Researching the Tour d’Afrique, one of the most striking features and challenges seems to be the physical exertion under extreme temperatures in Sudan. We had been warned of a rapid temperature increase from our port of entry in Wadi Halfa onwards and were mentally preparing ourselves. My bike was modified to carry 4 bottles (2.8 litres) on top of a 3 litre hydration backpack. Instead, we found strong winds, cold nights/mornings and somewhat warm afternoons. My windbreaker jacket became an essential piece of clothing and I placed my hydration pack and some bottles into my permanent bag (this is loaded on top of the support trucks and can be accessed only on rest days) for their lack of need. So really, conditions were modest and the daily grind on the bike remained just that…cranking away in our acquired routine. That is until Khartoum. Seemingly overnight temperatures jumped up by almost 20oC. At noon, readings went up into the 40s and my required water intake leapt up similarly. Hydration before, while and after stages became an absolutely crucial part of recovering and ensuring a steady performance. John, who used to serve in the Royal Air Force, recalls some key figures from his survival training: given our environment and exercising levels, the body looses 3l of water an hour, while being able to take up no more than 2l orally…whether the exact figures are correct or not, the moral is that dehydration is a serious threat and extreme care must be taken. However, my bottles and hydration pack were in my permanent bag, leaving me with no more than 3 bottles on my bike. During the last days in Sudan, water indeed became a precious resource and I had to stop in most villages we passed through, scrambling for the liquid gold. The heat had some other effects as well. Apart from the road kill starting to smell pretty bad, countless bush fires were scattered across the landscape. On our first night on Ethiopian soil, these were clearly visible in the far away mountains…going to sleep in my tent and seeing through my mosquito net the orange glow under the sparkle of the stars was a bizarre experience.
DO NOT USE GLUELESS PATCHES or HOW ETHIOPIA HATES ED
Africa is unpredictable. The stages on the Tour can be classified according to their profile: length, elevation, wind and surface. These may grant statements along the line of “tomorrow is a tough and challenging day”, “many people will struggle on this stage” or inversely “that stage is simple and straightforward”. However, most of us have long stopped paying attention to this descriptive commentary. Sure, the daily grind is considerable and I am suffering from a severe lack of recovery time. But the real challenge is so much more personal. It is illness, injury or mechanical failure that is most likely to bring a rider to his knees and prevent him from completing a stage. Or in my case the ridiculous bureaucratic workings of Ethiopian immigration officials.
Entering Ethiopia should have been straightforward. Entry was the crossing of a little bridge and indeed the immigration authority placed in a hut on the side of the road could have easily been missed if not pointed out by the tour organisation. I dropped of my passport, trying to kill the waiting time by sampling the first beer after three weeks Sudan and taking advantage of the local brothel’s showering facilities. Meanwhile, the smiling faces at immigration were slowly but surely working their way through the pile of passports and randomly flicking through a huge book containing thousands of hand written names (the IT wave has not yet advanced to Ethiopian border control). I am still completely puzzled about what exactly they were doing or trying to do. Anyway, after continuously checking on the status of my passport and repeatedly being assured of everything being in order, I make a final visit in the evening after sunset. Seeing my passport as the last remaining one on the desk was certainly not a good sign. I was informed, that my entry into Ethiopia was impossible until further notice from Addis Ababa (the capital) and that I would have to return to Sudan until the next day. Talking, negotiating and pleading were all fruitless, yet I was permitted to sleep in our camp for the night. It took up to noon the next day for my passport to get that all-important entry stamp, by which time the other riders already had up to 5h head start. Making this very difficult stage before nightfall was with certainty going to be a tough task.
(Note: out of almost 80 people, my entry was the only one to be delayed. The reason, it turns out, was my name: Edward Din. On Ethiopia’s list of wanted individuals was a person whose first name was also Edward…nothing more but my sharing a common Anglo-Saxon first name with a wanted individual had delayed my entry by almost an entire day. Even more ridiculous was what I witnessed in the morning while waiting. A man with a clearly Sudanese appearance and distinct Sudanese accent attempted entry with an Ethiopian passport. The passport’s date of issue was 4 months in the future and it was lacking an Ethiopian exit stamp. Him they permitted entry, me with my FIRST NAME they did not…ridiculous).
