Roderick Phillips's Blog, page 6

Metemma to Gondar, Day 302

Christi and I spend a very uncomfortable night in a hovel in Metemma on the Ethiopian side of the border with Sudan.  Our ‘cave’ is just big enough to hold a double bed. There is no other furniture – there would be nowhere to put it. Sadly there is no fan or air-conditioning either and it is a hot, sticky night. We do have a single overhead electric light in the room, which is run by a generator that goes off at 10 pm. The toilet and shower are in a separate block. They are easy to find, though, just follow the pungent aroma. It’s not much of a hotel, but it is cheap (50 Ethiopian Birr [US$5]), and it was only for one night as we move on to Gondar this morning. I try to convince Christi that nights like these make us appreciate our occasional forays into luxury even more. The sour look she gives me makes me think she does not entirely agree with that assumption.

I do have a confession to make at this point. Christi and I have visited Ethiopia before, so for once we do know what we are letting ourselves in for. Our previous visit was with the Overlanding company Dragoman, so the emphasis then was on cheap adventure. This time we intend to double up on the comfort and hope to retain elements of the adventure. We begin by taking a minibus from Metemma to Gondar. Our guidebook says this will take 6 hours on a bumpy road, but our book is out of date in this respect because within the last few months a new sealed road has been completed and journey times have been slashed to 2-3 hours.

As usual we are mobbed at the bus station in Gondar, but we ignore everyone and make our way to the Queen Taitu hotel, which boasts large rooms, satellite TV (sort of), hot water (eventually) and an ensuite bathroom for 150 Birr (US$11).  Sadly the bathroom is Cuenca-pongy and the main office controls which satellite station we watch (we choose BBC World on their behalf).

At 7,000 feet above sea level, Gondar is refreshingly cool after the brutal heat of Sudan and the sticky night in Metemma. The city is known as the “Camelot of Africa” due to the presence of several royal castles (which we’ll visit another day). The hilly streets of Gondar and the sudden altitude leaves Christi and I gasping  for breath, but it’s a fairly laid-back town to explore. We are returning to Ethiopia for one major reason and that is to visit the Omo Valley. We will talk more about this in the future, but it’s never too early to plan how we’re going to get around this remote part of southern Ethiopia (which makes it remote period).  I  have actually set aside a separate pot of cash to throw at the problem and we make tentative inquiries at Ethiopia from Explore Abyssinia Travel. The agent is positively salivating at the prospect of organizing a private tour on our behalf. For once going in a group isn’t even an option because there are so few tourists in Ethiopia. Our previous attempt to visit the Omo Valley was a disaster, so we are going to check out several options (and prices) before committing to a particular program. The agent is not happy to hear this.

We end the day at Fasiladas’ Baths. Named after the famous 17th century Ethiopian Emperor, Fasiladas is credited with founding the city of Gondar in 1636 and establishing it as Ethiopia’s capital. He later built these public baths to celebrate the festival of Timkat. Timkat is  the Ethiopian Orthodox Church’s celebration of the Epiphany (that is the baptism of Jesus in the Jordan River). Fasiladas’ Baths features a two-story brick building surrounded by a moat. During the festival of Timkat, models of the Ark of the Covenant are paraded around Gondar and the procession ends at the Baths. The moat is specially filled for the occasion and after the priests bless the water the local jump in and a party atmosphere takes over. The festival of Timkat occurs in January, but Christi and I visit in June, which probably explains why the place is deserted. The Baths are also in the midst of being renovated. This 3-year project is now into its sixth year and appears no closer to being finished. Much of the stone structure is encased in rickety wooden scaffolding and it appears to be women who are doing most of the heavy lifting.  The most appealing aspect of the site is the Ta-Prohm-like invasion of tree roots over the walls surrounding the complex.

I take a moment for quiet reflection and then, when no-one is looking, pray that this time our travels in Ethiopia are more successful. I don’t receive an immediate response, but I’m pretty sure the guy upstairs has our backs.

Blog post by Roderick Phillips, author of Weary Heart – a gut-wrenching tale of love and test tubes.

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Faces of Sudan, Day 301

Supposedly Midhat Mahir, our Sudanese fixer has organized an early morning  taxi to take Christi and I to South Khartoum bus station. It never arrives, leaving Christi and I scrambling to find a ride. Fortunately the hotel concierge intervenes and arranges everything on our behalf. I should just state here and now that the people of Sudan are actually very friendly. There is the possibility, unlike with mature tourist destinations like Morocco and Egypt, to have authentic conversations that don’t involve trying to sell us some tourist junk. It’s a 20-minute ride through busy streets of Khartoum to the bus station. We arrive at 7.45 am, which is cutting it fine for our 8 am departure, and judging by the sheer size of the station and the melee of people who are gathered there finding the right bus might be a challenge. This challenge is made harder (or easier depending on your point of view) as the surprised crowd wants to know where we are going. ‘Gallabat – and then across the border to Metemma in Ethiopia,’ I yell above the noise. The locals try to be helpful and most of them point in the same direction, so we hoist our bags onto our shoulders and trudge onwards. Our progress is soon stopped by station security. They check us and our bags and charge us for the privilege. Once through the security cordon our bags are collected by a porter and placed in his wheelbarrow. He is most insistent that he wheel our luggage to the Gallabat bus and together with a few other Good Samaritans we dash off in what we hope is the right direction. It isn’t. The Good Samaritans stare at our ticket – some of them look at it upside down; they ask station officials for directions and we’re off again. Still no luck. Finally, it is suggested that we go to the bus company itself. And they know exactly where the bus is: It’s already on its way to Gallabat.

