On the border and beyond
I've not written here for a while, and am now far from my adventures in North Africa and the Middle East. A lot happened between Cairo and now, but I thought it a good idea to make some sort of record of the happenings, in whatever order they come to mind.
The sky was pink with 5 am sun in Abu Simbel - the last town in Egypt. I had not spent my day there seeing the ancient ruins for which the city is famed, but that's a story for a different time. Getting to Sudan over land means crossing the expansive Lake Nasser by ferry. This being Egypt, there isn't exactly an online notice board of ferry times, but through various online sources I'd located the ferry terminal and knew that it should depart at 7. I got there early just in case, but as 7 came and went I began to realise that my information may have been bad. I asked some youths playing in the lake if the ferry came to this port and, either they didn't understand my broken, "Ana ayiz riyeh i'Sudan" or they had no idea. Somewhat defeated, I headed in to town to try and find something to eat.
Within a hundred meters a motorcyclist pulled up, apparently sensing my dilemma. "Ferryboat? Quickly quickly! Come, yallah! No money! Mish ayiz feluss." I hopped on the back and in typical Egyptian style we covered the five miles to the real terminal in what seemed like an instant. Fortunately for me, not only the departure location but the time was incorrect - I was the first passenger of the day. Furthermore, there were two cafes offering fuul and falafel for breakfast. I ordered four sandwiches and a coffee and tried not to sweat too much in the desert heat.
After a nap in the sun and some chat with the locals, two ferries pulled up. The system, as usual was not exactly explained - at least not in English. I watched most of the vehicles and people board, and decided that I might as well hop on. And this is where my intel was good - the ferry was in fact free for foot passengers. As always, the locals were very protective of the lone foreigner, making sure I kept out of sun and that I didn't stand right at the edge like the other daring young men - I was even invited up to the cockpit to help steer the boat!
The crossing took about an hour, and then I realised that I might have made a slight foible. There were about 20 km of desert between me and the border gate, and as far as I knew this was the only crossing of the day. If I didn't manage to get a ride soon then I'd have to walk there in the heat of the day. So, I started walking - doing my best lost white dude impression. Again, within minutes a car pulled over - possibly the nicest and cleanest I'd seen in Egypt. And oh the blessed air conditioning! Its occupants were technicians for some machinery at the crossing, and spoke excellent English. They took me to the border and talked to the guards, who said that I wouldn't be allowed to cross on foot - "It's too far! You'll die in the heat!" (this, I knew to be false). I was pointed to several windows to pay for various forms, then ushered onto a bus full of smiling Sudanese families, televisions, and bread. I sat on top of one of the many boxes while I attempted small talk with some of the people, and tried not to shrivel out like an ant under a magnifying glass.
We trundled across the border where everyone got out to stretch their legs, and get passports stamped. I followed the swarm to the first of many offices where, once I managed to push my way to the front of the crowd, I was relieved of my passport and told to wait five minutes (an Egyptian five of course). I sat on the floor twiddling my thumbs until an elderly sun-withered Sudanese lady, baby in arms, toddler by her side approached me and said something in Arabic that I did not understand. Patiently she tried again. I shrugged. She shrugged back, and bent down to hand me the placid infant. She left me with the baby boy and his sister and went about her business, checking every ten minutes or so on the children. Soon, I had a flock of kindergarten-aged Sudanese girls surrounding me and the baby. I tried in vain to referee who got to hold the baby next. The sister (whose name I learned was Farah) was very protective of her little brother - "Ana aheb akhi!"
After half an hour or so I got my passport back and departed from the small family to exchange money at black market rates and fill my belly with the worst falafel I'd ever had - at border crossings, just like in aeroplanes, expect subpar provisions. My attempts at napping in the shade were made moot by various Sudanis trying to make a new friend (very politely I might add). Eventually it was time to get back on the stuffy bus. This time, it was insisted upon that I sit on a chair. We sat in what was essentially a greenhouse for about two hours amidst the sounds of honking and frustrated, rapid-fire Arabic as the various bus drivers jostled to be the first to Sudanese border control.
After having my passport stamped again, I proceeded to the next desk to have my bag checked for contraband. The border agent simply opened my bag slightly, pulled out a filthy t-shirt from the top and asked, "Do you have a bomb?" I managed to resist answering in the affirmative. Apparently I was looking lost again because one of my comrades from the bus approached me, and pointed at the gate, "Bus finish! Yallah - taxi." It had cooled down by this point and so I walked much more Energetically into a new country. It looked about the same as the other side - sand as far as the eyes could see.
There were two long rows of lorry drivers waiting for sunset to depart, drinking sugary tea and coffee made with equipment stored under their vehicles. I said hello and was offered something to drink by several, each demanding my attention. My attempts to learn the word for lorry in Arabic failed, but eventually I did manage to get the idea across that I'd like to go with one of them to Sudan's first town; Wadi Halfa. There seemed to be some debate as to who would take me, but eventually I was sitting high on the road, watching the sun set over the dunes.
