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Published: February 1st 2010
Ethiopia
I left Khartoum in convoy with my German and Welsh friends and we took the tarred main road South East with the landy in the lead and cruising along at a comfortable pace. The plan was to cover about 500km, aiming for Gedaref and then pull off somewhere just before the city and free camp near the road. Unfortunately one of the little girls of the German couple developed a high fever and we were delayed sometime while they checked her out for Malaria in one of the towns about half way. This set us all back a bit and with the German's fire truck only going about 80kmph we were about 150km before Gedaref and 100km short of our planned stop by the time evening came around. We found a good, quiet spot to camp and had a great dinner (with an illegal bottle of wine - haha!) but the upshot of the delay was a long day ahead, including an unknown border crossing and almost 300km on the Ethiopian side to make before dark. We left early and with the landy and I pushing on ahead we soon left the truck behind, planning to meet them at
the border and regroup into Ethiopia.
The border was a piece of cake. Easily the quickest, cheapest and friendliest I've had so far. 18 Sudan pounds to exit and 20 USD to enter and no queues, no hassles no worries. The worry came when, after hanging around waiting for the truck, nervously calculating times and watching the sun sink lower, we managed to get hold of them by mobile to discover they'd shredded a rear tire and were not going to make it to the border that day. They seemed to have things in hand and advised us to push on and try make the camp spot we had planned for originally... still 300km to go on unknown roads, perhaps filled with stone throwing locals and potholes...
Worried about the prospect of driving at night on my bike, I decided to head off in front and wait for the Landover if it got too dark or difficult further down the road. We both had our GPS's set on the same route and I thought I could make better time than them on the now twisting, mountainous mix of tar and dirt roads. It was great riding actually and
despite getting hit with a rock, chucked anonymously from my left in the 2nd village I passed through, there was little that could dent my mood. That one rock (well aimed I have to say - it cracked into the left side of my helmet!) could have really soured things immediately but in fact the overwhelming majority of people were only too happy to wave me past, smiling and laughing and seemingly genuinely happy to say hello. I let that vibe wash over me and forgot about the rock, although I did start a preemptive waving strategy which I think saved me a few more little rocks here and there. It's the little kids that do it. They're out in the fields all day herding and chucking rocks at the cattle they're looking after. As you drive up to them you get the feeling they could either wave or throw, so my plan was to flash and wave a lot well in advance and every time I would get waves back... hard to wave and throw stones at the same time!
Anyway it was a good ride. Right up until sunset that is. About 90kms from my destination (which
was just a rural town from where I'd been told I could ask directions to a camp site run by a Dutch couple) I looked down to check my GPS and found the screen blank... the batteries dead. Damn that broken charging slot! At that point the road was jammed with people and cattle and I knew I could not get off the bike and change the batteries without a huge crowd and I was worried that some kid might take the chance and run off with something into the dusk. I pushed on and about 20km further, found a quiet spot to make the change. When I looked down at the GPS again it took me some time to realise that it had recalculated my route, I had missed a turn and I was now headed, still on track to my final destination, but 15km past my turn and now 80kms from my target instead of 60/70km if I'd taken the original track. Shit. What to do now? On the plus side, the road I was on was good smooth tar, seemed to go through the main town of the region where I could probably find a hotel if
it got too dark to ride, and from where I was it was no further to go on as it was to go back. On the down side, the Landover was behind me and I had been quite happy with the thought that they were following - now no longer a certainty as they'd likely taken the road I'd missed. In the end I decided to push on and hope the road stayed nice and easy.
It didn't. The last 50kms into the camp were hectic. Pitch dark, rough gravel and sudden cattle or piles of rock in the middle of the road. And I was tired. We'd left at dawn that morning and my body was letting me know all about it. Also, in the back of my mind was the knowledge that I didn't have any real idea where this camp was supposed to be and I didn't know if I could find it in the dark at all. Worrying...
