Wednesday, 20 February 2008

014 CYCLE TOURING EGYPT


EGYPT
27 December 2007 – 20 February 2008
2332 Kilometres – 46 Days


MAP

PHOTOS

PDF

FLIP-BOOK




27 December - Wadi Halfa, Sudan – Aswan, Egypt (by ferry)

We were keen to get going as this was the day we purchased our ferry tickets and got police stamps to exit Sudan. Even after all the checking and stamps, no one said a word about our expired visas. We couldn’t wait to board the ferry and get out of Sudan before anyone noticed. The ferry was an overnight one that departed at four a.m. Ernest was lucky as I splashed out and took a cabin instead of sleeping on the deck.

The border between the two countries ran somewhere through the middle of the lake. Following a day of sailing, a speedboat came hurrying along, police jumped aboard, and our passports were nervously handed over. Mercifully, no one noticed the dates, and we were free to go. Phew!

Once all the formalities were done, one could unwind and enjoy a beautiful sunset over the Aswan dam.

The ferry from Wadi Halfa, Sudan arrived in Aswan, Egypt, around nine o’clock the following morning. We, nevertheless, only managed to place our feet upon Egyptian soil at about eleven. The saying, “Egypt was like a visit back in time”, seemed true in more ways than one.

Ernest and I cycled the short 20 kilometres into Aswan. The first thing upon our minds wasn’t the history or the magnificent monuments and sand-covered tombs, but finding a hotel, a hot shower and a beer.

Egypt came as a culture shock after spending a month in Sudan. Aswan was an overly commercialised madhouse with busloads of tourists and substantial passenger liners laying 4-deep on the Nile. The streets were jam-packed with hotels, stalls, curio shops, and touts selling felucca rides. Feluccas are simple, traditional Egyptian sailboats, a popular means of transport upon the Nile. We clung to each other staring at the madness wide-eyed. The aggressive haggling when buying anything from toilet paper to water was enough to send me scurrying to the safety of a room. My first day was thus largely spent indoors looking at the chaos through the window.

After three days of mainly eating and drinking; we were more accustomed to Egypt’s craziness and felt brave enough to face the Egyptians head-on.

 

30 December – Aswan – Edfu – 116 km

Three days and many Stellas (the local beer) later, we finally got underway and biked the 116 kilometres to Edfu. The route was a well-maintained tarmac road that ran next to the Nile. In stark contrast to Sudan, the landscape featured green crops of sugarcane, corn, rice, clover, and even mint. The way led close to the palm-lined Nile sporting excellent views more or less the entire day.

In the process, we cycled past the unusual double temple of Kom Ombo, constructed between 180-47 BC. It was further in this vicinity where more than three hundred crocodile mummies were discovered. The whole way felt like one endless village, and barely ever did one get the feeling you were in the countryside, the exact opposite of Sudan. Halfway through the ride, police insisted upon escorting us to Edfu, where our arrival was announced by sirens blaring. The Egyptians can make a meal of practically anything.

Edfu was known for its ancient Edfu Temple constructed between 237-257 BC and dedicated to Horus, the falcon-headed god. Ancient Egyptians believed the temple was built where the battle between Horus and Seth took place. So, arriving under police escort with flashing lights and sirens wailing, we ourselves felt like two Egyptian gods.

 

31 December – 2 January 2008 - Edfu - Luxor – 122 km

The last day of 2007 arrived, and I couldn’t believe it’d been nine months since leaving home. Looking out the bedroom window at a view of the Temple of Horus, I realised how much my life had changed in this relatively short period.

The way north continued along the Nile and had opportunities to escape police escorts by following smaller paths. It wasn’t that the police didn’t notice us, but more a case that if one didn’t pass in front of them, stopping us wasn’t in their job description. Finally, Luxor was reached in the dying moments of the day. Having the impression the campsite was on the opposite side of the river, we hopped onto a ferry to the West Bank. There was, however, no campsite and another ferry boat ride (this time a public ferry at a fraction of the cost) took us back to where a bed at the New Everest Hotel was home that night. I’m sure the name referred to the stairs one had to climb, not something I appreciated at such a late hour.

Three days were spent in Luxor, indulging in all the tourist attractions, including the Temple of Luxor, Temple of Karnak and the Valley of the Kings. Luxor was rightly known as the biggest open-air museum globally and contained a third of the world’s most important antiquities. That bit of information was such a mouthful. I read it twice before the words sank in! Unfortunately, even though three days were spent in the area, it would take substantially longer to visit everything Luxor had to offer.

I still claim the Temple of Luxor among the most beautiful in Egypt. It consisted of a complex constructed approximately 1400 BCE, and is one of the best-preserved ancient monuments in Egypt. Construction of the temple was started by the pharaoh Amenhotep III (1390-52 BC) and was completed by Tutankhamen (1336-27 BC) and Horemheb (1323-1295 BC) and then added to by Rameses II (1279-13 BC). I only mention this as I considered it a seriously long time ago.

The Karnak Temple was equally impressive and dated to around 2055 BC-100 AD. Being the largest religious building ever constructed, the structure measured 1.5 kilometres by 0.8 kilometres. The Hypostyle Hall, at 16,459 square meters and featuring 134 columns, is still the biggest room of any religious building in the world. In addition to the main sanctuary were several smaller temples and a vast sacred lake measuring 129 metres by 77 metres. One couldn’t help but stand in awe of these magnificent structures. The Egyptians sure had a vast workforce, time and money in those days.

The Valley of the Kings didn’t disappoint either. The ancient Egyptians didn’t just build vast public monuments for their pharaohs but went to great lengths to create hidden underground mausoleums. The Valley of the Kings was such a place and was made famous by the discovery of the tombs of Tutankhamun, Seti I and Ramses II. Walking around and crawling into dusty tomes admiring what remained of these places (even in the presence of hordes of tourists), made me feel like an explorer.

 

3 January – Luxor – Qena – 70 km

On     Luxor en route to Qena, the road again was dotted by numerous police roadblocks requiring convoy riding. We, nonetheless, ducked and dived along minor tracks and managed to avoid all the police blocks. Upon arriving at Qena and finding accommodation, food was next on the list and surprisingly reasonably priced as Qena was out of the touristy area. Our staple of ful, or foul, and aysh, a brown broad bean dish eaten accompanied by a type of pita bread, was inexpensive and could be found almost anywhere.