The sky was pink with 5 am sun in Abu Simbel - the last town in Egypt. I had not spent my day there seeing the ancient ruins for which the city is famed, but that's a story for a different time. Getting to Sudan over land means crossing the expansive Lake Nasser by ferry. This being Egypt, there isn't exactly an online notice board of ferry times, but through various online sources I'd located the ferry terminal and knew that it should depart at 7. I got there early just in case, but as 7 came and went I began to realise that my information may have been bad. I asked some youths playing in the lake if the ferry came to this port and, either they didn't understand my broken, "Ana ayiz riyeh i'Sudan" or they had no idea. Somewhat defeated, I headed in to town to try and find something to eat.
Within a hundred meters a motorcyclist pulled up, apparently sensing my dilemma. "Ferryboat? Quickly quickly! Come, yallah! No money! Mish ayiz feluss." I hopped on the back and in typical Egyptian style we covered the five miles to the real terminal in what seemed like an instant. Fortunately for me, not only the departure location but the time was incorrect - I was the first passenger of the day. Furthermore, there were two cafes offering fuul and falafel for breakfast. I ordered four sandwiches and a coffee and tried not to sweat too much in the desert heat.
After a nap in the sun and some chat with the locals, two ferries pulled up. The system, as usual was not exactly explained - at least not in English. I watched most of the vehicles and people board, and decided that I might as well hop on. And this is where my intel was good - the ferry was in fact free for foot passengers. As always, the locals were very protective of the lone foreigner, making sure I kept out of sun and that I didn't stand right at the edge like the other daring young men - I was even invited up to the cockpit to help steer the boat!
The crossing took about an hour, and then I realised that I might have made a slight foible. There were about 20 km of desert between me and the border gate, and as far as I knew this was the only crossing of the day. If I didn't manage to get a ride soon then I'd have to walk there in the heat of the day. So, I started walking - doing my best lost white dude impression. Again, within minutes a car pulled over - possibly the nicest and cleanest I'd seen in Egypt. And oh the blessed air conditioning! Its occupants were technicians for some machinery at the crossing, and spoke excellent English. They took me to the border and talked to the guards, who said that I wouldn't be allowed to cross on foot - "It's too far! You'll die in the heat!" (this, I knew to be false). I was pointed to several windows to pay for various forms, then ushered onto a bus full of smiling Sudanese families, televisions, and bread. I sat on top of one of the many boxes while I attempted small talk with some of the people, and tried not to shrivel out like an ant under a magnifying glass.
We trundled across the border where everyone got out to stretch their legs, and get passports stamped. I followed the swarm to the first of many offices where, once I managed to push my way to the front of the crowd, I was relieved of my passport and told to wait five minutes (an Egyptian five of course). I sat on the floor twiddling my thumbs until an elderly sun-withered Sudanese lady, baby in arms, toddler by her side approached me and said something in Arabic that I did not understand. Patiently she tried again. I shrugged. She shrugged back, and bent down to hand me the placid infant. She left me with the baby boy and his sister and went about her business, checking every ten minutes or so on the children. Soon, I had a flock of kindergarten-aged Sudanese girls surrounding me and the baby. I tried in vain to referee who got to hold the baby next. The sister (whose name I learned was Farah) was very protective of her little brother - "Ana aheb akhi!"
After half an hour or so I got my passport back and departed from the small family to exchange money at black market rates and fill my belly with the worst falafel I'd ever had - at border crossings, just like in aeroplanes, expect subpar provisions. My attempts at napping in the shade were made moot by various Sudanis trying to make a new friend (very politely I might add). Eventually it was time to get back on the stuffy bus. This time, it was insisted upon that I sit on a chair. We sat in what was essentially a greenhouse for about two hours amidst the sounds of honking and frustrated, rapid-fire Arabic as the various bus drivers jostled to be the first to Sudanese border control.
After having my passport stamped again, I proceeded to the next desk to have my bag checked for contraband. The border agent simply opened my bag slightly, pulled out a filthy t-shirt from the top and asked, "Do you have a bomb?" I managed to resist answering in the affirmative. Apparently I was looking lost again because one of my comrades from the bus approached me, and pointed at the gate, "Bus finish! Yallah - taxi." It had cooled down by this point and so I walked much more Energetically into a new country. It looked about the same as the other side - sand as far as the eyes could see.
There were two long rows of lorry drivers waiting for sunset to depart, drinking sugary tea and coffee made with equipment stored under their vehicles. I said hello and was offered something to drink by several, each demanding my attention. My attempts to learn the word for lorry in Arabic failed, but eventually I did manage to get the idea across that I'd like to go with one of them to Sudan's first town; Wadi Halfa. There seemed to be some debate as to who would take me, but eventually I was sitting high on the road, watching the sun set over the dunes.
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