Khartoum

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We had a long day to get to Khartoum, 350 miles of straight, featureless (and petrol free) black top to the capital. We woke early, to get on the road before sun got too fierce. We filled our petrol tank, and every water bottle that we had with us, and stored them on Donkey's roof. If it hadn't been for the kind presence of A and A, it would have been a nightmare, strapping that many bottles of petrol, plus water to Harri.

There is very little to report on the road. We took it in fifty kilometre stretches, pulling in for a stretch and a drink after each section, breaking it down into nice bitesize chunks to digest easily. The riding was so easy, so boring, stick into top gear and switch the brain into neutral. We had made it half way before midday, but the wind started to pick up, reducing our speed to forty much of the remaining way. For the first time, we started to feel like a real burden, as Donkey slowed to allow us to slipstream behind, but soon enough we made it into Khartoum. All we had to do was find a hotel and take our first shower in nearly a week. One very sweaty, dusty week.

Only it's never that easy is it? Khartoum apparently has a severe lack of mid priced hotels. You either stay in a palace for 200US, or in an overpriced slum for not much less. Apparently it is the UN's doing, wherever they go, they push prices up. Our first port of call was the Blue Nile Sailing Club, but at fifteen dollars to pitch a tent in their car park, it was quite easy to turn down. The absolutely blasted guy wandering around hassling us, and the non functioning ablutions only helped our decision.

Three hours of searching led us to a hotel called 'Hotel Dubai,' which although not cheap, at around 35 quid, had everything we had desired. Warm water, a comfortable bed, air conditioning, it ticked all the boxes.

After showering and resting for a few hours, we met for dinner at one of the local cafes, and over tasty and silly cheap chicken, we were each all relieved to find that it was normal for the water to run brown for the first five minutes in the shower. After the pair of us had showered in ours, it looked as if we had emptied half of Sudan into the showertray. As we ate the chicken, barbequed to perfection and served with bread and beans, a dust storm kicked up from nowhere, and the sky turned dark. In minutes the innocent blue turned angry slate grey, with gold and silver cloud tips looking ominously heavy over the city. I've never seen Han look so happy - it was going to rain - she had been waiting for this moment for nearly three months. Every day I have heard 'when's it going to rain?' Finally it was going to. The dust storm abated as quickly as it started, and the clouds suddenly emptied themselves in a biblical duluge. The neon signs of the dirty high-rise buildings glowed bright against the bruised sky, and the muddy streets turned to rivers before us. Taxis bogged down and pedestrians ran for cover on the sidewalks as lighting scribbled bright chalky streaks across the blackboard clouds. We hid out in in the cafe until the rain calmed itself, and then walked the fast flowing streets, enjoying the feeling of rain on our bodies and the smells and sights of a new city.

We all slept like babes, and woke to a fantastic breakfast, of good cheese, sausages, real bread and real coffee. Andrew and Angela left to travel North for some pyramids they had been recommended, but Han and I decided to wait around to get more money, and more lazy times.

There are no ATMs that work with foreign cards in Khartoum, so we had to get money transfered via Western Union. That gave us an excuse to wait another day in the comfort of our hotel, and the next day we were provided with another. Han's insulin had been stored in Donkey's fridge, which had iced up. Insulin is apparently less resistant to cold than heat. Three months of boiling it in our bags hadn't reduced its effectiveness, but two nights of freezing had killed it stone dead. We had a day of looking for insulin in Khartoum, considering the possibilty that we might have to curtail our trip and fly home, before finally managing to find a similar insulin to Han's normal in one backstreet pharmacy. Then we had another day, just because we wanted to. I got addicted to Jericho, and we watched far too many cheap films, and far too much American drama for any non-lobotomised person. We eventually managed to leave on our fifth day, empty of excuses, and ready to move on. Khartoum is a great city, but there is very little to stay for. There is little in the way of nightlife, and eating out is restricted. The street food is among the best we have seen, but real restaurants are few and far between. The highlight of Han's week was finding a cafe that did 'real' cake, and a pizzeria that did some of the most delicious pizzas we had ever tried. It did mean a long trip across town, taking our lives in our hands each time.

The streets of Khartoum are not as busy or dangerous as many African roads, but the standard of driving is some of the worst, and the roads themselves are terrible. Rutted mud tracks, broken concrete, open drains, no lights, no signs, no rules, no rights for a little bike with very little might. Riding a bike also leaves you vulnerable to beggars. We began to dread crossing one particular junction, with lights that never seemed to be green. Each time we approached it, we got the same little demons hassling us. The first time, three little girls came up to us, touching and pawing, asking for money. When we refused, they got more insistent, attempting to wrench my hand off of the clutch, or kick me out of gear, one of them started to punch Han in the boob, while her friend pinched her leg. Finally one of them started to spit, before locals chased them off, apologising profusely. In fact each time they hassled us, locals saved us, and could never be more apologetic, always wanting to check that it hadn't soured our opinion of their country.

We waved it all goodbye on that fifth day, and set off for the border.

It took two whole days of riding to reach Ethiopia, with very little of note on the road. We stayed in Was Maddanni for our first night, and Gedaref for the second. While sleeping in Wad Maddanni, we were woken by another tremendous storm, more violent than anything I have ever experienced. In the dark night, the palm trees bent like gnarled old men under the deluge, the pebble sized rain drops hammered on the window, and the thunder rattled the frames. Lightning lit up the world like a thousand camera flashes every few seconds, throwing the view from our balcony into sharp negative, and burning retinal memories of the garden into our brains. The air was so charged, that every movement beneath our cotton sheet produced static crackles and bright firefly trails of electricity.We fell aleep listening to the storm beating itself out, and woke to a drowned world.

Reaching Gedaref, all we had to do was cross the border, and we would be into our tenth country of the trip. Ethiopia sat waiting one day away. What would it hold? I was born in 1985, the year of Band Aid, I grew up in the 90's, I remember the images from the wars of that decade, and the subsequent hunger. All I know of the country is famine and war, death and destitution, would the country defy my expectations of desolation, disease and destruction? We would find out tomorrow.

Goodbye Sudan, I'll be back one day.

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