Undeterred, our coterie of helpers burst out of the bus station with our bags in tow and Christi and I struggling to keep up. We are urged to jump into a tuk-tuk and the porter throws our luggage on top of us. He then holds on to the side of the vehicle and the tuk-tuk driver speeds away. Christi and I still have no idea where what is happening or where we are going – hopefully not the whole way by tuk-tuk because it’s at least an 8-hour ride. Five minutes later we come across a bus parked on the side of the road. Our porter grabs our luggage and starts hurling it into the bus, while a conductor scrutinizes our tickets. The conductor then waves us onboard and we clamber up the steps. Hopefully we are going to Gallabat. I just have time to throw a 20 SP note to the porter and then we are gone.

This is only the beginning of the adventure, however. We are aghast to see every inch of the aisle is covered in suitcases – and our bags have just been added to the dump.  More painful still is the fact that we need to climb over these bags to reach a couple of single seats in the dim and distant recesses of the coach.  The looks we receive range from glares to bewilderment and occasionally smiles. I have an aisle seat next to a wary young Muslim girl, while Christi finds herself seated next to a guy with a hacking cough who sounds nearer to death than life.  Adjacent to my seat is a huge vat of water and a cooler full of bottles of mango juice.  Most of the windows have their drapes closed, presumably to keep out the hot sun. This is a shame because we can’t see any of the scenery in this part of Sudan. The girl who I’m sitting next to actually has her suitcase in the space where my feet should be and she seems disinclined to move it. She is also mightily offended when I put my feet on it and only very reluctantly does she remove it. She does not talk to me for the rest of the 9-hour journey.

There is no toilet on board, so we stop a couple of times in utterly remote one-street towns for bathroom breaks. We still have no sense as to whether we are heading in the right direction. Back on the bus there is a TV and DVD player.  We begin with a Jean-Claude Van Damme flick, followed by Slam Down (American Wrestling).  Sudan definitely has a love-hate relationship with the Great Satan. Even though English is commonly spoken in Sudan, it’s not commonly spoken on the bus so Christi and I have no clue as to where we are and if we are truly going to Gallabat. Very occasionally I catch glimpses of the surrounding scenery, which appears to be thatched villages and more flat monotonous desert.  Amazingly we’re served lunch and drinks and the conductor has to climb over the bags repeatedly to serve everyone. By the time we reach our destination after 9 long, miserable hours, I no longer care where we are I just want off the damn bus.

Barely have we set foot in Gallabat (yes we actually arrived at the correct destination) when a cocky 22-year-old guy attached himself to us and we become ‘his foreigners’. He is quite protective of us and while wheeling our luggage around he directs us to the various customs and immigration offices. The Sudanese officials are very surprised to see Christi at this border and ask her lots of questions about her time in Sudan. She assures them she thoroughly enjoyed herself. Ethiopian customs are particularly fastidious, though, and check every item in our packs before allowing us to step 7 years back in time (Ethiopia follows the Julian rather than the Gregorian calendar and can therefore boast 13 months of sunshine every year). By the way does that make Christi and me 7 years younger. Now that is a great sales pitch.

Blog post by Roderick Phillips, author of Weary Heart - a gut-wrenching tale of love and test tubes. 

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Gaddafi’s Egg and the Madhi, Sudan, Day 300

There is a message for Christi and I in the lobby of our hotel, the Gobba, in Khartoum, which is something of a surprise since we don’t know anyone in this city. The message is from the office of Midhat Madir our Sudanese fixer with whom we have a love / hate relationship. We paid him an extortionate amount of money for travel permits to the Sudan (although whether these permits actually helped secure entry into the country is open to debate. Christi’s pharmacy experience, on the other hand, was invaluable). Then Midhat organized a car rental and driver and attempted to charge us over and above the agreed price, which was very annoying. Midhat was able to get a good deal for Christi and I on the Gobba hotel, and the hotel is fine. He even agreed to purchase bus tickets for our onward travel. The oppressive heat has forced us to curtail our exploration of Sudan and tomorrow we will take a public bus to the Ethiopian border. Anyway Midhat called to say that they have the tickets and they want to meet at Gaddafi’s Egg at noon. What the hell does that mean. The concierge at the Gobba hotel explains that Gaddafi’s Egg is the nickname given to the Burj Al-Fateh hotel (now known as the Corinthia) . 

