I met a woman from the church yesterday afternoon. She is from Southern Sudan but has been based in Khartoum since 1985. She talked of being a refugee in Uganda, the Lords Resistance Army and their attacks on her family in Southern Sudan, about improving education for women in Khartoum, and the pending return of her husband and children to Southern Sudan. She talked of the upcoming referendum, in her opinion the unlikely unification of Northern and Southern Sudan, the influences of Chadian rebels and the crisis in Darfur. It is a fascinating, but terrible world that she speaks of. I am awed by the opportunities to have frank and honest discussions with individuals such as herself.
On a more superficial level, life in Khartoum is now dedicated to recuperating and social engagements. There is an Ireland France rugby match on Saturday eve… So we leave Sunday! We have had a lovely stay in Khartoum. We are staying with Joanna and she has been incredibly helpful. We have also had a reception at the South African embassy, had lunch with the Khartoum rotary club, and are off to a presentation at the international school this afternoon. It is awesome to be able to get involved with local communities and share ideas about our cause and how individuals can get behind projects like Millennium Promise.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
7 February - African turmoil
There is endless discussion amongst the team about our route through Kenya and the political situation there. We have been in discussions about every possible route around Kenya, the safest routes through Kenya, and the options to fly over it… All are less than ideal and it will be a massive shame to miss such a beautiful country. What is also concerning is the alternatives are few and far between - this is an area of Africa that is in apparently endless turmoil.
4 February - Becoming a cyclist.. Khartoum!
We cycled 145km yesterday which left 120 km to get through today. 500 km across the desert is a tall ask, but we are rising to the challenge and the whole team is putting in an incredible effort. Everyone is so excited to get to Khartoum and to take an extended break from cycling, raising money and all things bicycling. It has taken its toll on my body too. My knees are still straining and legs have not much juice in them. This trip has picked up tempo physically. A five day stint of extremely tough cycling in the Nubian desert, followed by four days of cracking the whip to get to Khartoum. We are certainly getting fitter and are a far cry from the team that started in Cairo a little under a month ago.
That first day was scary and the thought of an arrival in Cape Town was incomprehensible. Now, the thought is not so difficult to imagine. I am a cyclist now! It is what I do. I have forgotten that this is a sport and requires stretching and preparation and cooling down… This is a way of life. I wake somewhere between 6:30 and 7, pack up my tent, put on cycling kit, get on my bike, spend about six hours in the saddle and a couple of hours over lunch to escape from the midday sun, and then stop cycling, set up the tent, make dinner, sleep. Repeat cycle. Put this way, life doesn’t sound too enthralling, but this routine is interspersed with moments surveying the brilliant night sky, chatting to Sudanese men, watching long eye-lashed children, discussing futures with good mates, singing songs to myself at top volume... It is a beautifully simple life.
Upon starting this trip I wore my “wedding ring” religiously, and identified a husband whenever asked. I have relaxed somewhat, with my silver ring relocated to my right hand. The guys have relaxed to. In fact, they now insist on telling the Sudanese men that I am single!
We stopped at a little shop this afternoon to get a cool drink and procrastinate before attacking the fairly boring road ahead. A fat man oozing charisma bustled out the single-roomed store with coke bottles and phone cards doing telephone impersonations for the video camera. He had the team in hysterics as everyone got involved, offering what ring tones they could! It was at this point that the guys indicated that I was for sale. There was more hysteria as I proceeded to enter a tug of war over my bike as the guys threw out the number of camels they would sell me for… very entertaining.
Gareth’s back tyre, suffering war wounds from the Northern stretch, had deteriorated significantly over the last 500km, and gave in entirely just outside Omdurman 20km short of Khartoum city centre. We were now on the side of the road, considering negotiating Africa’s traffic at its worst, in failing light and with little idea of where we were going.
Through a work colleague of mine, we had been in touch with Reverend Joanna Udal in Khartoum, and she had very kindly offered to host us. So with that as an end point, we loaded our lives and bikes onto an African kombi… and headed into the city.
I had no idea what Khartoum would be like. I had no concept of the sheer size of this city. Khartoum has approximately 8 million people, and sprawls over a massive area. In fact, Omdurman and Khartoum are actually two cities joined at the confluence of the Nile where White Nile meets Blue Nile. It is a city which also involves the meeting of Southern Sudan and Northern Sudan, the largely Christian world of the south and the Arabic world of the North. There is also a large international community comprising of the Chinese for the oil, and the UN which have a massive operation here made visible by the fleet of Landcruisers that roam the city.
