RTW on CRF250L - Amsterdam to....Anywhere!
 

We are Peter and Leonie from Amsterdam, the Netherlands. We have quit our jobs and rented out the house to be able to travel around the world on our motorbikes. We both travel on a Honda CRF250L (specifications: 250cc , 144kg curb weight, liquid-cooled, 4-stroke, single cylinder, DOHC, fuel-injection). A great reliable bike that brings us everywhere we want to go!

We will travel for two years. We left late 2013 from Amsterdam and have since then travelled through Europa and Africa. In november 2014 we took our motorbikes to South America. We saw beautiful things and met amazing people! We enjoyed unimaginable hospitality in Libya and Egypt. We rode great offroad tracks along Lake Turkana and Lake Tanganyika and fully enjoyed the beautiful nature Africa has to offer! South America has given us with a lot of new adventures, friends and beautiful miles on the bikes!

We want to share our adventures with you and will be posting our stories on the HUBB. We hope you join us!

PS To have a complete picture of our trip, we will start at the very beginning and catch up.
PS2 You can also find us on Facebook. Search for a person with the name ’Amsterdam to Anywhere’

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Around the world on a motorbike, who does that?
 

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“What would it be like if we could travel for more than three weeks? If, after riding to the south for 1.5 week, we would not have to turn around to go home to be back in time to go to work?” If you go on the internet with those thoughts, you will soon find out that we are not the first with such ideas. The internet is full of great travel blogs, with pictures from all corners of the world. If you search for ‘round the world’ and ‘motor’ you will soon find Horizons Unlimited, or ‘HU‘ for insiders.

It did not take us long to order the DVD-serie with the suitable title ‘The Achievable Dream’. Five dvds, among which Leonie her personal favorite: ‘Ladies on the Loose’.
 We spent several sundays in front of the TV with the dvdseries if HU. We watched all five titles several times, so often that the travellers that were interviewed soon reached ‘stardom’.

Many of the interviewees were experienced motorcycle travellers with several impressive trips on their list and even movies or books. After the HU-dvds we could continue filling our week-ends with movies from Austin Vince and books of Lois Pryce, Ted Simon and Sam Manicon. And do not forget the TV-series ‘The Long Way Round’ and ‘The Long Way Down’ with Ewan McGregor and Charley Boorman. Our own dream was starting to get shape through all those inspiring travel stories.
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In June 2011 we went to a HU-meeting in Ripley in England (at the time still on the Transalp and the Africa Twin). We took the week off and went to England with the ferry to Hull. After some days touring in England (at the wrong side of the road) we went to the campsite in Ripley on Thursday. The atmosphere at the campsite was fantastic, a terrain full of travel bikes, lightweight tents and globetrotters. And everywhere we ran into ‘movie stars’.

We went to many workshops, some with travel stories or technical bike stuff. But also to a workshop ‘Roadkill cooking’, where we learned to clean a squirl if you would hit one. Or a yoga class for bikers, in which you learned to use your sleeping mattress as a yoga cushion. And to the ‘Ladies only’ workshop in which women (in a circle) discussed ‘girl-stuff’.
 Highlights of the meeting were the presentations of Austin Vince, R1-Sjaak and Lois Pryce. In a packed meeting room they gave away a great show with stories and pictures.

We received a lot of information, so much I almost got dizzy. But after the weekend what stuck was: “Wow, there are more ‘idiots’ like us out there!”

New Bikes
 

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The wish to travel on a motorbike already existed some time, whether for a ‘short’ holiday of three weeks within Europe or a longer trip around the world. The motorbikes that we had chosen to take were a Honda Africa Twin and a Honda Transalp. One of the questions we often heared was; “Is it not too heavy?” Yes, heavy they are, but we had already chosen to go a certain direction. We had already spent so much time and money to prepare the Twin and the Alp, that we did not just want to switch bikes. That changed, especially for me, in Morocco.

Peter had bought his bike in 2008 and was enthusiastic about the history of the Africa Twin. Some models of the Africa Twin had taken part in the Dakar Rally. So it is a legendary bike, which was very beautiful at the same time. An ‘oldy’ of which we could maintain the engine ourselves (with the garage workbook next to us), without having to use a laptop to search and correct the errors.

I thought that the Africa Twin was too big and had chosen the Transalp. At the time we also looked at the Honda Dominator, but -according the the information we got- that bike used oil and needed regular oil changes. Therefore I decided to buy the Honda Transalp as my travel bike. Since 2010 we prepared the Africa Twin and the Transalp for a long trip. We added all sorts of accessories, like new shocks and springs, another saddle, crash bars, other mirrors, a luggage rack, etc.. In the end we had great travel bikes.


The trip to Morocco was a final test for the round the world trip. We packed all the gear we also wanted to take on the big trip. This would be the ultimate test to see whether gear or spare parts had to be replaced. On day 5 I had a crash. One big one and, on the same day and the days after that, several ‘minor’ crashes. I especially struggled with the sand that had been blown on the road. On difficult parts, Peter first rode his bike and than came walking back to drive my bike through the sand. The Transalp, or at least the bodywork, fell to pieces and was kept together by gaffer tape and cable ties. The engine was purring as it had been, so we did finish the entire trip. However my confidence in the Transalp and my own driving skills had dropped drastically. Each morning I hesitated to get back on the bike and I thought about cancelling our big trip.

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After a difficult time at home in our family, we again started thinking about a longer trip. In Morocco Paul (Owner of Camping Zebra) advised us to consider switching to the lighter Honda CRF205L. This was the newest street-legal light offroad motorbike that was introduced by Honda. A 250cc engine with a steel (sub)frame and good maintenance schedule, which seemed to be very good for travelling. At the end of November 2012 Peter called me from the car and told me he had visited a local bikeshop. He had studied the Honda CRF250L from all corners. He predicted: “If you see this bike, you will be sold”. And he was right. A week later I stood on the food pegs of a CRF250L to test whether I would be able to drive it standing, while Peter and a salesman held the bike. It looked tough, it was light and it could be transferred into a travelbike.

At another bike shop we were able to make a test ride. On a very cold day we took turns riding the CRF on dikes and along the polders around Hillegom. It felt like a strange moped with six gears, but it was a great drive, especially its manouavrability was great. A it was so light! I could park the bike wherever I wanted and could easily move it. For Peter it would be a big step from the Africa Twin to the CRF, mainly because of the power the bike would lack. At home we made two lists of ‘pro’ and ‘con’, which were both equally long. Eventually the CRF won and we decided to enter into negotiations with Motoport to acquire two CRFs.

In the beginning of December 2012 we made the deal. The bikes were delivered to us just before the holidays, with succeeding plates and a crate of wine. A great Christmas present!

Last day at work
 

Travel without obligations. No tour guide we have to follow, no set route, no job to return to and no fixed costs. Ultimate freedom, that is what we dreamed of when we first considered to travel. A sabbatical of a few months would not be sufficient to realise that dream. For the ultimate freedom we would both have to quit our jobs. And we would not make any arrangement to return to the same job afterwards. How ever great this might sound, it was easier dreamed than done.

Quitting our jobs in June was quite the ‘thing’. I was pretty nervous to inform my boss that I would be leaving and -against expectations- would be interrupt by career to travel. By saying out loud that I would quit my job, our trip came a lot closer, a special feeling.

The response we received to our plans was very positive. “Too bad that you are leaving, but what a great reason!”; “You do what everybody wants”; “I would never have the currage to do this!”; “It is now or never, with kids you are stuck”. As everybody now knew about the trip, we could finally take about our plans. It is difficult keeping that to yourself if you are so exicited about them.

Since June we both worked for another three months. During that period we were both very busy, without actually preparing to leave. This week that changed and the job really ended.
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After 14 years at Akzo Nobel, of which the last three years in Rotterdam, Peter was on the night shift for the last time. A long period, that ended in a special way. During the last days a lot of colleagues came by to chat and say goodbye. Many kind words, also in several e-mails. There was a box in the control room that was covered with pictures of motor travellers for a contribution to a gift. They bought him great gifts, that were completed with a good whiskey of his own team. Peter his navigation skills will improve greatly with these gifts.

My last day at the office was a few days later, on Friday. After a crazy week, with files that had to be finished and even a meeting for a new case, it was over on Friday. At 17:00 we all went to the bar at the office. On the bulletin it said “Farewell Leonie”, which gave me a lump in my throat. Just like the speech of my boss. I was speechless and could only just finish my own speech without crying my eyes out. As Peter, I also received great gifts. The smoked mackerel Jannig gave me was a highlight! Afterwards I went out for dinner with my team. It was a very special night, with a lot of nice words and even more drinks!

Recipe for an adventure bike
 

To travel around the world, we have to adjust the bikes and prepare them as ‚travel bikes’. The most important adjustment is the possibility to take luggage. Buying a bag does not do the job. The bags have to be fitted to the bike and -maybe even more importantly- the bike has to be able to carry the extra weight. To be able to drive comfortably and safely with luggage, we had the shocks and the suspension adjusted.

On the Africa Twin and the Transalp, the bikes on which we travelled earlier, we had the shocks and the suspension replaced by Hyperpro. Both the quality of the gear, as well as the service of Hyperpro had been great. When we decided to replace these parts on the new CRFs, the choice for Hyperpro was easy.

In the beginning of March we took the first bike to Hyperpro in Alphen aan den Rijn. That branch is led by Bas, a great guy who has a lot of experience with preparing ‘travel bikes’. After tugging and pulling the CRF it was clear that the shocks and the suspension that were installed by Honda were too soft for travelling with luggage. This had to be adjusted. We chose to modify the front suspension (progressive spring) and to put in a fully adjustable shock at the back (with a progressive spring). These adjustments help to make sure that the bike remains stable on the road, even when it gets bumpy. This is not only important for a comfortable ride, but also for our safety.


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As the CRF250L is a relatively new bike, Hyperpro did not have the parts in its product line yet. Our bike went to the design-team of Hyperpro, which used the bike to develop the new parts. After a few weeks, the parts were ready so Bas and David could start installing it on the bike.

The (settings of the) shock absorber and suspension are tailored made for us. They did not only take into account the weight of the luggage, but also our height, our weight and our personal preferences. My bike is therefore slightly lower than the bike of Peter, so I can easily reach the ground. We also had a pre-load adjuster installed. This allows us to easily adjust the shock absorber in height, depending on the amount of luggage we drive with.

After the parts were installed on the first bike, we swapped the motorbikes. The second motorbike is now ready and both bikes have already been tested several times with luggage. We are very happy with the result!

No sore bum!
 

100.000 kilometre (62.000 miles), that is how long our possible route is. From Amsterdam to South-Africa, then the complete Pan-American Highway, a tour in Australia and from Asia back home to the Netherlands. A long way! And all those miles we sit on the bike. Reason enough to pay some attention the a proper seat in our surge for the perfect travel bike!

Travelling by bike is different from travelling by car as far as sitting comfort is concerned. No heated seat or comfortable bucket seat for us. The stock CRF is sold with a dazzling, bright red seat that is soft and very narrow. It is a fine seat for shorter trips. The stock-seat is however not suitable for longer trips. That became clear during the first real test ride we made in the Netherlands. The first day we got off the bikes with a wooden butt. We both had to dance before blood flowed through the gluteus maximus again.

For new seats we travelled to Midlaren in Drenthe (the Netherlands), to Raymond (www.rayz.nl). Raymond is a keen motorcyclist himself who made several very nice trips. He now uses all that travel experience to make really great seats. We were existing customers of Rayz. In 2012 he designed new seats for the Africa Twin and Transalp. We had tested and approved those seats during our trip to Morocco. A sore bum never once was a reason to get off the bike.


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Raymond uses the existing plastic underground of the stock seat to build the new seat. The seat is adjusted to the personal preferences of the rider: higher, lower, narrower or wider. He also ensures that the seat is perfectly in line with the colours and lines of the bike.

In July we took one motorbike and two standard seats to Raymond. When we arrived in Midlaren we first walked in circles around the new CRF. The enthusiasm of Raymond about our lighter bike was contagious. With new energy and a good feeling about the new seats we drove back to Amsterdam.

A week later the seats were ready. Peter had to work, so this time I drove alone to the north to pick up the bike and the seats. Until the very last moment it was a surprise what the seats would look like, as Raymond allows himself some artistic freedom for the design of the seat. Freedom you can give him without any hesitation, because the result was great (again)! Upon arrival in Midlaren my bike was awaiting me with a beautiful new black and white seat with red stitches. The seat was harder what – how contradictory that might sound – is much more comfortable than the original soft seat. Furthermore, it was widened at the bank and more narrow in the front. Perfect! After a cup of coffee and some more motor talk, I went back home.


We have already tested the new seats and rode the first 4,000 km (2.500 mile) sore free! On to the next 100,000 miles without a wooden bum!

Goodbye Party
 

A scouting clubhouse in the woods, garlands on the ceiling, a map of the world on the wall, a music system in one corner, a beer tap in the other corner and right next to it a CRF250L. Now add friends and family and you have our perfect party. In the beginning of October we held our Goodbye Party. It was a great night, on which we toasted with everyone we love on life and the adventure that awaits.

Prior to the party, we had dinner with Peter’s parents, my dad, our brothers(in-law) and sisters(in-law). My dad surprised us with a speech and a bottle of champagne. The ‘plop’ was fantastically captured.
This was completed with another really cool present. They had arranged that all the guests could leave a video message for us and could write a message of a map of the world. The route we took will be drawn on the map during our trip.


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It was a really great and busy night, with a lot of hugs, sweet words, wishes and kisses. We went home with happy coins, a happy Buddha, four leave clovers, pocket money, Dutch cheese and bubbly.

Another very special gift was the piece of Cambodian rainforest that was donated. Af of now we ride co2-neutral. One less thing to worry about!
A few days after the party we watched all the video-messages. For over one hour we both laughed and cried (at the same time) about all the sweet words, the prayers for a safe return, tips, dances and songs. I expect that we will watch those videos very often during the trip.

Very interesting, keep it coming

Cheers

We have moved!
 

We have rented out our house in Amsterdam, the cat is staying out and we have moved to Barneveld. Until we leave we live with my father. All our stuff is under the bed in my old bedroom and the motorbikes are safely in the garage. The move was preceded by a lot of hard work.

The house is rented to a Brit who works in the Netherlands. Selling the house was not an option in this market, so this is a good alternative. We have rented out the house fully furnished, so the furniture and the appliances could remain in the house. We thought: “Great, now we do not have to store so much stuff.” Well, that appeared an illusion. It is unbelievable how many stuff was in that little house. You’d think we were preparing for an imminent end of the world by the amount of stuff we had gathered.


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In preparation of the trip we went through our stuff very critically. Let’s face it, how many mugs and tea light holders does a person need? We have made many trips to the second hand store and the landfill to bring away all sorts of things.

Despite the big cleanup we needed over 35(!) boxes to pack everything. We also needed to clean out the garage that we had rented. We used another 20 boxes to pack all the stuff from the garage. And then there were other loose items, like our old motorbikes, Peters fishing rods, a mountain bike, a painting, grandma her old chair, and so on ….

And where to leave all those boxes? We could have called the moving company where the stuff from Peter his previous house is stored (yes, more stuff!). We chose to ask friends and family to store a box for us. The night of the party 16 boxes were taken home and put on attics all over the Netherlands and Belgium.

Mark, one of Peters cousins, thought that the remaining boxes could all be stored in his attic. Our cat, Sammy, could also live with him. After the party we rented a big van and went to Mark with the remaining boxes and Sammy. Not an easy trip, especially since Sammy places three fat turds in his cat carrier that smelled so bad that we could hardly stay in the car. Mark was a bit in shock when he saw how big the van was, but eventually all the boxes could be stored in his attic. A few days later he informed us that Sammy was doing great and has found a great new spot in the windowsill.

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After a stopover at Jan and Mariët, the old motorbikes are now in a barn at Anja her farm. Without a battery and completely protected by a film of grease, they stand next to the travel bikes of Daan and Mirjam waiting for our return.

After all the stuff was moved, we cleaned the house very thoroughly with the help of Peter his parents. Empty and clean, the apartment could now be handed over to the tenant. With the very latest gear and our motorbikes we left to Barneveld. Here we will go through our gear for the last time, before we finally start with our RTW-trip.

A trip which, as you can see, is made possible by René and Sofie, Celine and Leon, Grandma Post, Bene and Eilke, Lizette and Joost, Yvette and Peter, Marcel and Marion, Danielle and Jarno, Dick, Jeroen and Klarinda, Ton and Marijke, Jan and Mariët, Anja, Daan and Mirjam and our main sponsor Mark. Thank you !

From steel steeds to beasts of burden
 

Peter and I take quite a bit of gear on our trip, about 35 kilo (77 pound) on each bike. We carry all that gear in bags that are attached to the bike: a tank bag on the tank, two bags next to the rear wheel and a duffel on top. In addition, we take a fuel jerrycan and a tool tube on each bike. We have turned our steel steeds into real beasts of burden.

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On our old bikes we had mounted aluminium cases. Those cases are not suitable for the CRF250L, because they are heavy and would damage the bike when we fall. Therefore we chose bags for the RTW-trip. The bags (Magadan Bags developed by Walter Colebatch and Adventure Spec) are made of Cordura, with a Kevlar lining. The Kevlar ensures that the bags can not be cut open just like that. Around each bag we have attached a cable with a lock, with which we hope to keep out most thieves. The bags have a waterproof bag inside.

We cannot just throw the bags over the back of the bike, they have to be mounted on a luggage rack. The stock CRF250L does not have a luggage rack. As it is a relatively new bike, there were not many suitable after market parts. We decided to have a luggage rack made.

Through Raymond (the seats ) and Bas (the suspension) we got in contact with Erik at Hot-Rod Welding. Erik had already developed several parts for the BMW G650XChallenge, including a great luggage rack. That rack had already proven itself (with Magadan bags).

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Late last year (2012), Peter sent a detailed email to Erik about our plans. Peter and Erik soon agreed that a new rack had to be developed. After some email correspondence, we took one of the bikes to the workshop in Zwaanshoek at the end of last year. We were warmly welcomed by Erik, closely followed by his dog, Storm.

During the period that followed, we extensively discussed the technical possibilities after which Erik started designing a luggage rack of steel. It was clear that he is a biker himself who knows the possible weak points of a travel-bike. Erik designed the rack in such a way that the greater part of the bags (and thus the weight) is in front of the axle of the rear wheel. As a result, the drivability of the bike is not affected too much by the weight. He also designed space for a fuel jerrycan and tool tube. He regularly sent us pictures through WhatsApp to keep us informed of the developments.

We tested the first prototype during a trip in the Netherlands and a week-end in Germany. After some changes here and there, the design was approved and the second rack could be welded, blasted and powder coated. We are very happy with the result, two beautifully made, sturdy racks, that are suitable for a long trip around the world.