Gaddafi’s Egg is an US$80 million luxury hotel on the river near Al-Mogram (not sure how we missed it yesterday). It has a soaring, curved facade in the shape of a dhow (Arab sailing boat). It is a rough imitation of Dubai’s iconic Burj Al Arab – a telling reflection of Khartoum’s grand ambitions. There are 18 guest floors, 173 rooms and 57 suites, all offering panoramic views over the city and the Nile. The hotel has six restaurants and cafés and leisure facilities including spa, gym, tennis and squash courts. It also resembles London’s Gherkin, which may not be the image the current owners of the re-named Corinthia want to present to the world. It’s certainly different from any other building in the city and I’m surprised Midhat wants to meet here. I don’t think any of us could afford a cup of coffee let alone a room (the cheapest room is US$230 per night). We meet in the Nile River Cafe in the lobby. Midhat is pleased to see us and over expensive coffees he asks if we are enjoying Sudan (which we are) and the Gobba hotel (ditto). And the car and driver? Yes, yes everything is wonderful. Then he switches the conversation. He recently paid the car rental company for 6-days worth of car rental and gas even though Christi and I only agreed to a 4-day rental. ‘Perhaps you would be willing to pay at least one of the extra days[almost US$200]?’ he asks. ‘Err, no,’ I reply quite adamantly. He affects a look of despair, but I’m not going to be guilted into giving him extra money over and above the agreed upon price. The meeting becomes quite uncomfortable, but I’m not about to blink. I ask if he has our tickets for the bus ride to Gallabat (on the border with Ethiopia) tomorrow. Reluctantly he hands them over and I willingly pay up and even give him a little extra for his efforts. He does not appear mollified, but we shake hands and that ladies and gentlemen is the last we ever see of Midhat Madir. I think Midhat is basically a good guy, but if you work with him be sure to double and triple check the details.

Next (and with a little help from the locals) Christi and I take a minibus back to Omdurman to explore the Khalifa’s House and Museum, and then the nearby tomb of the Mahdi. Once again being in Omdurman takes me back to my childhood and a book I was given called ‘The Finding Out Book of Battles’. One of the battles featured was the Battle of Omdurman. The massacre of General Charles Gordon and the population of Khartoum by the Madhi (a Muslim term that means to rid the world of evil) and his Sudanese warriors in 1885 lead to uproar in England.  The Mahdi had precious little time to enjoy his victory, however, dying 5 months later.  His successor was the Khalifa who ruled until Britain finally retook Khartoum at the Battle of Omdurman on Sept 2nd 1898 under General Kitchener.  It was a terribly miss-matched affair: maxim guns against spears and crocodile-hide shields.  The Anglo-Egyptian forces lost 48 men, the Sudanese lost about 10,000 souls (Fast fact: a young Winston Churchill – later Britain’s leader during WWII – fought at Omdurman. Fast fact #2: Winston Churchill won the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1953).  The Khalifa’s museum contains fascinating artefacts from the battle as well as pieces from the Madhiya period.  The courtyard of the museum also features the original copula of the Madhi’s mausoleum, which was blown up by Kitchener after he reclaimed Sudan for the British in 1898.  A replica of the Madhi’s mausoleum was built in 1947 and is located adjacent to the Khalifa’s house. Having relived the battle through the eyes of the Sudanese, we escape back to the sinful pleasures of air-con, TV, and cold sodas at the Gobbaa hotel. Tomorrow we face a little battle of our own: escaping Sudan by public transport. Here’s hoping it is easier to get out of Sudan than it was to get in.

Blog post by Roderick Phillips, author of Weary Heart – a gut-wrenching tale of love and test tubes.

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Where the Blue Nile meets the White Nile, Day 299

Today Christi and I intend to explore Khartoum on our own and in this highly security-conscious country we are a little nervous of what to expect once we leave the safe confines of the Gobba hotel.  Since the temperatures tend to be cooler in the morning, we are up and out early.  With the aid of some primitive maps and the benefit of having driven around Khartoum for the last few days we have a fairly good idea of where we need to go.  My goal is Al-Mogran, which means confluence. And not just any confluence but the confluence of the White Nile and the Blue Nile, which together creates the longest river in the world. The Nile is over 4,200 miles long and travels through as many as 11 countries. In truth no one knows exactly how long the White Nile is because its exact source has yet to be found. Lake Victoria in Uganda is often given the honors as the source of the White Nile, but the lake has feeder tributaries of considerable size which originate in Burundi and Rwanda. The shorter Blue Nile originates in Lake Tana, Ethiopia.

Although the confluence of the Nile was the reason Khartoum was founded, the government does not overtly advertise this natural spectacle.  Indeed the Sudanese would appear happier if Al-Mogran  was never viewed and especially never photographed.  The guidebooks suggest that if you must take photos (and I must) then try the view from the top of the Ferris wheel in nearby Al-Mogran Family Park.  The place is deserted when we arrive and no one seems keen to start the Ferris wheel just for Christi and I.  The park is adjacent to the confluence, however, and with a little effort I scramble up the railings surrounding the amusement park and take a few snaps. But they are not perfect – and I’m all about perfect. Christi can tell I have that steely glint in my eye, indicating I’m on a mission and I won’t quit until I’m either arrested or I get the photos I crave.

Beside the Al-Mogran Family Park is the strategically important White Nile bridge that connects Khartoum and Omdurman. Our guidebook advises us that if you try to take photos of Al-Mogran from the bridge Sudanese security forces will arrest you and worse confiscate your camera. And still I’m prepared to risk it. Christi, against her considerable will I might add, is my look-out. We are the only people on the bridge and we are foreigners so we must stick out like sore thumbs, yet we are completely ignored. Perhaps Sudan is developing a more tolerant attitude towards tourists. I find this hard to believe, though, considering the effort required to obtain our Sudanese visas.