 

4 January – Qena – Roadside camp - 84 km

Qena was primarily known for its proximity to the ruins of Dendaralat, not visited as we were all ruined out by then. From Qena, Ernest insisted on cycling to Cairo via the Red Sea Coast, even though I surmised the coast would be extremely windy due to my previous experience. He was by nature a hard-headed guy and we made our way towards the coast. After nearly 84 kilometres, and upon reaching a settlement sporting a police checkpoint and a few shops, we called it quits as Ernest wasn’t feeling well. The tents were pitched off the main road, which turned out a tad in the eye and a noisy affair, to say the least.

 

5 January - Roadside camp – Safaga – 84 km

The next day was another 84 kilometres to Safaga through what was known as the Eastern Desert or the Arabian Desert. The area is a mountain desert and features astonishing and dramatic scenery and colours. The day started promising but the wind picked up, and by the time the port town of Safaga came into view, the wind was close to gale-force. Being a windy area, both Safaga and the coast were popular destinations amongst kite- and windsurfers. We hunkered down in the nearest hotel, hoping the weather would improve by morning.

 

6-8 January – Safaga – Hurghada – 64 km

Sadly, the weather didn’t improve and biking out of Safaga, the wind virtually blew me off the bike. On such days, there wasn’t a great deal one could do but battle onwards. In the process, I lost my sense of humour somewhere between Safaga and Hurghada. I didn’t regain it until turning in a westerly direction a few days later. The Red Sea coast was an unforgiving arid and windswept one. The two “desert rats” were travelling into the prevailing wind, a constant and intense wind, judging by the wind farms going ten to a dozen.

At times like this all one could do was put your head down and concentrate on one pedal stroke at a time until arriving at your destination. Hurghada was barely 64 kilometres away but took practically the entire day to reach. Hurghada turned out a nightmare, albeit a tiny fishing village until the 1980s. It by then stretched 40 kilometres along the ocean and sported thousands of tourist resorts. Ramped development by both Egyptians and foreign investors left the area dominated by a multitude of unsightly structures. A budget room in the old town was more to our liking. Ernest was definitely better as he finished off a substantial amount of Stellas.

Hurghada offered little more than scuba-diving, and as the weather was cold and windy, all one could do was eat and drink. Ernest claimed he still wasn’t feeling well, and we stayed an extra day. Maybe he’d a case of the “wine-flu”.

 

9 January – Hurghada – Desert Camp – 52 km

The wind wasn’t as ferocious as the previous days and we managed 106 kilometres before setting up camp. But, being winter, it became dark by six o’clock, making short cycling days, especially when setting out late.

 

10 January – Desert Camp - Ras Gharib – 52 km

The route took us to Ras Gharib, an oil production town along the Red Sea coast. Unfortunately, the day was again marred by a gale-force wind. Although a mere 52 kilometres to the next place, it was considerably further than what I cared to go in such conditions. Moreover, I weakened at the thought of a clean and warm room.

 

11 January - Ras Gharib – Desert Camp - 72 km

The following morning the panniers were packed reluctantly. I suggested waiting out the weather, but Ernest wanted nothing of it. I’m unsure what his hurry was as we weren’t going anywhere.

I subsequently discovered this was a typical mindset amongst cycle tourers early in their journey. Many bicycle tourers are first destination-minded, and time and distance all-important, allowing little time to sightsee and explore. That said, everyone cycles in their own way; some go slow, exploring and experiencing new cultures, food and sights, others go fast and challenge themselves. For Ernest, it was very much about the latter. These are minor differences that, if not discussed beforehand, can ruin a cycling partnership.

Seventy-two kilometres were all we could manage and towards the end of the day imagined a huge dune could give shelter from the howling wind. However, the dune did little to stop the wind and instead created a whirling effect and in no time, the tents, bikes and sleeping bags were covered in sand. Eventually, Ernest managed to light the stove and as could be expected, the food had a generous sprinkling of sand. Chewing our grainy meal, I was grateful we’d something to eat, and when darkness fell, we crawled into our sandy beds.

 

12 January – Desert Camp – Zaafarana – 40 km

From our sandy home, the distance was a mere 38 kilometres to Zaafarana, more a truck stop than a village. I couldn’t believe the wind was even stronger on this day. I honestly didn’t think it possible.

I complained nonstop. Ernest never said a word, only put his head down and grinded into the unforgiving conditions- me following in his wake, swearing to the wind.

I read the wind farms of Zaafarana and El-Tur were the windiest stations in Egypt. I surmised something like that!

 

13 January – Zaafarana – Desert Camp – 84 km

I was long-lipped getting on the bike, but the day held a surprise in meeting the Tour D’Afrique riders heading in the opposite direction and flying south powered by a tailwind. Wimpy, Errol and Thor, from my 2005 tour were still with the tour, and super awesome seeing them. As soon as the road reached Sukhna, a surprise awaited. The Cairo road turned onto the new highway heading west and thus brought a tailwind.

Grinning from ear to ear we proceeded a few more kilometres before pitching the tents, hoping the wind direction wouldn’t change during the night. That night, I made sure to toast the wind and performed a little wind-dance.

 

14-20 January – Desert Camp – Cairo – 130 km

The breeze was still in our favour the next morning, and I thought I should be named the next Modjadji. Unfortunately, packing up was at the speed of light before the breeze could change direction.

Cairo was reached after 130 kilometres and in rush hour traffic. No one wants to be in Cairo with its 9.5 million inhabitants in rush hour traffic, especially not by bicycle. It took ducking and diving through the horrendous traffic before miraculously arriving downtown.

Being already late, the first budget hotel spotted had to do. So, following a quick shower, we took off to a popular beer joint, which Ernest rightly deserved on reaching one of his primary goals. Still, I didn’t think his celebrations would last an entire week, but that’s Ernie!

Our days were spent trying to obtain visas to Europe but it was a waste of time as one had to apply in your home country. The next challenge was extending our Egyptian visas, an arduous task. Finally, after many filling in forms and being shunted from office to office, we were informed the process took ten days. Phew.

