South Africa Wednesday, 23 July 2008

Sawubona

That's local lingo for hello, directly translated as 'I see you'.

This final blog post picks up from the Mozambican border of Ressano Garcia where my exit & entry formalities were undertaken with ruthless efficiency. I suspect this was aided by all the border-post experience that I had garnered on my trip, and the 'border-face' that I was sporting; a smug grin that suggested to the mustached official that there was no manner of red tape I hadn't seen before.

I briefly stopped-over at a petrol station in Komatipoort to see if I could exchange my leftover Mozambican cash. I was approached by an inquisitive gentlemen, who remarked in Afrikaans: "..and all that gear, you've just come back form the bike rally haven't you?" "No, I'm....ah....I've just....um.....Yes, I've just come back from the rally". There was no simple & efficient way of my explaining that I'd just ridden a shade over the 150kms from the local bike rally.

I then made my way towards Shane & Gina's farm nearby (brother-in-law & sister). I was looking forward to the bumpy & wet dirt road that leads to their house but sadly it had recently been renovated; or perhaps my expectations of a fun dirt road had been altered. I'd be lying if I said my pulse wasn't slightly elevated at the prospect of seeing the first human beings I was acquainted to for the first time in two months. As I rounded the corner to their farm gate the said pulse increased yet further; there was the security guard at the boom gate waiving an orange checkered flag and standing next to a welcome sign (to right).

As I approached their house I was greeted by more orange; Shane riding towards me on a KTM dirt bike. His front wheel was considerably elevated from the ground. Gina was standing next to a large canvas poster that she had painted the night before (to left). We promptly moved to their neighbours place for a cold beer, victory cigar and a typically wild Komatipoort braai; guinnea fowl and impala. This was to be the first treatment of my dietary rehabilitation program (I had lost 10kg's during the trip). Despite protests for me to stay the night so as to be able to imbibe much more alcohol, I didn't want to rest until the job was done and desperately wanted to press on to my final destination of home in White River. My chain and sprockets were still playing on my mind and I had to find out whether they would convey me the last 100km's.

The ride from Komatipoort to White River takes one through a gorge at Kaapmuiden. To native Lowvelders (myself included) this gorge is quite often taken for granted as one focuses on passing slow-moving trucks & buses. After seeing many places of superb natural beauty on my trip I was attuned to paying attention to my surrounds and must say that this gorge is quite breathtaking when viewed 'for the first time'. As I wound my way up from Karino to White River I passed a large rock on the side of the road where my Grandfather and his brother once sat and observed a motor vehicle for the first time in their lives. As special moments go that was pretty much up there.

As I got into White River I could taste victory and I was ringing the neck of my bike regardless of the chain woes. I was over-cooking each corner, locking the brakes, and on the odd occasion liberating the front wheel from the terra firma. Apparently the noise of my approach was observed from some distance. As I entered the driveway a small welcoming party was on the scene; Mother figure and closest family friends the Tates. The overriding emotion was one of relief and not achievement - that would come later.

I needed a quick 'warm down' ride so after taking a final picture of my GPS odometer (below) I went to see my good friend Hennjean for a drink from the hip flask he had given me for the trip.

Both the bike & I spent the following week on a hygiene & nutrition improvement program. I was prescribed beer and biltong at regular intervals during each day, and my bike was in the hands of the best KTM mechanic I have come across a third of the planet; Mark of ReAction racing in Nelspruit. After the extensive service and then a clean by Michael Thabete the KTM looked and felt brand new, despite having 17,000 hard km's on the clock.

Examples of dietary rehabilitation



Recreational riding in the Lowveld

I then embarked on the final leg of my trip, a 'warm down' run to Durban to visit Monique (other sister). I had also caught wind of a necessary detour on-route; the Alfie Cox dual sport festival. The Northern interior of Natal (to left) were quite pleasant, especially considering it was the middle of winter. On-route I misjudged the amount of fuel in my tank and ran dry on the N3 highway, at night. Clearly some more lessons needed to be learned. The event was a rally-raid type friendly enduro for dual-sport bikes like mine. It was particularly good fun, especially riding my bike competitively against others, and without any luggage and on proper offroad knobbly tyres. I was surprised how my riding skills had come-on during my trip, the number one skill being that of not falling off - an essential when overlanding by ones self.


After the long weekend in Durban I headed back to White River, tracking along the North coast of Natal and then into Swaziland. I headed through a fairly remote part of Western Swaziland and the appalling roads were great fun to ride up until the tiny capital Mbabane and then along the King Mswati II highway (a single track barely tarred road). At the old gold prospecting town of Piggs Peak I hooked a left and proceeded along the very slippery but scenic dirt road through the plantations to the Bulembu border post. The mountains in this part of the world are incredible (pictured to left) and put any others in the Eastern Transvaal in the shade. My Grandmother (Jackson) spent here childhood here exploring the mountains on horseback with her sister while her father was catching Tiger fish.

After conducting my formalities at the border-post I rode along the South African side of this road, which sadly is being significantly upgraded. Then it was past the old mining town of Barberton, through Nelspruit and back to White River. My trip was now well & truly over. Although it was sad to unpack my luggage for the very last time I realised by my constantly shaking hands and much deteriorated dexterity that I need a break for riding all day every day.