All in all we made ​​a lot of trips to Zwaanshoek the past year. Not only to discuss the luggage racks, but also for a custom side stand and a custom gear lever. And even if Erik was busy (and busy he was!), there was always time for coffee!

We did it, we left!
 

On Saturday 30 November, a chilly sunny morning, we did it, we left on our round the world trip. Two motorbikes, fully packed and with the nose in the right direction, an unexpected good party and several sad but proud faces. We turned the key, switched on the bike, put it in gear and……gas! We now are in a warm and cosy B&B in the Belgian Ardennes, about 300 km (186 miles) from home. Quit a bit happened before we left.

We heard somewhere that 95% of the people that say they want to travel the world, do not go. We now understand why. It is pretty scary to give up the security of a great job and a good salary, to rent out the house and to leave everything behind. It also is pretty hard to say goodbye to your family and friends for two years. Especially after the emotionally difficult year in which my mother passed away it is not easy to just ride away. Also because in November we turned aunt and uncle twice in one week, first of Luca and then of Jurre. Going away from those cute babies was not easy either.
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Besides this, it is a lot of work preparing for such a RTW trip. It is hard to imagine we once had a job next to all these preparations. Especially the last two month we worked long hours to finish everything. The administrative matters are sometimes difficult and annoying. The authorities in the Netherlands are not prepared for a RTW trip. Working abroad, moving abroad or a trip of a couple of months is easy to get your head around. However a long trip, during which you do not work, that is like swimming against the current. For example, we are obliged to unregister as a resident in the Netherlands (because we leave for more than 8 months). We risk a high fine if we remain registered. However the Tax Authorities do not want us unregister as a resident in the Netherlands, especially since we own a house. Not even taking into account the bank that supplied the mortgage which does not want us to explore the world at all without having a fixed income. Either way, one of those authorities is not happy and there is a rule you have to ignore. Ignoring certain regulations also requires some courage (at least from me it does).

Finding the right insurance was not easy either. In October I spoke with a very friendly lady that secured me I had to fill out ‚Form X’. After I had sent in Form X and had contacted the authorities several times, it appeared (after four weeks, close to our departure) that I should actually have used ‚Form Y’. Very frustrating, especially since we required an answer to find the right insurance, which insurance we needed for our visa for Libya, which visa we had to pick up before leaving the Netherlands.

Peter has been very busy with preparing the bikes. Next to the new suspension, the new seats and the luggage rack, a lot of adjustments had to be made. Day after day he spent in the garage. He often forgot to eat, after which he would come back home starved and smelling of oil. It turned out to be the question whether the bikes would be ready in time. For example after a first package with parts that was shipped from the USA was not complete and the second package was sent to Canada (?!) instead of Amsterdam. Or when he said: „Something is not right, now all the lights on the bike are turned on at the same time. The front light, the rear light, the indicators, all at the same time.”

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The remaining time we could be found staring a computer. At home in the study, on the couch, on the balcony or even during a ‚working holiday’ in the snowy Belgian Ardennes. Peter did a lot of research for the route, the visas, the bikes and the gear. I was working on the website, which basically came down to understanding IT-language. In the beginning I had to ask the person of the help desk to send me the same email again, but now with language I could actually understand.

Luckily, in the end everything turned out OK. We have the right insurance, a decently filled first aid kit, all the vaccinations you can think of, an new thick passport, loads of pass photos, a carnet de passage (kind of passport for the bikes), an international drivers licence, a tenant for the house, visas for Libya, great bikes that have been fully prepared, a properly functioning website and a rough route. Our administration is now with Peter his mother, at which address most of our mail arrives. And if the Tax Authorities cannot find us, we will find them.

All the preparation are over now, we are on the road! We now move further south, to Italy. We intend to take the boat from Sicily of Tunisia and to ride over land through Libya to Egypt.


PS Please note that this message was posted in december 2013. The situation in Libya and Egypte has changed since.

Spiderman in France
 

When we wake up on Sunday, it is still foggy in Fraîture (Belgium). Luckily that fog dissolves quickly. When we start the bikes after a good breakfast, we ride off in the sun. Despite the sunshine it’s quite chilly. Under our helmet we both wear a ’balaclava’. That’s a lot warmer, but looks like we are about to rob a bank. Peter even looks like Spiderman, when he does not have his helmet on yet.

We drive from Belgium to France on the highway, but choose to take the main roads once the toll roads come into view. We usually do not drive much faster than 80 or 90 km/h (50 or 55 miles/hour), so the BIS route through France is fine. Besides, this route is often much nicer.

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Toll roads are quite difficult with a bike anyway. That became clear when we took a wrong turn and were in front of the gate accidentally. You should just try to get that ticket from the machine with your winter gloves on and then with the same hand (where that ticket already is) try to squeeze your clutch to drive away. Each time we have to stop just after the gate to put away the tickert. It is even more complicated to pay. At the first junction where we could get off the toll road, we had to pay 60 cents. Peter was standing before me, his card did not work and he had only 50 cents. Now what? I had coins, but I could not just give them to him. Where do you leave your bike? So, I get off my gloves, take out my wallet and put an extra coin in the machine.

Peter is allowed through, now it is my turn. I get back on the bike, drive forward, put it in neutral, ticket in the machine, coin into the machine, change back into my pocket, motor into first gear and quickly through the gate before it closes. Then I have to stop to store everything and put my gloves back on. Meanwhile, there was a traffic jam behind me. Reason enough to avoid toll roads when possible.

On the way south we drive through the Vosges (France). It is very beautiful. Hilly, with long straight roads where oncoming traffic occasionally disappears into the deeper stretches of the road. Behind every hill there is a new village, of which you can only see the tower of the church at first. Next to a church, you can find at least one walled mansion in each village and a monument with a rooster and a weathered French flag that remembers the victims of the First World War.

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We think it is too cold to camp and most campsites are already closed. We therefore choose to spend the night at (cheap) hotels until we reach the Mediterranean. The first four hotels that we find are closed. They are waiting for better times with more tourists. A nice lady points us in the direction of Neuf Chateau. We would certainly be able to find a hotel there. Again, many hotels and restaurants appear to be closed. The third place is open and has a garage for motorcycles too.

If we look out the window the next morning, we see blue sky. It is blue, sunny and there is a gentle breeze. Actually fine whether to go iceskating! Here and there ponds have already frozen. It’s not a luxury to wear our Spiderman masks now, because the riding wind makes it even more chilly.After a few hours, we are cold and decide to look for a restaurant for lunch.

The waitress asks if we want to drink an ’aperitive’. I ask for a coffee. She looks at me puzzled: “But do not you eat?“. “Yes, I’ll eat, but I would still like to have a hot coffee, because I ‘m quite cold.” Still amazed she asks: “Coffee, before your food?“. “Yes , it might not be like the French, but to warm up a bit, I would first like coffee and food afterwards.” She is satisfied with the answer, but does make an additional note on the receipt for her colleague. We both order the menu of the day and enjoy kalamaris, chicken with potato dish and a piece of pie. We skip the coffee afterwards.

Slightly warmed we drive further to the south. In Bourg-en-Bresse we stop early in the afternoon, at the Ibis Budget hotel. That is a good option. The bikes are in front of the window in an enclosed parking place, we have a fine bed and (most importantly) a hot shower! How a hot shower can make you happy! After the shower, the world looked a lot better.

When we wake up the next morning, the bikes have turned white from the frost. It’s cold, but sunny again. The route leads us towards the Alps, through Grenoble to Sisteron. The further south we go, the more snow there is. The roads are clean and dry, but beside the road there is up to 30cm of snow. When we stop to take a picture, a car pulls up next to us. The driver asks if everything is OK and if he can help us. We tell him we are just enjoying the scenery. He then gets out of his car, turns into a tourist guide and starts telling us about the area. Excited about our stories, he writes his contact information. He has friends all over the world and can bring us in contact with them if necessary. A special and unexpected encounter.

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In Sisteron we again choose the Ibis Budget hotel. After the hot shower we search the Internet for a B&B on the Mediterranean Sea for the next days. According to the weather report, it was 18 degrees (celcius) in Nice, so we would leave the snow and cold quickly behind us.

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On Wednesday, the GPS is set at Frejus Plage, where we had booked a little studio with a kitchen for two nights. The route goes in a straight line to the south, through the National Park Verdon through the Gorges du Verdon. A beautiful route, where you would find a lot of tourist in the summer. Now it was very quiet with only locals riding the same road. On both sides of the road there is snow or ice, but the road itself is clean and dry. In parts where the sun has not yet been, the trees are white with frost. As soon as the sun shines over the ridge, the ripe disappears and colors can be seen again. Really nice. But also very cold. So after several photo opportunities, we hit the gas and ride further south, towards the sun.

Frejus Plage is quickly found. And indeed, with 15 degrees the temperature is a lot more pleasant than in the previous days. After a day of sleeping in late and some culture, now on to Italy.
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Keep it UP!
 

Nice report so far!
I look forward to seeing how the little Honda's hold up for you! I like your packing job and luggage set up. Once you get on rough off road I'll be watching.

How are your custom seats working out for very LONG riding days?
What is your average speeds on motorways? Kms per liter average?

bier

Out little Honda's are doing great, even better than we had expected!

Sneakpreview: They have taken us all the way through Africa (26,000km) without serious problems, no flat tires and even on the same tires!

Offroad they are doing great as well, we have done 1000s km of rough offroad already. Even if we tumble over, we did not have serious problems. Apart from some dented cans of food and one broken plastic container, all our equipment is still fine. The bags are damaged a bit after touching the tarmac, but could be easily repaired. Still easier than denting out our aluminium panniers!

On motorways we could do about 120km/hour max, but we do not like that too much because we have no windscreen. Above that we try to avoid motorways and find other, more fun roads to ride.

Seats are OK on long drives. Fuel consumption is low. On average it is 1litre=30km or even 35km on high altitude (3.3/100 or even 2.85/100). On motorways it is about 1litre=27km (3.7/100)

It sounds almost too good to be true;)

More info on the bikes and the modifications can be found here (LINK)

Cheers, Leonie

Route Napoleon to Via Aurelia
 

It is Friday the 6th of December and still chilly in the shade when we pack up the bikes. Once the sun emerges over the adjacent building it is perfect weather for a ride on the bikes. We replace the “spiderman masks” for sunglasses and get on.

We drive through the countryside of the French Riviera, a few kilometres inland. A winding road through pine forests. Here and there we catch a glimpse of beautiful mansions. It is clear that we drive through a prosperous part of France. We are regularly overtaken by fast cars with tanned drivers. We suspect that the warm climate also attracts many retired French, because the number of gray heads with a walker or cane is high.

Every few kilometres we drive through another village. The main road often runs through the local shopping street with a speed limit of 30km (18 miles) per hour. The many traffic lights and pedestrian crossings slow us down good. There’s no hurry, but at the same time it is very tiring to drive slowly from traffic light to pedestrian crossing. Your left arm almost gets numb of handling the clutch. After we have followed the road for two hours, also through Cannes, we decide to get on the highway in Nice to make some time and give the left arm a rest.

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That means that we again drive on a toll road. So be it. After a while we get to the first gate, where we have to pay €1.50 per bike. The machine does not take Peter his credit cards. The alternative is coins, but we have only bills and the machine does not take those. There are now three cars behind us, so we press the ‘help button’. The lady at the other end of the line opens the gate for us. Without having paid, we put the engine in first gear and drive through the gate The alarm rings when we drive away.

We both have only one glove on. We had taken it of to get a ticket and the money. This time there is no place or parking where we can stop to put it back on again. So we drive on with only one glove, fortunately it is not so cold any more. After 20km (12 miles) we can finally get of the highway. However we find ourselves before a toll booth again (even though we had not taken a ticket anywhere). We both have to pay €1.20. We had not changed any bills yet and credit cards still do not work. Again we push the “help” button. This time the lady lets us know that we can go to a another toll booth at the right which does take bills. There are no cars behind us, so we push the bikes back and ride to the other booth. And indeed our Euro bills are accepted. We get coins back and the gate opens.

When we stop for a quick lunch and look at the map, we see that we still have to cross a lot of coastal villages. Armed with our credit cards, bills and coins we decide to give the highway another go. The next gate we face is in Italy and is a ticket machine. Peter takes a ticket, the gate opens and he rides on until just after the gate. I wait for my ticket, but there in none. It does not matter how many times I press the red button, no ticket. The gate is still open, so I join Peter. “OK, will go without a ticket”, I say a little nervous. “Let me do the talking, you ‘ll be fine” he replies.

And he is right. The toll booths in Italy are a lot more customer friendly and accept all payment methods. We stand side by side, Peter puts the ticket in the machine, pays the fee and counts down: “Three, two, one, GO”. Together we drive away from the booth at the same time. Perfect, we should have done that before. (I must admit I looked in my mirror for a long time expecting the police to chase us, but nothing happened) .

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We drive for a while on a scenic road along the coast and then find a hotel on the seafront of Spotorno. The bikes can be parked in the garage under the hotel. We are welcomed by a young guy who does not speak any English. Unfortunately we hardly speak enough Italian to enter into a normal conversation, but with hand signs we come a long way. In the lobby, the television is on. A broadcast of BBCs Top Gear which is dubbed in Italian. It’s no wonder that we could not work it out in English .

After a delicious breakfast with lots of sweet rolls we hand in the key. We get a pack of cookies for the road. On the promenade of Spotorno, we can already see ’the boot’ of Italy. After we drove to the east for a while, we will now mainly drive to the south.

In France we followed the Route Napoleon for a long time. In Italy we now ride on the Via Aurelia. It is a beautiful road that winds along the steep coast in the north of Italy. Sometimes right beside the sea and then through villages. It is Saturday and the Italians spend it outside. Walking, running and especially cycling. We pass large groups of cyclists who seem to have no trouble with the climbs we face. Everyone looks very neat, clothes and sunglasses adapted to the activity.

At the end of the morning, the Via Aurelia brings us to Genua, the largest seaport in Italy. It does not take long before we are completely stuck in traffic. We immediately get our first lesson of the crash course ‘Italian driving’. It soon becomes clear that no one actually adheres to the traffic rules. If we drive according to the set speed limit, we are overtaken by everyone. Single track roads are used as a two-lane roads. Double parking is standard, even if it means that no one can pass. Indicators seem not to be installed on the cars in Italy. Horns on the other hand are, and they are used constantly.

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We share the road with cars, buses, motorcycles and a lot of scooters. Especially the scooters shoot passed us on both sides. After we have been driving through the city for over an hour (during which time the GPS again proves to be essential) we are fed up. We throw the traffic rules out of the window. We ride along side with the scooters to the front of the line before the traffic lights, zigzagging between the cars and pulling up hard when the light turns green, after which we drive through the then empty streets of Genoa at high speed. This is a lot better and before we know it we are out of the city again on the Via Aurelia.

The road turns away from the coast and winds into the hills. The more curves there are in the roads, the more motorbikes we encounter. The sun has not yet been everywhere and in the shadow of the hills it is still quite chilly. The trees are still in leaf and colour orange and red. Some parts of the roads are still wet.

In yet another curve to the right, I suddenly lie on the ground. My bike slides away under me and scrapes on the road. A little surprised, I get up and look back. I see Peter getting up from the ground as well. His bike is just like mine on the asphalt. ”Everything OK?” I hear over the intercom. Yes everything OK. Together we pick up the bikes, while an Italian man stops the cars. After a short inspection we conclude that the bikes are OK. The handguards and mirrors are scratched, the handlebar on Peter his bikes is slightly bent and the bags on the right side have holes in the outer layer of the fabric. The inner bags are OK, the luggage rack is still straight and the bike start without problems.

What made us fall is still a mystery. Oil on the road, our knobby tires, the wet road, riding the curve wrongly, too much or too little gas, a combination of all this? Maybe just bad luck. We decide to turn around and get on the highway again. There are a lot less curves and that is great for now. We drive all the way to Pisa and together go through the toll booth again.

At the end of the afternoon we drive up the driveway of a Bed & Breakfast. We are welcomed by Claudio, who together with his mother runs B & B Alfieri. He speaks English and wants to know all about our bikes and our trip. He is a motorcyclist himself. After a peaceful night (on our left side because of the blue right hip) a basket full of sweet rolls is waiting for us in the kitchen. Claudio sits down with us and we continue talking where left off the night before. He shows us the way to the tower of Pisa and gives us tips on the route to Rome. If we leave the B&B, Claudio and his mum wave us goodbye.

The GPS is set to the Tower of Pisa. We drive passed a sign that says ’forbidden to drive for unauthorized persons’ (the traffic rules were out of the window anyway) and park our bikes in front of the tower. The local police seems to find it OK. After the photo opportunity we head south to Rome.

Distance covered to Pisa: 1,159 miles

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__________________

With the sun on our face to Rome
 

After we had visited the Leaning Tower of Pisa on Sunday morning 8 December, we ride on to Rome. We booked a hotel on the outskirts of Rome where we would stay several nights. On the advice of Claudio (of B&B Alfieri) we again follow the Via Aurelia, which appears to be a good choice. We drive over the Tuscan hills to the south. The sun is low in the sky and shining right in our faces. We’re going in the right direction.

The Via Aurelia is less winding here than in the north of Italy, and that’s good for today. Our confidence in the bike and the tires has to grow again after our fall, especially in the corners. It is quite a long way to Rome, but we make good progress.

We regularly pass cars that, for some inexplicable reason, drive very slowly or on the wrong side of the road. It that case there are two options. If you see hand gestures through the rear window, the driver of the car is talking animatedly, with passion and a lot of hand gestures to a fellow passenger. Driving the car is clearly less important.

Option two is when you do not see any hand moving back and forth. In that case that hand is holding a phone. Everyone, absolutely everyone (from grandmas to bus drivers) is calling in the car. Nobody even bothers to stand still, everyone just drives on. Only very slowly and without really paying attention on the road. Very peculiar.

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The further we ride into Italy, the more churches and chapels we pass. Along the way there are many crosses and statues of Mary, always in a niche with candles and (fake) flowers. We drive past a cyclist who, during his weekly tour, makes the sign of the Cross when passing a hearse. It is clear that we drive to the Roman Catholic capital of the world.

The hotel is nestled in the outskirts of Rome. When the GPS indicates that we have arrived, we are in front of a large walled house, situated in a residential area. The large metal gate is closed and only the door of the gate is ajar. We do not see any sign indicating that we are in front of a hotel. The building looks like a hospital or a school. I walk through the gate and on the door of the building I see a sticker of ‘TripAdvisor’. This should be the place. And it turns out right. The guy behind the counter knows about our reservation and opens the gate so that we can both drive our bikes insides.

When I am back at the desk to check in, I notice that there are a lot of pictures of Pope Francis. On notebooks, calendars, maps of the city and even on the business card of the hotel. On the outside of the hotel there is another statue of Mary in a niche and on the notice board in the lobby shows the time of the Mass. It looks like a convent.