I could have dealt with this portion of bad luck and still mastered the 100km of heavy off-road, steep climbs and boiling heat…if it wasn’t for glueless patches’ intolerance of high temperatures. While waiting for my entry permit, my already patched tube started leaking air. I replaced the faulty patch, only for it to leak again. A slow leak, requiring me to pump up the tyre every 10-15 min. I can deal with that. After 30 km a puncture in the rear tube followed, which I promptly patched up. The patch started leaking and was replaced. Another flat followed and I had no more patches or tubes left. In my desperation I turned to some construction workers, who are attempting to pave stretches of the road in the coming couple of years. These wonderful guys offered to drive me to their next camp, repair my tube with Tip Top used for their 4WD vehicles and drop me off again. At their camp a new puncture was identified, repaired and I was driven back to the initial place. After a couple of hundred metres, the patches leaked air again. In a last attempt I located a barber in a remote Ethiopian mountain village, who also happened to repair bike tubes with glue and patches of cut rubber. Half the village assembled around me and my bike and together we fixed all leaks in the tyres. However, luck was not to be mine that day. 40km before the finish line and 90 min before sunset my beaten-up tube finally gave up and the Tour’s van, searching the route for me, picked me up. I could have dealt with the bureaucratic tinkering. I could have borrowed a tube/patch of another rider behind me if I would have started in the morning. But both together on the same day proved too much and left me 40 km short of completing my EFI (i.e. finishing every single stage).
The first day in Ethiopia surely contained enough bad luck for the time being. That was my string of thought anyway.
Our everyday items are packed in a 70l box called the RED BOX, which is loaded onto the support trucks before departure every morning, to be offloaded again at next camp. To quote Tour d’Afrique instructions: “Your life must fit in this box. All of your daily necessities including … must fit in this box”. You get the message. Until today I am unsure of the exact events that happened on my 2nd day in Ethiopia. It appears that during transit on the bad roads my red box fell out of its slot, the door opened and half my belongings were scattered across a stretch of Ethiopian gravel. All my camping gear, all my toiletries and a large part of my clothing was lost (fortunately, a kid picked up my Petzl headlamp and tried to sell it to Mike, a Canadian rider…one item retrieved, many lost).
This is Africa, full of the unexpected. All there is we can do is to take things with a healthy portion of humour and deal with the situation.
My fellow riders were incredibly helpful in assisting me with gear and words of support in those days. Words cannot express my gratitude for these many gestures. THANKS GUYS!!!!!!
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Sunday, February 10, 2008
02 February 2008- Khartoum, Sudan
Heading into the heart of Sudan, we are increasingly facing a very flat desert facilitating some strong and persistent winds. At night and in the mornings, temperatures drop to as low as 3-4 degrees Celsius. Add the strong winds and you get conditions way beyond the comfort zone of most of us (save the odd hardcore Canadian). Even more, the wind carries the sand everywhere…our clothing, ears and nose, sleeping bag, food and drink. Waking up in the morning, my face is covered with sand and grinding my teeth I get that gritty feeling. Eventually, one becomes accustomed to that. Electronic equipment does not. Digital cameras are dying like flies, but mine was holding up pretty well. During our latest sandstorm I am therefore fully aware of the hostile conditions and keep my gadget nicely tucked away in its bag. That is until that one beautiful shot comes along. I quickly take aim, use the palm of my hand to shield the lens against the sand-filled wind and place the camera back into its case within seconds. Too late…sand has entered the lens and I have learned my lesson.
KHARTOUM, THE “ELEPHANT TRUNK”
Yesterday we entered Khartoum in a police convoy with people cheering and greeting left and right. Since leaving Cairo 3 weeks ago, our life has consisted mostly of desert camps and small settlements. Purchases rarely exceeded the choice of fuul (a basic but tasty Arabic dish of fava beans) or egg omelette and chai (tea) or Turkish coffee. New acquaintances were mainly humble but poor locals. Our last real showering facilities were 12 days back in Aswan, Egypt. So waking up in the desert, we found ourselves only a few hours later groomed and shaven in a large western style mall. Entering the mall, I literally had to stop for a second, trying to absorb the wealth of choice and abundance of splendour and luxury. It is also the first time since Cairo that we see any serious amount of non-African faces. These fall into one of two categories. There are Chinese engineers building roads, drilling oil wells etc. …you name it, they do it. And there are UN employees, many of them (shops even start running discount schemes for them).