These photos are good, but they are distant shots and I want to stand physically on the bank where the Blue Nile (the water actually appears black) and White Nile (the water appears sandy brown) merge. And I want to be in the photo. There are steps down from the White Nile bridge to an area of waste ground that culminates in Al-Mogran. The waste ground is basically a garbage site and one that appears to be home to a pack of wild dogs. Christi has so many legitimate reasons for not wanting to continue, but I continually poke and nudge her along in the right direction. We stumble along warily, avoiding broken bottles and snarling dogs and still fearful that a Sudanese SWAT team will drop out of the skies at any moment and eliminate us with Uzi sub-machine guns. I just don’t understand why Sudan is not more proud of this natural spectacle. Christi gives me maybe 5 minutes to take whatever photos I deem vital to my future happiness and then physically drags me away. There are not many people in this world who have seen the confluence of the Amazon and the Nile, but Christi and I are two of them!

Blog post by Roderick Phillips, author of Weary Heart – a gut-wrenching tale of love and test tubes. 

 

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Royal cemetery of Begrawiya, Day 298

A visit to the ancient royal cemetery of Begrawiya (a.k.a Meroe) some 200 km north-east of Khartoum represents the fourth and final day of our program.  The car hire has certainly been useful for getting around, but it ain’t cheap so we’re trying to maximize our activities.  Abdul, our driver, meets us at 8 am and off we go – straight into rush hour traffic. Yes even in Khartoum. And conditions don’t improve after we extricate ourselves from the city as large overladen trucks drive at suicidal pace on the road north. It doesn’t help that the sky overhead remains dull and dark, the remnants of last night’s haboub (sand storm).

We arrive at the funerary complex of  Begrawiya on time at 11 am to be greeted by a few eager and anxious souvenir sellers and three UN peacekeeper vehicles.  Apparently this group is on a weekend break from monitoring the peace process in southern Sudan. Fortunately they are just leaving and we therefore have the place to ourselves. The one thing you can almost guarantee in Sudan is that you’re unlikely to bump into other travelers; it’s like being in Egypt without the hordes of tourists. Of course this does mean that the souvenir sellers will absolutely target you, but these guys are much less aggressive than their compatriots in Egypt. Their main sales tactic is desperation, which I don’t think is an act sadly. We’re not really souvenir people, but Christi’s eye can always be turned by a shiny piece of jewelry and she succumbs to a brass bracelet for 55SP (about US$22). With the fall of the 25th (Nubian) dynasty of Ancient Egypt, the rulers retreated from Upper Egypt to their spiritual home at Napata (present day Karima and Nuri). The Nubian dynasty evolved into the Kingdom of Kush, which flourished in Napata and Meroe until the 4th century AD.

There are two main groupings of pyramids at Begrawiya, which number over 200 in total. The northern grouping is actually younger than those to the south.  The southern cemetery dates to the 8th century BC, coinciding with the transfer of power from Napata to Meroe. Around 300 BC, burials switched from the southern the northern grouping. Kings and queens continued to be buried here until the fall of the Kushite Empire in the 4th century AD. Since Christi and I have a limited attention span for Egyptology (even if it is Egyptology in Sudan), we focus on the heavily restored northern grouping of pyramids. Many of these pyramids were decapitated in 1834 by an Italian doctor turned treasure hunter called Giuseppe Ferlini. This desecration yielded minimal treasure and what there was now resides in museums in Germany. These days the pyramids are in danger of being lost under the folds of giant apricot-colored sand dunes. The pyramids of Begrawiya are much smaller than their Egyptian counterparts (less than 30m tall) and built at a much steeper angle (70o) which eased construction.  Many of the pyramids have been restored which at least helps visualize what they must have looked lied 2,000 years ago even if does detract from the areas authenticity. Having said that the ante-chambers of the tombs contain some well-preserved hieroglyphics and reliefs.

Despite the oppressive heat, it was fun to explore in complete isolation. Two cameleers hover around, hoping to be hired to take us the southern grouping but we have quickly become templed out and decline their offer of a ride. Instead I pay them a few pounds to race their camels for the camera before we return to the sumptuous air-conditioning of our Toyota Land Cruiser. After a late lunch in the uninspiring town of Shendi, we truly go off-piste (thank goodness for 4WD) to reach our final archaeological site on our Year of Wonder, the Meroitic temples of Naqa.  And this place truly is in the middle of nowhere.  I can’t believe it gets many visitors, yet a Sudanese official is on site and eager to charge us the entry fee (20 SP per person).  

We visit three main temples. First, the Kiosk which is notable for having both Roman and Egyptian architectural influences. Second, the Lion Temple, which is dedicated to the lion-headed Kushite god, Apedemak. The reliefs and hieroglyphs here are simple stunning.  And third, the Temple of Amun, which follows a more traditional Egyptian floor plan: an avenue of rams leading to an outer courtyard, hypostyle hall, and inner sanctuary. It’s all great stuff, but we’re equally excited when Abdul returns us to our air-conditioned  room at the Gobbaa hotel, after an 11 hour day of touring and traveling. Tomorrow we explore alone. 

Blog post by Roderick Phillips, author of Weary Heart – a gut-wrenching tale of love and test tubes.