The next morning at breakfast it appears that was not a crazy thought, when we receive our sweet breads served by a nun. The hotel “Il Romitello” is owned by the Order of the Sisters of the Immaculate Conception of Castres. That afternoon it appears that our room is located next to the chapel where a Mass is held. The next days the sisters gather in the same chapel for choir rehearsal. It is not ‘Sister Act’, but it sounds very nice.

Inspired by the sisters at our hotel, we get on the train to Rome on Monday to go to Vatican City. At the beginning of the morning we get to St. Peter’s Square. An impressive first sight of St. Peter’s Basilica, the famous balcony and statues on the wall around the square. The square is still filled with the seats needed for the Mass of the day before. It makes me quiet for a moment, when I realize that my mother was here with my grandmother on one of those hundreds of seats to attend a Mass in 2012. The preparations for Christmas are in full swing. On the square a huge Christmas tree is being set up.

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The queue for the St. Peter’s Basilica is not very long, it also has its advantages to visit Rome offseason. Once inside the church makes a huge impression on us. High ceilings, large statues, overwhelming. The light is beautiful and makes our cameras click. Our tour then brings us to the Vatican Museum, especially to view the Sistine Chapel to admire the famous frescoes by Michelangelo. In the Sistine Chapel itself we were not allowed to take pictures, but the rest of the museum (especially the ceilings) result in enough colourful pictures.

The next day we visit the Pantheon, a church in the shape of a dome with a hole in the roof. The outside does not reveal how beautiful it is inside. It is a very old building, the round dome dates from 128 AD. It is incredible to think that, at the time, they already had the techniques to build it. The remainder of the day we walk around town and visit different tourist attractions, including the Spanish Steps, the Trevi Fountain and Piazza Navona.

Despite the low season, street vendors are at each spot trying to sell you stuf. If you are near Vatican City, it is mainly stuff with pictures of the Pope. The current pope, Pope Francis, is hugely popular. Pope John Paul II from Poland, who already died in 2005, is still a bestseller. In other parts of Rome the vendors sell roses, bags and hats. The most sold item is a “Splat Back Ball”, a strange round figure of some sort of slimy plastic that makes a very sad sound when you throw it flat on the ground, after which it takes its round shape again and you can trow it again. Everywhere we go we hear “Splash, Pieieieieiep, Splash, Pieieieieieieiep”.

Piazza Navona is already in the Christmas spirit with a big Christmas market. Especially the stall where you can buy items for the Christmas crib is frequently visited. The Italian version of the Christmas crib is very full with a lot of different animals, figures and even running water. The lights that are used by the Italians in their trees are not just white, but have different colors and flash. We do not particularly like it, but the Italians seem to love it. Even the nuns at our hotel had a tree that successively blinked green, red, yellow and blue (?). It did add to the Christmas spirit!

After two wonderful days in Rome we drive on to the south on Wednesday. The sun again shines, we are very lucky with the weather!

Distance travelled to Rome : 2,226 km (1,384 miles)

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To the island of fruits and vegetables
 

Our good Italian friends Fabrizio and Cristina assured us that the best vegetables and the best fruit can be found on Sicily. Our destination during our trip through Italy is that island fruits and vegetables. From there we will take the ferry to Tunis in Tunisia. To Africa!

During our days in Rome we booked a ferry from Palermo (on Sicily) that arrives in Tunis about 12 hours later. Palermo is still quite a long drive from Rome, so we also booked a ferry from Salerno on the mainland of Italy to Sicily. Salerno is about 270 km from Rome, a distance we spread over two days. As we leave Rome, we follow the Via Appia for a long time following the Mediterranean coast. We stop in Gaeta at find a room in an artsy B&B overlooking the sea. A beautiful view!

The next morning the alarm goes off a little later than usual, allowing us to sleep in. It is warm enough now to send some of our clothing, like the liners of our motor gear and our thickest winter gloves, home. We fill a plastic bag with all this stuff, add a spare inner tube and spare sunglasses and go in search for a post office. We find one near the harbour in Gaeta.

Peter stays with the bikes, while I take the plastic bag inside. It is very busy, there are at least 40 people in the queue before me. With the help of an Italian granny I pull a ticket from a machine for the ‘Servizi Postale’. Although everyone took a number, most of them still try to skip the queue. From old grannies, to smooth 30 year old guys, they all try to convince the people behind the counters to help them first. A few times they are successful, but most of them are just send to the back of the line.

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When it is my turn I take the plastic bag to the counter. The lady behind the counter hardly speaks any English, but with hand gestures and my limited Italian vocabulary she does understand that the plastic bag has to be send to the Netherlands by mail. She takes out a box and together we stuff the bag in the box and close it with some additional tape. After some more paperwork, I finally walk out off the post office an hour and a half later.

Outside Peter is talking to a small grey man. He explains he was a pilot and saw much of the world during the days he was still flying. When he hears where we want to go on our motorbikes, he raises his hands to the sky smiling. He shakes our hands three times and wishes us a safe journey. After that an older couple passes us, looking at the bikes in admiration. The man talks to Peter and then turns to me: “Sei una donna?!”. When I open my helmet to show that I was indeed a woman, he cheers and says: “Bravo! Bravo! Buon Viaggio!”

We hit the road and drive further south along the Italian coast towards Naples. Earlier, we were warned by Claudio (of B&B Alfieri) about Naples. Not only because it is a big busy city, but also because it apparently is a dangerous city. At the time he did not mention the mafia, but that is what we were thinking of. The GPS seemed to lead us past Naples and not through the city. I am sure that, if we do not get stranded in a suburb without fuel, we will be fine.

On the road signs Naples still seems to be far away, but according to the GPS we are already riding through the outskirts of the city. We keep following the GPS, but at some point he (the GPS has by now turned into a person) seems confused and begins to recalculate. We have gone too far and need to turn around. Once we stop to have a good look at the map, it appears the GPS is leading us right through the city centre after all, instead of leading us around it. Well too bad. If we just keep riding, we will get to the other side of the city eventually.

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We drive into the city and turn onto one one-way street after another, turning left, right, right, and left again. It is very busy and it seems nobody adheres to the traffic rules. Cars just riding onto the street without giving way, stopping in the middle of the road, riding through the red light. We have to pay attention to prevent an accident. Fortunately, the bikes are not very wide and easy to handle. At the same time we are overtaken on both sides by the even smaller scooters and motorcycles. The Italians drive a lot faster than we do, trying to be the next Valentino Rossi. I regularly hear Peter shout over the intercom: “Watch your mirror, another one is overtaking you.” That does not mean that the overtaking scooter is driving on my left, he might just as well be at the other side. It is crazy and tiring.

Halfway Naples we decide to fill up and get some fuel. We arrive at a garage near to the port and are surrounded by a number of young men (“dudes” so you will). While I fill my tank we talk about the bikes, our route and soccer match of the night before. In the corner of the garage is a black car. Inside are two bearded Italians with huge sunglasses. One of the young guys runs back and forth to them, seemingly to report about the two motorcycle riders from ‘Ollanda’.

Once I want to pay, the guy looks at the men in the black car. Only after a nod from the guy in the passenger seat, does he accept my money. It is unclear what that nod exactly meant, but we pay the price that was on the board and then leave (with all our belongings). I wonder who those guy in the black car were….

The road leads us deeper and deeper into the city centre of Naples. Through a run down part of town where people obviously do not have a lot of money to spend. What is striking is the large amount of waste that is everywhere. Especially in the suburbs the waste was piled up high against the houses next to the road. After more than 1,5 tiring hours we finally hit the main highway and drive out of the city at full speed to leave Naples behind us.

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We drive higher into the hills. The hotel that we booked for the night is an ’Agriturismo’, a B&B on a farm. The farmhouse is tucked away in the hills. At some point, the GPS points us toward a very steep and very narrow path up the hill. We drive up in first gear, honking in every corner and hoping there will not be any oncoming traffic.

It will be difficult to stop here without dropping the bike. The road continues into a village and gets even more narrow. Just before we ride through a little tunnel, I get off the bike to ask for directions. A lady assures us that this is the right way to the farmhouse. Here and there small cars are parked. If they made it here, so will we! We ride on, while the road becomes even more steep, until we see that the road turns into a staircase in the distance. That is not good! We will not be able to cross that with the bikes! We get off and look for another person to get directions from. It then turns out that the staircase does go to the farmhouse, but that there is another route around the staircase as well. Great!

After only five minutes, we park in the yard of the Agriturismo. It looks fantastic. In the field are fruit trees and vegetables. We hear geese, cows and sheep. We are warmly welcomed and taken to a beautiful room overlooking the hills and the sea in the distance. After we have freshened up, we have dinner at the restaurant. We are the only guests and enjoy a truly great Italian meal. The Italians surely love their food! After a long, tiring ride through the city, we get to bed early. Tired but happy.

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The next morning we enjoy a lovely breakfast of fresh bread, home-made jam, peach juice, fruit and pieces of cake. There is a small table right in front of the window to the kitchen where the cook is working. We see him making fresh pasta for that night. Wish we could stay for another lovely dinner, but we have a ferry to go to.

From the farmhouse it is another 60 kilometres to Salerno. From there we will take the ferry to Sicily later that evening. After a lovely relaxed morning, we leave the farm and ride an absolutely fabulous road along the Amalfi Coast. The coastal road is considered one of the most beautiful in the world. The area is even on the World Heritage List of UNESCO. And indeed, it is very beautiful. The sun is shining while we follow the winding road, stopping now and then to take some pictures. It is not busy at all, but what would you expect on a Friday afternoon in December. Life is great!

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As dusk falls, we arrive in Salerno and find a place in the parking lot at the harbour. While we are there for a while, the parking lot slowly fills with packed cars. The boat we take to Palermo only makes a quick stop there before it continues to Tunis. The packed cars belong to Tunisians that are going on holiday to Tunisia. All cars have a huge amount of stuff on the roof. In some cases the pile on the roof is as large than the car itself. They take all sorts of things; chairs, tables, cabinets, bicycles and even scooters. The pile is held together by a piece of tarpaulin with a rope around it. The stuff that does not fit in the car, is tied to the rope and dangles behind the car. Each of the cars in very low in its suspension, almost touching the ground. It is a miracle these cars were even able to drive to the harbour.

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At 21:30 the first packed cars are allowed through the gate, to the ferry. As we only go to Palermo, we will have to get off the ferry first. This also means that we can only get on the ferry last. Eventually we are allowed through the gate and onto the ferry well after 23:00. We strap down our bikes with the help of the friendly staff and find a place to sleep on the boat. We did not book a cabin, but chose to sit in the ’Luxury Chairs’. It is not very busy, so we both lie down transversely on a row of chairs and try to get some sleep.

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After a very short night on our bumpy beds, we eat some cakes for breakfast and watch Sicily become bigger and bigger on the horizon. Two hours later than planned, we disembark in Palermo. The GPS shows us in the direction of the hotel in Santa Flavia. It is Saturday morning and it is busy in the streets, especially with people who are getting their weekend groceries. We drive through the main streets with fruit stalls on both sides of the road, almost blocking the street. We arrive at the hotel in the beginning of the afternoon and lie down for a long deep sleep. We both need to catch up. We get only get of of our beds to get some food.

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The next day, we go for a ride around Sicily. The villages are now empty, a huge contrast to the day before. We drive inland from the coast, through rugged and steep mountains and along picturesque villages. Everything is still green and even still in bloom, beautiful! Everywhere we go we see stalls selling fruit and vegetables. Even now, in December, we can get everything we would want to eat.

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After a much too short visit to Sicily, we head for the harbour again the next day to take the ferry to Tunis. When we arrive at the harbour, we see a long row of battered old cars with huge packs on the roof. That should be the queue for the ferry to Tunis! The cars that are lined up, have even bigger piles on them that the cars we saw in Salerno. Not only chairs, cabinets and scooters, but now also washing machines and refrigerators are ties onto the roof. After a long wait of more than four hours, we are the first passengers that are allowed onto the ship. We strap our bikes down for the trip to Tunis. This time we did book a nice little cabin with a private bathroom. A very good decision, because while the cars are still being loaded onto the ferry below decks, we crawl into our bunk bed and dream about what is to come: Africa!

Distance travelled to Sicily: 2,663 km (1,655 miles)

We are in Africa!
 

After our night in the bunk bed on the ferry, we wake up well rested the next morning. Freshly showered, we go out to look for a cup of coffee. When we leave our cabin and go to the front desk we immediately notice how busy it already is. Even though the ferry will only arrive in Tunis in a couple of hours, dozens of people have already come to the front desk ready to leave the ferry.

As we walk further, we find people sleeping everywhere. Men and women of all ages and even families with young children, everyone is in the corridors of the ferry, on chairs and benches, on the floor in the elevator and even in the ball room of the children’s paradise. The one on a mattress with a blanket, but the other just under a coat. When we go up the stairs we have to step over people sleeping to go out.

After a tour on the boat and a cup of coffee, we go back to our cabin. At the reception it is even more crowded with waiting passengers now. All of them with at least three large bags, too heavy to lift. If after a while we have to leave our cabin, the area at the front desk is so full of people and suitcases that we can not even go there. We put our stuff in the hallway and wait patiently until we can get off the boat. Given the expected arrival time this could still take another hour. Passengers leaving the huts around us seem to be mostly wealthy Tunisians. We were clearly on the better part of the boat.

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From the area at the front desk a staircase and an escalator go down to the exit. The escalator is not moving yet, they are awaiting the moment when the boat has stopped. One passenger after another tries to skip the line and find a good place on the stairs or the escalator. A hilarious sight because they also want to take their too heavy bags with them. People are crawling over each other and handing each other the bags over the heads of others. All this while we are still not able to get off the boat.

The number of people in the reception area is still growing. The Italian staff of the boat, led by the only blond guy on the ferry, tries to make people wait in line to end the chaos. That seems to work out OK, until the moment when the escalator starts moving in the wrong direction! The escalator runs smoothly upwards, taking all the passengers who were already on the escalator with their suitcases upstairs, to the already crowded front desk. Everyone falls over each other, suitcases are piling up, babies are crying, men are screaming, the chaos is complete.

After a while, when the crowd finally moves towards the exit, we join them to the lower deck of the ferry. The doors of the ferry are already open and the bikes have already been loosened. If we have tied all the stuff on the bikes we can ride off the boat first, before al the cars. We zigzag between the passengers that leave the boat by foot.

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We drive into a large empty hall, with several booths at the front. Next to one of the booths are two men in a uniform. They point out where we can park the bikes and ask for our papers. Everything is in French, which I can luckily understand. We hand in the document that we had filled out on the ferry. They ask us about our route, stamp our papers and send us through. We pass the police and drive into another large hall. In this hall are even more men in uniform, telling us where to park.

A man, without an uniform, gives us a document we have to fill out. He is giving instructions and says he will arrange it for us. We have seen that before, at the border in Morocco. These “helpers” or “fixers” help you with the formalities and make sure you get the right stamps. They do ask a fee for their services. This time we do not want to use their services. As everyone speaks French, and I can make myself understood clearly in French, we will first try it ourselves. We will be using fixers in other countries, especially where we do not speak the language.

When we have completed the documents we give them to one of the men in uniform. He looks at our passports and papers and wants to see where the serial number on the bike is. Then he asks Peter to open his bags. The man rummages through one of the bags roughly and says it is OK. He did not even look into the other bags. He scribbles something on one of the papers and sends me to a ticket window. Once there, the lady sends me to another ticket window because we are still missing one important stamp. I find the right office, get the stamps and am back at her ticket window. She is very helpful and explains exactly what documents we need.

In accordance with her instruction we give a number of documents to the officials at customs, another document to the police and we keep one document in our pocket. An hour after we got off the ferry, we drive away from the compound, into Tunisia. We are in Africa!

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On the way to the center of Tunis, we are warmly welcomed by people who drive up in their car next to us, honking their horn, giving us thumbs up or shouting out of the window. The hotel we booked is in the middle of the city on the Avenue Habib Bourguiba, one of the main shopping streets. It looks like Paris, a wide street with a green strip in the middle and along the entire route a sidewalk with cafes. All terraces are full, it is very crowded. This while it is half three in the afternoon on a Tuesday, it could have been a Saturday. We immediately notice how fashionable everyone is dressed. The one is even more beautiful than the other. It gives us even more the idea that we are in Paris.

We quickly find the hotel. We can park the bikes in the garage under the hotel. The hotel is close to the “medina” of Tunis, which is the old part of town that consists of a maze of small streets with shops. We decide to go there before it is dark. If we are on the way there, we are approached by a guy who claims to know us from our hotel. (Strange for we had not seen him there). He happily tells us all about Tunisia, Tunis, and the history of the medina. He also tells us that today is a holiday, which explains why it was so crowded in the street. He is on his way home, but can bring us to a lookout point in the medina. Fine, why not.

He leads us deeper and deeper into the medina. We are led to a souvenir shop where we would have a stunning view over Tunis. Once we are on the roof after climbing five flights of stairs, we are indeed rewarded with a magnificent view of Tunis. The sun is down and the sound of the muezzin calling for prayer sounds from the minarets.

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Back in the shop, the sellers directly approach us with all sorts of goods. Before we know it, Peter is sitting on the bed of the sultan. Just before we get a demonstration of carpets, we managed to leave the store. Behind us we hear: “Look, look, no buy.” We again honour our reputation as Dutchies.

The guy, Ahmed, leads us further through the medina. We are not surprised if he leads us into the perfume shop of his ’father’. As a professional salesman he begins a story about how the perfume is extracted from the flowers. After some time we manage to leave the shop, again without buying any perfume. Ahmed walks with us to the beginning of the street and then points in the direction we need to go. Let’s hope that we can find our way back in the maze of streets.

In the beginning the streets and shops are still familiar to us, but after some time we do not recognize anything anymore. We walk a bit further, trusting our internal compass, but then decide to ask directions. It appears we are not really close to our hotel and have to walk a great distance to get there. When we finally arrive at the hotel, we sit down for diner in a small restaurant that is clearly not set up for tourists. Tunisian cuisine is great. We first get a plate with olives, olive oil and harissa. The latter is a Tunisian hot red sauce of peppers, tomatoes, cumin, coriander and garlic. The pasta and couscous we then eat is also full of peppers. It is delicious!

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Now we are in Tunisia, we would like to camp. It should be warm enough to sleep in a sleeping bag and it would lower our expenses.The next day we find a campsite in Nabeul, a small 100km (62 miles) from Tunis. For the first time this trip, we put up our tent underneath the orange trees on the property. A beautiful spot. We arrived early, so we have enough time for a walk on the nearby beach. It ‘s quite windy and chilly, but delicious. We are amazed by the large amount of trash on the beach. There is not just trash that has washed up, the beach is clearly used as a landfill.