HEADSCARFS, HOW TO PLAY BY THE RULES AND THE ETERNAL QUESTION: HOW MUCH IS TOO MUCH?
As a whole, Khartoum, the home of an Islamic dictatorship, seems surprisingly Western and fairly wealthy. Certainly, our girls have been told off (sometimes rudely) when showing skin up to the elbow or not covering their head. However, there are some interesting observations. In a funny incident, we turn towards some locals on our quest for food and drink. These direct us towards what later turns to be the student refectory of the Sudanese University in Khartoum. Imagine a group of tourists walking into YOUR university canteen. So far we have always attracted a fair amount of attention, but I have never had so many faces laughing out loud or heads being shaken at me in disbelief. Anyway, it seems that as long as your dress adheres to a few stringent criteria, there is a fair amount of liberty regarding appearance and behaviour. The parallels between this crowd and my own student experiences are stunning. MP3 players, western designer clothing, latest fashion fads and cliques everywhere. It should be noted that these all looked like a fairly wealthy bunch. Therefore, the point I am trying to make is that conservatism and strictness with rules may be very heterogeneous across Sudan’s various income classes.
GETTING PHYSICAL
The daily workloads on the bike slowly but surely grind away our energy reserves and most people are struggling with knee problems, sore bums, that persistent bug going around camp etc. Miraculously, I have been spared so far. Riding out of Dongola, many were relieved to find smooth tarmac (once again part of Sudanese-Chinese relations) after the strenuous off-road. Nonetheless, over half the participants have at some point so far not managed to fully complete a stage, either due to fatigue or not reaching camp before nightfall. Fatigue is a big issue for me as well and pacing myself is paramount, but I have managed to retain my EFI (i.e. riding every single stage) and am still going strong. Khartoum marks the finish of the 1900km section “Pharao’s Delight” and race results have been published. Unfortunately, there has been a mock-up with the time taking and I have received a couple of 12h penalties. Very annoying and I will definitely look into that.
KHARTOUM, THE “ELEPHANT TRUNK”
Yesterday we entered Khartoum in a police convoy with people cheering and greeting left and right. Since leaving Cairo 3 weeks ago, our life has consisted mostly of desert camps and small settlements. Purchases rarely exceeded the choice of fuul (a basic but tasty Arabic dish of fava beans) or egg omelette and chai (tea) or Turkish coffee. New acquaintances were mainly humble but poor locals. Our last real showering facilities were 12 days back in Aswan, Egypt. So waking up in the desert, we found ourselves only a few hours later groomed and shaven in a large western style mall. Entering the mall, I literally had to stop for a second, trying to absorb the wealth of choice and abundance of splendour and luxury. It is also the first time since Cairo that we see any serious amount of non-African faces. These fall into one of two categories. There are Chinese engineers building roads, drilling oil wells etc. …you name it, they do it. And there are UN employees, many of them (shops even start running discount schemes for them).
HEADSCARFS, HOW TO PLAY BY THE RULES AND THE ETERNAL QUESTION: HOW MUCH IS TOO MUCH?
As a whole, Khartoum, the home of an Islamic dictatorship, seems surprisingly Western and fairly wealthy. Certainly, our girls have been told off (sometimes rudely) when showing skin up to the elbow or not covering their head. However, there are some interesting observations. In a funny incident, we turn towards some locals on our quest for food and drink. These direct us towards what later turns to be the student refectory of the Sudanese University in Khartoum. Imagine a group of tourists walking into YOUR university canteen. So far we have always attracted a fair amount of attention, but I have never had so many faces laughing out loud or heads being shaken at me in disbelief. Anyway, it seems that as long as your dress adheres to a few stringent criteria, there is a fair amount of liberty regarding appearance and behaviour. The parallels between this crowd and my own student experiences are stunning. MP3 players, western designer clothing, latest fashion fads and cliques everywhere. It should be noted that these all looked like a fairly wealthy bunch. Therefore, the point I am trying to make is that conservatism and strictness with rules may be very heterogeneous across Sudan’s various income classes.
