Our final afternoons sees much angst and swearing as we try to erect our tents for the overnight camp in the Saharan desert. The sun is blazing, it is near 40 degrees and a gusty wind whips up the sand and catches our tent fly as if it were a kite. Combined with our inexperience and ineptitude the result is haphazard but does survive the night.
We summit a massive sand dune to watch the sunset and in the distance is the Nile to complete this magical tableau.
We are up bright and early having spent the night at the ferryman’s house. We pile into an ancient beaten up Corolla with no side windows no dashboard equipment but nicely adorned with glued on red felt and tassles hanging off the ceiling. The ample natural ventilation somewhat offset the petrol fumes in the cabin. Mercifully it was only a short drive to the banks of the Nile where we boarded our felucca for the crossing.
Our destination was the northernmost monument of the Egyptian Empire in Sudan, Soleb temple. Built by pharoah Amenhotep 111 in 14 BC it is the most Egyptian in appearance of the many monuments in Sudan. It is also just 100km south of Wadi Halfa on the Sudan-Egypt border. Our journey here entailed much negotiation over a number of days first with the hotel owner who booked the trip who said it was too far in the time we had and secondly with our driver. Everything is very typically “African vague” here and in the end it was an ordeal but here we were and it was certainly worth it. Smaller in size than the Luxor Temple in Egypt also built by Amenhotep 111 it is nonetheless a little Egyptian gem with soaring sandstone columns richly engraved with Egyptian art.
My first overseas adventure to an off beat destination was to Egypt in 1982. Egypt now (except for the recent civil unrest) has become a bit passe, but then it was new and unusual especially for an Australian. There were only a few tourists there in those days, overwhelmingly European, no Australians. The monuments were not crowded with tourists. It was the year after the Egyptian president Anwar Sadat was assasinated and fellow called Hosni Mubarak took over as president. I engaged my trusty travel agent, Cliff (who finally retired last year) and organised a trip that would encompass every significant temple, tomb or monument in Egypt to satisfy my nascent curiosity for all things ancient and particularly Egyptology.
Today I find myself reminiscing about that first adventure. Even then I knew I would be back here, that this country represented “unfinished business”. So I touch the ancient sandstone, think back to the men who created this, obviously with no modern tools or implements, that 3500 years later I am looking at. I linger, sit absorb the atmosphere. As we leave I look back one more time and a melancholy grips me. This is it! I have seen all the substantial Egyptian monuments I have travelled the length of Nile from both sources to the sea. The wheel has turned full circle. It should be cause for exhilaration and there is certainly that but, as with all of life, most of the pleasure is in the anticipation and not the completion of the act.
Our car pulls up at the end of our middle day of touring with us happy with our daily diet of temples and pyramids. Even the ferocious heat does little to dampen our enthusiasm. Last night we stayed overnight at a tented camp at Meroe. The tents were spacious, had real beds and electricity and we had our own bathroom with toilet and shower. The meal was superb (sans alcohol in this strictly Muslim country). Today we are treated to a resort in the desert on the edge of town with massive elegant rooms arranged in beatiful gardens around a massive manicured green lawn. I had to blink twice just in case it was a mirage.
Up before sunrise the next morning we walk across to the sacred mountain, Jebel Barkal. We eventually locate the path and make the steep ascent in time for sunrise. We are not at any great height but the view is breathtaking. The sinuous Nile arcs lazily through the landscape with its obligatory cuff of green date palms and crops that comes to an abrupt end at the desert. The little market town of Karima is awakening on the south bank of the Nile and around to the west of this massive rock in the desert is yes, you guessed it,another cluster of picture perfect pyramids.This country never ceases to amaze me!
The sun is setting behind us on another scorching day and we are running up and slithering down massive golden sand dunes lifted straight out of a set of “Lawrence of Arabia”. Ours are the only footprints to be seen on any of the dunes patterned with the sinuous furrows created by the breeze. We are scrambling in the sand like two light kids at the beach to get into the best possible position to capture the light and photograph the 2000 year old Meroe pyramids.
But wait, which pyramid is best? Which combination? There are at least a dozen pyramids atop this massive sand dune and another half a dozen in the sand down the hill. An orgy of photography ensues and we are finally sated at the completion of a spectacular day of touring.
For anyone with even the most casual interest in Egyptology this place is Nirvana! There are more pyramids here than in Egypt. There are temples, ancient cities, petroglyphs, statues and amazing art and iconography carved into temple walls. There are painted funerary tombs. The most remarkable thing is that we have the place to ourselves. We have only met a handful of tourists and have never had to share an archeological site.
Khartoum is an intrinsically ugly town. Home to 5 million Sudanese it is squat and low rise. Most of the buildings are a monotonous sandy colour and there no supermarkets nor lively shopping areas.
Heightened security from decades of war restricts photography. The best view of the only natural attraction, the confluence of the White and Blue Nile is from a road bridge which is guarded by police and no photos are allowed.