It is an oasis to the team. It is a place where we can get western food and relax the aching bodies.
That first day was scary and the thought of an arrival in Cape Town was incomprehensible. Now, the thought is not so difficult to imagine. I am a cyclist now! It is what I do. I have forgotten that this is a sport and requires stretching and preparation and cooling down… This is a way of life. I wake somewhere between 6:30 and 7, pack up my tent, put on cycling kit, get on my bike, spend about six hours in the saddle and a couple of hours over lunch to escape from the midday sun, and then stop cycling, set up the tent, make dinner, sleep. Repeat cycle. Put this way, life doesn’t sound too enthralling, but this routine is interspersed with moments surveying the brilliant night sky, chatting to Sudanese men, watching long eye-lashed children, discussing futures with good mates, singing songs to myself at top volume... It is a beautifully simple life.
Upon starting this trip I wore my “wedding ring” religiously, and identified a husband whenever asked. I have relaxed somewhat, with my silver ring relocated to my right hand. The guys have relaxed to. In fact, they now insist on telling the Sudanese men that I am single!
We stopped at a little shop this afternoon to get a cool drink and procrastinate before attacking the fairly boring road ahead. A fat man oozing charisma bustled out the single-roomed store with coke bottles and phone cards doing telephone impersonations for the video camera. He had the team in hysterics as everyone got involved, offering what ring tones they could! It was at this point that the guys indicated that I was for sale. There was more hysteria as I proceeded to enter a tug of war over my bike as the guys threw out the number of camels they would sell me for… very entertaining.
Gareth’s back tyre, suffering war wounds from the Northern stretch, had deteriorated significantly over the last 500km, and gave in entirely just outside Omdurman 20km short of Khartoum city centre. We were now on the side of the road, considering negotiating Africa’s traffic at its worst, in failing light and with little idea of where we were going.
Through a work colleague of mine, we had been in touch with Reverend Joanna Udal in Khartoum, and she had very kindly offered to host us. So with that as an end point, we loaded our lives and bikes onto an African kombi… and headed into the city.
I had no idea what Khartoum would be like. I had no concept of the sheer size of this city. Khartoum has approximately 8 million people, and sprawls over a massive area. In fact, Omdurman and Khartoum are actually two cities joined at the confluence of the Nile where White Nile meets Blue Nile. It is a city which also involves the meeting of Southern Sudan and Northern Sudan, the largely Christian world of the south and the Arabic world of the North. There is also a large international community comprising of the Chinese for the oil, and the UN which have a massive operation here made visible by the fleet of Landcruisers that roam the city.
It is an oasis to the team. It is a place where we can get western food and relax the aching bodies.
2 February - Worlds apart
I wonder what my friends are doing this Saturday evening! I don’t think that many are in bed before 9. Let alone, in a tent in the middle of the Nubian desert alongside a highway… and incredibly comfortable. Sometimes I forget how bizarre my situation is.
This morning started slowly. I heard the movements in the camp, and did my best to pretend I hadn’t. It took a monumental effort to break that quiet zone and start the process of rolling thermarests, folding tents and packing my bicycle. With a general state of lethargy in the camp, we only set off at 9:30. To make matters worse, the first 60 km were directly into a headwind. We were working hard to maintain a speed above 16km/hr. Crazy. My legs are shattered from yesterday and they have declined into a general state of aches and pains. The road was long and flat and into the stark horizon, and it was a battle against the mind. “What on earth am I doing this for?!” But this is exactly why I am doing this. I am pushing my body past any physical limits, and when my body says no more, I am asking my mind to take it further.
We stopped for an extended tea break at Abu Dom – a small town shortly before you leave the Nile to embark on the 320km stretch of tarred road across the desert to Khartoum. Within half an hour we had 50 men standing a meter away from us, watching. To be honest, they were watching me. I had my leg warmers on despite the 30 degree heat, but still felt I was showing way too much skin! Den even had them give me a little round of applause. It is the closest I will ever come to celebrity status, and is not a feeling I wish to repeat. 50 sets of eyes were tracing my every movement. It was like that familiar nightmare of walking into a fancy dress party inappropriately over dressed! Gareth even got a little angry. I have started to ignore it mostly, but it is moments like these that shock me back into where I am and what a different world I come from.