That night we eat a delicious, home-cooked pasta and we crawl into our trusting sleeping bags. We hope to be able to camp a lot more the coming days. On the internet we find the addresses of two campsites a little further south near Sousse. We pack up the next morning and head south. We drive along the coast for a long time. The beach is not wide and right next to a marshy land with vegetation and stagnant water. The road runs right next to it. Again there is a lot of garbage next to the road. Sometimes neatly in piles as sheared from the tailgate of the pickup. The orchards of olive trees are strewn with plastic bags, which are spread by the wind.

We take a tour through the inlands, away from the sea. The landscape changes immediately. It is gentler and dryer. We drive along olive groves, where a row of cactuses serves as a fence. Here and there sheep are grazing, always with a sheep herder dressed in brown. We pass several villages where the most beautiful building is the mosque, with a high minaret that you can see from far away.

At the beginning of the afternoon we arrive in Sousse, a city where many tourists stay in the summer. It’s crowded in the city. The skills we have gained in the Italian traffic are of much use now. It is a game of giving way and taking it. After we have driven through the busy city for half an hour, we find the spot where a campsite should be. We only find a very crowded hostel. We decide to drive to Monastir where another campsite should be.

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When we enter Monastir we are immediately pleasantly surprised by the view. It is a much smaller city than Sousse, along a slightly elevated rocky coast. If the GPS indicates that have arrived at the campsite, we only see a dirty beach and a playground. No camping. It now is too late to search for another campsite, so we check into a hotel. We are very warmly welcomed at Hotel Mezri. The receptionist immediately comes out to open the garage to do so we can park the bikes inside. We decide to stay two nights and visit the village and the mausoleum of the first president of Tunisia the next day.

After two relaxed days in Monastir, we once again attempt to find a campsite. On the Internet we have read enthusiastic stories about Camping El Kahena near Sfax. We drive on a fairly busy main road to the south. Although we drive relatively fast, we are regularly overtaken by even faster cars. Some cars remain next to us for a while, to get a closer look. Others overtake us so tightly that we have to brake not to touch them. We have to pay attention constantly. We catch up with most fast cars each time we enter a village and have to slow down for the many steep thresholds.

By noon we see a man with three baguettes come out of a building. We have not eaten yet and stop to buy bread and water. On the outside of the building you cannot see there is a shop. We only see a door with a blue awning with on the concrete sidewalk some plastic baskets and coiled garden hoses. When I enter, I look at the friendly face of a lady and a girl that could be her daughter. It is definitely a shop. On the floor in front of the counter are sacks of rice and spices.

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On the shelves behind the counter is all kinds of stuff; detergent, toothpaste, pasta sauce, jam, etc. On the counter there are jars with candies and a calculator that serves as a cash register. I ask for a loaf of bread and a bottle of water. If I want to pay, the lady put a pack of juice on the counter. I can take it for free for on the road. When I have paid, she gives me too much change back and says it is OK. After I have thanked her warmly and all stuffed the juice, water and bread in my bags, they wave us goodbye as we drive away. Another special meeting.

At the end of the afternoon, the GPS indicates that we should leave the main road to the left, towards the sea. The road is getting smaller and changes into a sandy path. It has clearly been raining that day because there are deep puddles of water everywhere. We stop to ask directions to the campsite. A group of construction workers tell us to ride further to the sea. When we arrive, we see no camping. We again ask directions. A guy point to the rights and tells us to look out for a high building. Not much later we drive onto the compound of camping El Kahena. The owner and his wife are already awaiting us. We suspect that they had been informed of our arrival by telephone by the people in the village. The garage is opened and just before it starts raining very hard we park the bikes.

The owner shows us that he also has rooms with sea view for a good price. With the rain pouring now, the choice is easy: the tent stays in our bags again. That evening we enjoy a truly delicious meal, cooked by the wife of the owner. Dinner is served in a huge dining room where one table is covered especially for us, the only guests in the hotel. After dinner, we are invited for tea and talk with the owner about Tunisia, its customs and habits. He advises us to drive to the island of Djerba just off the coast of Tunisia.

The next morning we start the bikes a little earlier than the last days, so we can make it to Djerba before dusk. It is about 300 km (186 miles) on a busy road. Even now, we are often overtaken and have to be very careful. It is a very strenuous ride. At some point we pass dozens of stalls selling souvenirs on the side of the road. Each stall is numbered and sells about the same: shells, stuffed camels for kids, dates and wicker baskets. We suspect that tourist buses stop here during the summer for necessary purchases. Now, the stalls are visited by Tunisians.

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A bit further there suddenly is a great number of dead sheep along the side of the road. For over a kilometre, we pass restaurant after restaurant with on their terraces dead sheep hung on their hind legs with a red spot on the ground. The sheep are ready to be roasted on the barbecue that is smoking just next to them. If we stop to take a picture, one of the guys lifts a dead sheep over his head. Then he wants have his picture taken with Peter. It is a remarkable sight, BBQ street .

The remainder of the day we drive along groves filled with olive trees. The landscape is changing the further we drive south. We are seeing more and more palm trees, sandy plains covered with low bushes. This is especially so when we get off the main road to go to the island of Djerba.

To reach the island, we have to take the ferry. We are waved through by the police, who indicate we should pass the cars that are already wanting for the boat. We park in front of the row. On the ferry we attract a lot of attention. Young guys with scooters come to have a chat about the engine size and the tires. A group of children and their mother and grandmother are looking at the helmet with the microphones. Especially when Peter walks away and we keep talking to each other through to headset they laugh heartily. The grandmother, a beautiful woman with very pretty gowns and black Henna hands, comes to look at the GPS and then reports to her grandchildren. Very cool.

In Djerba we have spend a few days in a hotel to spend Christmas. A break in our journey. At first is was raining all day, but the storm is going down and the sun has emerged again. Meanwhile, we hear the first planes arrive with tourists who spend the holidays here in the sun.

Distance travelled to Djerba: 3,405 km (2,116 miles)

Welcome to Libya!
 

Ever since we applied for the visas I had butterflies in my stomach from the idea that we would go to Libya. The media reports on Libya are not exactly positive. The revolution in 2011 has ensured that Gaddafi no longer controls the country and that Libya is open to the world now. However, the new government is not in full control yet and different groups try to disrupt things on a regular basis. Especially around Benghazi incidents occur regularly, of which foreigners have been victim as well.

The butterflies in my stomach steadily increased as we got closer to the Libyan border. Every day Peter and I would discuss the route that we could ride in Libya, but also alternative routes that we could take to avoid Libya and perhaps even Egypt all together. We followed the news about Libya closely and saw that mid-December a bomb had exploded at a police checkpoint just out of Benghazi.

The travel advice from the Dutch Ministry of Foreign Affairs was further tightened on December 23. They advised against travelling to Benghazi and against ’non-essential’ trips to other parts of the country. The travel advice of the British Government was even more negative, with almost the entire country coloured red and only certain areas along the coast where one could travel.

Peter felt OK about the challenge of going to Libya, but I did not really feel up for it. On 24 December on the island of Djerba in Tunisia we drove to the airport in the pouring rain to get information about flying to Egypt or Sudan. We would drive back to Tunis, have a crate made for the bikes and fly from Tunis to Cairo or Khartoum with the bikes. A long detour and a lot of hassle, but maybe a lot safer.

At the same time we had contact by email with our contact person in Libya, Masoud. He had helped to get the visas and could tell us more about the current security situation in Libya. He assured us that the media create a very negative image of Libya, but that life in Libya is normal as in any other African country. The disturbances were an internal matter and not aimed at travellers. He let us know that he was expecting two other motorcycle riders with whom we might ride together to the Egyptian border. He also referred us to the websites of other motorcycle travellers who had previously ridden through Libya. Each of them with very positive stories.

Our visas were valid until December 28. If we would to go to Libya, we would do so on December 27, so we would have no problems with expiring visas. We decided to drive from Djerba to Ben Guardane (Tunisia), from which town is would be a 30km (18 miles) drive to the border with Libya. In Ben Guardane a final decision would have to be taken.

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The sun is shining as we drive away from our hotel in Djerba on Boxing Day. There is a lot of wind and despite the sun is quite chilly. The intercom is open, but neither of us says a word. My thoughts are with the decision that has to be taken. I think about the list of “pro’s” and “con’s” that I had made the night before and hope that I will find the solution.

For the first time this trip we are stopped at a police checkpoint. We show our passports and answer questions about our itinerary and our stay in Tunisia. They let us through, but a few kilometres we are again requested to stop at a checkpoint. This time the passports are not enough, they want to inspect our bags. So be it. One by one we both open our bags after which the police, boys in their early twenties, search our bags. If the bags with our clothes and our cooking pans are studied, they apologize: “Sorry, this is my job. Welcome in Tunisia, I hope you have a good time.” After fifteen minutes all the bags are shut and we continue our route to Ben Guardane.

Around noon we ride into Ben Guardane. We are looking for petrol, an ATM and a hotel. I am lost in my thoughts while searching for my wallet when I hear Peter say: “Look next to you”. When I look up there are two fully packed BMW bikes parked next to us with British number plates. The tough motorcycle goggles and helmets go off and we shake hands with Billy and Ross. They are on their way from London to Cape Town and want to drive through Libya to Egypt. These are the two motorcycle travellers about whom Masoud, our contact in Libya, had told us.

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It is always nice to meet other motorcycle travellers, but this time my heart made a little jump. The idea that we could possibly ride part of the route together with them is strangely enough reassuring. When I look at Peter I remember the words of his father: “A solution will show itself.” When it turns out that Billy and Ross do not mind that we ride with them across the border and into Libya, the decision is made: We are going to Libya. I inform Masoud by SMS that we will cross the border that same day, together with other motorcycle riders. With new energy, we ride to the Tunisian-Libyan border.

It is not busy when we arrive at the Tunisian border early in the afternoon. We can immediately drive to one of the booths and before we know it we all have a stamp in our passport to leave the country. We then have to wait until we also receive a stamp to export our bikes again. Unfortunately It is lunch time, so only after more than an hour we get our passports back with a stamp for the bikes. We can finally move on, to the Libyan border.

On the Libyan side of the border, we are awaited by Masoud. He welcomes us warmly and asks for our passports. He will arrange for us to get the right stamps in order to enter the country. While we are waiting, a car stops next to us. An elderly man runs his window. He asks Peter where we come from and where we are going . Then he starts laughing and calling loudly “Hollanda? Welcome to my country! Welcome to Libyaaaa” Also from other cars that pass us it sounds “Welcome“, “Welcome to Libya, thank you for visiting.” A warm welcome!

On the Libyan side of the border the bikes have to be registered again. Masoud takes Billy and me in his car across the border to withdraw money and buy insurance for the bikes. In the meanwhile Peter and Ross stay with the bikes, which are parked in front of the office of customs. The office of the insurance company only consists of a counter, a desk with a computer and some chairs. Billy and I sit on the chairs while Masoud talks to the guy from the insurance company about the details of the bikes. The bank was closed and the ATM was not working, but Masoud came to the rescue by paying the cost of the insurance (40 Libyan Dinar per bikes) for us. We could repay him later.

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With the insurance in our hand, we drive back to Peter and Ross. They have made new friends at the customs. Ross gets his first lessons Arabic from a man who points at parts of the bikes, then says the Arabic word, after which Ross writes down the words phonetically in a little brown book. Although we were told not to take any pictures at the border, the men want to take pictures themselves. Every one of them pulls out a phone after which an extended photo session follows. In the mean time Masoud is in another office trying to get us Libyan plates (which he also paid for). Our familiar yellow plate is covered with a white plate with green Arabic numbers on it.

After all formalities are completed, we ask Masoud directions to the hotel in Sabratha which Ross and Billy had already booked. A hotel is out of the question, tonight we are Masouds guests and we will sleep at his house in Zuwara, at about 60km (36 miles) from the border. “You follow me” he says. At high speed and with his hazard lights on he rides in front of us to Zuwara. We can only just keep up with him. As the evening sets in, we park the bikes on a sandy area along the sea at a cafe. The music in the cafe is loud, in front of the window Christmas lights flash and in the back room a group of boys is playing pool. At the bar they sell coffee and in the fridge next to it is are only sodas. Libya is officially alcohol free, alcohol is prohibited. 

Masoud pulls some tables together and takes our order. We eat spaghetti, salad and a plate of fries. Meanwhile Masoud tells about the revolution, the current situation in Libya and the travellers that he helped with their route through Libya before.

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After dinner we drive to the home of Masoud his family. The large metal door opens so we can park the bikes in the courtyard. It is a large house with a huge wooden staircase in the hall, a room for the male guests, several bedrooms, bathrooms and a kitchen. The house is empty. His parents and brothers live elsewhere and only come to the house for family gatherings. Masoud laughs at our stunned reaction and explains that Libya is a big country, so they build big houses, preferably more than one .

With the map of Africa on the floor, we discuss the route we want to drive with Masoud. The plan is to first ride through Tripoli to Khoms to visit the Roman city of Leptis Magna. After that we want to drive in one day to Ras Lanuf, so that we can pass Sirte (The town of Gaddafi) without having to stop there. Then we drive a short distance to Ajdabiya, after which we drive to Tobruk through the desert the next day. The latter mainly to avoid Benghazi and Damah because we those cities seem that have the most problems at this point. Masoud immediately grabs his phone to call contacts in Khoms and Ajdabiya that can help us to find a hotel there.

After we have discussed the route, we again talk about Libya, the revolution, the current situation and the future. It is clear to us that the revolution has done the country good, since the people are no longer at the mercy of the whims of Gaddafi. In the past it could happen that Gaddafi , if he had a quarrel with the U.S., would decide to ban all studies English and burn all English books. He could also decide to place a wall in front of the ocean if he felt that the people did not need the sea. Freedom is best seen in the fact that everyone has access to every conceivable news source now and thus to the rest of the world. It is extraordinary to hear how valuable that is.

Proudly Masoud tells us about all the wonderful things that Libya has to offer. Not only Leptis Magna is worth a visit. In the desert there are many special places worth visiting, including ancient rock art. Also Libya has some really well preserved pyramids. It is clear that he can not wait until he can show all that beauty to other tourists as soon as the country is safe enough to do so.

At the same time you can taste the frustration about the fact that it takes the new government a long time to organize the country. There is still no police force, which means that many rules are violated without any consequences. Things that seem simple to us, like having a bank account and transfer money are hardly possible in Libya. Everyone, including Masoud , carries a lot of cash on them. Because the banks were closed and many ATMs did not work, we exchange our dollars to him for Tunisian dinars. We pay him back for the insurance and license plates. If we want to pay for dinner he puts his hand on his hard and smiles: “You are my guests, it ‘s my pleasure. Welcome to Libya.”

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We crawl into our bed early that night. Although we did not ride a long distance today, it was a tiring day, especially with the tension of the border crossing. Before we go to sleep, we talk about how special it was that we met in Ben Guardane that day. It Peter and I had not stopped to fill up, or had not been stopped by the Tunisian police, or had not turned left in Ben Guardane, we would not have met. It do not believe this was a coincidence, there is a reason why we had to meet Billy and Ross.

When we put our stuff on the bike the next morning, Masoud points us to the kitchen. The kitchen table is set for four with yogurt, fruit, olives, harissa, bread, cheese, milk and jam. On the stove a pot of hot water is boiling for tea and coffee. The hospitality of Masoud has no limits. After breakfast, he starts his car and escorts us to the outskirts of Zuwara to the road to Tripoli. Again at high speed and with his lights out, he leads us through the city. Just outside the city, he stops to say goodbye. It feels as if we say goodbye to one of our best friends even though we had never even seen him less than 24 hours ago. We promise to keep in touch and to call if we need anything.

We continue our way to Tripoli. It is a busy road where everyone rides at very high speed. We had already been warned for the poor driving skills in Libya and the Libyans live up to the expectation. I regularly hear Peter warn me over the intercom for ’low flying cars”.

The road is in good condition and we make good progress. Alongside the road we see a lot of building sites. Homes are repaired or rebuilt. Here and there an entire new neighbourhood is build. What is also striking is the huge number of flags. After the revolution Libya has a new flag, which you now find everywhere. Painted on walls, garages, street lights and traffic signs but also proudly flapping on buildings and cars.

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The closer we get to Tripoli, the busier it is, until at some point we are stuck in traffic. We attract quite a bit of attention with the bikes. Everywhere we here “Welcome to Libya” while they gives us thumbs up of make a ’V’ for Victory with their hands. A car pulls up next to Ross. The driver asks him to stop. When all of us are alongside the road, the man explains that he would like to introduce us to the Chairman of the Libyan Motorcycle federation. We follow his big BMW-car to the centre of Tripoli, while manoeuvring between the traffic at high speed .

We stop in a residential area in Tripoli and are introduced to Masaud, “President of the Lybian Motorcycling Federation”. He talks to us about his motorcycles, the motorcycle club of Tripoli, the Libyan Motorcycle Federation and his visit to The Hague at a conference of the FIA. While we are talking, more and more people join. There is another photo shoot. They propose to contact people in the cities that we will still visit. Before we know it, they are calling their contact and have Ross talk to a Libyan motorcyclist who has just completed a tour through twenty countries in Europe.

They want to show us the city of Tripoli. We again drive back behind the large BMW, while one of the other guys stops all traffic for us by putting his car in front. We park on the main square of Tripoli. Masaud talks about Libya and the revolution. Once again it becomes clear how proud everyone is on their country and how much they want tourists to visit it. More and more people join us to say hello. They ask where we come from, where we are going and what we think of Libya. They thank us for visiting and ask us to come again.

When we are about the leave, Peter is stopped by a man who asks him to wait. He wants to give him something. He walks to his car and comes back with a Libyan flag. If he Peter hands over the flag to Peter he says: “Welcome to Libya my friend!”

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We follow the BMW out of the city. They waive us goodbye only after we have promised to call it we need anything. With some delay we continue our route to Khoms. We still want to visit Leptis Magna before it gets dark. When we arrive in Khoms we call Salah. We had received his phone number from Masoud from Zuwara. Salah would be able to help us to find a hotel. We finally find him at the entrance of Leptis Magna where he had been waiting for a long time already. It appears now that, before he can bring us to a hotel, he will give us a tour around Leptis Magna. We park our bikes and follow Salah to the entrance. “Welcome to Libya and thank you for visiting” we hear from the booth after which we receive two free tickets.

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For more than two hours, Salah leads us through Leptis Magna. He has over ten years as a guide and knows a lot about the site. It is beautiful. Especially the amphitheater (which was built by Emperor Nero around 60AC) is incredibly impressive to see. It must have been impressive to fight wild animals and other gladiators on the floor in front of a crowd of 16,000 screaming spectators. Also the theater was very special. Everything had been preserved so good. The buildings were hidden for years under a thick layer of desert sand . Only in the early 20 of the nineteenth century the first structures were discovered, uncovered and restored . Up until now only the most most important objects have been uncovered More than 60% of the city is still hidden under the sand. Salah said that his biggest wish is that he is still alive as the rest of the city is exposed.

