There’s no sign, as you drive the sun-broiled highway down Egypt’s Mediterranean coast, that announces where the Good Coast ends and where the Evil Coast begins. Good or Evil, the waves are the same pure turquoise, the sands the same flawless white.

But for Egyptians who summer on the North Coast, migrating there from Cairo just as New Yorkers converge on the Hamptons and Michiganders go up north, there is no mistaking which is which.

There’s Sahel el Tayeb, or the Good Coast, as Egyptians call it.

Simple, wholesome vacations, with little to do but play in the sea, read and relax. Body-covering burkinis and hijabs on most women. Unpretentious hotels and rental houses. Simple beachside cafes with plastic chairs and a few fresh seafood joints dotting the coastal highway. Every few minutes, hawkers pass the beachgoers’ colorful umbrellas with honeyed wafers called fresca and trays of clams, the time-honored snacks of Sahel summers.

And then there’s Sahel el Shireer, or the Evil Coast.

Million-dollar beachfront villas and Louis Vuitton bags by the sun loungers. J. Lo concerts and raves where Peggy Gou is D.J. Waterfront outposts of Cairo’s most upscale restaurants and boutiques. Bikinis, designer sunglasses and boho-chic cover-ups on most women. Less than an hour’s drive west from Good Sahel, the same fresca wafers and clams cost more than twice as much, and for the price of a weekend stay, you could splurge on a trip to St.-Tropez.

“It used to be: take four or five outfits and flip-flops and no makeup, that’s it,” said Aziza Shalash, 24, a graduate student who grew up going to Good Sahel until her family bought a place in Almaza Bay, the biggest influencer magnet of Evil Sahel. “Now when you go to the beach, you have to have your hair done and wear makeup and take pictures of yourself.”

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