You don’t see many women in Sudan. They float in shades of vibrant colours covered from head to toe, offering tea in quiet tones. There appears to be a line in the sand drawn between groups of men and women. It is difficult to discern what is imposed and what is due to cultural traditions, but the end result is the same with us seldom interacting with men and women simultaneously.
We did 103km today. We have 260km to Khartoum. 2 days of cycling. It will be tough and depends largely on the wind. My legs are pretty battered, but sleep is a wonderful medicine.
This morning started slowly. I heard the movements in the camp, and did my best to pretend I hadn’t. It took a monumental effort to break that quiet zone and start the process of rolling thermarests, folding tents and packing my bicycle. With a general state of lethargy in the camp, we only set off at 9:30. To make matters worse, the first 60 km were directly into a headwind. We were working hard to maintain a speed above 16km/hr. Crazy. My legs are shattered from yesterday and they have declined into a general state of aches and pains. The road was long and flat and into the stark horizon, and it was a battle against the mind. “What on earth am I doing this for?!” But this is exactly why I am doing this. I am pushing my body past any physical limits, and when my body says no more, I am asking my mind to take it further.
We stopped for an extended tea break at Abu Dom – a small town shortly before you leave the Nile to embark on the 320km stretch of tarred road across the desert to Khartoum. Within half an hour we had 50 men standing a meter away from us, watching. To be honest, they were watching me. I had my leg warmers on despite the 30 degree heat, but still felt I was showing way too much skin! Den even had them give me a little round of applause. It is the closest I will ever come to celebrity status, and is not a feeling I wish to repeat. 50 sets of eyes were tracing my every movement. It was like that familiar nightmare of walking into a fancy dress party inappropriately over dressed! Gareth even got a little angry. I have started to ignore it mostly, but it is moments like these that shock me back into where I am and what a different world I come from.
You don’t see many women in Sudan. They float in shades of vibrant colours covered from head to toe, offering tea in quiet tones. There appears to be a line in the sand drawn between groups of men and women. It is difficult to discern what is imposed and what is due to cultural traditions, but the end result is the same with us seldom interacting with men and women simultaneously.
We did 103km today. We have 260km to Khartoum. 2 days of cycling. It will be tough and depends largely on the wind. My legs are pretty battered, but sleep is a wonderful medicine.
1 February - Straining legs
It is another typical Sudanese day – clear blue skies eased only by a strong wind. We are cycling out of Dongola today, have 95km on the clock so far, and have a few more hours of cycling to get through. My legs don’t seem to have recovered from the earlier stretch in Sudan – a day off in Dongola, as welcome as it was, simply was not enough.
****
We ended up cycling 133 km today. My knees are taking some strain. I am hoping it is a temporary thing. We have 360 km to cover over the next 3 days and I am a little apprehensive to see how I handle it.
****
We ended up cycling 133 km today. My knees are taking some strain. I am hoping it is a temporary thing. We have 360 km to cover over the next 3 days and I am a little apprehensive to see how I handle it.
30 January - A welcome day of rest!
We arrived in Dongola this evening. 70 kilometers. It has been a monumental effort to get through the last four days. We knew that it would be tough and we had prepared ourselves mentally for the challenge. But, having dwindled to a team of four with Twig and Ollie going on to meet us in Dongola, and having to cover significant distances in loose sand, it was far tougher than we had imagined. I am so happy to have that stretch behind me. I am both mentally and physically stronger. And a good deal dirtier too! Again I welcome a cold shower – it has been nearly two weeks since I have had access to warm water! Since then I have managed to crack two cold showers and a swim in the Nile. No sign of crocodiles yet.
Our accommodation in Dongola is incredibly comfortable by our standards. It has a door with a key, and an en suite bathroom. This town feels like a haven and I am taking full advantage of a rest day to recover, do some laundry, clean my bike, and get in touch with family and friends. Thanks to Chinese oil interests, we have 500 km of tarmac to Khartoum – the dust is largely over!
Our accommodation in Dongola is incredibly comfortable by our standards. It has a door with a key, and an en suite bathroom. This town feels like a haven and I am taking full advantage of a rest day to recover, do some laundry, clean my bike, and get in touch with family and friends. Thanks to Chinese oil interests, we have 500 km of tarmac to Khartoum – the dust is largely over!