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Omdurman, Sudan, Day 297

Today Christi and I will spend most of our time in Omdurman, the largest city in Sudan, which lies on the western banks of the Nile River opposite the capital Khartoum. Omdurman is the center of commerce, while Khartoum is the cultural and industrial heart of the country. I’m not sure if a camel market is considered high stakes commerce, but our purpose for visiting it is actually to see some of Sudan’s ethnic diversity, including Arabs from Darfur and Beja (Fuzzy Wuzzies) and Rashaida from Eastern Sudan. Although there are ongoing troubles in Dafur and in Southern Sudan, Khartoum and Northern Sudan have escaped unscathed. And since we are unable to visit these troubled places, we are hopeful that some of the indigenous folks will visit us – or at least the camel market in Omdurman. However, the normally unflappable Abdul looks quite flapped (is that a word?) this morning. He repeatedly flags down the locals in an attempt to find the camel market. I’m envisaging hundreds, if not thousands, of the critters at this market, which would make you think that something that size would be pretty easy to find. The truth is there is no camel market today. Abdul finds a small group of mangy-looking camel herders and their even mangier looking camels on an otherwise vast and empty plain to the west of Omdurman. Tomorrow there will be a massive market, but we have missed our chance to see it. We told Midhat of our desire to visit the camel market. Surely the whole point of a tour and travel company is that they are experts in this kind of stuff  and they don’t bring you on the wrong day. Now that is frustrating.

We give up on the camel market, but Abdul suggests a visit to the Omdurman souq, which might offer some ethnic diversity and some potential souvenirs (It’s not as if Christi and I ever plan to return to Sudan!).  The souq is typical of those we have seen in the rest of Arab Africa. One noticeable difference, though, is that the merchants don’t negotiate. The price they quote is a fixed price. That took some getting used to. I received a few looks of disgust when I offered half the asking price. I thought the merchants were just playing hardball! I do eventually purchase a wall hanging for the full asking price of 35 SP (US$14). It’s a wooden map of Sudan, highlighting its people and natural wonders. The people we meet in the market are very friendly and very inquisitive, although they are a bit suspicious of Christi – or maybe they are wary of being seen speaking to a citizen of the Great Satan. Having said that Spiderman school bags and Western-style lingerie is on sale so the relationship between Sudan and America is complicated. We do fall into conversation with a Nuer tribesman from Southern Sudan who has 6 lines cut into his forehead (scarification).  I ask him for a photo but he refuses politely.  I also ask about the political situation in the south and his opinion on the likely outcome of the upcoming referendum on independence for the south.  He clams up immediately and scans the market nervously, which rather suggests criticism of the government is not tolerated. As usual the temperatures hover around 110oF and I find it amusing to see an optimistic salesman selling ice from his bicycle. All I can say is that he better sell it fast before all his profits melt.

Later Abdul takes us to the Friday night extravaganza:  the Whirling Dervishes.  The term ‘Whirling Dervishes’ is one of those great sales slogans which immediately makes you want to visit.  The reality is a little more mundane.  The Whirling Dervishes are actually members of the Sufi order of Islam, which is said to embody the inner, mystical dimension of Islam.   The dervishes gather in front of Hamed al-Nil tomb in Omdurman every Friday evening for a night of chanting, clapping, and music.  As the pace picks up and the frenzy intensifies the dervishes chant the name of God.  Occasionally the dervishes twirl as part of this process of communing with God.  It’s a very intense spectacle. Before the ceremony is over Abdul rushes up to us and urges us back into the Land Cruiser. He’s pointing at the sky and shouting ‘haboub’. I’ve no idea what he’s talking about, but then the sky turns dark and malevolent – even blocking out the sun. It’s a violent Saharan sand storm. Quite how Abdul has the confidence to drive in this blackout is beyond me. Its like traveling in a dense dark fog and the headlights show only a few feet in front of the car. We make very slow progress as people and other vehicles scurry for cover. It is a relief to finally make it back  to our hotel without incident. Hopefully, Christi and I will avoid any further ‘haboubs’ during our time in Sudan.

Blog post by Roderick Phillips, author of Weary Heart – a gut-wrenching tale of love and test tubes. 

 

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The pyramids of Napata, Sudan, Day 296

I sleep reasonably well in the Sahara desert, staring up at the stars; Christi less so. She says she couldn’t get comfortable. As Christi rolls up her sleeping bag she uncovers a nest of scorpions,  which just might explain her uncomfortable night. Damn this desert is dangerous. Abdul, who slept soundly in the back of the Land Cruiser, makes breakfast then it’s back to Jebel Barkal for morning shots of the pyramids of Napata. I’m trying desperately not to overwhelm you all with too much information about the history of Egypt because there is a lot of it and it is complicated. However, I think there needs to be a little explanation as to why Sudan has Egyptian-style funereal pyramids.

OK, take a deep breath and off we go. In antiquity the modern town of Karima was the city-state of  Napata in Nubia (a region along the Nile encompassing northern Sudan and southern Egypt). Napata was founded by the Pharaoh Tutmosis III (remember him? His step-mother Hatshepsut usurped his throne for a couple of decades) in the 15th century BC after his conquest of Nubia. The nearby Jebel Barkal marked the southern border of the Egyptian empire. The tables were turned 750 years later (talk about revenge being a dish best served cold) when the Nubian Kingdom of Kush based in Napata expanded northwards and subjugated most or all of Ancient Egypt, forming the 25th dynasty. This dynasty ushered in a renaissance period for Ancient Egypt where religion, the arts, and architecture were restored to their glorious Old, Middle, and New Kingdom forms. Pharaohs, such as Taharqa, built or restored temples and monuments throughout the Nile valley, including at Memphis (south of Cairo), Karnak (Luxor), and Jebel Barkal. Indeed, it was during the 25th dynasty that the Nile valley saw the first widespread construction of pyramids (many in modern Sudan) in over 500 years. The pyramids of Napata at Jebel Barkal date from 300 BC.