The next few days were spent visiting Cairo’s well-known sights, of which there were plenty. Our exploring brought us to the Great Pyramids of Giza, the Stepped Pyramid south of Cairo, as well as the well-known Bent and Red Pyramids. As, in my mind, no one could leave Cairo without visiting the Cairo Museum, I dragged a very reluctant Ernest to the museum. The museum was mind-boggling, and it was best to hire a guide. One could only stare in amazement at the items on display, from the famous Rosetta Stone to the items recovered from Tutankhamun’s tomb. It’s pretty amazing what was deemed necessary in the afterlife. Then, back to our favourite drinking hole where beer was cheap and accompanied by a plate of hot fuul and salad.

 

21 January - Cairo - Desert Camp – 122 km

Having itchy feet, we moved along and returned later to collect the visa extensions. Getting out of Cairo took the best part of two hours. Still, our chosen route spat us out along a toll road, making comfortable and effortless biking. The way headed north towards Alexandria and after about 120 kilometres, camp was set up by the roadside.

 

22 January - Desert Camp - Amriah – 97 km

To my surprise, it started raining during the night and I could hardly believe it ever rained in the desert. Upon second thoughts, it shouldn’t have come as a surprise as our route was fast approaching the Mediterranean. The way north continued past farmlands and many pigeon lofts, as grilled pigeon was a speciality found on nearly all menus.

 

23-25 January - Amriah - Alexandria – 42 km

The short distance to Alexandria resulted in a leisurely start, and we soon arrived at the Mediterranean coast. Alexandria was a vast and ancient city, formerly home to one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World, a 120-metre-high lighthouse, built by Alexander the Great. There was, nevertheless, no sign of it except a few terracotta lamps in the museum. Alexandria was famous for its Great Library, considered the archive of ancient knowledge in its heyday. But, once again, no sign of its past grandeur remained and appeared replaced by traffic more chaotic than in Cairo. It was scarcely possible to cross a street on foot and even more difficult by bicycle. Nonetheless, the city sported a fancy modern library, incorporating both the old and the modern in its design.

A vicious storm picked up, and the wind blew at over 30 miles per hour, accompanied by horizontal rain. Ernest and I stayed put and waited out the storm. Day after day, the storm continued without any sign of abating. We cleaned and oiled our bikes (let me rephrase that: Ernest cleaned and oiled the bikes), repacked our bags, read books and watched the same movies repeatedly.

Our visa extensions were ready by then. So we hopped on the express train to Cairo and returned that evening (the train covered the 250+ kilometres in under three hours).

 

1 February - Alexandria - Baltim – 140 km

Finally, the stormy weather cleared, and we could resume our journey. The coastal route led 140 kilometres east in Port Said’s direction, along a flat road with a tailwind. I knew it had to happen at some point. In the process, the route passed over the Nile delta, where the river drained into the Mediterranean, an unimpressive place for such a mighty river, consisting predominantly of farmlands along canals. Tailwind-assisted Baltim was reached in good time, primarily a holiday resort in summer, but then deserted without a soul in sight. The digs discovered were dusty and one could tell the room hadn’t been used recently.

 

2 February - Baltim - Port Said – 140 km

The next morning, the weather was mild and the breeze still in our favour and we gunned it to Port Said.

Port Said was the place one could stroll along the Cornice to view giant cargo ships and tankers move through the Suez Canal, an impressive scene by anyone’s standards. Ernest was fascinated by ships and staying another day to eye these giant ships going in and out of the canal came naturally.

 

5 February - Port Said - Ismailia - 87 km

Departing Port Said was on a beautiful sunny day, and biking was pleasurable as we picked up a slight breeze from behind.

Ismailia made an excellent midway stop en route to Suez. Ismailia was established while building the Suez Canal in 1869 and named after Khedive Ismail, the founder of the canal. The city was initially created to house European engineers and labourers who worked on the channel. To this day, Ismailia has a European atmosphere and French architecture.

 

6-7 February - Ismailia - Suez – 115 km

Getting away early wasn’t difficult as the room must’ve been one of the filthiest in Egypt, and we were on the way before nine o’clock. The streets were dead quiet as, typical of a desert country, the Egyptians slept late. Nearly all business was done after sunset. Biking along the canal sounded a great idea but wasn’t possible due to police roadblocks. No other option remained but to head to Suez’s seaport town at the mouth of the Suez Canal along the main road. A few days were spent watching in awe as the massive ships and tankers moved through the narrow canal.

More impressive than the modern-day channel was, a canal dug linking the Red Sea and the Nile way back in the 7th century AD. This little-known fact blew my mind.

 

8 February - Suez - Desert Camp – 113 km

Departing Suez was via a tunnel that ran underneath the canal. I subsequently discovered most foreigners didn’t realise Africa was connected to Europe and the Middle East. In fact, I considered the tunnel underneath the Suez Canal more of a subway.

The Sinai coast was uniquely beautiful and even more so when powered by the wind. Looking back, the unique thing was that one could see huge ships moving along the canal, but not the channel, resembling ships sailing through the desert—an extraordinary view. A great deal of the day was biking through desert terrain dotted by farms cultivating olives and tamarinds. The area appeared predominantly inhabited by Sinai Bedouins who lived in settlements throughout the region.

By evening camping was a couple of kilometres past Ras Sedr.

 

9 February - Desert Camp - Desert Camp – 130 km

Spectacular desert mountain landscapes greeted us as we pedalled along, stopping ever so often to enjoy a cup of tea. Eventually, the route left the ocean and turned inland, soon reaching the turnoff to St Catherine. Interestingly Bedouins still lived in the area and wouldn’t be offended if one sought shelter with them. This was, after all, the Sinai Desert. They were generally honoured to offer hospitality to travellers. If you do, don’t overstay your welcome. Bedouins believe a reasonable stay is three days. The first day is for greeting, the second day for eating, and the third day for speaking.

 

10-12 February – Desert camp – Saint Catherine – 106 km

St Catherine is situated 1,570 metres above sea level, and the 106 kilometres were almost all uphill. We barely noticed as the landscape was unique, and the mountains changed colour from white, red, blue, black and purple. En route, the way led past Ferrin Oasis, Sinai’s largest and broadest wadi covered by plenty of palm trees. The uphill ride made reaching St Catherine, located at the foot of biblical Mt Sinai, long beyond sunset.