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After a very special day in Tripoli and Khoms at Leptis Magna, we ask Salah for directions to a hotel. But again the Libyan hospitality is shown when Salah invites us to stay with him.

Part II on Libya, including the stay at Salah follow soon!

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You are brave to enter a country in a kind of controlled chaos! I know, not the entire country, but sometimes these places can go downhill quickly leaving outsiders like you stranded inside. Just keep an extra ear out for trouble! And enjoy yourself!!

The same but very different
 

Before we ride to Salahs house, we first follow him to a restaurant to get some food. Due to the meeting in Tripoli earlier that day and the unexpected tour of Leptis Magna we did not eat anything for lunch. A little hungry we park the bikes in front of the restaurant where we are warmly welcomed by Mohammed, a friend of Salah. As soon as we get inside, the boys are directed to the toilet. When I want to follow them, Salah and Mohammed redirect me to the second floor. One of the guys from the restaurant runs after me and hands over a box of tissues. Once upstairs, I realize I am in the secluded area of ​​the restaurant which is especially for the women. It is a large room with plastic tables and chairs and a bathroom in the corner. It is not customary for men and women to enjoy their meals in the same room. When women are travelling, if they can, they usually sit in these areas separated from the men.

Downstairs it appears that it is not a problem for me now to join the guys for dinner. We order spaghetti and couscous and also get salad and a plate of fries. Mohammed and Salah sit at our table and tell us about their views on Libya, the revolution and the security situation. They both express the wish that tourism will flourish and tourists come to Libya to visit Leptis Magna and all the other wonderful things. Again it is clear how proud they are of Libya.

There is so much food on the table that we can only just empty our plates. If Billy has managed to empty his entire plate of spaghetti, Muhammad calls one of the guys from the kitchen. Before he knows it a new full plate of spaghetti is in front of Billy. Although he is trying hard to refuse the second plate of spaghetti, they insist that he accepts it. He had already eaten enough, but he nevertheless attempts to eat all of the spaghetti.

After dinner we are offered tea, after which there is a photo session. Both Salah and Muhammad, and also boys from the kitchen, get their phone to take pictures. We make over 10 group photos.
When we want to pay the bill, we fail to pay all of the food as Muhammad gives us a huge discount. Salah does not want to receive anything for his work as a guide at Leptis Magna either. While we finally walk out the door to the bikes, we are each given a package of chewing gum. It does not stop!

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It is dark when we drive to Salahs house on the same busy road on which we drove earlier that day. Salah drives with his hazard lights on so we can not lose sight of him, but at the same time he drives so fast that we can only just keep up with him. There are no street lights along the road and it is very dark. I have my extra lights on in order to spot possible cracks and holes in the road. The moment I put the spotlight off because I am afraid to blind Ross (who rides in front of me) I drive straight through a huge pothole. The light is turned on again!

After a while we take a turn, leave the main road en ride onto a dirt road toward some houses. We drive through a metal gate along a small orchard and park our bikes in front of Salahs house. Although the gate will close at night, he asks us to lock the bikes and to get all of our stuff from the bikes. The men are led to the second floor of the building and take all the stuff from the bikes with them. When I want to go in the same direction Salah stops me. It takes a minute before I understand that I am not meant to get upstairs with the guys. I need to stay downstairs with his sister. Even when we say that Peter and I are married and we have no objection against sharing a room with Billy and Ross share, Salah indicates that I should stay with his sister. I follow Salah downstairs towards his sister.

I put my dirty motorcycle boots outside with the other shoes at the door. When the door opens, I enter a large room and meet a small stocky woman. She wears a long skirt, a thick woollen shawl and a black headscarf. She smiles, takes me in and calls the other ladies. From the kitchen two smiling women appear who thoroughly study me. They invite me to sit in a room with a television, that is on loud. The floor is carpeted and along the walls there are several mattresses on which they sit. I am still wearing my dirty bike gear and explain that I would like to change first before I sit down. They ask how I became so dirty. When I explain that I did not arrive in a car but on a bike one of them runs straight to the door to see it. When she is at the door she reports to the other ladies on the motorbike and the men that are standing outside. It is a pity that I do not speak Arabic, because what she said must have been quite funny. The other two ladies are bent with laughter.

Once they have understood that I want to change, one of them calls Salah. He takes me upstairs to the bathroom. It has a lock on the door so I should be able to change clothes there. Once upstairs, the guys tell me that they are going out with Salah. He will take them to a coffee shop. It is immediately clear that this is not an activity for ladies, so I decide to spend the evening with the sister of Salah. We’ll see about sleeping later.

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With a clean outfit I walk back into the house on my socks to the TV room. I take a seat on one of the mattresses on the floor. I am given fresh fruit juice and a bowl of chocolates. If I wait to drink until the rest of them also has a drink they look puzzled. Once they understand that I am waiting for them, they make clear that I should not await them. They then stay in the room beside me until the entire glass is empty and I have put at least one chocolate in my mouth.

Soon thereafter one of the women carries a tray of food inside. On the tray is a large bowl of soup and several small bowls with salad, fried cauliflower and fries. One of the other ladies brings in a plastic bucket and a kettle of hot water which she pours over my hands so I can wash my hands. I am asked to sit with them and eat. I try to make them understand that I have already eaten a delicious spaghetti at Mohammeds restaurant and am not really hungry any more. But no matter how I try, they insist that I eat. One of the ladies pinches my side and makes it clear that she thinks that I am a bit skinny and therefore could use a little food, to the great amusement of the others.

We sit on the floor around the large round bowl with food. The son of eight of one of them also shares our meal. I am given a spoon for the soup and a fork, though I can see right away that they also eat with their hands. They only use their right hand. The left hand is the “dirty hand” and not meant for eating. All of us eat from the same big bowl of soup, dip our bread in it and eat the fries, salad and cauliflower. It is delicious and although I am not really hungry, I do my best to taste everything. I ask if I can take a picture. I am allowed to make a picture, but only of the food and not of them. The captured image again prompts many jokes that I -unfortunately- cannot understand. The fun is not any less.

When everyone is finished eating and they also feel that I have eaten enough, the large tray is taken to the kitchen and replaced by a smaller tray with bananas, oranges and tangerines. One of the ladies peel the oranges, while another is peeling peanuts. The third deals with the tea. In the room is a pot of glowing charcoal on which a blackened teapot is sizzling. I keep getting oranges. When I have eaten 2.5 orange I am allowed to stop. Now it is time for tea. It is very strong, very sweet tea and poured in the cups while holding the teapot very high. It is delicious.

The rest of the evening we try to talk. The atmosphere is relaxed. The veil of one of them goes off and reveals beautiful dark brown hair. With their very limited English, my three words of Arabic, hands and feet we are able to understand each other a bit. They explain to me how old they are, in what way they are related to each other and show pictures of the other family members. I show pictures of home and explain to them that my mother has passed away. It is clear that cancer is also well known to them because we do not even have to translate it, they understand it right away. When it turns out that my father is still alive the three of them simultaneously raise their finger to indicate that they want to marry him. They are roaring with laughter. They also want to know how it is possible that Peter and I have been together for six years but still have no children. One of them pretends to give a kiss and raises her arms to indicate she does not understand. Another lady asks: “Tablet?”. Yes indeed, a tablet ensures that we do not yet have children. From the approving chuckle that follows I understand that they do not think that is such a bad idea.

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After a while they are mostly talking to each other in rapid Arabic. It is unfortunate that I cannot understand them and they do not understand met either. I would really like to know more about them. It seems each one them is a very strong woman with a strong own opinion. I wonder in what way they can express their opinion. And if they work, whether they have seen other parts of Libya or have been in Europe, and much more . At the end of the evening Salah comes back to get me. He tells me that I can share the room with the men. Through Salah I can thank the ladies very much for the nice evening and the delicious food.

Once upstairs I get full report on the evening out of the men. They first drove to a coffeeshop with Salah in his little Toyota Starlet. They bought coffee in the coffeeshop and then took it to a place next door to drink it with friends of Salah. It apparently was delicious coffee with a liqueur of flowers in it. After the coffee they mingled with the Libyans to smoke a water pipe, Shisha. The evening ended with a game of snooker, Libya against the tourists. During the evening, both Peter and Ross had received several phone calls. Masoud (from Zuwara) and Masaud (from Tripoli) had called to ask if everything was okay and if we had arrived in Khoms and Leptis Magna in good order. Peter was called by Mustafa, a contact in Ajdabiya who asked what day we would be arriving. Everybody is looking after us.

That night we said goodbye to Salah and thanked him for his hospitality, after which we quickly fell asleep. The next morning we woke up early again. Today we would drive from Khoms to Ras Lanuf, a distance of over 360km (223 miles). The route leads through Misrata and Sirte. Sirte is the city where Gaddafi was born and where they finally found and killed him also during the revolution. There had been a lot of fighting in that area during the revolution. Several people advised us not to linger in Sirte and only stop for fuel. On the website of the British Ministry of Foreign Affairs part of the route we would ride was ‘red’, which meant that travel in that area was advised against. The plan was to have breakfast, leave early and ride in one go to Ras Lanuf.

We write a card for Salah to thank him for his hospitality and drive away at 08:30 pm. It is raining. That not only means that we get wet, but also that we get very dirty. The sand that is on the road is now mud, which is raised by the cars and bikes to drive in front of me. Also, the rain that falls does not seem to consist of water only. The clouds in the sky are coloured light pink of the dust that has accumulated in the air. As we drive longer, my visor gets more and more dirty up until the point a do not see anything any more. A large part of the route I ride with my visor open to better see oncoming traffic and potholes. After 100km (62 miles) we stop in Misrata at a convenience store along the way to buy food and drink. We can not only buy bread, toppings and drinks, but also drink espresso. Again, we are warmly welcomed. Not only by the staff but also by customers. When we want to pay the espresso is “on the house”. The guy then runs out to give us chairs so we can sit down to have breakfast. Another guy hands over the garden hose so we can clean our helmets. We just keep meeting friendly people.

In the course of the day the sky clears. We drive past the desert and regularly spot camels along the way. Even at a gas station we see a camel, this time in the back of a pickup. We also pass huge oil refineries and see on the map how much oil pipes run from the desert to the coast.
In this part of the country it is clearly visible that there was heavy fighting here during the revolution. Houses are shot, burned or collapsed. There are holes in the asphalt that are clearly caused by exploded grenades. In the afternoon Ross suddenly turns right, while pointing at a huge tank. at the side of the road. We all ride to the tank to check it out. The tires were broken, but other than that the tank was still in pretty good condition, even the engine was still in it. An impressive sight and tangible evidence of the revolution.

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At the end of the afternoon we arrive in Ras Lanuf, a compound of an oil company. On the compound there should be a hotel where we can stay. We are registered by the security guards and taken to the hotel. We park the bikes in front of the door of the hotel. Billy, Ross and I go inside, while Peter remains with the bikes. The people at the reception desk are less friendly than we had experienced so far in Libya. First they said they are full. After a while it turns out they do have one room, but that we cannot share that room. Then it appears that they might have two rooms , but no dinner or breakfast. The price per room is 160 Libyan Dinar (€ 94) , which would mean all our cash would be gone in one go. Just as we are discussing whether we could make it to Ajdabiya in daylight Peter walks in with a man he had met on the parking outside. He introduced himself as Abdul Hamid and asks “Problem?”.

As soon as Abdul Hamid understands how expensive the hotel is, he offers us to stay with him. He lives with his wife and three children just outside Ras Lanuf. He says that we can safely park the bikes at his house and that he has enough room for all of us. We decide to take a chance and follow Abdul Hamid onto a sandy road in the desert to his house. He points to the homes in the area and says that all the houses are owned by his relatives. We park the bikes in the courtyard. He opens the doors of his house and welcomes us warmly. We have two rooms and before we know it in both rooms are mattresses, pillows and blankets. We can also use his shower. His wife and children are not at home yet, but Abdul Hamid will pick them up later.

The rest of the afternoon we hang out in the TV-room. One of the channels shows non-stop English movies. Ross continues his Arabic course with Abdul Hamid and again writes all newly learned words in his brown book. We meet Ali, a cousin of Abdul Hamid and also his neighbour. Ali hands me a packet of tea and says it is really good tea. He insists that I open the package and smell it. After I have done that and have confirmed that it smells nice, I want to give him the tea again. But then he says: “Make tea, you make tea.” Abdul Hamid hears what Ali says and as he lies on the floor watching TV then points to the kitchen: “Yes you make tea.” I am a bit stunned. For Ali and Abdul Hamid it clearly is a most natural thing that I, the woman in the company, make tea. If I am going about this slight culture shock, I go into the kitchen in search of water, a teapot and glasses. Abdul Hamid comes in to help me searching, but he does not seem to find them. This is clearly not his domain. I do see the fun of it and eventually make a lovely pot of tea for Billy and myself.

Ali then asks me to accompany him to his house to meet his wife. As a woman, I have the privilege to do so. He would not introduce his wife to Peter, Billy and Ross. I get a tour around their modest house. Ali speaks limited English and it is very difficult to have a normal conversation. At some point he says that he and his wife are in the same situation as Peter and I because they are also together for six years but, like us, have no children. It is clear that the reason we do not have children is very different than the situation of Ali and his wife, but I realize at the same time that this time the language barrier and perhaps also the cultural difference make it impossible of explaining the real reason. Difficult.

They then ask me to take a seat in the living room so Ali can take a picture of me and his wife. His wife gets up and she grabs a box off a shelf. She gives it to me and says something in Arabic to Ali. Ali says that it is a good custom of Libyans and Muslims to give a present to a woman when she visits a home for the first time. When I open it there is a gold coloured watch in it with white stones. I do not know what to say. I do not really want to accept it and explain that it is too big a gift. But they insists that I keep it. When I wear it when I am back in the Netherlands I will think of them. I thank them extensively for the watch and are taken to the house of Abdul Hamid again by Ali.

At the beginning of the evening Ali enters with two large plates with food. Peter and I can eat from the same plate, but it is not good use for me to eat with the other guys. Therefore, there is a separate plate for Peter and me and one for Billy, Ross and Abdul Hamid. We eat delicious rice with some meat and salad.

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After dinner Abdul Hamid takes Billy and Ross to Ras Lanuf to go to the supermarket and to pick up his wife and children. After some time Billy and Ross come back accompanied by the brother of Abdul Hamid, Rahim. Ross tells about their adventures on the way. When they got into Abdul Hamids new Toyota Hilux, Abdul Hamid placed his Kalashnikov in Ross’ lap. Abdul Hamid explained that in the evening many robberies take place by ‘Ali Baba’ and that they mainly steal new Toyota pickups. Because there is no police force set up after the revolution it is every man for himself. The Kalashnikov is the defence. As a precaution they do not stop for any red lights either. Abdul Hamid, Ross and Billy first drive in one go to the secure compound to do some shopping. There Abdul Hamid swapped his new Toyota Hilux with the old beaten car of his brother Rahim. Rahim then took the Toyota with Ross and Billy back home again in one go, while Abdul Hamid went to pick up his wife and children in the old car. Not common practice for us, but apparently the most normal thing in the world of Abdul Hamid and Rahim.

After some time Abdul Hamid came back with his wife and children. He led his wife directly past the TV room inside the house and closed the door to the rest of the house. Again, it is only possible for me to meet his wife. Peter , Billy and Ross are not introduced to her and will not even meet her in the house. The rest of the evening Abdul Hamid sits with us and tells about the revolution, “Ali Baba” and his job. His two eldest children, a girl of six and a boy of four sit with us as well. When he has shown his Kalasnikov to us he asks the girl to safely store the weapon. A special sight how the little girl lifts the heavy gun with two hands to store it away. Almost surreal.

The next morning we are first invited for a full breakfast, with bread, eggs, coffee and juice before we can leave. When I am still packing my bike Abdul Hamid walks up to me with a plastic bag. He hands over a gift his wife wants to give me. The bag holds a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. I thank the wife of Abdul Hamid and put the stuff in my bag.

When we leave, Ali and Abdul Hamid first take us to a petrol station about twenty kilometres from their houses. If we want to pay Abdul Hamid steps forward and pays for the benzine. After we have thanked him extensively, we continue our way to Ajdabiya .

Next up: Part III on Libya, with a report from Ajdabiya to the Libyan border will follow soon.

Unbelievable hospitality
 

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After Abdul Hamid and Ali bought us a full tank of fuel, we went on our way to the east towards Ajdabiya. The area through which we drive is dry with here and there some low vegetation. We again pass many oil refineries that, with access to the Mediterranean Sea, send the ‘black gold’ on to the world.

The signs of the revolution are visible here. Along the way are countless burnt cars, especially pick-ups. The burn marks on the asphalt and the potholes made by bombing mean we have to pay a lot of attention on the road. At some point we see a row of tanks parked on a hill next to the road. It is clear that the tanks are no longer in use and have been put here after the revolution. We drive into the desert to take a closer look. The bullet casings lie scattered in the sand. It is an impressive sight. After an extensive photo shoot with the men in, on, behind and under the tanks, we continue our journey. It is not far to Ajdabiya anymore.

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The further we drive to the east, the more police checkpoints we encounter. At most checkpoint we can just drive on. If they stop us it is usually for a chat, to take pictures or to offer us some food or drinks. Most guys at the checkpoints are very young (“So young that they do not even have to shave”, according to Peter). If they hear our bikes they come running out of their booth while pulling their I-pod from their ears with one hand and putting on their camouflage shirt with the other hand. Only once we are asked for our passports by an older soldier. He also starts questioning us and wants to know whether we know the company that has sponsored us for our visa. The four of us all nod ’yes’.

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When we are stopped at one of the final checkpoints before Ajdabyia two Libyans (not military) walk up to us. “Where Peter?” asks one of them. Peter raises his hand and one of them walks up to him and introduces himself as Hamad. Peter had been in contact with Mustafa from Ajdabiya, whose telephone number he had received from Masoud (Zuwara). When Peter asks where Mustafa is, Hamad answers that Mustafa is a few kilometres further on waiting for us. We follow Hamad and indeed a few kilometres further on Mustafa is waiting for us at the entrance to the War Museum of Ajdabiya. He appears to have studied in Scotland and is now back in Libya since two months. He speaks good English and explains that they would like to show us the museum before we go to a hotel. That seems like a good idea.

We park the bikes inside the fence of the museum and follow Mustafa, Hamad and their friend Fergany to one of the buildings on the site. Within the walls of the building are full of photos of the victims of the revolution. Most of them are “Freedom Fighters” who fought against the Gaddafi regime, but there are also pictures of women and children. In this museum only the victims who were killed in and around Ajdabiya and Benghazi are remembered. Ajdabiya was on of the first cities that revolted against Gaddafi. From there, revolts spread further across the country. In other parts of the country similar memorial walls can be found.