The sanctuary of the Temple of Mut is literally carved into Jebel Barkal itself.  The caretaker unlocks the door protecting the sanctuary and proceeds to explain the meaning of the hieroglyphs and relief carvings.  It does seem odd to see such obvious Egyptian iconography in modern-day Sudan. But best of all, Christi and I get to enjoy theses exquisite artefacts in complete peace; we are the only tourists there. In fact, we might be the only tourists within 500 km.

Next we cross to the West Bank of the Nile for more pyramid watching at Nuri, 10 km from Jebel Barkal but still part of the ancient capital of Napata.  Older than the pyramids at either Jebel Barkal or Meroe, the pyramids at Nuri date to the 7th century BC.  The first and most powerful ruler to be buried here was the Pharaoh Taharqa, a Nubian king of the 25th dynasty.  His pyramid and most of the others are sadly decaying from neglect.  There no information, no signs, or protective barriers; the pyramids simply lie in a patch of scrub desert outside Karima. As of 2003, the ruins at Nuri and Jebel Barkal were made UNESCO world heritage sites. 

Christi and I think our next destination is Khartoum, the capital of Sudan.  Abdul insists it’s the premier archeological site in the entire country, the pyramids of Meroe (a.k.a Begarawiyah). To be honest we’re templed out for the day so Abdul gets back on his cell phone (they are everywhere, folks) and talks to Mazar. Apparently, Mazar thinks we have a 3-day program. How can this be when he was part of the call with Midhat only yesterday. Eventually Mazar demurs and Abdul takes the fast road to the capital, which means forsaking the Nile and returning to the dull, scrubby desert.

We arrive early evening, although quite where we will stay is unclear (but it won’t involve camping). Abdul takes us to the rather tatty and unimpressive offices of Midhat Mahir in the center of town where a company associate, Zamin, takes care of us. Our meager accommodation budget is 120 Sudanese Pounds [SDG] (US$45) per night.  Zamin conjures up a rather hefty discount at the Gobbaa business hotel.  Their normal prices range is 180-220 SP plus tax, depending on the day of the week.  Our deal is 120SP per night total plus breakfast.  It’s a very pleasant room (#114) with air-con, fridge, en-suite bathroom and TV showing lots of decadent Western programs. Apparently the Great Satan is good for some things.

Blog post by Roderick Phillips, author of Weary Heart – a gut-wrenching tale of love and test tubes.

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Northern Sudan, Day 295

Mazar very kindly puts us up for the night in his Wadi Halfa compound in Northern Sudan. The privacy and security are delightful (one of the many things you have to be conscious about when traveling as a backpacker is personal security and the security of your possessions. Expensive hotels and private residences alleviates that underlying tension – at least temporarily). Unlike the fancy hotel we dip into occasionally, Mazar’s home does not have air-conditioning and the compound is cooler at night than the bedrooms so Christi and I literally carry the beds outside and sleep under the stars. Now this is what I call camping.

By the time we awake at 7 am, Mazar has already left in another attempt to register our passports. While I appreciate the gesture, I’d still like to know whether the program that Christi and I planned with Midhat is confirmed and when we will begin. To be honest Christi and I are a little concerned about the heat. Traveling in Northern Sudan at this time of year (May) is complicated by the fact the temperatures are the hottest of the entire year (in excess of 100oF every day for weeks on end – and that’s in the shade with no air-conditioning). Initially, Christi and I had planned a more extensive and leisurely exploration of the country, but the oppressive heat has changed all that. Now we’ll resort to our tried and trusted method when dealing with difficult situations: throwing money at the problem. This solution is getting harder to do, I have to say, as our savings dwindle. But the alternative is cramped, rickety buses in savage heat, which does not bear thinking about. Trouble is we can’t contact Midhat to confirm our program. And much as I’m enjoying the hospitality shown to us by Mazar, Christi and I should prefer to be on the road.

When Midhat does call there are problems. We have hired a Toyota Land Cruiser and driver (as it turns out the Landcruiser in which Mazar met us at the port yesterday) for four days to visit a few of the top tourist sites in the country. However, Midhat now says our 4-day program is in reality six since we have to pay for the Land Cruiser to be driven up from Khartoum and the day (yesterday) where it remained idle outside Mazar’s house.  Fuel costs are US$50 per day, although we are being charged $100 to bring the car up from Khartoum.  Daily car rental is a whopping US$145.  This is definitely not what we agreed. Midhat led us to believe he had a vehicle, not that he would simply rent one – I could do that.  Midhat complains that we should have called him (we explain that we tried but couldn’t get through and so emailed instead.  Midhat says he never received that email. How convenient).  We argue back and forth and compromise on 4 days at US $145 +$100 fuel + $90 for registering our passport with the Interior Ministry.

Mazar says that if we hustle we can still make it to the Northern Sudanese town of Karima tonight, some 600 km away to the south.  We pack our bags in the back of the Land Cruiser, which is already full of camping equipment that we plan to use tonight because camping in the desert is cheaper than a hotel. Technically we’ll be doing the sleeping out under the stars in Sahara thing again, but we’re only agreeing to this to save money. We finally leave Wadi Halfa at noon on a brand new road with virtually no traffic, making our progress swift and sure.

Our driver, Abdul, who appears from nowhere speaks a little English, but most of the journey is made in silence.  Both Christi and I are content to watch the desert scenery slip by.  It’s not particularly exciting desert either: slag heap after slag heap as if the detritus of the world had been dumped in the Sudan waiting to be recycled. The most pleasurable aspect to all this is that we are hermetically sealed in a temperature controlled environment. So while the world outside blisters, Christi and I are perfectly comfortable.