GETTING PHYSICAL
The daily workloads on the bike slowly but surely grind away our energy reserves and most people are struggling with knee problems, sore bums, that persistent bug going around camp etc. Miraculously, I have been spared so far. Riding out of Dongola, many were relieved to find smooth tarmac (once again part of Sudanese-Chinese relations) after the strenuous off-road. Nonetheless, over half the participants have at some point so far not managed to fully complete a stage, either due to fatigue or not reaching camp before nightfall. Fatigue is a big issue for me as well and pacing myself is paramount, but I have managed to retain my EFI (i.e. riding every single stage) and am still going strong. Khartoum marks the finish of the 1900km section “Pharao’s Delight” and race results have been published. Unfortunately, there has been a mock-up with the time taking and I have received a couple of 12h penalties. Very annoying and I will definitely look into that.
Thursday, February 7, 2008
14th January 2008 - Desert Camp, Egypt
Yesterday marked the first riding day. After some desperate and forceful squeezing and pushing, I manage to pack my red box and complete and prepare my bike and gear for the start. We move in a slow convoy out of Gizah. Some superficial picture-taking followed at the pyramids, which were idyllically concealed behing Cairo smog. The Egyptian ministry of tourism shined through its absence, and so did the promised tea-and-snack-session on their behalf. Riding out of Cairo was fast and easy. My intentions were starting with a low intensity and building up during the week, similar to my training sessions. As so many good plans, this one went straight out of the window in the heat of action. The stage was set to be 129km under the anticipation of some moderate climbing and no wind/tailwind. After 40km we started facing a most ferocious headwind, which gulped virtually all of my pedalling power and left me moving forward at a measly 12-17km/h. At times I felt like screaming into the wind, at other times like giving up. My muscles were filled with lactic acid and I knew my body would have to pay the price in terms of fatigue in the days to come. 2 ½ h before sunset the remaining distance was still over 50km. I quickly did the maths and realized that my current pace would not allow me to reach camp before dark. The thought of loosing my EFI on the first day...the horror! Somehow I managed. Many others didn’t.
The evenings rider meeting, which was to brief us on tomorrow’s stage, announced a distance of 170km. Everyone paled…with similar conditions that would be an extremely taxing day.
The evenings rider meeting, which was to brief us on tomorrow’s stage, announced a distance of 170km. Everyone paled…with similar conditions that would be an extremely taxing day.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
28th January 2008 - Dongola, Sudan
Entering Sudan, we finally hit some off-road sections. Egyptian tarmac made my full suspension bike completely obsolete and I had doubts appear in my mind regarding my bike choice. Now, though, I am in my element, cruising through bumpy sections where others are struggling for control over their bike and floating over sand where cyclocross bikes with thinner tyres sink. Roads in Africa are being paved at a dizzying pace, leaving fewer stages off-road than ever before. Therefore, I decide to exploit my current advantage on the third day in Sudan and push beyond my so far maintained level of sustainable effort (due to the lack of recovery time, riding sustainable is a crucial aspect of the tour) and challenge the leading group of racers (they are GOOD!!).
ED’S FIRST STAGE WIN
The day begins with a typical chaotic morning, everybody frantically trying to stuff their belongings into their red box, eat breakfast and get the gear ready before sunrise. I am the last rider out of camp and shortly behind Jos, Bernd and Bent, our number 1, 2 and 4 respectively in the current rankings. I carefully select a brisk but yet reasonable pace, so that at lunch only a few riders remain between me and the finish line. Refilling my bottle and quickly grabbing filled pita breads to keep me nourished for the remaining 50km of heavy off-road, I realize 2 racers already left lunch…s**t!! I jump on my bike and start pedalling...way too fast. My legs are filling with lactic acid and I would blow up at this pace before finish. Soon after, Jos overtakes me. His rigid cyclocross take a beating on the bumpy stuff, but he is an incredibly strong rider. Pushing harder would be foolish and all there is for me to do is focus on selecting the best possible path.