I was asked many questions by family & friends on my return, so thought I'd share a few answers here. As you can imagine there is more than just one favourite of each.

• Best day; a tie between the first day on African soil in Tunisia and riding through the trackless Sahara in The Sudan.
• Hardest day; both days on THAT road in Northern Kenya were tough, but the first 50kms of Mozambique after the Rovuma river was insane.
• Scariest moment; being mobbed by a crowd of very poor & hungry locals in Isiolo, Northern Kenya. It put the gunfire in Khartoum in the shade.
• Best food; the fried goat in Ehtiopia, despite the goat being slaughtered in front of me an hour before supper time. Also the fresh seafood in Southern Tanzania. I was presented with a menu three hours in advance so that the cook had time to go out & catch it on his dugout canoe.
  
• Best beer; St Georges beer in Ethiopia (probably due to the lack of beer in The Sudan)
• Worst beer; Stella in Egypt. Nothing like the European stella. It's official slogan is "What doesn't kill us makes us stronger". Say no more.
  
• Biggest annoyance; stone throwing kids in Ethiopia.
• Funniest moment; countless locals on bicycles bit the dust due to not being able to take their eyes off team orange. The funniest was seeing a guy on his motorbike do the same. His wife was was sitting side-saddle and she disappeared into the tall grass.
  
• Lowest moment; missing the ferry from Aswan to The Sudan due to being detained at a police checkpoint. My anger was off the scale.
• Highest moment; 3,400ft above sea level in Ethiopia. No seriously probably riding into White River and up the driveway after experiencing all of the above.
  

Before I sign off for the last time some thanks are in order. Due to the difficulty of finding decent internet connections on the road there is no way that I would have persisted with the blog postings if it wasn't for all the warm words of encouragement (and the odd heckling) I received on the Interact page.

Thank you Monique, Alan, Gina, Kevin, Kathryn, Robert, Bruce & Irene, Hennjean, Gareth, John, Colin, Bronwen, Jason, Irene vd M, Bruce L, Nicky, Craigh, Lynda, Michael, Braam, Charlie & Rensche, Brett T, Jill, Sean, Jaime, Shane, Shaun, Gene, Brett W, Tash, Gary, Will, Sue, Piet, Hylton, Darrel, Ivan and Lisa & Ulrik.

Many people asked whether it wasn't lonely travelling by myself. The answer is absolutely not. When travelling on your ace you're much more approachable to the locals, and there are people EVERYWHERE in Africa. Despite this I really felt close to home each time I could read the messages you left on the site.

Also special thanks to Diana for being such a patient, understanding & unselfish girlfriend and to my Mom for being so mega supportive & brave and such a good Mother figure. I'm also thankful to my Dad for my passion for motorcycles and ability to fix stuff.

I took a few thousand pictures on my trip, and have selected some of the better ones and put them online. They're available from the photos link at the top of the page.

Until the next time*

Mark


* www.southernenduro.com


PS. I've also written an epilogue on The Bike and made a detailed map of my trip available here for those interested. # posted by Mark @ 18:01   0 Comments

 

Mozambique Wednesday, 18 June 2008

Bom dia!

After rifling through so many different languages on my trip 'Good morning' is what the Mozambiquans got from me at any time of the day.

This blog post starts where the last left off - in the middle of the Rovuma river, the border between Tanzania & Mozambique. Once the bike was loaded we pushed off the bank and into one of the channels. It was about a minute before the vice captain was able to persuade the knackered old outboard motor to start so we had some ground to make upstream as well as across the river. Being close to the sea, the river at this point was incredibly wide, with many large sandbanks and various fast-flowing channels. We hit a couple of low but submerged sandbanks along the crossing which resulted in much of the crew disembarking to push off into deeper water, and the vice captain lifting the engine and once again convincing it to restart. Each of the crew insisted on being part of holding the bike, so one of them had to be enlisted to water bailing. Thankfully low tide meant no hippo's

Due to recent troubles encountered by South African vehicles in the South of the country I took this opportunity to remove the ZA sticker from the front of my bike and stick it in the bow of the boat - a nice little reminder to the locals that non-xenophobic South African tourists are visiting even their most remote parts. The chap pictured was the chief sandbank spotter, new to the job I suspected. At least his diminutive 4 foot height made him useful in making the boat appear bigger than it really was.

After about half an hour the spluttering outboard and relieved captain arrived at the far-side of the river. Unfortunately however, due to low tide the bank was a 10 foot hight, 45 degree angle of soft river sand. I flashed an even greater incentive in the form of an additional $10 note and the crew & myself dragged the fully laden bike up the slope and onto level ground (pictured to left). I was relieved to be back on terra firma but anxious about the unknown road ahead. This side of the river was distinctly less developed & populated, but a couple of locals that were loitering around the riverbank pointed me in the direction of the first village, which I knew from my map was approx. 5km away. After a few kms of rough & tumble through the sandy riverbed I found a track which although in appalling state looked like it headed in the direction of the village.