Being winter and at altitude, the weather was understandably freezing by the time we pulled into Fox Camp, and tents pitched in a tremendous hurry. Ernest made food, while I remained curled up in the sleeping bag.

There was no getting out of bed the next day before the sun warmed the air, and 9h30 before we surfaced. Instead, the day was spent lazing around, solely leaving camp to visit nearby St Catherine’s Monastery, constructed between 527–565 AD. Saint Catherine has an old and fascinating history, important to all three major Abrahamic religions (Christianity, Islam and Judaism). It’s rumoured the place where Moses received the Ten Commandments as well as the site the Prophet Mohamad wrote about in his Letter to the Monks.

Fox Camp was fascinating, and by evening, we joined the other travellers in a massive Bedouin tent where a fire was lit and it turned out surprisingly warm inside.

The following morning, we didn’t defrost until midday and thus late when we started up Mt Sinai. The walk up the mountain was beautiful, featuring stunning scenery and views of the surrounding mountains. At the summit was a mosque, still used by Muslims, as well as a Greek Orthodox chapel. After exploring, we hurried down the mountain to join the others in the tent already warmed by the fire.

 

13 February – St Kathrine’s – Desert Camp – 91 km

Waking to ice on the tent indicated time to seek warmer weather. Once again, it was midday before getting underway and onto the east coast’s hilly road. Our late start made wild-camping along the way, only reaching Dahab the following day.

 

14-18 February – Desert Camp – Dahab – 45 km

Dahab was a smallish town along the Gulf of Aqaba and considerably warmer than the mountainous interior of Sinai. Years ago, pleasant Dahab was a Bedouin community, but today it’s a major (but still low-key) diving destination. It had a real holiday/hippie/Goa feel featuring a turquoise sea, palm trees, waterside restaurants, and plenty of budget accommodation, just the thing needed. Our choice was an abode practically on the beach, and the upstairs bar with its happy hour made it a perfect spot. The warmer weather, snorkelling, an abundance of books and good food made us linger.

 

19 February – Dahab – Nuweiba – 82 km

Laid-back Dahab made kicking back easy. No wonder many got stuck there. A breeze picked up, signalling time to move along. We did precisely that and set out to Nuweiba along a hilly and windy section. The wind made a late arrival in Nuweiba and Dolphin Camp was an excellent choice, located right on the seafront. Nuweiba was as close to paradise as one could wish. A few days were spent watching the sunrise over the Hijaz mountain range of Saudi Arabia and the Aqaba Gulf, a truly spectacular sight.

 

Nuweiba, Egypt – Aqaba, Jordan

From Nuweiba, one could bike via Israel and Lebanon or take the ferry to Jordan and cycle via Syria to Turkey. Being difficult or near impossible to get into Syria having an Israeli stamp in the passport. The uncomplicated ferry crossing from Nuweiba to Jordan was a no-brainer. I was sure a boat sailed from Taba to Aqaba, which would’ve been significantly cheaper, but I could not confirm its existence. Moreover, the ferry departed after 5 p.m. instead of 3 p.m., resulting in reaching Jordan after dark. Out late arrival further meant an hour’s riding at night before getting to the city centre.

Friday, 28 December 2007

013 CYCLE TOURING SUDAN


SUDAN

1,611 Km – 26 Days

1 December – 26 December 2007



MAP

PHOTOS

PDF


1 December – Metema, Ethiopia - Galabat – Doka, Sudan – 88 km

Not being early risers, we didn't cross the border from Ethiopia into Sudan until late at the scruffy border town of Metema. The immigration office was no more than a mud hut under thatch. Upon emerging from the dark, dingy room, one found oneself in super-conservative Sudan.

The day was hot and windy, and not feeling 100%, riding became a struggle, only reaching tiny Doka towards the end of the day. The tents were pitched near a police checkpoint at the turn-off to the village. Camping close to the police wasn’t the safest place, as the trouble in South Sudan was ongoing, and police were continuously under attack. The only reason for camping near the checkpoint was water availability, and thus worth the risk. Checkpoints had plenty of water, and we could wipe ourselves down, cook, and fill our bottles. Water is a significant concern in the desert, and fortunately, the police didn’t mind sharing.

Before setting up camp, Ernest and I first rode to the market. As Doka had no more than a few simple homes, a mosque, and a small market, there were only a few potatoes and tomatoes available.

Lying in my tent, I grinned as never in my wildest dreams did I think I would cycle Sudan twice!

 

2 December – Doka – El Gadarif (Al-Qaārif) – 90 km

The next morning, we pushed on to Gadarif, a slightly larger town, another 90 kilometres north. The day turned out to be another scorcher, and again I had to drag myself along, feeling weak, nauseous, and without energy.

While filling our water bottles at a petrol station, a farmer befriended us and gifted us 50 Sudanese pounds (a substantial sum in those days). After thanking him, we headed straight to the nearest hotel. Our benefactor will never know how handy his donation turned out to be. My entire night was spent vomiting, and I could at least do so in the privacy of a room.

 

3 December – El Gadarif – Migreh – 97 km

By morning, I felt considerably better and could at least look around Gadarif’s markets, which are famous for selling sesame and sorghum. Anyone entering Sudan had to register with the police within three days of arrival. Ernest and I thus proceeded to the police station, where they appeared reluctant to perform this task. Staff informed us it was “hard for them to do so” and that it was better to register in Khartoum, more than 400 kilometres away, a distance not doable in a day. Big eye-roll.

By the time all was done, the time was 11h00. Thank goodness the wind died down a tad, and Migreh was reached without too much difficulty. Once again, camping was near a police depot with nothing but desert surrounding us.

 

4 December - Migreh – Desert camp – 110 km

Sadly, the route north ran straight into the prevailing wind, making for an unpleasant cycling experience. Nonetheless, it remained a task that had to be done. Encountering a headwind is never pleasant, but facing it daily became a mission. Most days we had our heads down, one pedal stroke at a time.

I was only 100% sure of one thing: nothing ever stayed the same. Everything passes, and sooner or later, the wind had to subside. Apparently, it was not going to happen that day. The only positive thing was the many small settlements at regular intervals along the Nile to get a Marinda or Pepsi. The luxury of buying something sweet to drink became a daily highlight.