In the end it all went perfectly. Around 9.00pm and feeling thoroughly exhausted, I pulled into Gorgora, the town which was the end of the road and the end of my GPS track. I stopped on
the empty, dark street surrounded by thatch huts and mud shelters and started looking about for someone to ask for directions. Before I could get off the bike though, a young local guy was at my shoulder, with a big grin and saying over and over "Tim, Kim? Tim, Kim?" Yes! (I said) and with a mumbled "follow me" off he ran. I never would have found the place without him. We cut off through the town and along a terrible rocky road for about half a km along the lake shore. It was a good thing it was the last stretch because I was finished. What a welcome though! Before I was even off the bike, Tim was pushing a cold beer into my hand and Kim was offering banana pancakes and I was ushered to the fire. I can't tell you how glad I was to arrive there. I was shaking and felt rattled and wobbly. 50km in the dark on unknown dirt roads after 500km of all day riding had taken it out of me. I babbled more or less incoherently to Tim, sipped my beer and 30 mins later the Welsh couple pulled in. As it
happened their GPS had done the same trick, and suddenly directed them around the longer route while they had been concentrating on the main road. Following the same reasoning as me (to push on to the camp no matter what) they had continued on the same road I had taken, hoping that I wasn't stopped and waiting for them on the other! All worked out well in the end and a couple of cigarettes, a banana pancake and 4 beers later and life just felt great. So great that it was 11 days later before I finally managed to drag myself away and continue with my travels...
I really had a good time at Tim and Kim's. Check them out at http://www.timkimvillage.com - I highly recommend it. I relaxed and ate and drank beer and went for walks and worked on the bike and listened to the hyenas at night and watched birds and chatted and chilled.
The highlight of the stay, (and of the trip so far!) was 3 days and 2 nights out on the lake, paddling local papyrus canoes along the North shore ("Tankwas" they're called. So named, I'm sure, because they're about as streamlined
and easy to paddle as their English near-namesake). Leaving the girls in camp, Marcel, Tim and I exhausted ourselves in those waterlogged bilharzia traps, sometimes paddling for 4 or 5km stretches into head wind to find and explore the 16/17 C. Portuguese ruins that dot the islands and shoreline of Northern Tana. We got rained on and had some close encounters with hippos (well not THAT close, but close enough for me! 😉 and basically had a fantastic time. Tim is very keen on researching the ruins, many of which have never been described or excavated and we used my GPS to take coordinates while Tim snapped pics and searched for tell tale stone work in the undergrowth. All in all a great 11 days in lovely company. I was sad to leave, but with only a 1 month visa and plenty still to see between Tana and Moyale, I figured it was time to leave.
The first leg from Tim and Kim's was a little town on the south side of the lake called Bahir Dar, the capital of the region, but not much to write home about: Pretty, friendly vibe and relaxed, but nothing to compare to
the serenity and atmosphere of the last week and a half. It was a bit depressing and I was starting to get worried about a numb left leg and growing itchiness which to me, in my deflated frame of mind, simply screamed "Bilharzia" and I would no doubt start pissing blood any moment...
During the ride that day my clutch had started to play up as well. After sitting in the heat and humidity for 11 days the hydraulic fluid seemed to have degraded or absorbed some water or something with the result that constant pumping was needed to get enough pressure to change gear. Not a problem at speed because you don't need to use the clutch to shift gears when the engine is revving, but a real pain when suddenly forced to slow down for a wayward cow or suicidal donkey. I'd had a similar problem before and knew it was a simple 20min job to fix but when I got started I found I could not undo the bleeder bolt with the little #8 spanner I had in my kit. I just couldn't get the bolt off. And without that bolt coming off, there was no
way to replace the fluid.