Eventually we reach the Nile and the transformation from dull lifeless desert to rich verdant cultivation is instantaneous, if tenuous. Here in Northern Sudan, the strip of fertile land on either side of the Nile is about the same size as Brazilian bikini wax. And if that analogy was not entertaining enough, here’s an interesting observation: during our travels through West Africa, mud mosques – also known as Sudanese style mosques – were a common sight. Yet here in Sudan, there are (so far) no mud mosques at all. Instead we see elegantly carved, brightly colored mosques with tall, slender minarets. What gives?

We reach Karima at 6pm and Abdul insists we visit the Jebel Barkal Mountain and ruins now rather that tomorrow morning.  That was not how the program was set up so it’s back on the phone to Mazar.  In the end we compromise: we’ll visit tonight and tomorrow.  There are 4 things to see in this area. First the best-preserved pyramids in the country (known as the royal cemetery of the Napatan Kings). Second, the Temple of Amun (built originally by Tutmosis III in the 15th century BC and expanded by the Kushites in the 8th century BC. The Kushites went on to found the 25th [or Nubian] Pharaonic dynasty based in ancient Thebes [modern Luxor]). Third, the Temple of Mut (dedicated to the Egyptian sky goddess and not the dog) and fourth Jebel Barkal itself – a massive sandstone butte that dominates the area providing great views over Karima and the Nile.  I scramble to the top of the butte in 20 sweaty minutes to catch the sunset (Christi sensibly forgoes that idea). This is a popular climb tourist spot for the local Sudanese and they are mightily surprised to see a Western tourist up there. I am peppered with questions about my life and my wife. The locals are fascinated by everything I say and do and at this point that means photographing the area.

Later we pop into the town of Karima briefly for a cheap and pretty soulless dinner before returning to the desert to find a suitable camping spot. This is anywhere basically. Unfortunately neither Abdul nor Christi and I can figure out the camping equipment so we are stuck with yet another warm  night in the Sahara in complete solitude and staring up at a billion stars. Well someone’s got to do it.

 

Blog post by Roderick Phillips, author of Weary Heart – a gut-wrenching tale of love and test tubes.

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Wadi Halfa, Sudan, Day 294

It’s very pleasant to be back on the water and traveling with a purpose aboard a working vessel. We are fortunate to have an air-conditioner blasting out cold air and this mixes with hot air coming in through our open porthole to create a very convivial climate. Christi and I both slept very well and awoke naturally at 8 am. Overnight, the MV Sinai continued to make lazy progress towards Wadi Halfa. The gentle passage of the boat through the water is most soothing, while the low sandy hills that line both banks are not too taxing on the eye. It’s the ideal time to kick back, relax, and not worry too much about the fact that we are about to enter Sudan. We do this while munching on the snacks we brought with us. Surprisingly the crackers and canned tuna are quite tasty.

At 11:30 am we arrive at a boring spit of land that forms Wadi Halfa port. We are finally in Sudan. It takes a further hour to escape the confines of the MV Sinai, however, as we and all the other passengers have onboard immigration forms to complete. These forms are then collected as we alight from the boat. I’m sure the system makes sense to the Sudanese. And so we stagger out on to Sudanese soil to be greeted by…well…no one. We have arranged a program with our fixer, Midhat Mahir, but the lines of communication have been rather sketchy of late and while we had hoped he would be here to greet us, Christi and also have to face the prospect of being self-sufficient.

As with other international arrival points, there is a lot of activity. We watch as people weighed down by goods newly purchased in Egypt carry them towards public buses or private cars. These vehicles fill up quickly and zoom off in a valedictory fart of thick black smoke, leaving Christi and I completely flummoxed and most conspicuous. I approach various vehicles and using a combination of hand signals and some English try to get us rides to the supposedly nearby town of Wadi Halfa, all very unsuccessfully. There is a feeling of distrust in the air. But then a knight in shining armor appears. His name is Mazar and he is Midhat’s brother. He apologizes for being late. I’m so relieved to see a friendly face I could have kissed him, but content myself with a manly handshake. Mazar shows us to a shiny silver Toyota Landcruiser, but instead of heading into town, he drives towards a massive shed that proves to be the customs hall.  Each person’s luggage is thoroughly examined for contraband.  We have a very talkative customs official whose topics of discussion range from the fact that we (Christians, Muslims, Jews) are all being descended from Adam, to our thoughts on Obama, and wanting to know why people are so keen to visit Sudan.  Christi’s tampons are another source of curiosity that proves difficult to explain!

Eventually Mazar drives us to his home.  He then takes our passports and goes off to register us with yet more Sudanese officials.  We are left to relax with Mazar’s extended family, although quite what is going on is unclear to us.  One of Mazar’s nieces is a 6 year-old girl called Hayeta who is quite precocious.  She demands attention and is a quick learner. Several hours later Mazar returns:  he has yet to register us because the official has disappeared and no one knows when he will return (welcome to Sudan).  We have lots of questions, but there are few answers. Mazar was told to meet us, but he does not know the plan. We must wait for Midhat to get in contact. One thing is becoming apparent fast and that is nothing happens quickly around here. More food and beverages are served. Mazar’s open-plan house lies within a compound that affords privacy, but there is no air-conditioning so it is stifling hot and lying in the shade trying to avoid Hayeta is about the sum total of our achievements until the sun sets.

