Discover the best time of year, based on historical climate, temperature, and precipitation.
The best weather in Sīwah is from March, April, November. — consistent weather climate
🌡Hot & dry
| Score | 68 | 82 | 98 | 94 | 70 | 47 | 41 | 39 | 60 | 92 | 100 | 85 |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
| Climate | Mild | Mild | Pleasant | Pleasant | Hot & dry | Hot & dry | Hot & dry | Hot & dry | Hot & dry | Pleasant | Pleasant | Mild |
| Temperature | 8–18°C | 9–20°C | 12–24°C | 15–29°C | 20–34°C | 23–36°C | 24–37°C | 25–37°C | 22–34°C | 18–30°C | 14–24°C | 10–20°C |
| Feels like | 5–14°C | 6–16°C | 9–21°C | 13–26°C | 18–32°C | 23–35°C | 25–37°C | 26–38°C | 24–34°C | 19–29°C | 13–23°C | 8–17°C |
| Precipitation | 4mm 1 days | 3mm 1 days | 3mm 1 days | 1mm 0 days | 0mm 0 days | 0mm 0 days | 0mm 0 days | 0mm 0 days | 0mm 0 days | 0mm 0 days | 2mm 0 days | 3mm 1 days |
| Sunshine | 9.3h ☀︎ 89% | 10.0h ☀︎ 90% | 10.4h ☀︎ 87% | 11.4h ☀︎ 88% | 12.2h ☀︎ 89% | 12.9h ☀︎ 92% | 13.0h ☀︎ 94% | 12.7h ☀︎ 97% | 11.8h ☀︎ 95% | 10.4h ☀︎ 91% | 9.7h ☀︎ 91% | 9.4h ☀︎ 91% |
| Wind | W · 21 km/h | NW · 20 km/h | N · 23 km/h | NE · 23 km/h | N · 23 km/h | N · 23 km/h | N · 23 km/h | N · 22 km/h | N · 21 km/h | N · 18 km/h | NW · 16 km/h | NW · 18 km/h |
| Humidity (%) | 64% | 57% | 47% | 38% | 34% | 36% | 39% | 41% | 46% | 53% | 61% | 68% |
| Day length | 10.5h | 11.2h | 12.0h | 12.9h | 13.6h | 14.0h | 13.8h | 13.2h | 12.3h | 11.5h | 10.7h | 10.3h |
For three days each October, Siwan families camp together on the slopes of Gebel al-Dakrur to feast and celebrate the hi…
November claims the technically flawless weather on paper, but December is the true zenith: the autumn tour buses abruptly vanish, leaving you the ancient mud-brick fortresses and mirror-still springs in sublime Saharan solitude.
Five hundred kilometres west of the Nile, marooned between the towering dunes of the Great Sand Sea and the sunken wastes of the Qattara Depression, the oasis of Siwa exists on its own terms. For millennia, travelers made the punishing trek across the Western Desert to consult the Oracle of Amun, seeking answers at the edge of the known world. Today, the journey remains an act of pilgrimage, but modern visitors face a timing riddle that standard travel advice gets subtly wrong. Conventional wisdom herds travelers into the mid-autumn rush for its balmy afternoons, yet the real soul of the oasis only reveals itself when the crowd clears out and winter settles into the palm groves.
Every standard weather chart will tell you to book November. The temperatures then are undeniably golden, but that statistical perfection comes at the cost of packed desert tracks, busy springs, and a lingering convoy of tour vehicles kicking up chalk dust across the oasis. December, by contrast, pulls off a brilliant sleight of hand. The visitors disperse almost overnight, lodging availability opens up, and the oasis regains the hush that made it legendary in antiquity.
You trade away a sliver of afternoon warmth for total peace. Daytime temperatures settle into crisp, invigorating clarity, where cycling along dirt lanes flanked by olive groves feels effortless rather than draining. You can scramble through the labyrinthine mud-brick remnants of Shali without hearing a single voice, watching the salt-and-clay walls catch the pale winter light as if the citadel were abandoned only yesterday.