28 January - Desert experiences!
It has been another crazy day. I am struggling to remember this morning. We started cycling a little later than planned – I was having issues with my cleats and there was a general fatigue within the camp. However, after a very relaxed 7 kilometers, Niall and I were cycling along with the Nile on our right, picking the easiest line of road as best we could. Niall was on Bob-duty – meaning that he was towing a 25 kg bike trailer behind his bike which already carries 40 kg of personal kit… As the token girl, I am gratefully left out of this rotation, but life is very challenging for the man who takes Bob. We had lost sight of Gareth and Den, and commented on what the best course of action would be if the group got split for some reason. The consensus was that we would cycle on to the next town.
It was at this point that one of the many Sudanese Landcruisers pulled up alongside us, and two Chinese men hopped out the car to take photographs of each other, posing with me! I was in hysterics as Niall tried to photograph the bizarre situation of Chinese taking pictures of me in the middle of the Sudanese desert. It was priceless. The Chinese are building massive roads the length of Sudan in order to access Sudanese oil. The little town of Sabu, which is too small to feature on our map, holds 85 Chinese gentlemen!
We stopped for a break shortly after and an old man named Farah arrived with a tray of tea and biscuits – Sudanese styled silver service. It was so welcome. However, more was to come. The next thing I knew, I was seated on a tarpaulin mat underneath the hot sun, digging in to a breakfast of pancakes, beans (ful), and date syrup. Next to me sat our Chinese friend, Farah, Farah’s son Mohammed, Gareth, Niall and Den and a few random villagers that had gathered around. I had a moment, sitting on the floor next to clay water pots when I believed that the problems of the world could be solved on that mat. East meets West meets Africa, in Sudan. I am truly humbled by the generosity of these people who have such simple means. My life gains clarity in these moments.
Eventually we left and continued on our way, but the long delay for breakfast and a few pannier issues en route, saw us stopping for lunch at only 30 km at 2:15. The last two kilometres before lunch comprised of pushing our bikes in foot deep sand, uphill – tough going!
At this stage I was starting to take a bit of strain. I have been fighting a cold for a couple of days now and my head was banging around with every corrugation in the road that my wheels hit. Lunch comprised of a stop in the dust next to a road that stretched out 2 km wide across the horizon.
We set off at 3pm. Gareth bombed off into the distance, and I followed suit behind him. After 20 minutes I stopped to look behind me and couldn’t see Den or Niall. I couldn’t see Gareth ahead either! I wasn’t even sure that I had taken the right line. We were cycling along a wide section of flat desert, the options of tracks being endless. I turned around and started retracing my footsteps, but quickly realised that to find such a random lunch spot in the middle of nowhere would be both difficult to find and somewhat pointless. Remembering our conversation from earlier regarding cycling onwards if we got lost, I continued onwards, stopping to look behind every 5 minutes.
I wondered whether the dudes would back me to find the next town – “Kerma” was becoming a mantra to me. I was now pushing on at pace. A sense of urgency was growing as the sun started sinking. I was aching to see a vehicle or some form of life – Nothing. I had a moment of sheer panic: It was now coming on for 2 hours since I had seen any form of life.; In every direction I looked I saw nothing but sand against the clear blue sky; I was pushing my bike because the sand was too thick; and I had no idea what direction I should be moving in! I was starting to work my mind around the idea that I might be spending the night in the desert on my own and I was doing careful calculations on how much food and water reserves I was carrying.
It was at this point that I started both praying and cycling towards the sunset. I had figured that the sun sets in the west, over the Nile, and if I found the Nile then I would find the next town. Head west, find the Nile. Follow the sun, find the Nile. The Nile is the life-source of this vast country. There is little or no form of life more than a kilometre from the river banks, but all along her banks, villages thrive.
I saw a truck pass across my path 500 meters South West of me. I headed towards what I could only guess must be a main road. A truck then started heading directly for me with a familiar orange in the passenger’s seat. I have never been happier to see Gareth – my knight in shining armour in a blinged-up white pickup truck!
In the chaos he had gone back and forth cycling so hard that he had hit a sandbank at enough force to fling him over the front handlebars and buckle his front wheel. Thankfully he was fine and had the good fortune to have a truck en route to Kerma pass him at this point. He had found the others.
What an incredible relief it was to arrive at the basic lodgings in Kerma and relax over some beans and bread at dinner. It has been a very long time since I felt that helpless and scared.