Although it was a tarmac road, it was in poor condition and congested with predominantly large trucks. They were all seemingly heading to Port Sudan, Sudan’s main port situated along the Red Sea. As a result, I was dead tired almost every night. Ernest did the cooking, following which I usually went straight to bed. Not that there was much else to do when camping in the desert.

 

5 December – Desert camp – Wad Medani – 41 km

A short cycle led from our desert camp to Wad Medani, located on the west bank of the Blue Nile and only 41 kilometres away. Being the centre of a cotton-growing region, Wad Medani was quite a substantial town for the desert and had a population of nearly 300,000. Moreover, the town was established due to the Gezira irrigation scheme and consequently sported accommodation and food. Staying the night was a no-brainer, and we spent the evening stuffing our faces with falafel. To this day, I swear Wad Medani makes the best falafel in the world.

A good deal of the political trouble at the time was in the Darfur region. Still, a strong military presence prevailed virtually everywhere. The killings of villagers increased, and the government failed to disarm the armed militias, known as the Janjawid, who continued to attack civilians in Darfur. As a result, hundreds of civilians were killed in Darfur and Chad, and some 300,000 more were displaced.

 

6 December – Wad Medani – Desert camp – 81 km

It was a good thing we were well fed, as the next day was an exhausting ride in blistering heat and into a howling wind. Sudan wasn’t kind to me, and I felt tired and nauseous - things were not going my way. Upon pulling off the road to set up camp, I immediately had about 100 thorns in my tyres. This was the last thing I needed. Ernest was a star and quietly went ahead and changed both tubes and filled them with sealant. I had no energy to even think of changing tubes.

Being winter, it became dark almost immediately after sunset, and it was best to find a camping spot at around 18h00. The mozzies were ferocious! I had no idea there were that many mosquitoes in the desert. It felt like they had been waiting for the unsuspected cyclist to set up camp. The safest place was in the tents, at least until way past sunset.

 

7 December – Desert camp – Truckstop – 71 km

On waking to the violent flapping of the flysheet, I knew we were in for an additional day grinding into the wind. Ernest in front and me following closely behind, a difference to our usual formation as I’ve long learned he didn’t like taking the lead. Still, little headway was made all day.

There might not have been beer in Sudan, but at least all settlements had water. Each community had a shelter where pottery urns filled with water were kept, and not once were we refused this glorious and lifesaving liquid. The water stayed surprisingly cool in those pots, even in the desert's extreme heat.

In the dying moments of the day, a truck stop with a restaurant, showers and toilets came into view. Here, one could camp at the rear and enjoy the luxury of a shower. While we were sitting outside our tents, a Sudanese man who spoke English befriended us. He was immensely proud of his English and showed us his English textbooks.

The conversation took a bizarre turn. He accused me of lying because, according to him, a woman couldn’t cycle such long distances. I wondered how he figured I got there. He then inquired whether I had any education. I confirmed that I attended school for 12 years, after which I pursued further studies for several years. Not believing me, he threw me a few questions (to check, I guessed). Luckily, the questions weren’t awfully hard, more like general knowledge. Still not happy, he insisted I couldn’t drive a car. Upon confirming I had not one, but two vehicles back home, he exasperatedly exclaimed, “But you can’t climb a mountain!” By then, I’d lost interest in the conversation as we were clearly worlds apart. One couldn’t blame the man, as he was taught that from a young age. His way of thinking confirmed my belief that children shouldn’t be exposed to political or religious beliefs at a young age. Instead, both should be taught as a science at school; otherwise, it’s nothing but brainwashing.

 

8-11 December – Truckstop – Khartoum – 50 km

In the morning, we turned the bicycles in Khartoum’s direction. Once there, camping was at the Blue Nile Sailing Club, a favourite amongst overlanders. It was also where I camped during my ride from Cairo to Cape Town two years earlier. The sailing club had a superb location on the Nile, with a gentle breeze coming off the water. Outside was a shack that sold fruit juice made of half mango and half avocado, layered in two distinct layers. The stall was immensely popular!

The sailing club was where one met practically anyone travelling overland north or south. So, it was no surprise to meet Clive and Denise, a British couple on a 1954 Triumph en route from London to Cape Town. As can be imagined, they had enough experience to keep a conversation going through the night. Also camping at the club were Charles and Rensche on motorbikes heading south. Meeting them was a blessing as we learned where to find water further north. Unfortunately, the route to Wadi Halfa involved an open desert crossing and, therefore, a serious lack of water.

The next four days were spent in Khartoum trying to extend our Sudanese visas (without success) and registering with the police. The rest of the time was spent (as usual) eating anything in sight.

 

12 December – Khartoum – Desert Camp – 106 km

We finally rode out of Khartoum on Wednesday, 12 December (winter). It became another day spent battling into a stiff breeze. By five o’clock, we’d done a mere 105 kilometres.

When biking in Africa, it’s best to cycle north to south as the chance of the prevailing wind being in your favour is far greater.

Camping in the desert usually meant one could go about one's business undisturbed. Pitching tents and hauling out cooking equipment when people were nearby typically brought a crowd of spectators. Generally, they kept their distance and observed the madness in wonderment and awe from afar.

 

13 December – Desert camp – Desert camp - 86 km

The following day, our path left the Nile and led straight into a desert storm. It must be mentioned that when leaving the Nile, there is no reference and the landscape looks similar whether one looks north, south, east or west. The wind was exceptionally fierce, whipping up sand to the point that visibility was down to a few metres. With bandana-covered faces, we dragged the bicycles through the thick sand. By then, there was no visible road, direction, or path; we could only hope we were heading in the right direction.

At one stage, I lost my cool, threw the bicycle down, kicked it and shouted to the wind, only to realise I might’ve broken a toe. Feeling defeated, I had no choice but to pick the bike up and, hobbling, pushed the bike into the wind. We must’ve made a sad sight - two lonely cyclists at a snail’s pace through the desert.

