’s affordability, culture, and vibe are quietly becoming 2025’s must-visit spot for digital nomads.

Okay, so I’ve never been to Bali or Dahab – but I’m trying to decide between the two. I’ve been deep in the digital nomad rabbit hole lately, trying to figure out where to go next, and honestly? It’s not as straightforward as I thought. Bali obviously has the rep: it’s kind of the poster child for remote work life. But then Dahab popped up on my radar, and now I can’t stop thinking about it. What started as casual research turned into a deeper dive into what really matters when choosing a place to live and work abroad. I figured if I’m asking these questions, maybe you are too, so here’s what I found.

In the age of remote work and romanticised relocation, choosing where to open your laptop has become more than a matter of Wi-Fi speed. It’s about context. For years, Bali reigned supreme as the capital of the digital nomad kingdom – equal parts surf and smoothies, spiritualism and startups. But in 2025, I think the tide is turning. And it’s not just shifting west – it’s shifting way west, to the windswept shores of Dahab, Egypt. 

It might sound unlikely at first: why would remote workers swap infinity pools and vegan brunches for camels, koshari, and coral reefs? But when I dug deeper, I found a compelling convergence of affordability, authenticity, and accessibility that makes Dahab not only attractive but inevitable.

The hard truth is, it is often the cost of paradise that matters most. So let’s talk numbers. In Bali’s beloved Canggu, rent for a modest villa can reach $1,200 or more per month, with full living costs climbing to $2,000 for the average nomad. Many of the best spots are no longer owned by locals, but by investors – foreigners profiting from the land without necessarily contributing to its cultural or economic sustainability. In Dahab, by contrast, long-term rent hovers around $200-400 per month, often for charming cottages just minutes from the beach. Add utilities, data, and dining, and many nomads report living comfortably for less than $600 a month. The difference? That money stays local. Property ownership in Dahab remains overwhelmingly Egyptian.

It’s not just about price, though; it’s about pace. In Canggu, development has raced ahead of regulation, and the atmosphere now leans more toward “startup expo with smoothies” than serene island life. English dominates. Locals are increasingly priced out. The spiritual retreats and ‘authentic’ workshops risk feeling like a theatre of enlightenment performed for an audience already scrolling for their next location. Dahab, on the other hand, is less performative, more participatory. Arabic rings through the streets. Cafés serve Bedouin tea instead of turmeric lattes. Expats are learning, not just living. This isn’t to say Bali has lost all its charm, but in many corners, it has become a curated version of itself. Dahab is still unfiltered. There are no WeWorks. No chains. No Uber. There’s Wi-Fi – fast enough, not flawless. And there’s coworking, often in converted rooftops or guesthouses with views of the Red Sea. But the real work happens outside. One morning might involve a sunrise dive at the Blue Hole, the next a jeep ride into the desert to work from a Bedouin tent, and the sand your ergonomic mat.

Visas, too, play a role in the shift. Indonesia’s complex and occasionally inconsistent approach to digital nomads – recently introducing an eVisa with steep income requirements – has turned what was once a casual setup into a paperwork maze. Egypt, for all its bureaucratic quirks, offers a simpler alternative: a $25 visa on arrival, renewable up to 90 days. And with the Egyptian pound in freefall, even modest foreign income stretches impressively far. One might argue that Dahab is the rare place where being underpaid actually feels like an advantage.

But perhaps the biggest pull of Dahab isn’t economic, it’s ethical. There’s growing fatigue in the nomad community around the idea of travel that feels extractive. Turning up in a country, cashing in on cheap rent, Instagramming its sunsets, then moving on without learning the language, supporting local businesses, or engaging with the community – there’s a growing desire to do better. To be present, not just passing through. Dahab invites that. Its small size and slow rhythm make anonymity impossible. You’re seen. You’re part of the rhythm. And while the digital nomad scene is growing here (Facebook groups, yoga nights, coworking dinners), it hasn’t yet tipped into territory where it drowns out the culture it enters. For now, it’s still rare to find avocado toast on a menu, but easy to find someone who’ll teach you how to make ful medames.

In many parts of Canggu, English has become the default – Balinese or Bahasa Indonesia is rarely heard. In Dahab, by contrast, Arabic still fills the streets and conversations every day, and learning it goes a long way. The beauty is, people will actually speak it back to you. Unlike in some places where locals switch to English the moment they hear your accent, many Arabs will patiently respond in Arabic, making it one of the most rewarding places to genuinely pick up the language while living in it.

Of course, there are questions about longevity. How long before Dahab “does a Bali”? Before co-living developments and resort-style wellness centres arrive, inflating prices and paving over the slow charm that makes it special? Regional instability – wars, travel advisories, risk-averse investors – may ironically preserve what commercialisation might erode. Whether that’s a blessing or a curse depends on who you ask.

For now, Dahab isn’t trying to be the next Canggu. It’s too quiet. Too real. But that’s precisely what makes it worth watching – and visiting. Because in 2025, the best nomadic lifestyle isn’t about who’s got the fastest Wi-Fi or the most followers. It’s about finding a place where you’re not just working from somewhere – you’re living within it. Dahab doesn’t need your Instagram. But you might need its perspective.

So, if you haven’t been able to tell already, I’ve chosen Dahab – and you should too.