There is a great number of photographs of officers. Each of them soldiers from the army of Gaddafi who switched to the Freedom Fighters. The men tell us amazing stories. About a man who crashed his car full of gas tanks into the entrance of the armory. The car exploded in which the man died, but the gate was open and made sure that the Freedom Fighters were able to obtain weapons. We also see pictures of journalists that have been killed by spies of Gaddafi after they had made reports on ​​the revolution.

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Then the men show us the outside area that is completely filled with tanks, tracked vehicles and burnt pick-ups. There is also a large amount of ammunition. The museum is still under construction and while we take a look at the fleet the main building is still being painted. If we come back to the motorbikes we are given drinks and cakes by the guards of the museum. They are happy that we came to visit the museum.

Although the intention was to stay in a hotel, Hamad lets us know that he will bring us to a farm outside the city. This is safer for us, for the motorbikes and also much more comfortable. We follow the men towards Ajdabiya and park just outside the city in front of a metal gate. When the gate opens we drive into a large tiled courtyard with a beautiful landscaped garden with grass, shrubs and trees. Not a normal sight in an environment that mainly consists of desert sand. The site houses a number of buildings each of which has a bedroom and a bathroom. The main building also has a kitchen.

It turns out to be the weekend house of Hamad. He has a house in the city where he lives with his wife and two kids. His immediate family live in the same neighbourhood in the middle of busy Ajdabiya. On weekends they stay here at the ‘farm’. Hamed explains that the ‘farm’ was used for the organization of the revolution, but was taken over by soldiers of Gaddafi later. The bullet holes in the door are still visible.

Hamad has taken his wife and children to family in Benghazi about 200km(!) away, so he could receive us and show us the city. He turns out to be an exceptionally welcoming host. When we are done unpacking the bikes, there is a table full of delicious food and drinks waiting for us. Crackers, cheese, olives, fruit and all kinds of drinks. As we walk to our bedroom to change even our beds already made. We enjoy the delicious snacks. It is still early in the afternoon, so we have plenty of time to work on the bikes. We are handed a water hose to clean the bikes.

When everyone is done with their work on the bike, the men take us to the city. They want to show us Ajdabiya and get something to eat. Peter and I ask Mustafa if he can bring us to a shop where we can make photocopies of our passports (for the Egyptian border). Furthermore, we ask if we can do some shopping for the next day, on which we will drive over 400km through the desert to Tobruk to avoid Benghazi and Darnah. On that route are no villages and only one gas station halfway. It is however no certainty that they also have fuel, because we have already been to gas stations where they could not help because they had no electricity. So we need to bring both food and extra fuel the next day. If we can already buy that stuff today, we can leave early tomorrow morning so we will arrive in Tobruk before dark. No problem, according to Mustafa, everything can be bought in Ajdabiya.

Peter and I ride along with Hamad and Fergany and Billy and Ross get in with Mustafa. They first take us to a Roman castle. Hamad and Fargany both speak ‘small English‘ as they say, so unfortunately we cannot have extensive conversations with them without help from Mustafa. As always a picture says more than a 1000 words so on the way we look with admiration at the pictures of the daughters of Hamad.

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The tour through the city continues and brings us at a shop for copies of our passports. Hamad enters with Peter and when Peter wants to pay for the copies Hamad steps forward and pays instead. Peter cannot make him change his mind. Then they bring us to a cafeteria in the city. It is a large room with great lounge chairs. We order ’Kentucky chicken’ and get delicious chicken, salad, fries and bread with humus. When I look around I only see men in the restaurant, no women. I actually have to go to the bathroom and see a staircase going up into the corner of the room. Maybe that staircase leads to the women’s section where the ladies normally sit. I walk to Mustafa to ask if the ladies toilet is upstairs. He says that there really are not many women that visit the restaurant, there is no separate bathroom. When I ask if it is appropriate for me to go to the men’s room, he apologizes and lets me know that is not really appropriate. Nevertheless he gets up to ask the staff. After they have verified that the lock on the door works, I can still use the toilet. Great!

After the delicious meal, which we again cannot pay ourselves, we walk back towards the car. Next to the restaurant we see a supermarket. We decide to do some shopping for the next day. Hamad Mustafa and walk with us. If it turns out that we actually only need bread, Mustafa explains we can buy bread the next morning when we go to Tobruk. Fresh bread is perhaps tastier so we leave the shop without bread and with the intention to buy it the next morning. When we are back in the car again, we drive about 500 metros when Hamad stops the car in front of some stores. He gets out and comes back a few minutes later with a large bag full of….bread! As we continue driving, Hamad stops again at some stores. Those stores all sell hardware, like tools and building materials. After we have been to four stores (without Hamad buying something) Peter and I suddenly realize what he is looking for: jerry cans for benzine. Only now we see that Hamad is actually doing our shopping for us!

Hamad ultimately does not succeed to finding the jerrycans. We are glad he did not, because we feel a bit awkward. When we asked for their help in finding the stores, we never meant for them to buy us the stuff we needed.

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When we come back to the ‘farm’ Fergany lights the fire pit. Hamad fills the table with nuts, cakes and drinks. On the fire there is a tea pot with hot water for tea . The remainder of the evening we all sit around the fire and we talk, with translation of Mustafa, with Hamad and Fergany. A lovely evening!!

The next morning at 08:00am we have packed and are ready to leave. But the table is set for breakfast with the bread Hamad bought yesterday. Hamad and Fergany are making tea in the kitchen. We enjoy the great breakfast! When we all had enough to eat and walk back to our bike, on each bike lie two apples, two bananas and two bottles of water for the road. What a host!

In front of our bike a large white Toyota Landcruiser is parked. We notice it is heavily loaded. When we admire the car Hamad shows us that there are two huge 60-liter jerry cans filled with benzine in the back of the car. He managed to get benzine after all. However, these cans are too big to take with us on the bikes. Hamad explains that this is not a problem because he will be going with us! He will ride 200km with us to Tobruk until halfway the desert road. There we will meet his friend, who will take us the next 200km to Tobruk. The fuel in the car is for halfway. We do not know what to say about this infinite hospitality, unbelievable!

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Hamad and Fergany ride in front of us in the Landcruiser and lead us through the busy city of Ajdabiya to the desert road towards Tobruk. After we have done about 20km Hamad parks his car on the side of the road. He says something about a Toyota Hilux, a ‘ friend’ and the police. Unfortunately, we do not understand him. Hamad and Fergany both get out and start calling people. After half an hour, just after Hamad has again spoken on the phone to someone, he gets up again: “It ‘s OK, we go now.” We are not entirely clear yet what was the reason for the break, but we understand that we can go again.

The route we drive is mostly boring. The road is literally a straight line from Ajdabiya to Tobruk without curves. On either side is only desert as far as the eye can see. Our bikes do not have a very strong engine, so we drive at a fixed rate of 90km per hour towards Tobruk. The only distraction is the CD of Ben Howard on my phone that I can listen using my headset. Billy and Ross, who have very strong and much faster motorbikes, are even more bored. They could have ridden towards Tobruk at high speed, but keep our pace all the way. Billy occasionally leaves the asphalt road to drive on the gravel road that runs parallel. Ross tries to ride standing with no hands while using the cruise control gadget. While Peter and I plow to Tobruk at the same speed, we see them wandering around us and sometimes overtake us with great speed, just for fun.

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When we are almost halfway Hamad stops the car. From the opposite direction another two cars stop. Hamad greets his friend and introduces us to our new escort. Before we go on the road all four bikes are filled with benzine from the jerrycan in the back of Hamads car. Then we say goodbye Fergany and Hamad . A special moment because we again have the feeling we say goodbye to very good friends. When Fergany and Hamad are almost in their car, they walk back towards us and give each of us a photo of themselves. After a final group picture we go on our way again.

The second half of the route is not much different than the first half except that it is possibly even more boring. Ben Howard sings now the same song for the third time and the acts of Billy and Ross are becoming more and more exciting. At some point Billy rides at high speed through the desert along with a Landcruiser pickup from the arm . When the GPS indicates that we are almost in Tobruk some cars ride towards us honking. Our escort stops and greets the men in the oncoming car. The newly arrived men introduce themselves as Moosa and Hameed. Hameed is a member of the motorcycle club from Tobruk and gives us all a large sticker with their logo for on our bikes. Moosa and Hameed will help us to find a hotel in Tobruk. The soldiers that were in the Landcruiser now also join us. Again everyone takes their phone to take pictures an make little films.

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It is not so far to Tobruk anymore. As we enter Tobruk, more and more cars add our group. Some are people from the motorcycle club, others are just random passers-by who want to take pictures of their children with the bikes. One of the members of the club arrives on a big yellow BMW motorcycle. He wants to ride along with us, but unfortunately the bike does not want to start. No problem, they know a solution: “Hit by car”. One of the men sits on the hood of a car and puts his legs forward against the back of the bike. This way they try to push-start the BMW or at least push it to a garage.

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Before we go to a hotel, the guys would like to take us to the Commonwealth Cemetery of Tobruk where victims of the Second World War are buried. Even though we are all very tired of the long boring day on the bike, we cannot say no and are happy to follow them. The Commonwealth Cemetery is well maintained and a great contrast to the dusty environment outside the fence. Most soldiers are from Australia, Great Britain, Poland and the Czech Republic (then Czechoslovakia). Most of them are not older than 26. Some tombstones have beautiful poems on them, from the parents, sisters or brothers of the victims, like: “No honors did he crave, we do not know his story, but we know he was brave.”

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After we have visited the cemetery Moosa and Hameed take us to a recently renovated hotel. We get a hotel room on the top floor of the building with two bedrooms, a kitchen and a large living room. The rest of the afternoon we are passed out in the living room in front of the TV and over the map to see about the route we are going to ride in Egypt. At the beginning of the evening Moosa, Hameed and Moosas son return with dinner: freshly fried fish, soup, bread and humus. It tastes great! While eating Moosa explains that he is captain of the “Tourist Police”. He tells us about the current security situation. Only now we understand what the reason was that Hamad had stopped this morning for over half an hour. Hamad thought we were being followed by a Toyota Hilux and did not want to continue driving until he had made ​​sure that it was safe! After a fun evening with more group photos and a demonstration of Ross on his unicycle, we dive into bed. Tomorrow awaits a new challenge, the Libyan border and then the Egyptian border, apparently one of the toughest border crossings in the world.

At 7 o’clock in the morning we drive away from the car park of the hotel in Tobruk. The sun has only just risen and it is still pretty cold when we follow a colleague of Moosa of the tourist police towards the border. After about 100km we stop in a parking lot near the border. In the distance we can already see the gate we will drive through our of Libya and into Egypt. We hand in our Libyan license plates and give our passports to a lady who will assist us with the administration. After about an hour we get our passports back, as well as the deposit of 100 Libyan dinars per numberplate. That ‘s it, we can leave Libya and go to Egypt.

Leaving Libya is the end of our Libyan adventure. It was a very special week, with the most amazing meetings and again unlikely hospitality. Despite the media coverage about the problems that still plague the country, we have not felt unsafe at all. Whether that was correct is of course to be seen. Only a few days ago, (on January 3, 2014) two foreigners have been killed in Libya not far from Zuwara. I am however glad it did not stop us from visiting Libya. The country has an incredible amount to offer and we hope that we will visit again when the country is more stable. We want to thank Masaud (Tripoli), Salah, Abdel Hamid, Ali, Rahim, Mustafa, Hamad, Fergany, Moosa and Hameed very much for the wonderful time we had and the fact that we have been able to travel safely. We also want to thank Billy and Ross for travelling through Libya with us on a slightly slower pace. We loved your company! Above all we want to thank Masoud (of Tidwa from Zuwara). We know for sure that he has made our trip by helping us and by introducing us to such loverly people. Thank you very much!

Distance to Libyan – Egyptian border : 5164km (3210 miles)

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This is a great trip report. Keep it up!

Rtw
:scooter:

Glad to read the trip through Libya went well! I knew that the news tends to make places sound worse than they really are, but there is truth to the news, too. Libya does not have a strong central government right now, so things could go bad at any time. I, for one, would like to visit Iran since my mother is from there, and nothing internal is going on. That is about all the middle east I desire to see in the near future, besides Egypt (probably, technically not ME), and/or Turkey (again, technically not ME).

From one office, to another and another
 

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After we went through the Libyan border fairly quickly, a new test awaited us: the Egyptian border. The border with Egypt and especially the sluggish bureaucracy there is notoriously among overlanders. We had read stories about the procedure at the border and they were not always positive, telling about long delays (up to 10 hours), paying high sums of bribes, unnecessarily long discussions about seemingly trivial things (again with a view to bribes) and interrogations of several hours. Apart from the administrative side, we also read that travelers were harassed and robbed. Not a pleasant prospect.

With this information in mind, we were well prepared for a possibly long day. In Libya, we bought enough bread, toppings and water for a whole day. We agreed with Billy and Ross that we would try to be at the border as early as possible, so if we would have to wait we would at least do that in the daylight. All valuables such as cameras, the laptop, the leatherman and binoculars were stuffed on the bottom of our bags, so they could not be taken just like that. I had all the ‘feminine’ things I could think of (my toiletry bag, the peewee, pads and tampons) put at the top of my bags, hoping to scare away border officials when seeing those personal (and by men often considered ‘dirty’) things. I had also read that it would not hurt to cover my hair with a scarf, so I also put that in my tank bag. Finally I had a whistle in my tank bag. If I would whistle Peter would immediately come to rescue me ….

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The border between Libya and Egypt is a long road with buildings, gates, barriers and long lines of people waiting. We cannot read the Arabic texts on the various buildings and only the images of pyramids and hieroglyphics suspect that we have arrived at the Egyptian border. The four of us calmly drive on until someone waves us to one of the buildings. One of the men asks for our passports and our visas. We do not have a visa for Egypt yet, but we can buy it for 200 Egyptian pounds or 40 Libyan dinar. Although the exchange rate does not seem right, we each pay the requested amount after which our passports are taken inside the office.

Some time later we get our passports back. When we open it we do not find a visa, there is no stamp and there is no “visa sticker”. On our guard not to be fooled we ask where the visa is. They do not give us a real answer, but we do get a pink piece of paper. It turns out to be the receipt of the payment. Again we cannot read the amount in Arabic numerals, but we trust that it was not just any amount (in bribes), otherwise they would probably not have given a receipt. They indicate that we are allowed to drive on.

A few hundred meters further we pass a large building with “Entry” above the door. Some men indicate that we should stop here to get a stamp in our passports. Peter and Billy take our four passports inside, while Ross and I stay with the bikes. It is busy in the street. Everywhere are heavily loaded vans and people walking with heavy suitcases. I stay close to the bikes and try not to attract any attention. An impossible task, because with those four big bikes and flashy suits we once again are like an attraction. Several people come up to us, to chat or to change money. The many young boys that hang around us want to practice their English. In most cases, they know only one sentence; “How are you”? they call out while they run passed us making all sorts of gestures.

When the group around us is too big, a young man in a black uniform steps forward. He looks angry and calls something in Arabic to the bystanders. Within seconds the whole group has dissolved and everyone is at the other side of the street. The man, Malek, appears to be an agent with the border police. He had been standing in front of the large building with some of his colleagues, but he now joins us. Whenever the bystanders are too close, he sends them away giving Ross and myself some space.

After some time, Peter and Billy come back out again. Inside they were sent from one office to another. No stamp had been put in yet. It now appeared that the officials wanted to see all four of us. That means that we have to leave our bikes with all our stuff on it outside. Malek reassures us that he will watch our bikes.

I remove my motorcycle helmet, which I had worn until now and replace it with my scarf which I wrap around my head. The four of us go into the building. We follow one of the officials into a dark corridor. It stinks of waste and urine. We pass several offices. A smaller office filled with smoke where three men are bent over some paper discussing loudly. A bigger office with a large desk where three men are watching television. A kitchen where coffee and tea is sold. In the hall way people are waiting against the walls. When we come into a larger hall and step into the light we can see how dirty everything is. The floor is black, as is the bottom part of the wall. The smell is horrendous, especially in the corners. On the stairs a woman is yelling at a young customs officer while her family tries to appease her. A little further a large group of men is waiting in front of a closed door. Every time the door opens, they hold up their passports in the air, waiving desperately hoping that they will be next. It is a stinky chaos.

After we have waited for a while, not knowing what for and how long, one of the officials comes towards us. After he has matched our faces to our passports, he returns our passports to us. There is no stamp in yet.

We are escorted back outside, where Malek is still waiting for us at the bikes. Just as we are standing outside, another customs officer walks up to us. He looks neat, with pants, dress shoes, a shirt and a long dark raincoat. It is sunny but not very hot and probably quite fresh for the Egyptians. He has a small mustache and thus resembles Peter Sellers as Inspector Clouseau from the Pink Panther. He asks whether one of us can come with him with the passports. Peter offers to go inside, while Billy, Ross and I stay with the bikes.

We do not know how long it will take and want to be ready to leave as soon as we can. After the border, we still have a journey of 280km to go to Marsa Matrouh. But it takes a long, long time. Billy makes himself comfortable and reads up on Egypt on his motorbike. Ross tries to put his newly learned Arabic in practice. I sit on my bike and wait. Malek is still with us and keeps all bystanders at a distance. He tries to chat with us with his limited English, while he gives us sunflower seeds, nuts and drinks.

After about 2.5 hours (!) later Peter returns with Inspector Clouseau. It turns out that customs had done some background research on us in the meantime. Peter had spent most of the time sitting in an office where he was interrogated. He had to answer questions about our marital status, our work, the trip, the route in Egypt and also about Billy and Ross. The questions were posed in English by a senior official, but an unkind cunning looking man beside the official whispered all the questions to him first. The man sat opposite Peter and watched him closely as he answered the many questions while he was also trying to find information about us on the internet using three different phones.

The hard work of Peter and the long wait had not been in vain because we passed the test and now each had a stamp in our passports! We are allowed to go into Egypt. Next up are the bikes.

As if we are in a rush after that long wait, Inspector Clouseau now asks us to hurry and follow him. After 300 meters he points to a baggage scanner where we have to take our luggage. It is very crowded, because not only our stuff but also all luggage from other travelers has to go through the only scanner they have. While we go back and forth between the baggage scanner and our bikes, Malek again is of great value. On the other side of the scanner is a large pile with all our stuff where Malek stands growling like a rottweiler when anyone gets too close. Once everything is checked and is attached to the bikes again, Inspector Clouseau escorts us to the next office 50 meters away where we have to import the bikes.

Egypt is the first country where we use our ‘Carnet de Passages and Customs’. That is a kind of passport for the bikes which allows us to import and export the bikes without having to pay at each border. Without a Carnet we would have had to pay 8 times the value of each bike at the Egyptian border (which you just have to hope you get it back when you leave Egypt). Instead we now paid a deposit to the ADAC (the German equivalent of the AA). It is important that all stamps in the Carnet will be in the right place, because only then the deposit is returned to us when we return home.