 

14 December - Desert camp - Desert camp – 81 km

From our desert camp, Ernest and I only managed 81 kilometres. There were barely any water stops on this day. With heads down, we pushed into the wind until time to set up camp. The only water stop encountered couldn’t have been more fascinating. These places often had a dhaba (a basic stall selling food, usually only one dish). They were places no one ever passed without stopping. So, we sat in wonderment, staring at Sudanese men, dressed in jallabiyas, eating raw goat.

By evening, gale-force gusts made pitching a tent challenging; in no time, the whole shebang was covered in sand. Eventually, Ernest lit the stove and produced a sandy pasta meal. Not much later, we crawled into our equally sandy beds. I know I’ve been harping on about the wind, but there are no words to describe how challenging cycling and camping can be in such dire conditions.

 

15 December – Desert Camp – Al Dabbah – 111 km

Eventually, the route spat us out at the Nile at Al Dabbah, and it almost felt like meeting an old friend. The wind seemed stronger each day. Biking was challenging, but setting up camp and packing up was equally problematic. I’m sure I lost half of my belongings to the wind. We located a derelict building by evening and, after dragging the bikes through the thick sand, set up camp behind it. With a broken toe, this was even trickier, and I vowed never to kick the bike again.

 

16 December – Al Dabbah – Sali – 92 km

On a Sunday, the two desert rats (which we jokingly called ourselves by then, as I’m sure we looked and smelled the part) pedalled the 92 kilometres from Al Dabbah to Sali. The route ran close to the Nile, with numerous settlements along its banks.

We were promptly invited in after turning into one of the settlements to get water. The stove was hardly lit to make supper when a large tray laden with goat’s milk cheese, olives and dates arrived. The desert folk were incredibly hospitable. I think they gave us their sleeping quarters while they slept in the kitchen area.

 

17-18 December – Sali – Dongola – 71 km

A further 70 kilometres led to Dongola, and it became another day grinding into a stiff breeze. Therefore, I was in no mood for petty bureaucracy when I arrived in Dongola, where authorities required us to register with the police before booking a hotel. I suspected the reason was being a woman. I was not happy and, with my lip dragging on the ground, set off by tuk-tuk to the police station.

This was where General Herbert Kitchener killed 15,000 of the indigenous Mahdist tribes in 1899. The British were brutal in those days. First, they killed the people, but later killed the wounded, raising the overall death toll to over 50,000.

The following day was spent in Dongola. True to its location in one of the world's hottest and driest regions, the weather was sweltering. Dongola was an excellent place to do much-needed laundry, bicycle maintenance, and stock up on provisions for the road ahead. All while stuffing our faces in anticipation of the next big dessert starve.

 

19 December - Dongola - Kerma – 54 km

Following a well-deserved break, we departed Dongola along the western bank of the Nile, heading north to Argo, where we crossed the Nile on a small ferry. Upon arriving at the crossing point, it was prayer time, so not a soul was in sight. All one could do was wait until the boatman returned from the mosque.

Once on the opposite bank, the road veered away from the Nile, making finding the way almost impossible - it was a good thing Charles gave Ernest the GPS coordinates for meeting the river afterwards. Camping was along the bank of the Nile under palm trees, which sounded far more romantic than it turned out.

 

20 December – Kerma – Kahli - 53 km

From Kerma, a further 53 kilometres took us to Kahli. The midges were ferocious and got in everywhere - nose, ears, mouth and food. In the evening, it became a matter of pitching the tent in record time and hiding inside till sunset, when they miraculously disappeared.

By then, we were well entrenched in the Nubian lifestyle of drinking sweet black tea and could barely wait to pitch the tents and boil water. Strange things one does when there’s a lack of beer - my mother would’ve been proud of me.

 

20 December – Khali – Desert Camp - 54 km

Our plan after Khali was to cross the open desert. We therefore continued straight where the river made a big loop, as it was considerably shorter. By then, we were almost in the middle of the Nubian desert, which, surprisingly, wasn’t all sand. Instead, the terrain became mountainous, rocky and corrugated. In other places, one sank deep into the soft sand and the bicycles were dragged along with great difficulty. As expected from a desert, the area was plagued by windstorms, which became our biggest nemesis. With bandanas tied around our faces, we leaned into the wind, sometimes pedalling and other times walking (the toe was never the same afterwards).

Whether looking north, east, west or south, the landscape remained one vast desert. Yet, in the distance, a structure loomed. Upon reaching it, we discovered not only the ruined remains of a building but four men on motorbikes huddling together, trying to have a bite to eat out of the wind. Astonished to see us, they offered us a few chocolate biscuits, a prized item in the desert. Albeit going with the wind, they had problems of their own. Their motorbikes were significantly heavier and sank far deeper into the sand. Eventually, they wished us good luck, and we set out into the wind, fuelled by the chocolate biscuits.

 

21 December – Desert camp – Desert camp - 52 km

Over the past few days, we could manage only about 50 kilometres of riding, and at night we camped in the wadis (dry riverbeds), cooking our fast-dwindling rations. Moreover, the nights and mornings were bitterly cold. Reluctant to emerge, the time was usually nine-thirty or ten before getting underway.

 

22 December – Desert camp – Desert camp - 72 km

The next day, the two desert rats managed 72 kilometres, a distance we were pleased with, as biking days were short when departing late, with the sun setting around 6 o’clock. During the day, we discovered a dhaba selling foul (pronounced "fool") and aish (warm pita bread), a dish that became our favourite while cycling in Sudan.

Even though we tried our level best to cover longer distances, the going remained dreadfully slow. Therefore, catching the weekly Wadi Halfa/Abu Simbel ferry in four days seemed more unlikely by the day.

The fascinating part was that our camp was amongst the ruins of a deserted town. To this day, I wonder about its history, but Maslow was correct, and all I was concerned about was food, water and pitching the tent.

 

23 December – Desert camp - Akasha – 74 km

Despite trying to get underway earlier, it was 9 o’clock before getting going. Our eyes were set on the small community of Akasha, almost 74 kilometres away. At least we were cycling along a road of sorts, but it deteriorated as soon as it left the Nile. Conditions were becoming increasingly challenging, and the wind, sand, corrugations, and mountains seemed even worse. At least Akasha was reached before dark, and it boasted a tiny shop where one could buy a few items. The shop had a relatively limited supply, but we were delighted and excited about buying more tea and a few sweets.