At the tiny village I conducted my Mozambiquan entry formalities and then pressed-on further South into the unknown. The immigration official was equipped with some basic English and when I enquired about the route he reckoned the road wasn't used an awful lot - only twice a month to relieve him of his shift. Nice. The track was literally that, two faint tyre marks through the deepest sand in all of Africa, even surpassing the Sahara. The going was slower and tougher than anything I had encountered so far, even putting 'that' road from Northern Kenya in the shade. Despite a fresh rear tyre the rear would often bed down until my panniers were touching the sand and I need to lift it out onto higher ground.

The midday temperature was high and the engine revving flat-out in first gear just to creep forward at zero km/ph. To quote W C Fields, this road was "fraught with imminent peril" and something had to give. Thankfully that something was the bike and not rider and the overheating blew one of the radiator pipes from the engine, spewing all radiator fluid onto the sand. Although I was relieved that it was coolant and not engine oil, I was nonetheless in a pickle. I repaired the hose but didn't have enough drinking water for myself and the radiator so found a shady tree to sit under while waiting for a passer-by. As luck would have it after a short while a local chap emerged from the thick bush (not the road) and I explained in my best sign language that I was in the market for some of Mozambiques finest mineral water. He understood the requirement and returned half an hour later with a bucket full of Rovuma river water. Accompanying him on his return was his son, who was the shyest little fella I'd ever come across. He seemed very scared & nervous and when I enquired his father rubbed the skin on his arm. By this gesture of skin colour I could only assume that the lad had either seen few or no fair skinned people before. I was eventually able to convince him to pose for a photo but he ran back in the bush when I started my bike - his father pointed at the bike, probably his first sighting of such a peculiar machine.

I resumed the tough riding and eventually made it to the next village of Palma. My first 40kms in Northern Mozambique had taken three hours of riding and one hour sitting under a tree - by far the toughest single stretch in Africa for me. Despite the conditions I was able to appreciate the surroundings. The bush was beautiful; thicker and wilder than anything I've ever seen before, and the sandy tracks were littered with elephant dung & broken branches. With no fencing or nature reserves in the immediate vicinity but plenty of big five game, this part of Mozambique really is wild Africa relatively untouched by man.

I eventually made it to the town of Mocimboa Da Praia and a pleasant campsite. The next day the quality of the dirt road improved as each km passed and eventually turned-into some semi-decent tarmac and I pressed-on to the largest town in the North called Pemba. The photo's below show a quiet village along the route, some rather nasty ruts in the road, and some of the fuel I had to make use of along the way; a cocktail of petrol and palm wine most likely.



I spent the next day in Pemba conducting a small service on my bike; new spark plug & tightening valve clearances. My local contact was through an old family friend (Ivor) who has a business partner in the area. He showed me around the town and we then retired to a great beach-side bar for a few cold ones. Pemba seems to have the perfect balance of a small town yet with enough amenities, and is relatively undamaged by mass-tourism, probably given its remote distance from anywhere else. Being four full days drive from South Africa, flying in is the only viable option, which probably accounts for its unspoiltness.

After Pemba the next two days riding further South was all inland and all on boring but fairly good surfaced tarmac so I put in some big km stretches. Mozambique is a much larger country than most realise (the longest by far on my trip). The only interesting highlights of these days were the riving crossings. There are several very wide rivers in Northern Mozambique, which by far overshadow the nile at its widest, but just don't contain the same flow of water (at this time of year). Pictured below is a bridge over untroubled water, a typical mountain in the central interior, the section of the very wide Zamezbi which is still crossed by ferry, and lastly the very tall roadside grass which probably accounts for so many pedestrian fatalities on the Mozambiquan roads.



Although the interior was relatively boring I was entertained by a self induced paranoia about my bike. The chain and sprockets were badly worn and I had already used up my spares. It required regular tightening and at one point I need to fabricate a new chain guard at the side of the road as the old one had completed worn through and was busy degrading other components. I used a peice of car tyre and a flattened Laurentina beer can and the fabrication seemed to hold up alright. There were also a couple of 500km stretches without any fuel, which didn't buoy my spirits either. I did however finally get that photo of an armed local posing at my bike. I had been asking AK47'd citizens along the entire route but none wanted to be captured on film with a weapon. This chap with his shotgun obliged much to my delight.

The next day was spent riding into Southern Mozambique where the number of upmarket lodges and retreats increase with each passing kilo. The chain was now stretching as though it was made of elastic and I spent much time at the side of the road adjusting it and massaging oil into it. Now that I was so close to home I was determined to make it all the way and not have to become a passenger on the back of the pickup for the last stretch. I spent several hours that afternoon trying to find a suitable place to stay (a campsite and not a 5 star lodge). At one point I had to ride 10kms over dunes to get to a campground (pictured to right) which looked like its last visitor was Vasco Da Gama.



On my final day in Mozambique I purposely woke up at 3am to begin my daily packing and bike prep tasks for the last time on my trip. I knew in weeks to come I would miss the daily grind of getting ready for the road so wanted to drag it out as much as possible. The chain held itself together for one more long day of riding and I coasted down the....well the coast really, and into the Capital of Maputo. I could almost smell the Lowveld braai fires from there as it was only a short 45 minute ride to the border post with South Africa.

Stay tuned for the last blog post; my arrival into the R of SA and a short wind-down ride.