History is what dusty little Khartoum specialises in and in this area it has attractions galore! Most notable is the magnificent National Museum with its treasure trove of relics from the time of the ancient Egyptians. Smaller than the Cairo museum it makes up for the lack of size with quality and intimacy. Anthony and I were the only two westerners there.
The other historical attractions are 2000 years younger dating from the end of the 19th century and the British occupation of Sudan already alluded to. Perhaps the most poignant is Lord Kitchener’s Nile gunboat El Malik used in the battle of Omdurman where the British set out to avenge General Gordon’s murder and to reacquire Sudan. Sadly lies unloved and ramshackle partially buried in Nile silt well away from the water’s edge and used as a storage dump by the Blue Nile sailing club.
The Mahdi’s mausoleum, north of the city centre in Omdurman is a more recent but no less impressive edifice. Marking a memorial to the man who led the Islamic uprising that took Khartoum and killed the charismatic Gordon.
Sipping fragrant clove tea in the shade opposite the Blue Nile. It is a toasty 37C at this “pop up” tea stall by the roadside. Next to me in a wheel chair i a one legged man. I look at the remaining leg fleetingly, oh he seems to have a moon boot on that one as well. Slowly my mind processes the African reality and I glance back to confirm my diagnosis. There is no orthotic on his leg the massive leg is a result of an impressive case of elephantiasis. The reason for this colorful name for the parasite infestation of his lymphatics is never better illustrated than by looking at massive elephant like leg on this man.
The women of Sudan, in accordance with Sharia law are veiled.Interestingly enough most wear hijabs These sit loosely over their heads, not covering their happy African faces but rather function as a colourful fashion accessory. A smaller minority wear the the more conservative niqabs which has them veiled in black with only the eyes uncovered. If they are also wearing glasses then the cover seems total and the look is positively alien!
All around us at the tea stall sit men quietly whittling away lumps of wood into small pieces. Stalls all around sell the bagged up kindling along with fragrant acacia and sandalwood to women for the unique ritual of dukhan. It is a tradition that goes back generations and is uniquely Sudanese. Women start on their wedding day and will continue it regularly throughout their married life. The wood is taken home and lit until it is hot coal. The fragrances are put on top and the smouldering coals are put on the ground. She undresses, wraps a blanket around herself an sits over the coals literally smoking her skin. The benefits are said to include fragrance, tanning of the skin and, supposedly, tightening of the vagina to enhance their husband’s sexual pleasure.
Unlike the west, this is a society where open expressions of sexuality are banned.Media depictions of sexuality or the exposed female form are similarly banned. Even the laundry service at our hotel states “We apologize for not accepting ladie’s (sic) underwear” Presumably dirty knickers must titillate here! Imagine the excitement then when a Sudanese man comes home and smells smoke on his wife’s skin!
Come on baby light my fire!
Sudan is the largest country in Africa and covers an area the size of western Europe. It has also been chronically in the world news for all the wrong reasons ranging from civil war with the now breakaway South Sudan through to the genocide in its southwestern corner Darfur. The US has a longstanding trade embargo on the country which further complicates attempts to enter and travel through here. In particular there is no banking facility for foreigners nor ATMs. As a consequence we are forced to carry a large reserve of cash on our persons. Also visas are a haphazard affair and very difficult to come by. Still wounded by my abortive attempts at visas for the Stans I leaped on the internet advice to contact George.
George is a Greek who’s family have lived in and operated the Acropole hotel in Khartoum for sixty years. It was a popular watering hole for expats and travelers alike until the restaurant was destroyed by Hezbollah terrorists in 1988 with 7 killed in the attack. Not to be deterred they rebuilt the hotel. George and his family not only run this tourist friendly establishment he is also a general factotum for tourist related matters including the procurement of visas and travel and photo permits in advance. All ready on arrival.
Our flight to Dubai on the “flying skip” was one of the better flights that I have taken. Troubles arose when boarding the connecting flight to Khartoum without a visa in our passport. We are initially refused entry. George has secured and emailed a written visa for us to bring but somewhat unnerving is that Anthony’s visa only mentions his first and middle name and not his surname. Fortunately George’s brother Makis has already confirmed us through the Emirates office in Khartoum earlier in the week and when they check we are allowed through.
A thick sandstorm and forboding grey storm clouds greet us at Khartoum airport. As we taxi and land we see prominent army anti aircraft guns and tanks straddling the runway. There are only 3 other passenger aircraft on the apron, the rest being mostly military. Chaos greets us at the arrival hall with hundreds of people queued up at immigration and the process proceeds at the proverbial snail’s pace. We spot the only desk marked visa and head for it to be met by a young man brandishing paper with our name written on it. George’s influence has his man meeting us in the “forbidden zone” between aircraft and immigration. Ten minutes later he has our visas in our passports and we literally jump the queue leaving behind the African sea of humanity. The baggage wait was long and anxiety provoking, will our gear get here especially through the 7 hour layover in Dubai. It was back slapping all round when our packs finally did emerge.