It appears to be quite an ordeal to have our carnets stamped. A first gentleman comes with a piece of paper and a pencil to record the chassis number. He does not write it on the paper, but takes a rubbing by putting the piece of paper on the numbers and scratching with a pencil. Then we are asked to pay to a second gentleman, before a third gentleman fills out an official looking document with data on each bike (the colour, the brand, the type, etc.). Everything in Arabic, so we do not understand a word he wrote down.

With that official document, our carnet and copies of our passports and the registration documents of the bikes we follow Inspector Clouseau to gentleman number four. He reviews the file, sorts the paper, resorts the papers and then signs the carnet. A stamp is still missing.
In another office, we give the files to gentleman number five. He sorts all the papers again in a slightly different order and explains that, before he can process the carnet, we first have to pay. So we walk to gentleman number six to pay and return to gentleman number five. Finally the ink pad and the stamp are out. It is extraordinary to see what actions the good man still has to do before he actually puts a stamp on the carnet: a signature here, a staple in a stack of papers there, some notes in a notebook, etc., etc., etc.

Eventually we leave gentleman number five, each with a stamp in our passports for the bikes, but without the stamped carnet! It has been stamped, but we can only take it after we have received Egyptian license plates, an Egyptian drivers license and have bought insurance.

The procedure now feels very similar to when Asterix and Obelix have to find permit A-38 in the “Place that sends you mad” (in the book “Asterix and the twelve tasks”). We are sent from one office, to another and again to another.

The four of us again follow Inspector Clouseau to gentleman number seven where we take out insurance for 60 Egyptian Pounds per bike. With receipts of the insurance we go into the office next door (to gentlemen number eight and number nine) who provide us with an Egyptian license plate and a drivers license. After we have fixed the number plates to the bikes, we are almost ready to leave. Billy walks with Clouseau back to gentleman number five to pick up our carnets. After 15 minutes he comes back, waving the stamped carnets in the air. We are ready, we can ride into Egypt now!

The entire procedure at the Egyptian border had at that time already taken more than seven hours(!), while we had already passed some time at the Libyan border before that. The process would have taken even longer if Inspector Clouseau had not helped us. He made sure we got in touch with the right people in the right order and also made sure we were treated with priority.
We eventually paid around 1015 Egyptian Pound per bike, which amounts to approximately 100 euro. Not a bad result because we had read that others had paid upto three times that amount. Moreover, we received receipts for all amounts, which probably means that we have not paid any bribes (at least not knowingly). Even Inspector Clouseau who spent the full 7 hours with us did not ask for any ’gift’ at the end of the day.

We have been treated very friendly and were welcomed by everyone in Egypt. Often they apologized for the process while asking “First time in Egypt and last time in Egypt?”. We have not been annoyed or harassed by anyone. Aside from the long wait and the extremely inefficient process, we crossed the border without any difficulty. The whistle could remain in my tank bag.

We say goodbye to Inspector Clouseau. He also apologizes for the inefficient procedure and welcomes us to Egypt. When we want to drive away, there is a police car waiting for us that will escort us in the direction of Marsa Matrouh, the place where we want to spend the night. With blaring sirens they bring us to the exit. Only 100 meters further we are already stopped. Although the customs and police found that we were allowed to leave the border, the military at the border do not agree, or at least also want to say something about this. After we are checked again and this (seemingly unnecessary) hurdle is taken, we can finally leave. The police put on the siren and with good speed we drive into Egypt at the end of the afternoon.

We can pass the first five police checkpoints without having to stop. Our escort leads us past the long lines of waiting cars, while shouting through the speaker that everyone should move out of the way.This is great! If after some time we turn onto the highway, the police lets us pass and waves us goodbye.

After about 250km of riding in the dark we are requested to stop at a police checkpoint just outside Marsa Matrouh. The policemen there were clearly aware of our arrival and indicate that we will be escorted to Marsa Matrouh by the police. Our escort is not there yet, so we have to wait. We are invited by the camp fire (in the middle of the highway) and treated to tea. If the pot of tea is empty, we leave. With blaring sirens we are escorted into the city centre, where we are dropped off in front of a large hotel on the seafront in Marsa Matrouh at around 21:00 hrs.

After a hugely strenuous week in Libya and a long day at the border, we are exhausted when we check in at the hotel. But we are hungry and ….. it’s New Year’s Eve and Billy’s birthday at midnight! After we have freshened up we walk into the city centre hoping to celebrate. It soon becomes clear that this may not be the place for a good party. Marsa Matrouh is a city where a lot of conservative Muslims live that follow a different calendar and do not celebrate New Years Eve today. Moreover, we cannot find any bear in the surroundings of the hotel to celebrate our New Year. So after a quick burger and a phone call home at midnight (with one hour time difference) we go to bed at 00:30, still exhausted but proud of this chapter in our adventure.

Distance travelled to Marsa Matrouh: 5398km (3,355 miles)

Time to relax
 

We start the new year by sleeping in late. No long drive or border crossing today, we will do absolutely nothing. If I draw the curtains late that morning, I look out over a beautiful bay with clear blue water and a long promenade lined with palm trees. Only now we can see the nice spot at which the police dropped us off yesterday night in the dark. At 10:00 am Peter and I sit down with Billy and Ross for an Egyptian breakfast of round flat bread, fried eggs, a bowl with ground beans, vegetables, fresh cream cheese and some jam. A funny breakfast, but it is tasty. We are still waking up and talk about Libya and the long day at the border.

In the lobby of the hotel they have wifi and that means contact with the people at home. In Libya we had no access to the Internet and we did not even manage to receive any text messages. Although we were only a few days in Libya it felt like we were locked off from the world for a moment. Not only from contact with family and friends, but also from the news . It is extraordinary to notice how used we have become to being in touch with each other anywhere and at anytime and how used we are to being able to read the news whenever we want. The greater part of the day we are in the lobby of the hotel staring at our phones.

Meanwhile, the sun is shining and there is a nice sea breeze. Reason enough to put aside the phones and go for a walk to see where we are. Our hotel is situated on the promenade of Marsa Matrouh, a busy street with wide sidewalks and plenty of space to stroll. On the other side of the road is a small beach with white sand and rocks where a number of people are fishing. Along the promenade there are large hotels, the one even higher than the other with rooms that overlook the bay. In the street are several restaurants, including the well-known fast food chains such as McDonalds, Hardee’s and Kentucky Fried Chicken. At first sight, a bustling city. But that is not the case, as everything is closed! The metal shutters on the doors are closed, the windows and logos are taped and the tables and chairs are piled in a corner of the terrace. Our hotel is the only hotel that is open and we are almost the only guests.

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It is January 1st and it is Billy his birthday. A good reason for a party, so we should celebrate. We organize a small birthday drink with cake, candles that play ” Happy Birthday “ and non-alcoholic beers. The only alcohol we have is the last sip of our Cointreau which is for Billy. That evening Ross takes us out for dinner to celebrate Billy’s birthday, but also as a goodbye dinner as it is our last night together. The next morning we wave Billy and Ross goodbye as they drive on the boulevard with their roaring BMW-bikes.

Peter and I decide to stay a while in Marsa Matrouh. Not just to rest before we drive on, but also to ’work’. We have good internet so we can update the blog, upload photos to Dropbox and use Skype. The administration at home (for our apartment and insurance, etc.) also continues with the help of Peter’s mother and occasionally requires some attention. We take some time to read about Egypt and the sights that we can visit. Based on that information, we determine our route and search for places to stay. Peter also found a barbershop for a much needed haircut.

We closely follow the news about Egypt through the apps of NOS, BBC and Al Jazeera. It does not look good. There have been troubles in Egypt for some time now after President Morsi was deposed. The last few weeks an upcoming referendum led to new demonstrations during which some protesters were injured and even killed in several major cities, including Cairo and Alexandria. The travel advice from the Dutch Ministry of Foreign Affairs on Egypt is not positive and gives the idea that we can better ride to the Sudanese border in one go.

In Marsa Matrouh we are therefore very wary when we leave the hotel to go shopping or to go out for dinner in the evening. The picture on the street is however very different from the images we receive through various new apps. It looks suspiciously like ordinary life: children going to school, mothers with full shopping bags, construction workers who are building a new hotel, taxi drivers waiting for another client and old men busy talking to each other in the local teahouse. We do see more soldiers and police on the streets than we are used to in the Netherlands. The mostly young boys stand guard at several official buildings, including the library, a police station or a house of a senior official.

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We walk through busy shopping streets and pass drugstores, convenience stores, bakeries, butchers, phone shops and market stalls filled with fruit. In one of the streets we are suddenly faced with large rolls of barbed wire that are across the road. Behind the barbed wire are piles with sandbags with every other five meters the barrel of a gun that pops up next to a head with a helmet. Behind them are two tanks and a group of about 30 soldiers. They are in front of the provincial house and appear to be ready to strike any moment. On our side of the barbed wire everyone is just getting on with what they were doing: drinking tea, building a wall or doing some shopping. When we walk a little further, there is no military at all.

The presence of soldiers is probably not without a reason and with the news images on our minds we decide not hang around the street with all the military. We pay a lot of attention to the sounds on the street and look around startled when we hear a line of honking cars in the distance. Will this be the start of a demonstration? It appears to be a line of cars celebrating a marriage, while honking and racing through the streets of Marsa Matrouh with little red harts on the number plates and a white bow on the front of the first car.

In the days that follow we go out for shopping and dinner each day. Time and time again we see what we had experienced before, ordinary life goes on. We are kindly greeted everywhere and (as in Libya) welcomed. The young policemen who stand on guard, the supermarket cashiers, the taxi drivers, they all ask where we come from and say: “Welcome back.” They were used to tourists here (unlike in Libya), but have not seen them for the last few years.

After five days in Marsa Matrouh, where I spent most of the time on the laptop to write about Libya, it is time to get going again. We want to go to Giza to visit the pyramids. From Marsa Matrouh to Giza is too long for one day, so we will ride to Alexandria first.

Alexandria is the second largest city of Egypt with 4 million inhabitants. The town was in the news because there had been some deaths during demonstrations early January, just a few days before we would go there. We wondered several times whether it was a good idea to go there. Billy and Ross had already been there before us and had not reported on any riots. As a matter of fact, their stories on Facebook were very positive.

We had seen in Marsa Matrouh that the military occupation was limited to specific areas or even to a single street in the city. Actually a lot like the Netherlands where protesters gather at the Malieveld or on the Museumplein. This does not mean The Hague or Amsterdam become entire no-go areas. With that in mind, we feel OK about going to Alexandria. Just be careful, trust our intuition and turn around if we do not think it to be safe.

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After our last breakfast with bread, beans, vegetables and cheese spread, we also drive away on the boulevard of Marsa Matrouh (albeit with slightly less sound from our roaring little Hondas). The GPS lead us out of the city and on to the highway without any problems. We drive parallel to the Mediterranean coast to the east. The area we drive through is mostly dry and sandy. The first part of the route we can still catch an occasional glimpse of the sea. Some times the sea is no longer visible because the strip of land between the sea and the highway is packed with holiday resorts. Not your all-inclusive resorts where you can enjoy the sun, but compounds with holiday houses that can be bought as a second house. It looks a lot like the coast in southern part of Spain For more than 150km long (!) we pass one compound after another, each with a beautiful entrance and large billboards with pictures of swimming pools, shopping malls and white beaches.

We set the GPS to the center of Alexandria, where we should be able to find a hotel. The GPS is often indispensable, but in some cases we had better first looked on the map. Today was such a day. Instead of a highway around the city, we drive straight into town. We are still 20km away from our destination when we get completely stuck in Alexandrian traffic.

The traffic here is not comparable to the traffic in any of the towns we drove through earlier. Everywhere are cars, tuk-tuks, motorbikes, donkey carts, trucks and minivans. We drive on a two lane road that is actually used by four lines of cars. On the side of the road is a variety of market stalls and are lots of people who want to go to their next destination by minibus. Those minibuses stop in the strangest places to pick up customers and then suddenly get back on the road again. The road is bad and contains many potholes, which makes motorists suddenly swerve to avoid them at the most unexpected moments. We manage to avoid most of the potholes, but still hit some quit hard. Between all that traffic people want to cross the road. There are no traffic lights or zebra crossings here, so they just have to get on the road and hope that cars stop or that they fit in between the long lines of driving cars. Besides all this, everyone honks, all the time!

We drive on very slowly and are not able to switch to second gear. The GPS indicates that we are still 18km away from our destination when it starts to rain very hard. Putting on our rain gear is not an option, so we drive on slowly on the now very muddy road. After 10km we start to understand the Egyptian traffic. Despite the fact that everyone honks all the time, no one seems really angry. Other than we are used to in the Netherlands, honking is not accompanied by hand gestures. Honking here means: “I am next to you”, “I am going to take over now” or “Have you seen me?”. It is not long before we also driving through the streets of Alexandria honking loudly.

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After another few kilometers traffic already seems less chaotic than it was at first glance. Everyone seems to be well aware that we share the road and that motorist may make weird swerves. The traffic actually moves in a very organic way, a bit like thick syrup that wants out of the bottle. With our small bikes we just drive at the same pace as everybody else and keep moving forward. Meanwhile, we attract a lot of attention and make small talk with taxi drivers when we have to stop in the traffic jam.

After we have plowed through the busy traffic of Alexandria for over two hours and we are completely soaked and brown with mud, we arrive in the city center near the hotels. It is busy, not only on the promenade along the sea, but also in the narrow side streets. We go to several hotels to ask if they have a room for us. There are plenty of rooms, but a safe place to park the bikes is a problem. After we have wandered from hotel to hotel for more than one hour, we meet the owner of the last hotel just as he steps out of his car. He allows us to park the bikes in the hallway of the building on the condition that we get all our stuff off and lock the bikes. Great! We fit the bikes through the narrow hallway and securely lock them.

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Triomphe Hotel is located on the fifth floor of a beautiful building. In the middle of the property there is a large spiral staircase, with a very old wooden elevator with a metal fence next to it. Once in the hotel lobby it looks like we have just stepped into a book by Agatha Christie. The lobby of the hotel does not seem to have changed since the early 1900s and is filled with ornate chairs, beautiful wood cabinets and framed portraits of former residents, as is our room.

We change our smelly motor gear for a freshly washed set of clothes and go out for dinner. As in Marsa Matrouh we are on our guard as we walk on the central boulevard. Aware of the potential uprisings in Alexandria, we pay attention to the people around us and the sounds on the street. But we have worried for nothing, because in Alexandria (at least in this part of the city) it is life as usual. The city is buzzing! The coffee houses and cafes are full and blue with smoke. People drink coffee, play chess and smoke shisha. Unlike in Marsa Matrouh the cafes are not only filled with men but also by women, often without a headscarf. Many students sit around discussing their notes while sipping coffee and smoking too much cigarettes. After a lovely dinner in a small restaurant, we join them in one of the cafe’s for coffee, shisha and a game of dominoes. A great ending to a relaxing first week in Egypt!

Distance travelled to Alexandria: 5687km (3533 miles)

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Loving your story so far, I have not the time to read it all in one hit but will enjoy looking while at work.

Glad that you have seen the light, small and light bikes really rock, so much more enjoyable than big heavy bikes.

I have owned many big bikes but always come back to my trusty 250's:scooter:

I did follow your trip since a while!

I love the quality of your pictures and your style of writing. Thanks for sharing!

What do you use to make pictures? Which Model/Brand/Equipment?

Surfy

Camera Equipment
 

Hi Surfy,

Great to hear you are loving our report so far.
For the pictures we use two different photo cameras.
Peter uses a Fuji X100S. It has a fixed 23mm lens, so you 'zoom by using your feet'. The quality of those pictures is amazing.
I have a smaller Canon S100, which I always carry in the pocket of my jacket, which makes it easy and quick to take out. It has a small zoom lens and makes great pictures. So far over 12.000 clicks....:thumbup1:
We do sometimes miss our SLR with objectives (especially when animals are too far away), but these two cameras are great alternatives and a lot better on weight.

Cheers!

Glad to read your trip to Egypt has been positive, although cautious. I definitely would like to visit one day, and was sad to read the past few years about the troubles there, and the tourist industry virtually shutting down. You are showing there is hope again!

Visit Egypt
 

We indeed had a great time in Egypt and would recommend visiting it. Stay tuned for more great riding days in Egypt!

Look, there they are!
 

When the alarm goes off at 7:00 am, we are both already awake and listening to the honking traffic in the streets of Alexandria. It has not been quiet that night.
After a quick breakfast of bread with cream cheese, we put all our bags in the wooden elevator of the hotel. Once down, I am glad to see that the bikes are still there and the wheels are still under them. Closely watched by the parking attendant and his friends we tie our stuff on the bikes and ride away from the hotel early in the morning. On to Giza, on to the pyramids! After a glance at the map, we drive around the crowded suburbs this time. From Alexandria two main roads lead to Cairo: the “Agricultural Road” along the Nile and the “Desert Road” just west of the Nile. The area along the Nile is completely crammed and very busy, so we opt for the desert. Although the name suggests that we will drive through an endless sea of ​​sand, this road also appears to be pretty busy. The only thing that reminds of the desert is the dust in the air.

We share the highway with lots of heavily loaded trucks, pick-ups full with fruits and minivans that take travellers to Cairo. It is a strenuous ride and we need to keep paying attention. At some points we make good progress, but the traffic can suddenly stop. Often because the road is very bad and the traffic rides very slowly through the holes. And although it is a highway there are many donkey carts on the road, people trying to get to the other side on the oddest places and minivans stopping anywhere to pick up passengers.

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We are on our way to Giza. Once a town just outside of Cairo, but now a suburb of Cairo. A few kilometers from Cairo we see the huge city with its 19 million (!) people looming in the distance. As far as we can see there are buildings and flats. An unreal sight and hard to imagine that in one city are more people than in the Netherlands.

The highway winds through the hills. The closer we get to Cairo, the busier the already busy road becomes. We ride with the fast minivans along the slower traffic. On one of the hills we suddenly see them: the pyramids! Left of the road we can see the two largest pyramids. They are huge and much higher than the flats near them. Fantastic! There we are: 13:26 pm on a Monday afternoon on our own bikes in Egypt along the pyramids!. It gives me goose bumps.

We follow the ring road around Cairo on to Giza. The rumors about the traffic of Cairo are correct: it is crowded and very chaotic. The experience we have gained in Alexandria comes in handy. The GPS leads us off the highway into Giza. Once we get off the main roads the asphalt stops. The road now consists of hard dark brown sand and is full of potholes. We bump on through the dusty streets of Giza until we arrive at our destination: Isis Garden Camp. When the doors open we suddenly are in a green garden with a high hedge of bougainvillea and a pool in the corner. Truly an oasis from the busy and dusty streets we just drove through.

