Life on the Nile

Day 283

Mileage 25,141 (40,225 km)

Sunset over Lake Nasser

The Nile River, the world’s longest watercourse, has been my traveling companion since leaving Cairo. I have never strayed far from it lush, verdant valley as it cuts a winding, green path through the heart of the Sahara Desert. Its waters have supported life in the region for thousands of years and it is lined with settlements old and new as countless civilizations have risen and fallen upon its banks. The contrast in terrain just a few kilometers from the river is remarkable, from fertile farmland to barren desert. It wasn’t always this way, the Sahara is one of the youngest deserts on Earth. As recently as 8000 years ago there were rolling savannah grasslands and dense forests where now there is but a vast sea of sand and arid rocky plains. I have reached the Sudanese capital of Khartoum, built upon the confluence of the White Nile and the Blue Nile and for the next few weeks I intend to follow the latter to its source in Lake Tana, Ethiopia.

Abu Simbel, Lake Nasser

Although I have tried not to use ‘fixers’ for border crossings on this trip, the logistics of getting through the Egyptian/Sudanese frontier, over a 400 kilometer portion of  Lake Nasser, were beginning to become rather complex. A friend in Cairo had recommended I get in touch with a local acquaintance should I have any difficulties and within hours of my arrival in Aswan I was beginning to encounter a number of significant problems. According to the ferry company, all seats were fully booked on the boat I had intended to take and the next alternative would not be leaving for another 4 days and even then it was unsure if that sailing would coincide with a suitable barge departure that could carry my motorcycle. Ideally I’d rather travel with my bike at all times but in this case it was simply not possible, so, I gave ‘Kamal the Fixer’ a call and in less than twenty minutes he had made arrangements to get me the sailings I wanted. I arranged a meeting with him the following day to discuss the details and he struck me as a very relaxed, but competent person that I could work with, we agreed on his fee and for the next two days we worked together to, firstly clear the bike through the exit procedures and then to get my paperwork in order. Acquiring the Sudanese visa was relatively straight forward, with an office in Aswan that charges half the price of the Cairo branch and takes a fraction of the time I was soon stamped up and ready to go, the visa being a prerequisite for purchasing the ferry ticket. They recommend allowing up to 6 weeks if applying for the same visa through the Sudanese embassy in London, I had mine in under an hour. With Kamal, I took the motorcycle to the port after I had stripped a few essentials off to keep me going while the bike was in transit. It is often a slow process of obtaining the right authorizations in the correct order but Kamal knew the procedures intimately so with his help it took only a couple of hours, oh how the Egyptians love their paperwork. It seemed as though he was on first name terms with every official at the port and at one point he was even pushing a few of the soldiers around in a jovial manner. After removing the Egyptian license plates and clearing the Carnet de Passage, we were soon lashing the motorcycle to the deck of a rusty old barge bound for Wadi Halfa, set to leave the following day. 

On the day we loaded the bike the port was virtually deserted but when we returned the following afternoon to secure my passage on the ferry the place was a hive of activity, porters struggling with oversize loads, ticket agents yelling at each other, a handful of sweating westerners in the chaotic line hoping for a few last minute cancellations, and the police and army strutting around trying to look officious. Amongst all of the hustle and bustle, here and there an individual would slowly spread out a prayer mat and quietly go about their devotions, oblivious to all the noise and mayhem. We had arrived at the port shortly after 1pm and on my behalf Kamal spoke to the notorious Mr Salah, the general manager of the last company to service this route. He appears to relish his power as he wanders nonchalantly through the heaving crowds, smartly dressed, eyes hidden behind dark aviator shades. He recently refused passage to a European cyclist who was impertinent enough to enquire as to why his fare differed from the amount paid by locals. With my motorcycle already loaded on another boat and the ferry reportedly full I was a little anxious at the prospect of my bike sitting in Sudan unattended for several days if I could not catch this sailing. With Kamal’s connections I secured one of the last three seats and I felt somewhat guilty knowing the people still queueing outside the ticket office were probably out of luck. By 3pm I was onboard but with the departure scheduled for 6pm I still had plenty of time to settle in. I watched in wonder as the boat was slowly packed to full capacity and then well beyond. Every possible space was occupied with passengers or packages, even the lifeboats were filled with people trying to find a spot to stretch out and get comfortable for the 18 hour voyage. Kamal had spoken to the captain as we boarded and I was allowed to sit up on the foredeck in front of the wheel house where I had almost the entire area to myself, I’m not sure what Kamal had said but nobody else came near this prime spot. He probably hinted that I had some kind of rare contagious disease. 6pm rolled by and the boat was still being loaded, night fell and the preparations to depart were still underway but, miraculously, by 7 o’clock the horn sounded, the gangplanks were lifted, the tethers released and we were on our way. 