Evenings require an extra woolen blanket and a roaring fire of olive wood. The desert cools rapidly once the sun drops behind the dunes, and the chill in the air reminds you how deep into the Sahara you truly are. But dipping into a hot sulphur spring after dark, looking up through date fronds at a canopy of stars untouched by city glare, makes December's briskness feel like a gift rather than an endurance test.
Winter holds the oasis in a firm grip through January and February. The sun shines brightly through crystalline skies for hours on end, yet the air retains a sharp bite that surprises anyone expecting Egyptian heat. While crowds creep back upward compared to December, the atmosphere remains subdued, grounded, and slow-paced.
Midday is delightful for roaming on foot. The tombs hollowed into Gebel al-Mawta stay pleasantly cool rather than stifling, and the climb up the limestone terraces affords panoramic views across millions of date palms stretching toward the salt lakes. You will need real layers: a windbreaker for the ridges, a heavy sweater for the shaded alleys, and a serious coat for open-top desert excursions.
Swimming in unheated springs like the famous Cleopatra's Pool takes real courage now, as the water can feel brisk against the cold morning air. Instead, these months belong to long afternoon teas infused with desert lemongrass, slow walks to Fatnas Island to watch the water turn copper at sunset, and long conversations around smoking embers as dusk falls swiftly.
March is the quiet triumph of the spring calendar. The winter chill evaporates, replaced by mild, buoyant warmth that coaxes the pomegranate trees into leaf and sends gentle ripples across the brackish lakes. The heavy crowds of late winter drop away noticeably in March, creating a brief, glorious window where the climate rivals November but the trails remain remarkably unhurried.
By April, the desert begins to hint at the coming inferno. Days grow hot enough to make shade a necessity by early afternoon, driving travelers toward the freshwater springs to float under the canopy of palms. Tourist traffic rebounds as travelers seek out the spring warmth, filling the tracks toward the Oracle of Amun and the eastern salt pans.
Spring also carries a wild card: the desert wind. Occasional sandstorms can sweep in from the vast emptiness of the Great Sand Sea, blurring the horizon into a haze of pale dust and coating every mud wall in a fine grit. When the winds stay calm, however, few landscapes on earth feel more generous or alive.
By May, the oasis enters an endurance test that lasts five uninterrupted months. The sun beats down with ferocious intensity, baking the salt pans until they crack and bleaching the rocky outcrops into white bone. Walking through the streets between late morning and late afternoon becomes an act of folly; the oasis effectively hibernates behind heavy shuttered windows until twilight.
Midsummer is merciless. July and August deliver searing heat that radiates off the limestone cliffs long after dark. Oddly, August sees a sudden spike in visitors, driven by a deeply local ritual: domestic travelers arrive specifically to undergo sand therapy, burying themselves up to the neck in the scorching dunes around Gebel al-Dakrur to treat joint ailments. For anyone not seeking an intensive sand bath, the experience is overwhelmingly intense.
If you find yourself here in the hot season, your daily rhythm must adapt entirely to the desert. Rise at dawn when the air is still breathable, spend the brutal afternoons resting near a cool shaded pool, and save all exploration for the evening, when the heat softens just enough to allow a quiet wander through the palm groves.
October shatters the summer stupor. The oasis jolts into its busiest, most energized phase of the year as the desert heat recedes to pleasant afternoon warmth. The harvest of dates and olives begins in earnest, and the oasis fills to capacity with travelers chasing the first comfortable desert days.
October also brings Eid al-Siyaha, the Siwa Reconciliation Festival, when thousands of Siwan men gather on the lower slopes of Gebel al-Dakrur for three days of collective prayer, shared meals, and peace-making between clans. It is a genuine, deeply moving community tradition rather than a staged spectacle, but it guarantees that every room in town is claimed weeks in advance.
November follows with weather so flawless it borders on the divine: deep blue skies, gentle breezes, and effortless afternoon heat. It is easy to see why travel agencies call it the best month of the year. Yet the sheer volume of tourists in November strips away the very thing that makes this remote corner of the Western Desert so intoxicating: the feeling of having arrived at a forgotten haven on the edge of the dunes.