However, the desert is full of surprises. The terrain is a mixture of large rocks and bumps (my full suspension loves these), a lot of washboard (waves of little bumps with little distance in-between; you do NOT want to ride on these…painful!) and even more sand (depending on depth either difficult or impossible to ride). These features are changing constantly and it is very difficult to anticipate the rideability of the path lying ahead. Add to this the countless number of different paths scattering in multiple directions and the often better choice of leaving the paths altogether, racing becomes a fair bit of chance. So it is by chance that I get stuck in a patch of deep sand. Looking at my far right, I see Jos and Bernd equally stuck in deep sand. All three desperately try to reach solid ground, get on the bike, fall over in the deep sand, get up, walk 10m and try all over. I get riding first, which puts me back in the race. It is chance again that, after a seemingly good path has turned awry and led me far off course into the desert and out of sight of the Nile, Jos follows my tracks taking him equally off course. By this time Bernd is struggling with knee problems and the winner of the day seems to be Jos or me. A final sprint to the finish line and comparison of our times reveals: I have earned my first stage win!
THE PEOPLE WE ENCOUNTER
Experiencing the people on the way is probably one of the most significant aspects of the Tour d’Afrique, and so it is important to be aware of how we are perceived by locals. Consider this: We cycle through some of the poorest areas on earth. A child standing on the side of the road witnesses a colourful spandex clad rider on a bike with an obscene price tag. The kid runs along and shouts in excitement “stop, stop…please stop”. The strange rider passes at high speed with maybe a nod or wave as sign of recognition…nothing more. Once 59 riders have passed in this fashion, nobody granting the child as much as 1 minute of their time, the child’s frustration takes shape in a rock hitting the unfortunate 60th rider.
Most locals greet us heart-warmingly. Unlike in Egypt, asking for money seems to be taboo in Sudan. Instead, the occasional child asks for a pen or a short ride on our bikes. The Sudanese are some of the friendliest people I have met and I try to do my best to acknowledge their gestures of hospitality. However, cycling through a single village I have a farmer offering me sugar cane, an old man inviting me into a mosque and a little boy holding a piece of cheese out to me. We pass hundreds of people each stage. Even on a non-race day, it is impossible to stop for every one asking us to. This is a predicament that every rider will have to deal with, even if the outcome is sometimes painful.
ED’S FIRST STAGE WIN
The day begins with a typical chaotic morning, everybody frantically trying to stuff their belongings into their red box, eat breakfast and get the gear ready before sunrise. I am the last rider out of camp and shortly behind Jos, Bernd and Bent, our number 1, 2 and 4 respectively in the current rankings. I carefully select a brisk but yet reasonable pace, so that at lunch only a few riders remain between me and the finish line. Refilling my bottle and quickly grabbing filled pita breads to keep me nourished for the remaining 50km of heavy off-road, I realize 2 racers already left lunch…s**t!! I jump on my bike and start pedalling...way too fast. My legs are filling with lactic acid and I would blow up at this pace before finish. Soon after, Jos overtakes me. His rigid cyclocross take a beating on the bumpy stuff, but he is an incredibly strong rider. Pushing harder would be foolish and all there is for me to do is focus on selecting the best possible path.
However, the desert is full of surprises. The terrain is a mixture of large rocks and bumps (my full suspension loves these), a lot of washboard (waves of little bumps with little distance in-between; you do NOT want to ride on these…painful!) and even more sand (depending on depth either difficult or impossible to ride). These features are changing constantly and it is very difficult to anticipate the rideability of the path lying ahead. Add to this the countless number of different paths scattering in multiple directions and the often better choice of leaving the paths altogether, racing becomes a fair bit of chance. So it is by chance that I get stuck in a patch of deep sand. Looking at my far right, I see Jos and Bernd equally stuck in deep sand. All three desperately try to reach solid ground, get on the bike, fall over in the deep sand, get up, walk 10m and try all over. I get riding first, which puts me back in the race. It is chance again that, after a seemingly good path has turned awry and led me far off course into the desert and out of sight of the Nile, Jos follows my tracks taking him equally off course. By this time Bernd is struggling with knee problems and the winner of the day seems to be Jos or me. A final sprint to the finish line and comparison of our times reveals: I have earned my first stage win!