In the evening we explore the small downtown area of Wadi Halfa, which is bustling with restaurants, tea stalls, and people sitting in the streets watching football on TV.  It’s still very hot, but Christi and I decide to munch on a plate of lamb and drink fresh OJ. Fingers crossed the juice is not tainted with anything that’s going to disrupt my system. I think the very fact that we are in Sudan will be disruptive enough.

Blog post by Roderick Phillips, author of Weary Heart – a gut-wrenching tale of love and test tubes. 

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Aboard the MV Sinai, Day 293

Christi and I are not sorry to see the back of the Horus Hotel in Aswan. I think  I caught a cold during our stay there (fortunately it was nothing worse than that). We pick up a few snacks for the ferry ride as we have no idea whether the food aboard ship will be edible – at least to our sensitive stomachs –  and taxi to the ferry terminal, which lies south of the mighty Aswan High Dam. Built between 1960-1970 to a Soviet design, it took a further 6 years for the lake the dam created to reach full capacity. The newly created Lake Nasser is 340 miles long and 22 miles at its widest point and covers a surface area of over 2,000 square miles. This is the waterway we will negotiate during our 18-hour journey into Sudan aboard the MV Sinai.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. We arrive at the terminal and step into absolute chaos. There is a massive, seemingly disused, shed between us and the MV Sinai. This proves to be customs and immigration. Not the ordered offices one might expect to find at a European or US airport, but just utter mayhem. Egyptians and Sudanese do appear to believe in queueing and a massive security operation is needed simply to keep some sort of order (and the women are probably worse than the men). Before we can even proceed to customs and immigration, though, security verifies that we have valid tickets and valid visas. Next it’s the luggage check.  All bags, and there are some mighty big ones, must pass through the x-ray scanner.  Naturally, the Egyptians and the Sudanese object to these inspections and voices are quickly raised. In fact, we’re surrounded by a wall of sound – if nothing else the building has great acoustics.  

Apparently Sudanese from all over the country take the ferry from Wadi Halfa to Aswan to purchase items not available in Sudan. I’ve experienced this entrepreneurial capitalism before aboard the Trans-Siberian Express. In that case it was Mongolians traveling to Moscow, going on a spending spree, and then selling the  goods they had purchased to people at the train stations in central Russia and Siberia as they made their way home. Any guesses as to the capital of Mongolia…quickly…no? Ulan Bator.   

OK, back to our story. We survived scrutiny of our passports and tickets and the luggage scan. Christi and I must be looking somewhat harassed already because customs wave us straight through (the locals are not so lucky as each of their bags is painstakingly inspected). Finally we are given a departure card to complete, which asks whether we have any Egyptian artefacts that we are attempting to smuggle out of the country wrapped in dirty underwear. Sadly, the only thing wrapped in dirty underwear is my bum – and that ain’t no Egyptian artefact!  My written response is actually a little more contrite. I go with a simple no, which earns me another stamp in my passport and I can now leave Egypt.

We walk about 50 yards and the process begins again, only this time we have to complete forms to enter Sudan. And before we can set foot on the rusty, but endearing, MV Sinai our passports are checked yet again on the gangplank, much to annoyance of the locals who are trying to load a phenomenal amount of goods onto the boat. Finally aboard the MV Sinai, we show our tickets and are taken to a first-class cabin. Our cabin is dominated by a massive air-conditioning unit, which is most welcome.  There is also a small water dispenser and a box of tissues.  The two bunk beds have sheets, blankets, and pillows (not entirely sure how clean they are though so we take out our sleeping bags).  The cabin also comes with two bright orange life jackets (fingers crossed we don’t need these).  Is it a block or a suite of toilets? Either way, two toilets and three wash basins are located opposite our room for men and a similar configuration next door for the women. Here’s hoping I don’t need the toilets for anything other than a quick pee.

The deck below first class is a fetid series of benches that from second class.  All the seats and every piece of space is covered with people and their possessions.  Above first class is deck class – open to the elements, which in this case is extreme heat.  Only the life boats offer any form of shade and the space beneath them is prized territory.  Moving about the boat is difficult due to the crush of humanity and the tons of luggage which is distributed…well…everywhere.

It’s certainly not dull aboard the MV Sinai. While still in port the Egyptian Military Police barge into our cabin (there are no locks) and attempt  to evict us in favor of a group of Italian police who are on a motorcycle expedition to South Africa.  Fortunately our tickets are valid and we refuse to move.  The police huff and puff but eventually leaves us alone.

There is a first class dining lounge on our deck and our ticket entitles us to one free meal. Christi and I choose dinner, but then we have a surprise visit from Mr. Salah of the Nile Ferry Company who sold us the tickets. He wants to ensure we are happy with the cabin and the amenities.  It’s a very kind gesture.  He also advises us to take the lunch as this is the major meal (a rather tasty roast chicken).  Lunch is available till 5 pm, so we eat while still in port. In fact we boarded at noon, but the ferry is not scheduled to leave until 6 pm. And it actually takes until 6.30 pm to load every passenger and every piece of luggage. Sitting low in the water, we slip our moorings and the MV Sinai chugs out onto Lake Nasser. It looks as if we are really going to Sudan.

Blog post by Roderick Phillips, author of Weary Heart – a gut-wrenching tale of love and test tubes.

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