Our driver speeds through the dark dimly lit streets dodging the chaotic traffic on the way to the Acropole Hotel. I have the windows down and the hot night air brushes my face. I smell the smells of Africa and suddenly, despite my fatigue from flying, I am alive again! Energised I grin stupidly as my mind relives a hundred similar places that I have been to in far flung places. It is like a home coming and I am excited to be back on the road again.
I first dreamt of travelling to the Sudan as a teenage boy. My grandmother would take us to the op shop at Ashburton where I would scour the book section and indulge my passion for reading. One of my favourites was the “White Nile” a ripping yarn of British exploration in the deep heart of Africa written by Alan Moorhead in 1962.
One of the more tragic stories within the book was that of the British occupation of the Sudan in the mid 1800 and the last British governor, General Gordon a heroic soldier who was sent by Prime Minister Gladstone to evacuate all Egyptian and Europeans from the Sudan due to the rebel threat. Gordon arrived in Feb 1884 and fortified and held the besieged Khartoum for 11 months. Ultimately Mohammed Ahmed who called himself the Mahdi (one who would rid the world of all evil) led the successful Sudanese Muslim uprising. Gordon was killed and beheaded all of which has an eerie resonance today.
So it is to the Sudan I venture. I want to see what, if anything remains of the fort that Gordon defended, nestled on the land protected on two sides by the confluence of the blue and white Nile. The Mahdi’s tomb still exists on an island in the Nile. Then there is the assortment of fabulous ancient Egyptian temples and pyramids north of Khartoum.
From Sudan it is unfinished business in Ethiopia with a 4 day safari into the Danakil depression. Straddling the border with Eritrea it is 100metres below sea level and one of the hottest places on earth. The landscape is reminiscent of Mars and the climax here will be a night sleeping out in the open on the rim of an active volcano. The finale is a brief transit through the tiny Djibouti wedged between Eritrea and Somalia.
I depart on Friday and am only away for a short 2 weeks. Large chunks of the trip will see us “off the grid” so postings may be late and well after the event but I will endeavour to keep you all posted while I am away.
Death of General Gordon
Kazakhstan is the most Russian of all the Stans. Of course geographically it is the closest to Russia, but the prevailing vibe here is European rather than Asian. Paradoxically the people here have the most Asiatic faces I have seen on this trip.
The former capitol and business hub, Almaty could be relocated to anywhere in Europe in the blink of an eye and one would still feel at home. This is a city of long tree lined boulevards sporting the best of haute couture boutiques. Cafes spill onto foot paths, impromptu art and craft stands are everywhere and buskers add further life and colour.
For a city of only 1 million inhabitants it has the western curse of peak hour traffic jams and it is not until you look down from the lookout at Kok tobe that you notice the dirty brown smog that blankets the city.
Almaty sits at the south eastern corner of the country right up against the borders with China and Kyrgyzstan. This was one of the factors mitigating against it remaining the capitol. Its location, though, has it nestled in the Tian Shan mountains to the south. In fact the mountains are visible from anywhere within the city. Even if you could not see them their presence is felt as all the north south streets slope significantly upwards the further south you go.
The mountains also mean that world class ski and skating resorts are on the city’s doorstep. For me as a tourist it is a 50cent bus to the resort at Shymbaluk. From there in the off season the ski lifts dont run but it is a stiff 3 hour climb from 2000 metres to 3000 metre Talgar pass to be among the mountains and glaciers again. Lucky that Pamir acclimatisation to 5000 metres hangs around for a few weeks!
This was Stalin’s favourite food says our chatty guide, Marat. He would eat his Latvian sprats on the best bread with Armenian brandy. Ot made me wonder what the millions he locked into gulags were eating at that time. As I am aitting here munching on Stalin’s sardines al fresco I also seriously doubt that he had a view to rival mine.
I am sitying on the edge of Charyn canyon some 210 kms down a very bumpy road east of Almaty in Kazakhstan, near the Chinese border. 12 million years ago a river carved this gorge through soft rock. Millenia of erosion has sculpted a fantastic wonderland reminiscent of the Grand Canyon. At only 90 miles in length it is very much a miniature of its American prototype.
After lunch we walk down into the canyon down a slippery scree slope braving the near gale force winds.
It is another 3 km through the magnificently sculptured and evocatively named Valley of the Castles before I reach the fast flowing blue green waters of the river for a photo and a wash. While there I exchange pleasantries with an extended Kazakh family seated havong a BBQ lunch. Before I know it I am tasting BBQ mushrooms and munching on melons thrust into my hands. Then, dear readers can you guess what is next? Yes its vodka time and here we are toasting each other’s countries and would you believe it, world peace!! Some chut chuts and 3 shots later I drag myself away from my new best friends to climb back out of the canyon for the drive home.