THE PEOPLE WE ENCOUNTER
Experiencing the people on the way is probably one of the most significant aspects of the Tour d’Afrique, and so it is important to be aware of how we are perceived by locals. Consider this: We cycle through some of the poorest areas on earth. A child standing on the side of the road witnesses a colourful spandex clad rider on a bike with an obscene price tag. The kid runs along and shouts in excitement “stop, stop…please stop”. The strange rider passes at high speed with maybe a nod or wave as sign of recognition…nothing more. Once 59 riders have passed in this fashion, nobody granting the child as much as 1 minute of their time, the child’s frustration takes shape in a rock hitting the unfortunate 60th rider.
Most locals greet us heart-warmingly. Unlike in Egypt, asking for money seems to be taboo in Sudan. Instead, the occasional child asks for a pen or a short ride on our bikes. The Sudanese are some of the friendliest people I have met and I try to do my best to acknowledge their gestures of hospitality. However, cycling through a single village I have a farmer offering me sugar cane, an old man inviting me into a mosque and a little boy holding a piece of cheese out to me. We pass hundreds of people each stage. Even on a non-race day, it is impossible to stop for every one asking us to. This is a predicament that every rider will have to deal with, even if the outcome is sometimes painful.
23rd January 2008 - Wadi Halfa, Sudan
Our days in Egypt have passed and we are leaving with almost exactly 1000km of Egyptian roads cycled. We are now entering a new country: Sudan.
Sudan is of particular importance for several reasons. Personally, one of my best friends is from Khartoum (the capital). In hour long conversations I have listened to him telling about his home country, creating a sense of familiarity without having ever been there. More generally, Sudan is the “longest” country of the TdA with ca. 3 weeks to be spent there. The border crossing was experience definitely worth mentioning. We departed from our Aswan camp and cycled past the Aswan low dam (impressive: lake on the left, little trickle feeding the lower Nile on the right) and Aswan high dam (even more impressive). Unfortunately, these are considered military institutions and taking pictures is strictly forbidden. Boarding the ferry was quicker than expected. We were all set by noon and departure was scheduled at 16.00. In the following hours, in what was complete chaos in our eyes, boxes, suitcases, carpets, printers and any other imaginable item (apart from alcohol) was lodged onto the ship. One pickup truck after the other arrived, each one loaded to triple its height. Stairs and passages became narrow aisles amidst the cargo and eventually disappeared altogether, requiring passengers to (literally) climb over various items in order to pass.
Due to the crammed and chaotic conditions, our guide books strongly recommend taking a private cabin and for this reason the Tour d’Afrique booked all available rooms on the ship. These were 25 in total, accommodating 50 people in total. Unfortunately, there are 62 people participating in the TdA and space was allocated according to age (NOT beginning with the youngest). Bad luck for me, as I was left sleeping on deck. By 20.30 I was asleep, while the cargo was still being loaded (remember scheduled departure: 16.00).
The first couple of km to camp in Sudan, it became apparent that road slicks are not suited for the sands of the Nubain desert (who would have thought).
Sudan is of particular importance for several reasons. Personally, one of my best friends is from Khartoum (the capital). In hour long conversations I have listened to him telling about his home country, creating a sense of familiarity without having ever been there. More generally, Sudan is the “longest” country of the TdA with ca. 3 weeks to be spent there. The border crossing was experience definitely worth mentioning. We departed from our Aswan camp and cycled past the Aswan low dam (impressive: lake on the left, little trickle feeding the lower Nile on the right) and Aswan high dam (even more impressive). Unfortunately, these are considered military institutions and taking pictures is strictly forbidden. Boarding the ferry was quicker than expected. We were all set by noon and departure was scheduled at 16.00. In the following hours, in what was complete chaos in our eyes, boxes, suitcases, carpets, printers and any other imaginable item (apart from alcohol) was lodged onto the ship. One pickup truck after the other arrived, each one loaded to triple its height. Stairs and passages became narrow aisles amidst the cargo and eventually disappeared altogether, requiring passengers to (literally) climb over various items in order to pass.
Due to the crammed and chaotic conditions, our guide books strongly recommend taking a private cabin and for this reason the Tour d’Afrique booked all available rooms on the ship. These were 25 in total, accommodating 50 people in total. Unfortunately, there are 62 people participating in the TdA and space was allocated according to age (NOT beginning with the youngest). Bad luck for me, as I was left sleeping on deck. By 20.30 I was asleep, while the cargo was still being loaded (remember scheduled departure: 16.00).