It was at this point that one of the many Sudanese Landcruisers pulled up alongside us, and two Chinese men hopped out the car to take photographs of each other, posing with me! I was in hysterics as Niall tried to photograph the bizarre situation of Chinese taking pictures of me in the middle of the Sudanese desert. It was priceless. The Chinese are building massive roads the length of Sudan in order to access Sudanese oil. The little town of Sabu, which is too small to feature on our map, holds 85 Chinese gentlemen!
We stopped for a break shortly after and an old man named Farah arrived with a tray of tea and biscuits – Sudanese styled silver service. It was so welcome. However, more was to come. The next thing I knew, I was seated on a tarpaulin mat underneath the hot sun, digging in to a breakfast of pancakes, beans (ful), and date syrup. Next to me sat our Chinese friend, Farah, Farah’s son Mohammed, Gareth, Niall and Den and a few random villagers that had gathered around. I had a moment, sitting on the floor next to clay water pots when I believed that the problems of the world could be solved on that mat. East meets West meets Africa, in Sudan. I am truly humbled by the generosity of these people who have such simple means. My life gains clarity in these moments.
Eventually we left and continued on our way, but the long delay for breakfast and a few pannier issues en route, saw us stopping for lunch at only 30 km at 2:15. The last two kilometres before lunch comprised of pushing our bikes in foot deep sand, uphill – tough going!
At this stage I was starting to take a bit of strain. I have been fighting a cold for a couple of days now and my head was banging around with every corrugation in the road that my wheels hit. Lunch comprised of a stop in the dust next to a road that stretched out 2 km wide across the horizon.
We set off at 3pm. Gareth bombed off into the distance, and I followed suit behind him. After 20 minutes I stopped to look behind me and couldn’t see Den or Niall. I couldn’t see Gareth ahead either! I wasn’t even sure that I had taken the right line. We were cycling along a wide section of flat desert, the options of tracks being endless. I turned around and started retracing my footsteps, but quickly realised that to find such a random lunch spot in the middle of nowhere would be both difficult to find and somewhat pointless. Remembering our conversation from earlier regarding cycling onwards if we got lost, I continued onwards, stopping to look behind every 5 minutes.
I wondered whether the dudes would back me to find the next town – “Kerma” was becoming a mantra to me. I was now pushing on at pace. A sense of urgency was growing as the sun started sinking. I was aching to see a vehicle or some form of life – Nothing. I had a moment of sheer panic: It was now coming on for 2 hours since I had seen any form of life.; In every direction I looked I saw nothing but sand against the clear blue sky; I was pushing my bike because the sand was too thick; and I had no idea what direction I should be moving in! I was starting to work my mind around the idea that I might be spending the night in the desert on my own and I was doing careful calculations on how much food and water reserves I was carrying.
It was at this point that I started both praying and cycling towards the sunset. I had figured that the sun sets in the west, over the Nile, and if I found the Nile then I would find the next town. Head west, find the Nile. Follow the sun, find the Nile. The Nile is the life-source of this vast country. There is little or no form of life more than a kilometre from the river banks, but all along her banks, villages thrive.
I saw a truck pass across my path 500 meters South West of me. I headed towards what I could only guess must be a main road. A truck then started heading directly for me with a familiar orange in the passenger’s seat. I have never been happier to see Gareth – my knight in shining armour in a blinged-up white pickup truck!
In the chaos he had gone back and forth cycling so hard that he had hit a sandbank at enough force to fling him over the front handlebars and buckle his front wheel. Thankfully he was fine and had the good fortune to have a truck en route to Kerma pass him at this point. He had found the others.
What an incredible relief it was to arrive at the basic lodgings in Kerma and relax over some beans and bread at dinner. It has been a very long time since I felt that helpless and scared.
28 January - Tough times continue
There is dust everywhere. I can’t quite manage to get it out from underneath my fingernails. It lines my eyebrows and despite best efforts, my clothes are filthy. If only my mum could see me now! It is like brown talcum powder. Everywhere.
Cycling on it is something different. It swallows the tyre, and leaves a little wake as one ploughs through. With a good measure of mind power and visualisation, I can liken it to snowboarding as one floats through the soft earth. You cycle with momentum, hit it head on, pedal through it and do your best to ignore the slides… And when you fall – fall softly into a fluff of dirty powder. It is beautiful in a strangely twisted way.
Today was 65 kilometers in the saddle – a very tough day of cycling. I am extremely tired, I haven’t been feeling well, and am physically and emotionally shattered. This afternoon was a low; it is a continuous effort to keep physical and emotional strains separate.