Parting shot is of this chap selling coconuts on the side of the road. I stopped to point out that his fly was down but he paid no attention to me and seemed intently focused on his coconut sales.

# posted by Mark @ 08:08   0 Comments

 

Tanzania Tuesday, 10 June 2008

Mambo

Thats how they say hello in Tanzania, and most replies are 'poa' which means 'cool'. Tanzania is a very cool country.

After completing my Kenyan border formalities I moved over to the Tanzanian counterparts at this very remote border post. The sole immigration official undertook a comprehensive perusal of my passport, after which he put it in his top pocket, tore off a piece of the newspaper he was reading and then excused himself for a few minutes. I was intrigued but had faint idea where he was headed. He returned several minutes later, washed his hands with his bottle of water and then started the usual bribe request spiel. Thankfully the scrap of newspaper was missing and all of the pages in my passport were present. As I walked out of the door I gingerly inspected it for a brown stamp.

The only report I had on the road leading from this border was a few years old and described by an accomplished dirt-rider as being 'fun'. Fun it was. The road (pictured to left) was a slippery track that skirted the foothills of Mount Kilimanjaro, twisting & turning around little ravines and through the odd low-level water crossing. Despite the muddy surface it was particularly fun riding as the report suggested. The photo isn't a good reflection of the vegetation as most of it was thick, jungle-like bush covered in a blanket of misty precipitation. It really was like the equatorial jungles of Central & Western Africa, so a pleasant surprise to be able to encounter these conditions even if briefly in Eastern Africa.

The road eventually led to tarmac and then to the base-camp town of Mt. Kili where I camped for the night. Unfortunately all of the mountain was covered in cloud and the locals said one could wait days or even weeks for a good view to emerge, so I didn't stick around. The next day I took a directly Eastward course along the very impressive Usambara mountain range (to right). Although I was tempted to ride the rocky tracks that lead into the mountains I saved that for the special-stage later in the day.


After briefly posing with a tame baboon (to left) I made my way to that special stage which was a dirt track to a relatively remote town called Pangani on the North coast of Tanzania. In the village the only flea-pit was full of locals waiting while a broken ferry was being mended and there was nowhere to camp so I treated myself to a very secluded but up-market tented lodge called Mkoma Bay. That evening I had a first class meal with the couple who own the lodge and the local Chief, and the next morning a long kayak ride on the flat sea at sunrise in a light drizzle. After the drizzle a remarkably clear rainbow appeared on the sea (below). The other photo's show the road to this village the day before and then the day after (after an evening of rain).



The following day was a slow & dangerous ride back along the said muddy track and then a boring tarmac run Southwards to the capital, Dar Es Salaam. The highlight was seeing numerous overloaded cyclists, the clear winner being a guy with some livestock graze pictured to left. In Dar I was looking forward to the conveniences of supermarkets & to searching for decent internet access, being desperately behind on my blog posts at this point.



In Dar I stayed at a great tented beach camp which was staggering distance from the turquoise water but spent each day I was there at a hotel in town using their good internet facilities. My bike seemed in good health and didn't need any work so just enjoyed a rest on the beach. The camp had a steady flow of other bike & 4x4 travellers which provided good company swapping stories & tips. After four days there I was blogged-out and ready for the assault on Southern Tanzania.


My route South from Dar to the Mozambiquan border was the very first time on my trip that I had not heard of, or met anyone having taking a particular stretch of road and thus had no idea what the conditions would be like. I enjoyed the ignorant state of mind and after a while the tarmac suddenly disappeared and the most appalling soft yet bumpy 1st gear track held my full attention. After 70 slow kms I was beginning to worry that this would be the norm for the remaining 700kms to Mozambique when suddenly the sand turned into smooth, new tarmac and I rode down to my stopover at a camp on the coast. The camp (to left) was empty except for a cook and Askari-warrior security guard (all I required really). I unloaded my luggage and went for a long and enjoyable ride along the beach and through the breaking surf, which was bloody good fun.

The next day was an eventful one towards the mostly Southerly part of Tanzania. The road was good tar but fuel was still not to be found since Dar. My tank ran dry and I refuelled with the 5litre can I was carrying. That took me further but not quite enough, and I emptied the 700ml of petrol in my camping cooker into the tank. This gave me 15kms more and after free-wheeling the downhills I coasted in the last town and came to a halt just a few paces from the petrol pump, phew. Below is my distance from the pumps.

In this final town before the border I also changed my rear tyre to the very offroad biased one that would be required in Mozambique and I enjoyed seeing the local tyre changer struggle as much as I do with this task. The other picture is of a particularly large baobab I saw along the road. This day was a Saturday and along the way I was looking out for any establishment or house with a satellite dish so that I could try & catch some motoGP action. The 3rd photo shows the only dish I saw, but sadly not a very functional one which was fabricated out of a loop of wire and some white plastic. Classic Africa, and not Pariis as the signpost suggests....



That evening I had yet another not too unpleasing beach-side camp. Thus far Tanzania was by far my favourite country. Its attractions are incredibly diverse; from the beautiful beaches along the entire coastline to the dramatic mountains in the North and ofcourse Kilimanjaro to the best game viewing in Africa at the ngorongoro crater, not to mention the spice island Zanzibar. I had missed most of these features but without any regret as I plan to take a holiday in Tanzania some time and explore them all with some company and a four-wheeled vehicle.