With full water bottles, we headed out of the village to camp in a nearby riverbed. Later, Ernest warmed water for washing as the weather became downright freezing after sunset.

 

24 December – Akasha – Desert Camp - 59 km

It’s surprising how cold the desert gets in winter, and after drinking our morning tea, we packed up and departed. Unfortunately, the day was again marred by soft sand requiring walking the bicycles through sand or over stony terrain. Although there were no water stops or settlements, we came across a road camp approximately 30 kilometres into the day. Staff were kind enough to fill our water containers, allowing enough water to cook and wash that evening.

Our days started to follow a familiar rhythm of shivering while drinking our morning tea, followed by pushing the bikes into the wind through sand or over stony terrain, generally, in the oppressive heat. By evening, we pitched the tents in the wadis while dressed in our warmest clothes.

 

25-26 December – Desert Camp - Wadi Halfa – 72 km

Awake early, we were keen to get going as this was the final stretch to Wadi Halfa. The only way to get from Sudan to Egypt overland was by ferry from Wadi Halfa to Aswan, crossing the Aswan Dam.

As it was a weekly ferry, it was essential to get the boat the following morning or wait another week. Unfortunately, our visas had expired more than a week earlier, and we were desperate to catch the ferry in the coming days.

Great was our surprise to find the last 30 kilometres into Wadi Halfa paved. With smiles and an immeasurable sense of relief, the two desert rats made their way into the small port town of Wadi Halfa. I was relieved (and I’m sure so was Ernest), being out of the desert and in a dirty room with a sagging bed. We were even more delighted with the many food stalls and being on time to catch the Aswan ferry.

 

27 December – Wadi Halfa, Sudan – Aswan, Egypt

The following day was an early start to purchase ferry tickets and get our police stamps to exit Sudan. Even with all the checks and stamps, no one said a word regarding our expired visas, and we couldn’t wait to board the ferry and get out of Sudan before anyone noticed. Being an overnight ferry departing at four a.m., I splashed out and treated us to a cabin.

The border between the two countries ran somewhere through the middle of the lake. After some time, a speedboat came hurrying along, the police jumped aboard, and our passports were nervously handed over. Then, mercifully, no one noticed the dates, and we were free to go. Phew!

The remainder of the evening was spent chatting with fellow travellers and enjoying a beautiful sunset over the Aswan Dam.

The ferry from Wadi Halfa, Sudan, arrived in Aswan, Egypt, around nine o’clock the following day. We, nevertheless, only managed to place our feet upon Egyptian soil at around eleven. Thus, the saying, “Egypt was like a visit back in time”, seemed accurate in more ways than one.

Friday, 30 November 2007

012 CYCLE TOURING ETHIOPIA

Riding the Roof of Africa (One Struggle at a Time)


Photo by Ernest Markwood
Photo by Ernest Markwood

012 ETHIOPIA
716 Kilometres – 15 Days
9 November 2007 – 30 November 2007



MAP

PHOTOS

FLIP-BOOK

PDF

 VOICEOVER



Prelude – Ethiopia

Some journeys begin with careful planning. Others, like this one, begin with a fresh passport, a slightly questionable level of fitness, and a vague sense that things will probably work out.

Ethiopia, however, has never been particularly interested in anyone’s expectations. It keeps its own time (starting at sunrise), follows its own calendar (happily celebrating the year 2000 while the rest of the world moves on), and presents its landscapes in one consistent format: uphill.

I arrived knowing what lay ahead—or at least, thinking I did. The altitude would bite, the hills would test my resolve, and injera would feature heavily in my daily diet. What I had conveniently forgotten was how unpredictable everything else would be: the humour, the challenges, and the strange, unforgettable rhythm of the road.

So, with Ernest by my side and Sudan somewhere in the distance, we set off once more—northward into a country that doesn’t ease you in gently, but rewards you all the same.

After all, it was only 716 kilometres.

How difficult could it really be?

 

Cape Town, South Africa to Addis Ababa, Ethiopia (2400 m asl)

My return to South Africa from Amman, Jordan, was prompted by a rather urgent and unglamorous reason: I desperately needed a new passport. Nothing says “world traveller” quite like running out of pages. To my surprise, Ernest also showed up in Cape Town—but unlike me, he had abandoned most of his belongings in Addis Ababa. Priorities clearly differ.

After a solid month of eating, drinking, and reacquainting myself with both friends and my waistband, I proudly collected my shiny maxi passport—more pages, more possibilities, and slightly more responsibility not to lose it.

Following some enthusiastic (and possibly overcaffeinated) discussions, Ernest and I decided to reunite forces and head to Addis Ababa. I was thrilled. Ethiopia has it all: history, mystery, altitude—and marathon runners who make the rest of us look like we’re standing still.

This is a country where the Ethiopian Orthodox Church claims to guard the Ark of the Covenant (no big deal), where Lalibela’s rock-hewn churches were apparently carved by angels working overnight (impressive turnaround time), and where Emperor Haile Selassie is revered by Rastafarians worldwide—making Ethiopia a sort of spiritual headquarters for Bob Marley fans.

And then there’s the food. Injera—Ethiopia’s beloved sourdough pancake—serves as both plate and cutlery. Tear a piece, scoop your stew, and voilà—minimal washing up. It’s genius. It’s also slightly dangerous when you realise you’ve eaten your plate.

We spent a week exploring Addis, including a visit to Lucy—the 3.2-million-year-old fossil who, at 1.1 meters tall, clearly skipped leg day. Most of our time, however, was spent on the thrilling adventure of visa applications. Hours melted away as we navigated Ethiopian time (which starts at sunrise—because why not?) and a calendar that runs gloriously out of sync with the rest of the planet. While the world was in 2007, Ethiopia was joyfully celebrating the year 2000—complete with lights and festivities. Honestly, they might be onto something.

To top it off, I bumped into Wondey, one of the 2005 Tour d’Afrique guides. Because apparently, the world is just a very small, dusty village.

 

A Humbling Start (And Unexpected Hills)

After seven days of “preparation” (and by preparation, I mean eating), we finally got on our bikes. What should’ve been a short 80-km ride to Muka felt like an Olympic event. Either Addis got hillier while I was away, or my fitness had quietly slipped out the back door.