Cycling on it is something different. It swallows the tyre, and leaves a little wake as one ploughs through. With a good measure of mind power and visualisation, I can liken it to snowboarding as one floats through the soft earth. You cycle with momentum, hit it head on, pedal through it and do your best to ignore the slides… And when you fall – fall softly into a fluff of dirty powder. It is beautiful in a strangely twisted way.
Today was 65 kilometers in the saddle – a very tough day of cycling. I am extremely tired, I haven’t been feeling well, and am physically and emotionally shattered. This afternoon was a low; it is a continuous effort to keep physical and emotional strains separate.
27 January.. sand continues.. SuDAN...
Yesterday we cycled from Akasha to Abri. 50 kilometers of sand. Again. Twig has been feeling ill for a couple of days now. He got hit with a stomach bug and has been struggling to eat, so he and I got in a bus and caught a 20km lift on to Abri – which we had been told was the next decent spot for the next 200km. I hadn’t quite expected a metropolis, but I had to chide myself for expecting more. This is Africa, the very heart of Africa.
We wandered around town – a dusty road lined with beaten out single story buildings caked with pastel colours and off-white shades. Men in white robes line the streets, sitting on store steps, smoking sheesha pipes, quietly prayerful, or offering “welcome” as we wander by.
We stopped at a general store which was stocked with the regular Sudanese goods: Tuna, pasta, beans, cheese triangles, coco-cola, sweets and biscuits. Grabbing a cold drink, we asked after transport for Twig into Dongola for the following day. It is going to be a very tough 250 kilometres ahead, and he needs to regain his health – it is definitely the most sensible option to catch a lift ahead and wait for us there. Within a couple of minutes we were escorted to a little doorway that we understood to be the transport office. We now had 20 odd men around us all offering us some advice in fluent Arabic and intermingled, stilted, English. Again – the helpfulness of the Sudanese astounds me.
I had an icy shower in a little cement room with a hole in the floor for a toilet. The shower literally entailed a tap a meter off the ground. I hadn’t had a shower in 6 days and my hair was starting to feel a little manky. I cannot begin to explain how much I enjoyed that ice cold water! - It was only afterwards that the boys pointed out that there was a very conveniently placed peep hole to the room – and that some young guys had probably had some x-rated entertainment!
We wandered around town – a dusty road lined with beaten out single story buildings caked with pastel colours and off-white shades. Men in white robes line the streets, sitting on store steps, smoking sheesha pipes, quietly prayerful, or offering “welcome” as we wander by.
We stopped at a general store which was stocked with the regular Sudanese goods: Tuna, pasta, beans, cheese triangles, coco-cola, sweets and biscuits. Grabbing a cold drink, we asked after transport for Twig into Dongola for the following day. It is going to be a very tough 250 kilometres ahead, and he needs to regain his health – it is definitely the most sensible option to catch a lift ahead and wait for us there. Within a couple of minutes we were escorted to a little doorway that we understood to be the transport office. We now had 20 odd men around us all offering us some advice in fluent Arabic and intermingled, stilted, English. Again – the helpfulness of the Sudanese astounds me.
I had an icy shower in a little cement room with a hole in the floor for a toilet. The shower literally entailed a tap a meter off the ground. I hadn’t had a shower in 6 days and my hair was starting to feel a little manky. I cannot begin to explain how much I enjoyed that ice cold water! - It was only afterwards that the boys pointed out that there was a very conveniently placed peep hole to the room – and that some young guys had probably had some x-rated entertainment!
25 January 2008 - Sand. Sand. Sand.
We cycled the last 55 kilometers into Akasha today. It was the toughest 55 kilometers I have cycled yet. When I had envisioned Sudan and the Nubian desert, I had pictured sand, but large rolling dunes and oppressive heat. It was a very different picture to the choppy, rocky landscape we have dealt with today. There is little relief on this terrain. You have two choices: deep corrugated ditches that can only be likened to deep tissue massage in its endless attack of muscles and joints; and soft sand that is conquered by low gears, good forward momentum and “getting back on the bike” after every fall! And fall we did. It’s a soft landing – but it punished us.