The next morning was an early start in search of a top-up of fuel before Mozambique, which was to be found from a dirty bucket & rusty can (to left). The challenge that lay ahead was undoubtably one that I was looking forward to most out of my entire trip through the continent; the crossing of the Rovuma river into Northern Mozambique. The river is very wide but its level varies considerably with the coastal tide, making the crossing on a small ferry very erratic. This gamble of a river crossing is what puts this route Southwards very much off the beaten track and thus a big adventure.

After completing my exit formalities from Tanzania and complying with a quick bribe request that would have slowed me down, I rode on to the abrupt end of the track to the steep & sandy banks of the river, which featured no ferry but a collection of small boats. Each of these vessels sported a healthy amount of water in them and by the look of the bailing apparatus I had a sinking suspicion it wasn't rain water. I decided to chance the largest looking one of them for my crossing rather than wait maybe days for the ferry to appear. The hustle of locals jostling for employment to load the bike was very aggressive and I had to get physical with some of the citizens in order to select a crew of six to lift the bike onto the boat and accompany the captain (me ofcourse) on his voyage. With much exertion we loaded the bike onto the boat and I was very curious as to what its clearance from the water level would be once we pushed away from the side.



Stay tuned for the Mozambique posting, to find out how this precarious crossing unfolded.

The parting shot is of Mr.Tanzania, on a proper ferry, that crosses the port of Dar Es Salaam, not much fun at all really...

# posted by Mark @ 05:13   0 Comments

 

Kenya Tuesday, 27 May 2008

Jambo from Kenya

I had been looking forward to the challenge of the Northern Kenya for many months. The road from the Ethiopian border has much hype surrounding it, and is widely known as the worst road of the entire Cape to Cairo journey. It also boasts some particularly nasty armed bandits that prey on passers-by. Charming.

After a quick 200km run through the last bit of Ethiopia I completed Kenyan immigration & customs formalities in record time (less than five minutes). I enquired about the security situation with the sole policeman at the border & he said there were no problems at all...this week. I didn't enquire about the previous week.

Although I had plenty of time while on this road to think about how I could describe it, I couldn't come up with anything that gives an accurate portrayal without sounding obtusely exaggerated. For a high-level description; the length is approx. 520kms between the border and the first tarmac. There is one village with accommodation & fuel, half way along this distance. The first half is characterised by muddy ruts almost meter deep at times, and an incredibly rocky surface the rest. The second half is nothing but corrugations, mostly irregular and some so large they have smaller corrugations inside them. Due to my light baggage weight and more offroad biased bike I was able to set a faster pace than most can on this road in did it in two days rather than four.

Day one was incredibly physically demanding and during a particularly rocky section I didn't leave first gear for almost an hour, making my progress over 10kms considerably slower than my best 10k running time. Thankfully I only had a few sightings of nasty looking armed characters lurking on the side of the road. Most gestured for me to slow down & stop but I tended to do quite the opposite. I also managed to keep the bike (and myself) from submitting to the pull of gravity, although the bike did suffer four small dents on the front rim, one on the rear and a flat front tyre from one of the harder knocks. The bushveld along the road was quite picturesque and there was plenty of small antelope and some baboons along the way. There was also an interesting looking crater (to left).

At the stopover town called Marsabit I just about collapsed onto the farm of a Swiss guy (and family) who offer tented or mud hut accommodation. As per the photo's below the interior is considerably easier on the eye than the exterior. They sold me a few bottles of lager, a loaf of home baked bread and a wedge of homemade swiss cheese, which perked me right up after the tiring day.



Day two was mentally tiring where day one was physical, as the corrugations never ceased for almost the entire day and the 270kms to tar took almost seven hours. Some of the corrugations were like riding camel humps featured on motocross tracks. I started noticing more of the aggressive looking Samburu tribesman along the road, immaculately attired in their traditional get-up and carrying assegais. At one point I came across three teenage tribesman walking their herd of camels along the road. As usual they gestured for me to stop. When they realised I wasn't going to comply one of the chaps launched himself at me with assegai leading the charge. It was probably a mock gesture but afterwards I decided to ride just in front of the only other truck I encountered going the same direction as me, even though it was pushing an uncomfortably faster pace. My bike (a.k.a The Wind Eater) performed amazingly during these two days. Unfortunately the corrugations wrote off the memory card in the smaller of my two camera's so no photo's of the rough stuff until I can try & salvage them.

I finally reached the end of the bad road and start of the tar, and given my square rims and slowly deflating front tyre I pushed-on all the way to Nairobi. Along the way I stopped for a few photos at the Equator and then continued on in the equatorial rain past a hidden Mt. Kenya. I finally arrived at the well known and well appointed overlanders hangout of Jungle Junction in Nairobi. There were many other travellers at JJ's and even more bikes getting serviced by the owner of the establishment. Most travellers were in 4X4's and heading North, and I picked up some very useful information on routes off the beaten track further South. I remained at JJ's for a few days, servicing my bike and repairing a few bits of my luggage arrangement that had taken strain on the rough road.