Early morning on the ferry

As with the Egyptian traffic this boat also ran without any lights other than the ghostly glow from the instrument panel inside the wheelhouse. As soon as we cleared the port and all background light faded in the distance the night sky came to life with a display of stars I haven’t seen since my time in the desert. When the partial moon dropped below the horizon even more stars appeared and the Milky Way stretched high and wide overhead. I spent most of the night lying on the hard steel deck gazing at the free light show picking up the hint of new constellations on the southern horizon as we neared the Tropic of Cancer. It was pleasant enough to sleep with only a motorcycle jacket for warmth and a light breeze helped to keep the bugs at bay. Occasionally I would get up and wander below deck to stretch my legs or visit the overflowing toilets amidst the stale, dank air of the overloaded vessel. It was uncomfortably warm inside and I was thankful of the space I had out in the open air. I was able to sneak in a few hours of sleep but at one point I was awoken by something scampering across my chest on top of my jacket. I didn’t get a chance to see what was and I hope it was only a cat even though it did seem a little too light. 

Shortly before dawn I gave up on getting any more sleep so I readied myself to catch the sunrise on the port side of the boat. In the early morning light eager fishermen hauled their nets onboard small wooded boats as hungry pelicans patiently watched nearby. And still we moved south, past the ancient pharaonic ruins of Abu Simbel and into Sudanese waters. At noon the distant port of Wadi Halfa came into view and the restless passengers readied themselves for the chaos to come. By 1pm the ship had berthed, a tiny door was opened and the exodus began through the tight bottleneck. Traveling light, I was able to get off the boat with ease and I was soon walking along the jetty towards customs with a smile upon my face and a new country under my feet. A cursory glance at my passport followed by a few simple questions and I was through the gates and on my way to the small village of Wadi Halfa, Kamal had called ahead and had a friend waiting outside the port gates to give me a ride to a cheap hotel nearby where he had thoughtfully reserved a room. I had been told it would be quite difficult to find accommodation on the day the ferry arrives as the sudden influx of people often overwhelms what few guesthouses there are. Kamal’s friend turned out to be another fixer who arranges transport for over-landers traveling north and he filled me in on the procedures required for entering Sudan. He already had several other motorcycles and a few trucks ready to load for the crossing to Aswan. He also gave me the news that the barge carrying my bike was delayed because of engine problems so I could expect to stay in Wadi Halfa for a couple of extra days. 

Discussing routes with the logistics guru Mazar and fellow over-landers
from Switzerland and France in Wadi Halfa

Throughout this journey I’ve noticed subtle changes in the people and landscapes I’ve travelled through but the differences between Egypt and Sudan have been most profound. I had never imagined the 400 kilometers separating Aswan and Wadi Halfa would bring with it such a noticeable change. Crossing the Red Sea was a major milestone on this voyage but sailing to the southern side of Lake Nasser felt like going beyond a point of no return. Only in the north of Sudan has it felt as though I have truly entered Africa, although still predominantly Arabic in their customs and beliefs there is a significant contrast to what I have experienced up to now, a raw power to the landscape that is inescapable and which is reflected in the resilience and vigor of its inhabitants. I’ve experienced a generosity that belies the obvious poverty, on many occasions total strangers have insisted on paying for a cup of tea or a bag of bread, I know it is only pennies but in this case it really is the thought that counts. The locals take a noticeable pride in how they present themselves and how they are perceived by outsiders. Before leaving Israel I was advised not to trust ‘the Arabs’, ironically, by a deceitful bastard who turned out to be one of the least trustworthy men I have ever met, but there is an honor amongst these people that leaves me feeling confident about leaving my bike and belongings. A technique I picked up from Damo in Jordan has served me well since, when leaving the bike unattended I choose someone sitting nearby and ask if they think my stuff will be safe while I am away. If they answer yes, they tacitly assume some responsibility and when I return I thank them graciously and move on. There are many times when I have no choice but to leave the bike to purchase food or find a place to stay and it can be stressful knowing that if a person wanted to they could easily make off with some or all of my gear. Obviously, I use some common sense when choosing where to leave it and most of the equipment is locked to the frame but that would only discourage the opportunist and if someone was determined they could easily get past my basic locks.