24 January 2008 - Sudanese "roads"
We started cycling out of Wadi Halfa at 3 pm yesterday afternoon. It was a ridiculous effort of cycling. We left at three, had a blow-out at 3:15, had broken gears at 4pm, and another puncture and spoke issue at 4:30. I am learning that this is the way it falls in cycling. The sun was now on its way out and we needed to set up our first camp. The road comprised of a loose gravel track in between sand dunes that big oil tankers fly along kicking up lingering dust clouds. Vast expanses, a long road into the horizon, and the simple silhouette of a man on his bike – this is our first truly remote experience of North Africa.
The temperature plummeted at night and I found myself wearing four layers, plus a thermal top, longs and my cycling leg warmers inside my sleeping bag – and still cold. I woke up several times during the night and had the unpleasant feeling of knowing that there was little that I could do. Here’s hoping it doesn’t get colder! It is now 7 am and it is still dark – we are looking for that sunrise with subconscious resentment – it means destroying the caccoons, fixing the bikes, making breakfast, and getting back onto the road. The desert awaits: Day 2 in Sudan.
****
We cycled 65 kilometers today and it felt tougher than the day we did 160km. We were cycling on a gravel road over the dunes. It is fairly thick sand a good proportion of the time. Loaded with food for 2 days and 9 liters of water each, the back tyre sinks into the sand and it is pretty difficult to keep upright. It is tough work and the concentration levels needed are pretty high.
We stopped at 4:30, having started at 10:30. 6 hours in the saddle. Only 65 kilometres. Camp is now set up, I cracked a little back massage, and now I lie in my quarters catching up on the day while the three Swedes help get our “kitchen” going. Trust our good fortune that they have decided to cycle with us for a while! Nino, Tim and Eric turned out to be expert bike and stove mechanics. Well, not experts, but they know a serious amount more than ourselves and have been a phenomenal help.
I have long been thinking of cycling in Sudan. It is the first thing that anyone asked in the build-up to this trip, and it has consumed plenty of my thoughts at night. I couldn’t help but be anxious of endless dust, no water, tough roads and the hostile situations within this country. From where I sit, in my tent at the end of day 2, this country appears expansive, remote, dry and dusty, but far removed from the throes of any political tensions. Life appears to be the epitome of peace – vast and quiet. The odd passing oil truck hoots, welcoming us to his world, but it shocks me how far removed I feel to global politics, big business, families and friends, let alone war-torn Darfur.
I am often quizzed about being the only girl on the team. My response has been vague, and often brushed over, because I simply don’t know how I feel. Sometimes I think it is great and I feel physically strong and an integral part of the team. At other times I feel a little helpless – just needing a little bit of TLC, a good bath, a dress, some frivolous fun and a party with the girls! It is nothing that a couple of hours on my own wouldn’t cure, but that is like white gold itself. I have stumbled into a man’s world.
A dinner of bully beef, pasta and green peppers awaits us. What was once merely tinned food that one wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot barge pole, is now classed as “tasty cuisine.”
The temperature plummeted at night and I found myself wearing four layers, plus a thermal top, longs and my cycling leg warmers inside my sleeping bag – and still cold. I woke up several times during the night and had the unpleasant feeling of knowing that there was little that I could do. Here’s hoping it doesn’t get colder! It is now 7 am and it is still dark – we are looking for that sunrise with subconscious resentment – it means destroying the caccoons, fixing the bikes, making breakfast, and getting back onto the road. The desert awaits: Day 2 in Sudan.
****
We cycled 65 kilometers today and it felt tougher than the day we did 160km. We were cycling on a gravel road over the dunes. It is fairly thick sand a good proportion of the time. Loaded with food for 2 days and 9 liters of water each, the back tyre sinks into the sand and it is pretty difficult to keep upright. It is tough work and the concentration levels needed are pretty high.
We stopped at 4:30, having started at 10:30. 6 hours in the saddle. Only 65 kilometres. Camp is now set up, I cracked a little back massage, and now I lie in my quarters catching up on the day while the three Swedes help get our “kitchen” going. Trust our good fortune that they have decided to cycle with us for a while! Nino, Tim and Eric turned out to be expert bike and stove mechanics. Well, not experts, but they know a serious amount more than ourselves and have been a phenomenal help.
I have long been thinking of cycling in Sudan. It is the first thing that anyone asked in the build-up to this trip, and it has consumed plenty of my thoughts at night. I couldn’t help but be anxious of endless dust, no water, tough roads and the hostile situations within this country. From where I sit, in my tent at the end of day 2, this country appears expansive, remote, dry and dusty, but far removed from the throes of any political tensions. Life appears to be the epitome of peace – vast and quiet. The odd passing oil truck hoots, welcoming us to his world, but it shocks me how far removed I feel to global politics, big business, families and friends, let alone war-torn Darfur.