I left Nairobi (which was strangely my most favourite of the large cities I'd been through so far) and headed South towards Tanzania. Some of the less hardy travellers look forward to travelling from Nairobi to Cape Town as it can be done on tarmac all the way. Given this, and the revived health of my bike I decided to take a much lesser known route on dirt roads through a remote part of Kenya towards a tiny border at the foot of Mt. Kilimanjaro. The road (pictured to left) was most enjoyable to ride and part of it passed through a game park, where I briefly road alongside a galloping herd of Zebra & Wildebeest.

It was also on this road that I had a chance encounter with another rider. The charity I'm highlighting on my site assist a few remote areas of Africa with healthcare & medicine by training nurses & doctors how to ride and supplying them with 200cc Yamaha's and offroad riding gear. I noticed a Riders For Health sticker on this guys bike (just like the one on my bike) and had to stop him for a chat. He was taking some supplies to a remote village on this road. I explained that I was trying to raise a tiny amount of cash for them (please donate here) and we took a few photo's. We rode on together until the next village and his ability on the bike was quite remarkable.



As I approached the border I started to see Mt. Kilimanjaro but unfortunately in the rainy season there is nothing more to see than a few low lying clouds. I hadn't heard of anyone who had used this border so it was a gamble but thankfully passing through was Hakuna Matata (no problem). The staff at the tiny border post were pleased to be able to process the 182nd person through the border for the year.

I was looking forward to the beaten track that continued on the other side of the border and then getting back to the coast for the first time since Egypt.

# posted by Mark @ 08:32   0 Comments

 

Ethiopia Thursday, 22 May 2008

DehnaNeh?

Thats 'how are you fine?' in Amharic - or Ethiopian.


# posted by Mark @ 07:23   1 Comments

 

The Sudan Friday, 16 May 2008

Salaam,Tamaam?

That's "Hello, you alright?" in Sudanese. At first I thought they were inquiring about my state of health, as I was in on the brink of expiring from heat exhaustion during most of my time in The Sudan. The Sudanese summer is serious.

After my lengthy delay awaiting this famed ferry to The Sudan, I was very excited to get back on the bike and ride to the port on Lake Nasser. There I completed the el-Gippo customs release formalities and also met two couples of travellers, both in vehicles. Raidar & Ella from Norway in a Landcruiser and Gary & Joan from Aus/New Zealand in a VW transporter. We then drove our three vehicles onto a barge (separate to the ferry) which was to make its own way (much slower) in the same direction as the ferry. The others had opted for the grubby bunk bed cabins on the and I chose to rough it by sleeping on the top deck of the boat. There were apparently in the region of 700 other citizens on the ferry (about 400% of the boats capacity) so I sat patiently on the deck from 10:30am until we set sail just before sunset to ensure I saved some space for myself to sleep. With no shade the heat was intense, so I made things more comfortable by flattening my hip flask of Captain Morgan rum. I had little option as any alcohol is strictly forbidden (and unavailable) in The Sudan. After a brief altercation with a neighbouring Egyptian felah who was encroaching on my meagre sleeping area I settled to a good nights kip under the stars. There were bodies occupying every tiny space on the deck. Being out on the lake and in the desert the star gazing was very vivid, with several moving satellites in eyeshot just about anywhere you looked in the sky.


In the early afternoon of the next day we arrived at the Sudanese port of Wadi Halfa, conducted our immigration & customs tasks and then headed to the dump of a town centre to the best hotel money could by - where the stench of the shared open latrine was available in all of the rooms, and a bucket of water was provided for showering. It was here I met an Irish biker by the name of Hugh who was heading North after almost a whole lap of Africa. As per this blasphemous photo I took, his bike was parked in the reception and obviously at an Eastern tangent, which meant a local chap bowed down to the almighty BMW 650 (and Allah).



The barge containing our vehicles and enough goods to sustain Wadi Halfa for several months (pictured to left) arrived at midday and after yet more customs tasks our convoy hit the road out of Wadi Halfa. For the obvious advantage of not breathing in pure dust I lead the way and after a brief spell of tarmac we were on a gravel road. I was delighted to be slipping around on the dirt after all the tar or Egypt, and being in front I could give the odd burst ahead of the others. The terrain could only be described as like that of the moon - rocky & sandy and totally devoid of any plant or animal life. At an opportune time before sunset we stopped at a tiny village and made our way to the banks of the Nile, where we set up camp for the night (pictured to right). After some keen interest by the locals they wandered off to their village and we were left to a pleasant evening & camp fire, made even more so by Raidar & Gary revealing a small stock of beers they'd concealed in their vehicles. I made a mental note to ignore all alcohol forbiddance in future.

The next morning the VW & I were keen on an earlier start so we hit the road further South. Due to various navigational nuances that was to be the last we saw of Raidar & Ella on the road to Khartoum. As we made our way south the terrain was becoming more sandy and less rocky. I was revelling in these conditions so pushed ahead of the VW and agreed to stop & wait for them every few hours. The villages I past through all seemed to be deserted, although I later found out most folk get indoors for shade during the hottest part of the day (from 10am - 4pm).