The countryside, however, was spectacular—lush greens and golden fields, dotted with farmers still ploughing with oxen like it’s the 1800s (because in many ways, it is).

Eighty kilometres later, I arrived in Muka—exhausted, humbled, and questioning my life choices.

 

Short Ride, Long Complaints

At a lofty 2,780 metres above sea level, Fiche wasn’t far, but my backside staged a formal protest. A short ride was declared necessary for survival.

The locals were fascinated by us, particularly the children, who greeted us enthusiastically with, “You! You! Give money!”—followed, if ignored, by a small but effective rain of stones. Not malicious, just... persistent marketing. And impressively accurate. Olympic potential, these kids.

Into the Blue Nile Gorge

A scenic but hilly ride led us to the Blue Nile Gorge—an absolutely stunning sight. Vast, dramatic, and exactly the kind of place that makes you forget how much your legs hurt for about three seconds.

The Blue Nile, one of the Nile’s two main tributaries, begins at Lake Tana in Ethiopia. The White Nile begins… somewhere. No one seems entirely sure, which is oddly comforting.

That night, we camped on the rim of the gorge, admiring one of the most incredible landscapes in Ethiopia—and possibly wondering why humans ever thought cycling through mountains was a good idea.

 

Down Easy, Up the Hard Way

The descent into the gorge—1,500 meters—was surprisingly manageable, thanks to some paving. A rare gift! The climb out, however, was a different story: steep, gravelly, with major roadworks.

Having cycled this stretch before, I opted for a truck ride. Ernest, fuelled by determination (and questionable judgment), chose to cycle.

In Debra Markos, we treated ourselves to market goods—beans, potatoes, onions—and Ernest whipped up a stew. A welcome break from our near-exclusive diet of injera.

Local history added humour: when the Italians arrived in 1936, they announced they’d come to free the locals from their oppressors. The locals, confused, reportedly asked, “Which oppressors?” Awkward.

 

Rolling Roads and Dollar Luxury

Rolling hills led us to Finote Selam, where a room with a hot shower cost just over a dollar. Luxury!

Vegetables were scarce, but bananas and oranges were plentiful. You take what you can get.

Ethiopia continued to impress—an ancient country that largely avoided colonisation, with a fascinating language (Amharic) that looks as complex as it sounds. Place names, unfortunately, come in multiple spellings, ensuring perpetual confusion for travellers trying to read maps.

 

History, and Regrettable Meals

A pleasant ride—punctuated by the usual “Where you go?” followed by increasingly ambitious requests: money, clothes, occasionally even the bicycle.

Dangla, a modest town, once played a role in the African slave trade. History hides in the most unexpected places.

Dinner was firfir—fried injera in spicy sauce. Delicious at the time. Regrettable later.

 

When the Body Says No

This ride was... character-building. The kind that makes you question everything.

I eventually staggered into Bahir Dar, a surprisingly pleasant lakeside town. There were actual hotels! Restaurants! Civilization!

I splurged on a bed instead of camping—because pitching a tent felt like summiting Everest. Unfortunately, I was unwell and missed out on exploring Lake Tana’s monasteries and the Blue Nile Falls. A bitter disappointment. Still feeling unwell, an additional day was spent in Bahir Dar. Little did I know that whatever I'd contracted would linger an awfully long time.

 

Flat Roads and Fragile Stomachs

The route to Addis Zena led along Lake Tana and was mercifully flat. Finally.

Addis Zena provided stunning views of the foothills of the Simien Mountains. That evening, Ernest made spaghetti—a welcome break from Ethiopian cuisine while my stomach negotiated a truce. We ate our food while admiring Mount Asaba, Addis Zena's famous landmark.

 

The Castles of Gondar

The ride to Gondar delivered spectacular scenery. Gondar itself was a treasure—once Ethiopia’s capital and filled with castles.

The walled Fasil Ghebbi fortress is a vast complex of forts and palaces measuring 70,000 square metres. It contains numerous restored castles and other buildings and has been declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site. However, the main attraction remained the immense 17th-century castle of Emperor Fasilides, which featured a surprising mixture of architectural styles and, frankly, made your average castle look a bit lazy.

 

Ernest pedalled ahead, but I stayed back to explore, as this was my second visit to Gonder and I didn’t want to race through it like the first time. Priorities.

I visited Debre Berhan Selassie Church and wandered the markets. Schoolchildren greeted me with cheerful cries of “Good morning, teacher!”—a title I was definitely not qualified for.

 

Gondar to Metema (by bus)

The bus journey was an adventure in itself. Fees were charged for loading the bike, unloading it, and presumably thinking about it.

The seats were so hard that I arrived more uncomfortable than if I’d cycled. Impressive.

Metema, a border town, was dusty and chaotic, with “rustic” accommodation—a mud hut with a sagging bed and electricity that came and went as it pleased.

Ernest arrived looking like he’d wrestled a dust storm—and lost.

We upgraded to a slightly better room (emphasis on slightly) and enjoyed our last beer before entering Sudan, where alcohol was strictly forbidden. No surprises, then, that the border town had plenty of pubs.

 

Cross the border from Ethiopia to Sudan (88 km)

We crossed the border into Sudan via what can only be described as a mud hut masquerading as an immigration office.

Sudan greeted us with heat, wind, and a sharp cultural shift. Cycling was tough, and we barely made it to the tiny village of Doka.

We camped near a police checkpoint—not ideal, but it had water, which in this environment is more valuable than comfort.

As I lay in my tent that night, I couldn’t help but smile. Cycling through Sudan—again—was never part of the original plan. But here I was again! 

 

Epilogue – Leaving Ethiopia (and a Few Illusions Behind)

By the time we reached the border at Metema, Ethiopia had done what it always seems to do—left me equal parts exhausted, amused, and quietly in awe.

It wasn’t just the kilometres, though there were plenty of those. Nor was it the hills, which seemed endless at the time and somehow steeper in memory. It was the accumulation of small moments: the children calling out from dusty roadsides, the constant negotiation between expectation and reality, the laughter that somehow finds its way in even when things aren’t going entirely to plan. 

But if you keep moving forward—sometimes slowly, sometimes with great reluctance—you eventually find yourself exactly where you’re meant to be.