I am often quizzed about being the only girl on the team. My response has been vague, and often brushed over, because I simply don’t know how I feel. Sometimes I think it is great and I feel physically strong and an integral part of the team. At other times I feel a little helpless – just needing a little bit of TLC, a good bath, a dress, some frivolous fun and a party with the girls! It is nothing that a couple of hours on my own wouldn’t cure, but that is like white gold itself. I have stumbled into a man’s world.
A dinner of bully beef, pasta and green peppers awaits us. What was once merely tinned food that one wouldn’t touch with a ten-foot barge pole, is now classed as “tasty cuisine.”
23rd January - Wadi Halfa
We arrived last night after a 5 kilometer roll into town in which we managed to get hopelessly lost in the setting sun. Den took a quick look at the accommodation, practising his newly acquired Arabic, and discovered that we would each pay 1$ for the night’s accommodation. All fair and well, and ridiculously cheap, but the actual place we were paying for amounted to little more that a tarpaulin-walled room with cement floors, and beds with a steel frame and woven plastic base. The bathrooms have reached a new level! – the shower being a cement room with a jug of water and the toilet, a hole in the floor, with another jug of water.
Sudan was playing Zambia in the Africa cup so we decided to catch the game. Wandering off in search of a restaurant, we are drawn to Sudan’s ultimate sports bar: No women, sheesha pipes everywhere, a bigscreen TV (at least in relative terms), no alcohol, and all outside under a starry Sudanese sky. The host would bustle around with a massive ladle of hot coals and some incredible scents would be blown into your face in a cloud of smoke. Despite our best efforts of “Sudan, Sudan, Sudan” to every tune and hymn we could remember … they lost. It was an awesome experience nontheless.
Sudan was playing Zambia in the Africa cup so we decided to catch the game. Wandering off in search of a restaurant, we are drawn to Sudan’s ultimate sports bar: No women, sheesha pipes everywhere, a bigscreen TV (at least in relative terms), no alcohol, and all outside under a starry Sudanese sky. The host would bustle around with a massive ladle of hot coals and some incredible scents would be blown into your face in a cloud of smoke. Despite our best efforts of “Sudan, Sudan, Sudan” to every tune and hymn we could remember … they lost. It was an awesome experience nontheless.
Ferrying into Sudan - 23rd January 2008
The ferry from Aswan to Wadi Halfa was absolute chaos. It is uncanny to think that this is the main port of entry into Sudan. We are talking African public transport at its maddest! The level of overcrowding on that ferry was an adventure in its own stead and words simply cannot do justice to the mayhem on board. We were told that the ferry was to leave sometime after 12 – we left the harbour sometime after 8. And in those eight hours the contents of dozens and dozens of trucks were continuously loaded onto the ferry. People were sleeping everywhere – on bags, next to boxes, cuddled up to strangers.
The six of us spent the night on the top deck on the floor of a walkway behind a shield of bags. Six of us in a space less than four meters wide and not long enough to warrant straight legs without ankles being at serious risk from passing footsteps.
At two pm the following day we finally stopped – docked in Sudan. The sight greeting us was pretty daunting: desert.
We had met the Tour d’afrique cyclists on board the ferry and they turned out to be extremely helpful and friendly. From them we gathered that Wadi Halfa the town was a 5 kilometer cycle in from the port. Next to us on the ferry, cramped amidst the chaos, with identical therma rests and gas stoves, were three Swedes. During the course of the evening we got chatting, and found out that they were cycling from Sweden to Beijing, in attempts to make the Olympics by 8 August!
The six of us spent the night on the top deck on the floor of a walkway behind a shield of bags. Six of us in a space less than four meters wide and not long enough to warrant straight legs without ankles being at serious risk from passing footsteps.
At two pm the following day we finally stopped – docked in Sudan. The sight greeting us was pretty daunting: desert.
We had met the Tour d’afrique cyclists on board the ferry and they turned out to be extremely helpful and friendly. From them we gathered that Wadi Halfa the town was a 5 kilometer cycle in from the port. Next to us on the ferry, cramped amidst the chaos, with identical therma rests and gas stoves, were three Swedes. During the course of the evening we got chatting, and found out that they were cycling from Sweden to Beijing, in attempts to make the Olympics by 8 August!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)