My swagger in the soft stuff was ever increasing and then suddenly and without warning my bike observed a particularly soft patch and I found myself spitting out sand a few metres ahead of my bike. Thanks to the armour in my jacket, and the knee protectors which I had replaced in Egypt I was left with nothing more than a few bruises after flying over the handlebars. I took the opportunity to wait for the others under a shady tree, where a local family appeared and served us some very nice mint tea when Gary & Joan arrived. Shortly after the break we hit a patch of incredibly soft sand (called bull dust in Australian). I made it through (very slowly) but there was no obviously easy route through for the VW and it got stuck just before the end of the soft stuff, impaled on the centre ridge of the tracks, that was higher than the VW's ground clearance. Gary & I spent some time (and perspiration) digging the sand out, placing rocks under the wheels, and jacking up the rear, but all to no avail. We employed the digging services of some of the men from the local village but in the end a 4X4 pickup drove past and effortlessly pulled Gary out. We were quite fatigued by this endeavour in the heat of the day so after a short while found another even more pleasant spot on the Nile to make camp. We were suitably covered in dust so had a bath in the Nile while the local boys kept their litchi's peeled for Crocodylus niloticus (Nile Crocodile). At one point they started gesticulating and throwing stones into the river close to me, but thankfully it was not a croc and only my bottle of soap which was heading downstream and needed retrieval.


Another early start the next morning and briefly further South along the Nile before we cut inland to cross the Nubian desert where the Nile was meandering around for a few hundred km's. Again I headed out in front and after a few km's there was no longer any road but rather an extensive choice of tracks that previous vehicles had taken. I opted for the most enjoyable looking hard-ish surface and had a really good ride (featured in video below) until my tracks faded away. I was obviously on an old track which slowly weathered away into nothing. With a GPS pretty useless in this location I cracked out my old fashioned compass and made a line through the desert towards the East where I knew the Nile would be. It was very soft & slow going at times but I eventually found the river. The going was just as slow through thick sand for the rest of the mornings ride and at one point I came a cropper again. This was a slower 'off' but I had used my right leg to try & correct the fall and it was now trapped under my right pannier luggage bag - facing at a precarious angle in the wrong direction. I was pinned-down and in some discomfort as I was unable to lift the fully laden bike while on the floor. I whistled some locals over from a nearby settlement and they lifted the bike just enough for me to pull free and realise a healthy & functioning leg. Thanks only to my very sturdy motocross boots, and some miracle of a supple knee joint I was in good (yet somewhat John Wayne) shape. This was another advantage of wearing good protective gear, regardless of the discomfort in heat.

I pushed on to the town of Dongola and then a faultless tarmac road, the first since leaving Wadi Halfa three days previously. Gary & Joan had found more fortune on the desert crossing and were there before me. We took this perfectly tarred road (thanks to the Chinese) across the desert for 200kms to cut off yet another long meander of the Nile. I parted company with Gary & Joan at this point as I wanted to push further east before the day was out, but it was certainly not the last I would see of them. The hot wind while riding was furnace-like and not sufficient to cool my bike, even at high speed. I stopped several times for a cool-down break. At one stop I measured the temperature with the little digital thermometer I carry. It was 53.7 in the shade at 2pm. I placed it in the sun and it stopped working at 69.9 and hasn't since. That day I consumed almost 10 litres of water.


The following day was a tarred but tiring slog down to Khartoum due to a large amount of trucks on the road - making their way from The Sudan's only port towards the capital. There were however some very unspoilt and interesting looking Pyramids to stop & look at along the way.



I pulled into the famed overlanders haunt of the Blue Nile Sailing Club in central Khartoum. Its a pretty much derelict sailing club on the banks of the Nile which now uses its green lawn to offer camping. The reception is Kitcheners old gunboat, perched on the sandy banks (pictured to left). After hot cold water shower I walked into the city centre to try & locate some internet access. I had only sent a few emails when the owner came running in asking me to vacate as there was violence in the streets and he had to close his shop. Outside there was a distinct trend in people running in one direction (out of the centre of town) and all shops were locking their doors closed. I was told that there was some shooting in the neighbouring district of Omdurman which had spilled over into the town centre. The gunfire sounded quite close but then it would in a built-up area. After double-taking at a couple of tanks rolling past at a high speed I shed my flipflops and legged it back to the campsite. That evening we watched a delightful display of mortar fire across the river from us in neighbouring Omdurman. We were reassured by a boat load of soldiers who tied-up at the jetty to check for crooks in the campsite, and periodically by pickup loads of soldiers jeering and shouting as they road past, obviously victorious and fresh from the front-line. The next morning I rose very early in an attempt to escape the city. There were road blocks at least every 200m, all operating independently from each other as I was able to pass some by not others. At one roadblock I encountered a particularly slovenly looking warrior who insisted on going through my luggage. His interest was fixed on my very large and expensive digital SLR camera & lens. He slung it over his shoulder and ushered me to move on back into town. This philistine couldn't understand any English (nor could his comrades) so I simply refused to move. Eventually a senior looking officer drove past and I pleaded my case with him. After giving him a short slide show of the pyramids & desert photo's on the camera he let me have it back and I headed back to the campsite. I had tested each of the three exits roads from the city that I knew and had eventually hit brick walls with each.