The first couple of km to camp in Sudan, it became apparent that road slicks are not suited for the sands of the Nubain desert (who would have thought).
19th January 2008 - Aswan
With all its downsides, Egypt and its people impress me. While there are black sheep, most people are so welcoming and good-hearted, that we often spend hours of our stages along the Nile, waving and trying to acknowledge the countless greetings we receive. The most memorable encounters usually happen by chance. Such as a late night stroll in Edfu between Luxor and Aswan, which had us end up attending a Koptic Christian mass. The majority of Egypt is Moslem, but a small minority of roughly 9% are Koptic Christian. These used to belong to the Orthodox Christian Church, but separated to form a separate entity.
I hugely appreciate my privilege to discover Egypt by bike. This allows me to experience remote villages, where people seem to be at their most welcoming and sincere. Today, on my way out of Edfu, I foolishly ran out of water halfway through the stage. The average Egyptian does not indulge in the luxury of drinking bottled water and the tiny village shop I stopped at did not stock any for this reason. Yet, multiple people scrambled instantly to arrange bottled water for me, I was charged less than half the price paid in Luxor and my tip as token of my gratitude was rejected with a kind smile. They were did not try to profiteer from foreigners, but where enlightened to meet me and sincerely tried to help.
Tomorrow we will board the ferry to cross Lake Nasr to the Sudanese town Wadi Halfa. The Lake is the product of the Aswan high dam, which was built in the 70s with Soviet funding. Whilst enabling Egypt to regulate water for agriculture and avoid severe draughts, it also changed the Egyptian landscape and drowned huge amounts of Nubian heritage. The extremely fertile Nile clay was blocked by the dam and farmers resorted to employing artificial fertilizers, which later posed severe health problems. Paradoxically, much of the gained hydroelectric energy has to be used for the production of these artificial fertilizers.
Aswan is one of the driest inhabited places on earth. The day we arrive the first drops of rain start falling.
I hugely appreciate my privilege to discover Egypt by bike. This allows me to experience remote villages, where people seem to be at their most welcoming and sincere. Today, on my way out of Edfu, I foolishly ran out of water halfway through the stage. The average Egyptian does not indulge in the luxury of drinking bottled water and the tiny village shop I stopped at did not stock any for this reason. Yet, multiple people scrambled instantly to arrange bottled water for me, I was charged less than half the price paid in Luxor and my tip as token of my gratitude was rejected with a kind smile. They were did not try to profiteer from foreigners, but where enlightened to meet me and sincerely tried to help.
Tomorrow we will board the ferry to cross Lake Nasr to the Sudanese town Wadi Halfa. The Lake is the product of the Aswan high dam, which was built in the 70s with Soviet funding. Whilst enabling Egypt to regulate water for agriculture and avoid severe draughts, it also changed the Egyptian landscape and drowned huge amounts of Nubian heritage. The extremely fertile Nile clay was blocked by the dam and farmers resorted to employing artificial fertilizers, which later posed severe health problems. Paradoxically, much of the gained hydroelectric energy has to be used for the production of these artificial fertilizers.
Aswan is one of the driest inhabited places on earth. The day we arrive the first drops of rain start falling.
17th January 2008 - Luxor
The past couple of days have really given me a glimpse into what the next four months will entail.
We went from our start in Cairo via various desert camps and then alongside the beautiful Red Sea through the towns. Riding our second stage set at 170km, the winds shifted in our favour and pushed out average speeds up beyond 30km/h. Hitting the Red Sea made for some picturesque scenery as we were cruising along the coast on what signs called “dangerous curves”. As we head further south, days become slightly warmer, yet nights remain bitter cold at as little as 1 degree Celsius. The strong winds, usually our friends during the day, let us freeze down to our bones and drive the sand into everything and everywhere.
