Once upon a time...

Day 297

Milage 26,415 (42,264 km)

The Nile confluence bridge, Khartoum

I am currently in the small mountain town of Lalibela, home of so much more than the rock hewn churches for which it has become famous. The sound of an engine is rare, cheerful music and the rumble of distant thunder fills the air. Days begin slowly with the crowing of roosters and delightful birdsong, and nights are accompanied by the chirp of crickets and the occasional barking of dogs. The people are friendly, eager to talk and quick to smile, there are children everywhere, marching to and from school or playing with homemade toys in the streets, always asking for pens or pennies from the tourists that wander by. Time has slowed, jobs get done when those that do them are ready, no sooner, no later. The pace of life is so relaxed it is contagious, my original plan to stay for two nights has now been stretched to three and I still haven’t decided if I will move on tomorrow. And then, of course, there are the churches, hewn from solid rock and frozen in time they are a sight to behold. Connected by an intricate network of pitch black, subterranean tunnels and winding stairways each one is still in use and pilgrims descend upon this town from far and wide to worship in the cool air within. Each day around noon a haunting chant echoes through the air as services commence and the faithful gather to offer their prayers and devotions.  

Tea time on the road

I spent several days more than I had planned to in Khartoum, the presence of a couple of over-landers from Greece, Georgia and Nikos, who were coming to the end of their two year African odyssey, made for good company and a perfect opportunity to pick up a few tips about some of the regions I would be traveling through. While there I was able to obtain my Ethiopian visa with relative ease and explore some of the large markets around the edge of the city. As with the rest of Sudan I was constantly struck by the kindness of its residents. On a hot afternoon as I strolled across a bridge into the older part of the city with my new Greek friends we were all feeling quite dehydrated when a truck carrying bottled water drove by. I gestured to the driver that a bottle would be nice and he unexpectedly stopped while his passenger ran across the busy road to give each of us a free sample. Later that same day we stopped at an old fun fair near the Nile confluence to ride the dilapidated ferris wheel and were soon surrounded by locals eager to have their photographs taken with us.  With only a few days in a city getting a feel for the layout is always a challenge and asking a taxi driver is often the easiest way to get directions. Typically, in other cities, they would insist you get on board so they can take you there but in Khartoum they will help you as best they can and expect nothing in return. Unfortunately there are times when some of the directions will be questionable but they would rather tell you something than let you down. 

Soon it was time to move on and I decided to follow the Blue Nile towards the romantic city of Wadi Medani, Sudan’s most popular honeymoon destination. During the day it is a  hot and dusty, riverside market town but as soon as the sun goes down the area along the riverfront comes alive with couples and young families enjoying the warm evenings and the languid Nile. I took a cheap room at the Continental Hotel, a crumbling, colonial relic with large, foliage filled gardens and tired, old furniture, spending the evening on the patio watching the townsfolk stroll by in their finest attire. With the border to Ethiopia so close I made the final push south and spent my last night in Sudan in the busy market town of Gederef. As I rode into town in the late afternoon I passed through the outer suburbs where I noticed a young boy, 12 or 13 years old, standing by the roadside acting strangely as I approached. As I got closer he casually reached down and picked a bottle off the ground and cocked his arm behind his head as though he was about to throw it. I’ve seen this behavior many times since entering the Middle East but it rarely leads to anything, most likely they just want to see you flinch but on this occasion he followed through and launched the bottle in my direction. This took me completely by surprise and it was only after the bottle bounced harmlessly off my leg that I realized what he’d done. I had always wondered what I would do if this happened and I wanted to let him know that this wasn’t acceptable behavior so I turned the bike around and rode back to where he stood. As soon as he saw me turn he ran off over an expanse of wasteland towards a nearby market assuming I wouldn’t follow. I wanted to make him aware that all actions have consequences so I chased after him for a little while until he disappeared between the tightly packed market stalls. Perhaps he will reconsider his behavior the next time he is taken with the urge to throw anything at a motorcycle or maybe I’d just helped to start a new sport in the otherwise quiet town.  