Over-tightening is the bane of my existence. I just can't seem to get it right. I've already cracked a plastic cover piece from over tightening AND threaded a cylinder head bolt - and that was with a torque wrench!! No doubt in my last clutch fluid change I'd gone much too tight with the bleeder bolt as well, perhaps even used a ratchet or something which I wasn't carrying with me now and all the little #8 was doing was stripping the bolt head. I got in a bit of a mood about it and decided to leave it well alone before I did something stupid(er). I went to an internet cafe, chatted with some friends online, felt much better, passed a pharmacy, bought the drugs needed to kill the Bilharzia parasite and then came back to the hotel where I shared a beer with a couple of locals and jotted down some Aramaic phrases in exchange for a brief lesson in conversational English. It chilled me out a lot and before bed I had decided that the best idea was to leave the bolt well alone until I could find a better tool,
top up the old fluid with new as best I could (not ideal but better than destroying the bleeder bolt with the little spanner) and hope that it wasn't too painful to ride the 500km to Addis with the left hand working overtime on the clutch lever.
In the end it was fine. Not ideal and plenty of pumping required, but very rideable and it didn’t seem to be getting worse which suggested that it was just a matter of replacing the fluid rather than a leak in the hose or something worse. Thinking that I'd head to Debre Libanos (about 80km from Addis) stop for the night and then continue into the city in the morning, I set of from Bahir Dar around 9am and followed the main tar road towards Addis.
Ethiopia is a beautiful country. Until now, whenever I've thought of Ethiopia my mind instantly recalls those media images of the 1980's: of endless heat-cracked dust bowls - listless children, covered in flies sitting naked in the shade of some pitiful Acacia tree. I know Ethiopia has had its problems with drought and famine and in fact was calling for urgent aid again in the
weeks before I left on this trip, but it was hard to imagine how this could be as I cruised past the lush green vegetation, roaming herds of cattle and goats and little streams running through fields stacked with winter hay that stretched away for kilometers each side of the road. No doubt there are other parts I have yet to see, but I can't help thinking there must be something seriously wrong with the management of all this agriculture for some parts of the country to be so obviously fertile and others so apparently destitute.
Not planning to stop for long, I pulled into Debre Marcos, about 250kms from Addis, for fuel and a coffee break. Fuel was easy (not a guarantee I can assure you - I'd had to queue for almost an hour for each of my last 2 fuel stops in Gondar and Bahir Dar!) and just above the pumps was a decent looking hotel which seemed ideal for a quick stop and some lunch. As I walked in though, and without any warning, my nose started to bleed. And bleed and bleed and bleed. For 30 minutes I couldn't get it to stop! By
the time I did and had had my coffee and lunch and relaxed a bit it seemed way too much hassle to hit the road again for another 150kms to Debre Libanos. The rooms at the Sheleb hotel seemed fine and cheap enough at 125 BIR so I unloaded my gear and went for a nice long nap. A bit more on the nose bleed if you'll forgive me: at 2500m the altitude might have had something to do with it. And the odd thing was that I was not the only one. During the afternoon I saw 2 other people, one tour guide in a landcruiser and another tourist, both with tissue in their nostrils and leaning back pinching the bridges of their noses... And then I thought of the hotel sitting 20m above a fuel station and all the fumes that might be percolating through the ground beneath... I was kind of glad to be on my way the next day.
The drive to Addis Ababa is spectacular, in particular the Blue Nile valley which drops the road down hundreds of meters into the gorge before twisting back up along the cliff face with hazy views for
kilometers on each side. Addis Ababa itself is still a bit of an uncertainly for me. I'm not sure if I like it or not. It's a big city, with a bustle and buzz to it that I like, but there is nothing that really grabs me or makes it particularly interesting and, unlike Khartoum, there is definitely a low level of background hassle (people shouting after you, trying to scam you in some way or other) that although nothing like India or Egypt is still a bit annoying. Probably what's getting to me more, and thus tainting the city a little unfairly, is the dragging negativity of just about all the expats and tourists staying at the place I've found myself at. The owner is helpful and friendly, but just at the moment (or is it always like this?) the clientele seem to be made up of bigots and braggers and twice now I've been forced to bed early just to escape the constant drone on "what's wrong with the people in this country" and ranting tales of "where I've been and what I've done better than you". Bore me!!