The 'French Mobile'

Sudan has been full of surprises, the main roads are in excellent condition, some of the revenue from their lucrative oil industry is being put to good use on improving the infrastructure and there are many Chinese civil engineering companies involved with the expertise and manpower to get major projects completed on time and within budget. Moving south from Wadi Halfa, I was initially riding through harsh, unforgiving desert but by the time I reached Khartoum there was significantly more foliage and it feels as though I am beginning to finally exit the Sahara Desert. I am already two months behind schedule and had hoped to avoid some of the strong winds that ravage this region at this time of year but the sandstorms have added to the overall experience even though I have yet to be caught in one that ‘turns day into night’. The day time temperatures are pleasant so the motorcycle gear doesn’t feel too oppressive. In many of the towns and villages I have stopped in I have been the only foreigner and within minutes a crowd often gathers around my bike keeping a respectful distance but always asking the same initial two questions of “How much?” and “How fast?” 

Ancient temples abound, often close to the river and easily accessible from the road, pyramids from the period of the Meroitic Pharaohs with a more elegant, slender appearance than their northern counterparts.  Every site I stopped at I had all to myself, there are very few tourists here, at one point I would have been glad to have had some company as I buried the bike up to its axles in the deep, soft sand. On the evening of my first night in the sleepy village of Dongola, I was invited to attend a festival being held nearby and on arrival I was greeted by the loudest music I’ve heard in a long time and hundreds of men in traditional long, white robes brandishing swords and sticks dancing in a style reminiscent of the whirling dervishes of Turkey. Sudan operates under Shari’a law so alcohol is prohibited but the atmosphere was intoxicating as they spun feverishly in the warm evening air. The only women to be found were gathered in quiet groups around the edges of the party. 

Pyramid complex outside Karima, Sudan

One element of the local culture that is hardest to accept is the treatment of women. Openly regarded as second class citizens and heavily swathed in their hijab and burqa they often appear solemn yet sorrowful. Female genital mutilation (FGM) is widely practiced in Sudan with an estimated 95% of women having undergone the barbaric procedure. I spoke with an OB/GYN Doctor from the local hospital in Dongola who had countless stories of how this practice had ruined the lives of many. Any culture or creed that deems it necessary to interfere with the bodies of their children in this way needs to be questioned. I have heard many arguments for and against such procedures but why not let the individual involved hear those same arguments so they can make their own informed decision. FGM is often, mistakenly, associated with Islam but there are no religious texts that support or require the practice. It is rooted in the cultural traditions of this society and supported by a lack of education and awareness, mostly in rural areas. It was only upon my arrival in Khartoum that I first noticed women openly smiling. 

Meroitic Pyramids

Khartoum is not one city, but three, clustered around the confluence of the Blue and White Nile Rivers. It struck me as surprisingly modern with glass tower blocks stretching into the skyline and a busy airport close the centre. I had decided to stay at the one and only youth hostel, other travelers I had met described it as cheap and convenient with plentiful parking within its open compound, there were even rumors of the possibility of getting a hot shower. With my crude maps and trusty compass I eventually stumbled across the hostel, street signs are rare here and, as with much of the Middle East, directions are given in relation to things that are nearby. With secure parking and comfortable dorms it had everything I needed so I decided to make it home for a few days even though the showers were cold. With the only crossing into Egypt so close I have encountered more over-land travelers as they converge upon Wadi Halfa and the ferry to Aswan. Most are moving north so it is good to pick up tips and advice for the regions I will be traveling towards, road conditions, places to stay, areas to avoid, etc. All have been couples which often makes me wonder how different this part of the journey could have been but I try not to dwell on those thoughts for long. Each is filled with stories of adventure and adversity as they come to the end of their own journeys and it fills me with excitement to listen and wonder about what lies ahead for me. With over 40,000 kilometers, roughly the circumference of Earth, behind me an untold number ahead, this journey feels as though it has entered a new phase. Africa feels wilder and less predictable than what has come before, conditions are considerably more challenging and the senses are constantly being assaulted but it all feels exactly like what I need right now. I feel as though I belong in this moment more than ever.

Meeting the locals