Gucci handbag and an AK47

Gederef lacked the charm of Medani but it was interesting to wander through the bustling markets and marvel at the ingenuity on display. When we talk about recycling in the West we often assume we are doing our best by separating our trash and putting it in the right bins. Here recycling means breaking used goods into their most basic components and finding a use for everything. Stalls full of what we would consider junk lined the market and people were hard at work repairing everything that could be repaired. Watches, shoes, mobile phones and bicycles were among the multitude of items that would have long since been discarded in the West. I found one section of the market occupied entirely by tailors so I had a few sturdy repairs made to some of my battered clothing. Even after dark the streets felt perfectly safe and once the market had closed for the day I strolled through the darkened streets looking for a suitable place to eat. Simple stalls selling all kinds of food come to life in the evening and soon the streets were buzzing with people eating and relaxing. Alcohol is outlawed here, possession of which can be punishable with up to 40 lashes so public intoxication is almost unheard of, tea is the drink of choice, served steaming hot and impossibly sweet. I would get strange looks when I would ask for tea without sugar which was often interpreted as just two heaped spoonfuls as opposed to the mandatory four. After eating questionable food it has become common practice to wash it all down with a cold Coca Cola. I really dislike the stuff but it has its uses and killing undesirable bacteria in the stomach is one of them. 

Castles of Gondar, Ethiopia

The following morning it took a little over and hour to reach the Sudan - Ethiopia border and I almost rode past the final checkpoint on the Sudanese side without the necessary stamps. Helpful locals directed back me towards the various unmarked shacks and compounds where I could clear security, customs and finally immigration. Of course it was tea time at the customs compound and everything was on hold so I was invited to join the officials for a refreshing cup under the hot morning sun. Before long I was allowed to enter no-man’s land and cross the small bridge over yet another frontier. Entering Ethiopia was reminiscent of Dorothy’s arrival in the Land of Oz where everything suddenly appears in vivid technicolor. After the rather drab, conservative dress codes in Sudan, Ethiopia was bursting with cheerful colors and provocative styles, even the red, gold and green of the national flag seemed more radiant. Gone were the burqa and hijab, I’d almost forgotten what the female body looked like and some of the outfits on display left little to the imagination. All this was accompanied by a general cheerfulness even amongst the border officials and I immediately felt very welcome. I was soon riding into the nearby city of Gondar excited about this vibrant, new atmosphere. A couple of other travelers I’d met on the road had suggested I stay at the Belegez Pension near the centre of town. It promised secure parking, fair prices and even the chance of hot running water and electricity although, not necessarily, all at the same time. As I looped around the 17th Century castle that dominates the centre of town for the third time a local flagged me down and asked where I planned to stay. He sent me off in the right direction and even turned up shortly afterwards to make sure I’d found the place. I got talking to him later and it turns out I had arrived at a rather auspicious time, a 56 day long period of fasting was due to begin the following day so that evening the town would be on full party mode before abstaining from beer, sex and animal products for the near future. He promised to stop by later that evening and show me where the locals would be hanging out. 

Roasting the beans in a coffee ceremony

The Ethiopian people like to do things their way. The date, depending on who you ask, is June 27th, 2006 (which means I turn 34 tomorrow) and time is measured in relation to the sun. The sun rises and sets at twelve o’clock and one hour later it is one o’clock, it takes a little getting used to but it seems to make sense. The food is amazing, spicy and bursting with flavor and color it is often served atop a large, rubbery pancake called injera which often replaces the need for plates and utensils. The sour tasting injera takes a bit of getting used to but it compliments the savory dishes well and to wash it all down they have good beer although you do have to specify that you’d like it cold otherwise it will be served up at room temperature. As the original home of coffee the drink is available everywhere and ordering a cup often involves an intricate ceremony where the beans are roasted, ground and passed around for inspection, while incense burns and the water boils slowly over a small charcoal fire. Eventually you are presented with an espresso size cup of the best coffee I have ever tasted with a bold, complex aroma and rich, exquisite taste. I’ve never been a huge fan of coffee but now I feel as though everything else will fade in comparison. 

After eating and drinking my fill my new friend, Moulish, returned to see if I wanted to join him for a night out. We began at a sleepy, little hotel in the center of town and I was beginning to think it was going to be a quiet night before I was approached by a very attractive young woman who insisted on joining us. After eventually learning the absolute basics of Arabic I was now fully out of my depth, yet again, with the local language of Amharic. Unlike anything I have heard or read before it seems to save some of its longest words for the simplest of greetings so I found myself reverting to the tried and trusted method of talking slowly and loudly in English, waving my arms about and using the ‘old dog, new tricks’ excuse for my linguistic laziness. As luck would have it my new acquaintance ‘Mary’ spoke very little English so we got on quite well. So well in fact that she insisted I make a solemn promise to sleep with her before the night was over, at least that’s what I think she said. I was suddenly reminded of an old Groucho Marx quote about not wanting to be the member of any club that would accept people like me as a member so I made my excuses and left the bar. Moulish joined me and we ended up at a local’s club where the atmosphere couldn’t have been more different.