So I spent the rest of that day at the sailing club, whiling away the heat & the tedium of a military curfew in very good company; an English couple travelling South by public transport and a young German guy travelling South on a DT125 (small bike) - all pictured to the left. I don't know who was more brave. The curfew & checkpoints meant that we couldn't leave the camp and were reduced to emergency rations. Unfortunately we didn't run short enough of food for me to switch over to Roy Mears mode and cook up a pot of sand.


The next morning the number of roadblocks had subsided enough for me to make a run for it and I didn't stop running - riding all day and into Ethiopia. I was looking forward to exploring the interesting area of Omdurman (epicentre of the gunfire) but instead had to leave it with a bitter taste in my mouth - I think it was cordite from the mortars.

I was really looking forward to leaving the desert terrain that I had been in since day three of my trip in Tunisia, and longing for the cool and rainy highlands of Ethiopia.

The parting shot is of this weeks hot finalist, a panting Mr Sudan in 50 degree heat.



PS, here are a few clips showing the terrain in the Nubian desert. Again, if its slow to play press the pause button & wait for the video to load.

# posted by Mark @ 08:34   0 Comments

 

Egypt Sunday, 27 April 2008

Hallo-wherefrom-whatyourname

That's a typical Egyptian greeting, which is closely followed by a rapid fire of insistence to buy any thing or service you could imagine not requiring.

Ironically at the Egyptian border of Salloum in the North West of the country I was unable to solicit the services of such an Egyptian entrepreneur, well not instantly. This border crossing was supposedly the most complicated I would encounter on my entire trip, and it exceeded even those expectations. A brief summary of the objectives of this border are as follows:

• Validate pre-arranged visa & get passport stamped
• Get carnet book checked against chassis number
• Have vehicle emissions checked, and chassis number traced onto a piece of paper
• Buy 3rd party insurance
• Get carnet validated & stamped
• Get 'mini carnet' & Egyptian drivers license (plastic card)
• Rental & attachment of Egyptian number plates
• Final check of passport and processed paperwork

In addition (and crucial to ensuring the end-to-end process took 4.5 hours) was that each of the above items takes place in a different building well spread apart, and more importantly after each step one must visit a photocopying office to make duplicates of each, as a pre-requisite for the next step. After step three I managed to employ the services of a local entrepreneur who helped me through each of the steps slightly quicker than I could have done myself.

Then, after having several hundred Gippo pounds liberated from my wallet I pushed through to my overnight destination of Marsa Matruh. It was to be my longest riding day so far given the stretch in Libya to get to the border. I pushed for this town because I had fond memories of visiting it many years ago, and it was were my Grandfather (Jackson) was stationed in WWII.

In the morning I rode further along the coast to Alexandria and then into the mayhem of Cairo, where I reckon the traffic is slower moving than it was when they built the pyramids. I spent a few days in Cairo arranging my Sudanese visa (only place it can be obtained) & servicing my bike. I took my bike to a back-street mechanic named Mohammed Anwar, who had come highly recommended by countless other bikers. We did an extensive service and changed sprockets, chain & tyres (all of which I was carrying). We worked late into the night and I shared some tasty nosh with the lads afterwards.




The following day I was to be caught short of a latrine on a few occasions with the first strike of the unavoidable gippo guts. I like to call it the 'Cairo Quickstep' and have a new appreciation for the robes that these chaps wear. I can't think of anything more practical for performing a dark alley squat in.

After a few days in Cairo I was busting to get off the khazi and back into the saddle and on the road. After a brief stop at the pyramids to take the compulsory, token Giza Pyramid photo I headed East for Suez and then down the coast. I had planned this to be a very long and diverse day of riding to sample a little bit of everything Egypt has to offer; the madness of Cairo, winding roads & turquoise waters of the Eastern coast, the mountainous desert crossing to; the fertile banks of the nile. Although long (870kms) it was a thoroughly enjoyable day. I should probably explain that I wasn't missing everything else Egypt has to offer as I had explored Egypt extensively for five weeks as a juvenile backpacker almost 11 years ago.

The following morning (Saturday) I had to make for the Southern Nile town of Aswan to process my paperwork for the Monday ferry crossing into The Sudan. Unfortunately I was detained against my will at a police roadblock for several hours and as a result missed making it to Aswan in time. There was an arsenal of weapons on display at this checkpoint and I wasn't going to test any of the itchy trigger fingers. As a result I've spent just over a week in Aswan, among other things strolling their big and very interesting market (picture to left), tinkering with my bike, and doing a bit of soft sand desert training in preparation for the Sudan.

Like myself, my bike had started developing a slightly concerning noise from below, so I took the opportunity to check my valves (well the bikes valves). My local contact found the ideal place for me to perform this work; the lounge of his cousin (who's seen showing off his water refrigeration facility)


The photo's below show the Nile view from my balcony, a typical Felluca on the Nile and then lastly me getting a few beers in with the lads. As you can see I like to dress so as to blend in seamlessly with the locals.



Tomorrow (Monday) I'll finally be catching the ferry across Lake Nasser and into the Sudan, where the adventure riding really starts. The road to Khartoum tracks the Nile most of the way on very bad or non-existent roads, in sweltering heat, but encountering the very friendly Nubian people.

The parting shot is of the April playmate of the month from the africanenduro calendar.

# posted by Mark @ 15:51   0 Comments