Africa requires making do with little often and improvising most of the time. Within a few days I am already used to having no more than a bottle of water for daily washing, sleeping on camping grounds littered with faeces (I hope this is a solely Egyptian occurrence) and being completely cut off the outer world for lengthy periods of times. Therefore, reaching Safaga, our last camp on the Red Sea before heading land inwards towards the Nile, was pure splendour and luxury for us. A wonderful clean camping site right on a beach, warm showers and a barbecue seemed to be everything one could ask for. The following day we crossed the mountains on Egypt’s East and stopped short of Quena…fairly uneventful. Quite the contrary can be said of our ride from Quena to Luxor, supposedly the biggest open air museum on earth. Coming from the desert, the scenery changed from sand and rocks to an abundance of fields and palm trees in the richest shades of green imaginable. It becomes apparent to what extent the Nile is Egypt’s lifeblood. Seeing this stark contrast within a few metres distance is simply breathtaking, as is the attention we get from the locals. The streets along the Nile are buzzing with life and a large proportion of this life responds in some way or the other to our presence. On the one hand there are hundreds of children (literally) shouting “hello” or “welcome to Egypt” while smiling, waving and trying to shake our hands. On the other hand, some children take no shame in commanding outright “money, money, money”, often holding out their open hand and gesturing “give me”. On sporadic occasions stones are thrown (badly aimed) or sugar canes swung at us.
This being my first visit to Luxor, I couldn’t but participate in a tour to Luxor’s West Bank (Theben), viewing the spectacular tombs in the valley of the kings and valley of the queens and admiring the beautiful 3-terrace-temple of Hatsheput. The latter is the sight of the 1997 Luxor massacre, in which gunmen entered the temple and executed virtually anyone present. In fact, this event plunged Egypt’s tourism industry into a crippling crisis and can be considered as primary reason for the ridiculously excessive presence of military and police, which any traveller will encounter in Egypt. For example, the Tour d’Afrique’s journey through Egypt is constantly accompanied by armed police and/or military. Even fire-fighters are present at some camp sites (we still have to figure out their purpose at camp).
We went from our start in Cairo via various desert camps and then alongside the beautiful Red Sea through the towns. Riding our second stage set at 170km, the winds shifted in our favour and pushed out average speeds up beyond 30km/h. Hitting the Red Sea made for some picturesque scenery as we were cruising along the coast on what signs called “dangerous curves”. As we head further south, days become slightly warmer, yet nights remain bitter cold at as little as 1 degree Celsius. The strong winds, usually our friends during the day, let us freeze down to our bones and drive the sand into everything and everywhere.
Africa requires making do with little often and improvising most of the time. Within a few days I am already used to having no more than a bottle of water for daily washing, sleeping on camping grounds littered with faeces (I hope this is a solely Egyptian occurrence) and being completely cut off the outer world for lengthy periods of times. Therefore, reaching Safaga, our last camp on the Red Sea before heading land inwards towards the Nile, was pure splendour and luxury for us. A wonderful clean camping site right on a beach, warm showers and a barbecue seemed to be everything one could ask for. The following day we crossed the mountains on Egypt’s East and stopped short of Quena…fairly uneventful. Quite the contrary can be said of our ride from Quena to Luxor, supposedly the biggest open air museum on earth. Coming from the desert, the scenery changed from sand and rocks to an abundance of fields and palm trees in the richest shades of green imaginable. It becomes apparent to what extent the Nile is Egypt’s lifeblood. Seeing this stark contrast within a few metres distance is simply breathtaking, as is the attention we get from the locals. The streets along the Nile are buzzing with life and a large proportion of this life responds in some way or the other to our presence. On the one hand there are hundreds of children (literally) shouting “hello” or “welcome to Egypt” while smiling, waving and trying to shake our hands. On the other hand, some children take no shame in commanding outright “money, money, money”, often holding out their open hand and gesturing “give me”. On sporadic occasions stones are thrown (badly aimed) or sugar canes swung at us.
This being my first visit to Luxor, I couldn’t but participate in a tour to Luxor’s West Bank (Theben), viewing the spectacular tombs in the valley of the kings and valley of the queens and admiring the beautiful 3-terrace-temple of Hatsheput. The latter is the sight of the 1997 Luxor massacre, in which gunmen entered the temple and executed virtually anyone present. In fact, this event plunged Egypt’s tourism industry into a crippling crisis and can be considered as primary reason for the ridiculously excessive presence of military and police, which any traveller will encounter in Egypt. For example, the Tour d’Afrique’s journey through Egypt is constantly accompanied by armed police and/or military. Even fire-fighters are present at some camp sites (we still have to figure out their purpose at camp).
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