The amazing roads of Ethiopia

The club was packed and hot and the music was loud. A remarkably talented selection of locals would take to the stage and entertain the audience who danced in a variety of styles reflecting the subtle, regional variations in each of the chosen tunes. Had I not been with Moulish I’d have barely noticed but most variations included the ‘shoulder dance’, an impossibly fast shaking of the upper body that, had it not been perfectly in time with the music, would have resembled a cross between a demonic possession and an epileptic seizure. It was remarkable to watch but impossible to imitate so I sat quietly on the edge of the dance floor like an over excited teenager, eager to join in but too self-conscious about making a fool of myself. The atmosphere was electric and the night stretched well into the next day, Ethiopia was growing on me.

After checking out the old castle complex in the middle of town and racing to the nearby hilltops for evening cocktails as the sun went down I realized I could easily push the pause button on this trip and stay indefinitely in Gondar but the prospect of gorging myself on all this new country had to offer was too enticing to resist so after a few days I loaded up and turned north towards the Simian Mountains. The road from Gondar to Axum turned out to be one of the best roads I have been on yet. Still under construction, it offers a long day of very mixed conditions, from perfect, silky smooth asphalt on the completed sections to very rough dirt, to talcum powder fine sand, so dry it squeaks under foot, all through some of the most spectacular mountain scenery with breathtaking views at every hairpin bend. When it is completed it will be one of the finest road rides in the world provided the heavy traffic doesn’t tear it up too soon. I hadn’t expected this part of Ethiopia to be so mountainous as I had done very little research prior to entering but what I found delighted me and the bike never ceased to impress me by how well it handled the varied terrain. As night fell I rolled into Axum exhausted but exhilarated by the long day’s riding. 

The Obelisks of Axum

The town of Axum is full on intrigue and mystery and is one of the most important ancient sites in all of sub-Saharan Africa. Thought by many to have been the home of the Queen of Sheba it is dotted with the relics of an illustrious past. The Axum obelisks (stelae), delicate granite needles, pepper the area, some as tall as 33 meters, 6th and 7th century tombs of an ancient nobility are plentiful and according to local legend still conceal vast quantities of treasure. By far the most significant feature of the town is the carefully guarded Church of St Mary of Zion, believed by many Ethiopians to contain the original Ark of the Covenant. Foreigners are kept well away from this holiest of shrines and the Ark itself is protected by a single monk, legend has it that all others who gaze upon it are immediately struck dead. I told a local guide that I was willing to take the chance and he looked at me in absolute horror, their faith runs deep in this town. From Axum I turned east and was soon enjoying the amazing roads of the mountainous Tigray region, stopping for a few hours to explore the Debre Damo monastery. Perched on top of a sheer sided amba (flat topped mountain) it is accessed by hauling yourself up a 20 meter cliff face on a weathered looking, old leather rope. After a stopover in the busy, university town of Mekele I resumed a southerly route, up and over steep mountain passes, through small villages and bigger market towns avoiding the menagerie of animals that would occupy the road. Monkeys, camels, donkeys, sheep, goats and snakes all helped to keep me focused as I put the miles behind me. That particular day was the first time when I had to track down fuel on the black market as every fuel station I stopped had run out of petrol. It turns out it is not that difficult to find but it is very expensive and the quality is questionable so I would buy a few liters at a time, enough to get me to the next town where I hoped I could get regular fuel. 

One of the churches of Lalibela

Since entering Africa I’ve noticed an interesting phenomenon when it comes to asking for directions. The local people’s knowledge of where nearby landmarks are is limited to about a 50 kilometer radius, beyond that they rarely have any idea as most have never travelled that far and estimates as to how long a particular journey will take are wide and varied. It adds a little spice to planning a destination for the day and I have been caught out a few times finishing a tough, long ride after dark. Most of the primary roads are reasonably well surfaced but the secondary roads, which are sometimes more direct are often in very poor condition. As I rode the last 60 kilometers of the journey from Mekele towards the small town of Lalibela the road I had chosen got steadily worse, dipping into steep sided gullies, over dry river beds, through mud hut villages full of excited children, I began to wonder if my route choice had been a smart one. As the sun dipped lower towards the horizon and a light rain began to fall I had no idea whether the distances I had been quoted were accurate or not but with the bike handling all of the terrain with ease it felt quite adventurous to be riding into the unknown. I suspect this will become the norm from here on, my maps are average but my compass is true and I know I need to keep moving south. Road signs are rare but help is never far away and if things go wrong it is only a matter of time before somebody turns up.

Fifty Shades of Grey?