After arriving on Wednesday I immediately saw the
flavour of the place and began to work hard to get out fast. I managed to borrow a #8 socket and got the clutch fluid changed, have done a full oil and filter change and given the bike a thorough check up in preparation for the toughest road of the whole trip coming up: Northern Kenya. Not everyone I've met here is an idiot and the guy from the Addis KTM club is definitely sound, coming by twice on his well cared for and much loved 950A to help me find some spare clutch fluid and synthetic oil. I washed all my clothes, repacked everything and was just finishing up this blog entry yesterday with a view to leave in the afternoon for Awasa when a friendly saffa arrived on an errand for a friend and offers to take me and the only other non-annoying guest to the German Garden brewery for Saturday afternoon pints. 😊 Funny how the mood can swing with 6 pints in the sunshine and a bit of decent conversation for a change!
When we got back to Wims guest house I was in a much happier mood. A mood made even better when I
opened the gate and saw Marcel and Johanna's big red fire truck parked up next to my bike and Marcel making a bee-line for the bar. 😊 So yeah, all groovy and I've decided to stay another day. Tomorrow (Monday) I will head South again and see if I can catch up with the Welsh couple in Awasa or perhaps lake Langano. The main decision now is whether to take the Moyale or Turkana road into Northern Kenya.
Moyale to Marsabit is 400km of (everyone coming North has assured me) tire shredding, frame breaking rock and stones, rather flat, dull scenery and either (if you're lucky and it's dry) clouds of dust or (if it's been raining!!) impassable boggy mud. On the plus side it's the main route and has plenty of overlander traffic to team up with or wait for in case anything goes wrong... On the other hand, Mega to Lake Turkana and Barangoi is 750km, with uncertain fuel, far fewer travelers and equally tough, rocky terrain which is apparently impassable when it rains because the first stretch from Mega is along a 'dry' river bed. There is another route through the Omo valley but as yet
I've heard only conflicting reports about it and nothing from anyone I would trust. The plus of the Turkana route is simply that it is by all accounts far more beautiful, wild and, well, adventurous. It is also far more of a risk on your own. So I'll have to think about it. I'm still definitely undecided.
So that's where I'm at. Addis Ababa, with a view to Awasa, Lake Langano and on to Kenya at the end of the week. Unfortunately the internet I have here is terrible and uploading images seems an impossibility. It's a pity 'cause I think I have some really nice ones, esp of Lake Tana, but I'll try get them up soon if at all possible. Otherwise my next update will be from Nairobi in a couple of weeks. Take care all. I sure will. 😊
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adam
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Lake Turkana
I know this is random but I read this entry and thought you might appreciate advice. I've been overland to lake Turkana and have traveled on two routes around there. I traveled up from Nairobi through maralal and into layongolani and all the way up past/through Sibiloi national park into a tiny village called Ileret on the Ethiopian border. My return trek went through North Horr and into Marsabit and back down on the main highway (A2). I did it all on my own with no guide so I am not sure how similar our trips will have been. but I will say both routes are stunning in their own right. The trek from Marsabit to Lake Turkana is about 1 full day and it is completely desolate. Beautiful but the Chelbi desert is part desert, part martian landscape. The trek from Ileret to layongolani is through Sibiloi National park which is sort of a desert oasis with lots of wildlife (they say even lions and cheetahs.) You'll see a lot of beautiful landscape and antelopes if you stay close to the coast of lake turkana. Also, the trip from layongolani to the south is equally beautiful. it will take 3 full days driving to get from Sibiloi to Nairobi but every day will be gorgeous. Lake turkana on one day with deserts and oasis. Desert and grassland on day two between lake turkana and maralal. And highlands/grasslands with the stunning great rift valley on day 3. I know this is random and choppy but you might find it useful. FYI, look for fossils in Sibiloi. The place is littered with them!