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We are warmly welcomed by the Egyptian Helal and his Australian wife Sue. We can set up our tent in the garden and are taken up to the rooftop terrace. From the fifth floor we have a wonderful view of the pyramids, which are only 4km away. A wonderful place!

It is not only the environment that has changed, but also the sounds. The birds in the garden sound more tropical with the “hoop hoop hoop’ of the Hoopoe and pleasant cooing of the little purple dove. Outside the gates of the camp we hear donkeys, water buffaloes and especially lots of dogs. The cars also are much noisier, not in the last place because of the hard horns that are installed.

Furthermore, since we entered Africa in Tunisia the ringing of church bells is replaced by the call of the muezzin. Five times a day we hear “Allahu Akhbar ” through the speakers by which Muslims are called to pray. The mosk-density in Cairo and Giza is enormous. The residents have to walk not more than a few hundred meters to go to the mosque. When the time for prayer comes, we hear the call from all corners at the same time. Well, almost at the same time, so it sometimes sounds like a badly directed canon choir that hums through the city for a few minutes. The closest speaker hangs about 100 meters from our tent and is so loud we could not hear each other. But we are lucky because our muezzin sings ’live’ and has a beautiful voice. Although it is a bit of a shock the first morning at 04:30 am, you get used to it soon enough. And even though we do not use the call to pray to Allah, it does give the opportunity to stop with what you were doing and think about the finer things in life five times a day. Not so bad.

Helal and Sue invite us the next morning for a traditional Egyptian breakfast of flat bread with falafel and salad of eggplant. From the roof terrace we enjoy not only breakfast but also the beautiful view. Sue and Helal tell a lot of stories about Egypt, Giza, the pyramids and other beautiful sites in Egypt. Their enthusiasm is contagious and we cannot wait to go and see all those sites. Today we will relax on the rooftop terrace and in the garden, but tomorrow we will go to the pyramids by camel.

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The next morning the owner of the camels pick us up at the campsite. We bump through the dusty streets of Giza in his care while he questions us about ‘Goelit’ and ‘Kroijf’ and other soccer players from the 80s. We stop at his stables where he shows us his horses and camels. After some negotiations on the price, we both get assigned our own camel after which he sends us off with two ‘guides’. The camels are on their knees waiting for us to get on. When we sit on the saddles one of the guys says: “Hold on tight and lean back”, after which he gives a tug on the rope. With a huge force the camel gets up. It is good that we actually kept on firmly and leaned back, otherwise we would have surely glided off the camels.

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We set off with the two boys, one on foot and the other on a skinny horse. The neighbourhood we go through before we get to the pyramids consists solely of stables. Everywhere are horses and camels waiting for tourists who want a ride. In heyday it must have been very busy, but now we are almost the only tourists.

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We take a turn, walk through the gate and suddenly are in the desert. The boys take us to one of the hills next to the pyramids where we have a wonderful view of the nine pyramids, the Sphinx and the city. After some pictures we continue our tour in the desert and go to the base of the largest pyramid. Again it becomes clear how incredibly high they are! Extraordinary to think that the pyramids were built around 2560 BC and thus are already more than 2000 years older than the construction of Leptis Magna we visited when we where in Libya. Great to see, especially from our camels!

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The next day we go to Cairo. We would like to go to the Egyptian Museum where -among other things- things from the tomb of Toetanchamun are shown. The museum is located at the Tahir square, which is especially known from the demonstrations that have been held there for a long time. The latest reports show that it is quiet in the square and we can visit the museum without any problems. Sue and Helal send us out with Walid, who will be our driver for the entire day. It is a great luxury to ride through busy Cairo and enjoy the view from the back seat.

The road to the Tahir Square and the museum is blocked. Behind the barricade is a long row of tanks and in the buildings along the way are large groups of young soldiers. Here we can see for the first time that it can be unstable in the city. We follow a group of tourists along the barricades and tanks to the entrance of the museum. Since we are in Egypt we have only seen a handful of other tourists. That is quit different here, because in front of the entrance of the museum are large groups of Chinese and Russian tourists. Once inside the museum we do not see them again and we can walk around without any crowd.

From all the pyramids, tombs and temples that have been found in Egypt. things have been brought to the Egyptian Museum. The museum is full of statues, parts of walls with hieroglyphics, sarcophagi and stuff that has been found in the various tombs. The museum is very big, but still too small to show everything. The cellars of the museum are apparently still filled with all kinds of treasures that will be shown in a new museum. And to think that probably only a small part of all the tombs and temples in Egypt is found and the greater part is still hidden below the Sahara sands.

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It is extraordinary to see everything. Especially Peter, who in his heart is a explorer and who did pay attention in school when the old Egypt was covered, is very happy to be at the museum. The most special items in the collections are probably the things from the tomb of Toetanchamun. Although he has not played an important role in the history of Egypt, he is one of the most famous pharaohs because his tomb was found and was complete. In his tomb was all the stuff that he had used during his lifetime supplemented with stuff he got when he died. Beds, chairs, jewelry, clothing, really everything you can think of. Lots of it in solid gold! We could also admire the famous mask that had been placed over his mummy. Wow!

In a separate section of the museum are the royal mummies. That means the mummified bodies of the kings and queens of ancient Egypt. They are in display cases in a refrigerated chamber under a white sheet which only shows their heads and sometimes their hands. Some still have a full head of hair and a good set of teeth. Very special to see!

Apart from the collection, the museum itself is an attraction also. It is located in the building at the Tahrir Square since 1900 and has not changed much since then. It is full of beautiful wood cabinets with yellowed notes with text that was typed with a typewriter. The one time in English, sometimes in French. It is definitely worth a visit!

After three hours, Walid picks us up on the other side of the wire. He treats us to Kushari, a spicy dish of rice, pasta and lentils with spicy red sauce. Delicious! At the suggestion of Helal and Sue we then visit two mosques and citadel of Cairo. During our previous trip to Morocco we were not allowed to visit mosques as non-Muslims, but luckily for us that is different here. On our socks and with a scarf covering my hair, we admire the various buildings. Like in Rome, we especially like the pretty, painted ceilings.

When we arrive at the campsite after a day in the smog of Cairo, there is a small fire burning in the street in front of the gate of the camp. On the fire is a teapot with water. The rest of the evening we all sit around the fire drinking tea. A nice ending to a great day !

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We ended up staying two more days at the campsite in Giza. We relax in the garden, call home using Skype, enjoy home cooking in the outdoor kitchen by the pool and enjoy the delicious food cooked by Helal. Above all, we enjoy the beautiful view from the rooftop terrace of the pyramids and also the many minarets, the donkey carts in the street, the pigeon fanciers with their flags, street dogs that run after a cyclist and the sunset over the desert.

A great week at a great place we intend to visit again!

Distance to Giza : 5,913 km (3,675 miles)

Ride through the desert
 

From Cairo there are different routes we can take to go south: along the Red Sea coast, along the Nile or through the Western Desert. We do not take the road along the Nile because it is too crowded and we will probably ride along the Nile for some time after Luxor. The route along the coast brings us to the beautiful beaches of Hurghada, but the chances that we will go there some day are quite good. That might be different for the desert. In the guest book of Isis Garden Camp we read that the oasis route through the desert and especially the “White Desert” was one of the highlights of Egypt for several overlanders. Sue and Helal also are very excited about the desert landscape. With the map of Egypt on the table Helal points us to places of interest and places where we can get fuel, wood and water. He also shows where we can bush camp in the desert. We would really like to sleep under the stars, so we store enough food and water to camp several nights.

The first place we go to is in the “Black Desert” at about 20km from the Bahariya oasis and about 400km south-west of Giza. A fairly long journey, so the alarm goes early that morning. It is still nice and fresh as Sue and Helal wave us goodbye (in their thick winter coats).

On the road it is pretty busy, though it is questionable whether the traffic is ever calm in Cairo. We drive from Giza to ’6 October City’, another suburb of Cairo. With a full tank, we then head towards the Western Desert Road. Just outside the city there is still some industry and hence a lot of big trucks, but once the buildings stop we are suddenly in the middle of the desert and almost the only vehicles.

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We had prepared ourselves for some hot days in the desert and had left off our sweaters this morning. Although the sun is shining brightly, the wind is still pretty fresh and we both have our heated grips on for the first part of the day. Until the Bahariya Oasis there are no villages and there is only one gas station. Because we do not know when we can get fuel again we refuel both bikes. The only buildings that we see from there on are telephone poles, bus stops and the occasional abandoned office of an oil company. Every hour we only pass a handful of cars.

After more than 350km we can do some last minute shopping in Bawiti, the largest village in the Bahariya oasis. The closer we get to Bawiti the more vegetation we see along the way. Palm trees, low bushes, but also fields of corn. It is also busier on the road with cars, donkey carts and mopeds. Along the side of the road we see the first signs for hotels and restaurants. Bahariya Oasis is easy accessible from Cairo and is therefore often visited by tourists who will stay a night or two in the desert. Once in the village it is clear that they are accustomed to tourists. When we stop to take fuel people come towards us from different sides to offer us a room in their hotel. We thank them kindly and drive out of the village at the end of the afternoon.

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The desert is not as flat as earlier in the day. There are large pointed black hills, like small volcanoes everywhere. The ground is strewn with jagged black rocks and give this part of the desert its name “Black Desert”. On both sides of the road we see tracks disappear into the desert and when we see no other traffic we turn right. The gravel road turns into a sandy path that leads into the desert. We find a beautiful spot not far from the road, but completely out of sight where we set up our tent on a sandy plane. At dusk we get out the cooking gear and by the time the pasta is ready we sit down to eat in the light of the nearly full moon. The moon gives so much light that we do not even need a flashlight to find our stuff.

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The rest of the evening we lie on our backs looking up at the stars. Even though that evening is not so long, because around 20:00 we both can only just keep our eyes open so we crawl into our sleeping bags. It is quiet, very quiet! The are no background noises, we hear no cars, no dogs, no highway or planes, no wind, nothing. Maybe this is what they call ‘deafening silence’.
In the middle of the night Peter suddenly wakes me up. He hears something and thinks that someone is walking on flip-flops towards the bikes. That is about the only thing we do not want. We both listen for a while, but hear nothing. Then it turns out that Peter woke up from the sound of his beard against the sleeping bag and his own heartbeat!

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After an otherwise quiet night, we make coffee at first light and take our time to eat breakfast. This evening we want to go to the “White Desert” which is only 100km away. We only want to look for a camping spot at the end of the afternoon (to reduce the risk of unexpected visitors) so we have the whole day to cover that distance. We pack our stuff, ride over the black stones and through the sand back to the main road and then continue south.

All along the route are several police checkpoints where we are asked to stop. In a log our names, our nationality and the number of our Egyptian license plates are written. In addition, the policemen want to know where we are going. The further we enter the desert, the more checkpoints we encounter. There is little traffic on the road and the officers seem pretty bored. When we slow down for the bumps just before the checkpoints they suddenly wake up and come running out to stop us. Some still in their underwear holding a toothbrush in their hand.

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A friendly “Salaam Aleikum” from our side, is answered with a warm welcome to Egypt. They ask if we are married, whether we have children, whether we were afraid in Libya, what we think of Egypt, how much our bikes cost and much more. We are often invited for tea. Although we usually friendly decline, today we decide to stop, this to the delight of the agents. We have plenty of time and we would like a cup sweet mint tea. Despite the language barrier, we make a friendly chat. After the delicious tea and some pictures they call their colleagues at the next checkpoint to tell them that there are two “Hollandi” coming. At the next checkpoint, they are already waiting for us. Not for the formalities, but also for a chat and photos of the bikes.

In El Heiz, a village in a small oasis between the Black- and the White Desert, we stop to buy wood. Helal had told us exactly where we could find the wood and also told us what we should pay. Once in El Heiz we find the teahouse next to the police station, but unfortunately they do no have any wood. One of the villagers asks us to follow him because he does have wood. Not much later, we drive out of the village with on the back of our bikes a large pile of wood for a camp fire. Great!

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The desert changes as we drive through the sandy hills. We have left behind the black tops and the color of the desert is now brown again. At the top of one of the brown hills, we suddenly have a beautiful view over a white valley, the beginning of the White Desert! To the left of the road we see jagged white peaks and a dirt road that runs in between them. This appears to be a great place for lunch.

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The Western Desert Road then leads us further into The National Park White Desert. As far as the eye can see, there is a white plain with small white pointy hills in all kinds of special shapes.

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At the end of the afternoon we leave the main road to find a place to camp. After some climbing we see a nice place at a slightly higher plateau which we can also reach with the bikes. It appears to be a super place with a nice view over a valley with white turrets. Everywhere we see small black dots on the white ground. It seems we share the platform with goats or rabbits. If we look closer the dots however appear to be fossilized coral. The stones we have most beautiful forms. Incredible to think that this barren desert once was an ocean.

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Against a bright pink sky we eat a large plate of pasta. After dinner we make a camp fire and we continue to look at the stars until the fire is out.

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The next morning we drive through the White Desert into the Farafra Oasis. We buy food, drinks and fuel and also get freshly fried falafel for lunch.

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Today we will go to the Dakhla Oasis about 300km away. In El Qasr there should be some hotels. Apart from the police checkpoints there is nothing much to see along the way. We have left the White Desert behind us and have now swapped it for a big yellow plain. All around us we only see sand. We both listen to music through our intercom and only stop at a nice spot to eat our falafel. It is now quit hot and as we can not find any shade, so we quickly eat lunch and get on the bikes again to enjoy the riding wind.

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Along the way, we do not see much traffic. If we encounter cars or trucks, there is always a hand sticking out the window to say hello. Some come up to drive next to us to call from the window “Welcome to Egypt!” Others even stop to give us water and oranges. We drive with our light on and that is not common here, so oncoming traffic keeps signalling us with their lights. If after a while we do turn off our lights, everyone continues to signal us. So it was to say hello too.

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Half way to the Dakhla Oasis we are approached by another two cars that are again signalling their lights and the drivers are also very busy waving at us. As we get closer we see that they are two well equipped overland trucks! We stop, turn around and drive back to stop alongside the cars that are now also by the side of the road. Just like that we meet Susanna and Karl from Austria and John and Ruthi from Australia in the middle of the Egyptian desert. Overlanders that have been on the road for a while and are now on their way from Cape Town to Cairo. It is super nice to meet other overlanders, to hear their stories and to share tips. We are given the coordinates of a camp site in El Qasr and are advised to take a dive in the hotspring. After we have exchanged email addresses and have said goodbye to everyone we drive away with new energy about all the beautiful things that still await us in Africa.

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Using the coordinates Beir El Gebel Tourist Camp is found quickly. We are warmly welcomed by Hatem, a large man in a white jalaba. His three children follow him closely as he shows us the camp site and the rooms. The site houses traditional buildings made of mud brick that are painted in cheerful motifs. Although we could set up our tent, we choose for a little more luxury after two nights in the desert and take a room.

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That evening we eat fish from the Nile (600km away) and we meet Friedel, a German lady who lives in a house behind the camp. About 25 years ago she traveled with her husband in a car through Egypt and the Egyptian desert (at a time there was no asphalt and GPS did not exist). She was touched by the Dakhla Oasis and had always said she would try to go back. And that is what she did. Eight years ago they bought a piece of land and had them build a beautiful home. She now lives in El Qasr for five months each year. During that period she also receives tourists for meditation, dance and drum workshops. The perfect place to get away to relax.

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After the delicious fish, we take a dip in the hotspring. A year ago, Hatem, Friedel and some local farmers had a well made. The source is hot water of about 38 degrees! The water has been used to turn part of the sandy desert floor into green fertile farmland. If the water does not go to the fields, the hotspring can be filled. When Hatem opens the tap the water roars into the tub. The water contains a lot of iron and smells funny, but it is delicious and very hot! We wash off all the desert sand and float under the stars until our fingers wrinkle.

It is such a nice place that we decide to stay two nights. In the garden we can read in the shade at ease, surf the net, update the blog and Skype with our family back home. That evening we again enjoy a delicious meal and talk with Friedel about her life in the desert. Later that evening Hatem, his wife and their three children join us. Hatem happily smokes his shishah while he asks us about the journey, the route and the bikes. We become friends on facebook and show him our blog.

Before we leave the next morning, we get a tour through Friedel her beautiful home and garden. Truly a very special and beautiful place, especially when you consider that they bought an empty piece of dry desert land where now is a little green oasis. It was a special meeting that we remember with great pleasure and a place that we might visit again.

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When we finally leave El Qasr our tanks our almost empty and we start by finding usable fuel. Until now we used ’90′ or ’92′, but that is not readily available on the desert route. Most gas stations have only ’80’, which is fine for the 40-year-old cars the Egyptians drive, but not so good for our 2012 Hondas. At the advice of Hatem we take a little detour, where we indeed find ’92’ to fill our bikes. With a full tank we drive through the Kharga Oasis towards Baris (also known as Paris).

On the map Baris seems like a big town. At several police checkpoints on the road we are told that there will be a hotel there. At the end of the day we drive into Baris and before we know it we drive out of Baris again at the other side of the village. It is smaller than we had expected and we did not see a hotel yet. We stop and soon there is a large group of men around us. We ask for a hotel or camping. They look worried and point us to Luxor (300km away) or Kharga, where we just came from. After heated discussions the men find the solution: at Dush Temple we should be able to camp. The men call some boys and order them to take us to the road that leads to the temple.

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We follow the group of guys on motorbikes to the edge of the village. They stop and point: if you follow this road for another 10 kilometers you will arrive at Dush Temple. It is around five o’clock and the sun is almost setting. We quickly continue to avoid having to drive in the dark. After 10 kilometers we reach a fork. There is a sign but we can not make sense of the Arabic text on it and we have not seen a temple yet. Now what? A truck stops next to us and the passenger asks: “Dush Temple?”. We nod yes and he gestures us to follow him. After a kilometer the asphalt road stops. On the top of a hill we see some ruins. The man who spoke to us earlier gets out of the truck and introduces himself as “Magdi, guard of the temple.”

The temple complex is examined by French archaeologists from October to December. The team then stays in the houses next to the temple. The archaeologists are now gone, but the site is still under constant surveillance. Tonight is the turn of Magdi and Ahmed. They show us where we can put up the tent and invite us to their campfire.

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After the tent has been put up we take our cooking gear to the campfire so I can make pasta. Even before I open my bag, there are plates with feta cheese, tomato and bread in front of us. No cooking tonight.

Magdi prepares some sweet tea and pokes up the fire. With the little English they speak we fill the evening talking about their wives, their children, our journey, the French and the temple.
We ask where we can refuel at Baris and where we can buy bread. Again the worried faces. In Baris we can only get ’80′ and bread is only available very early in the morning. But they know a solution. Ahmed takes his telephone and says at the end of the conversation: “Do not worry, it’ll be fine.”

The next morning, Peter climbs up the hill to the temple for an exploration of the complex in the first sunlight. He makes some nice pictures. After we have packed the tent, we again join Magdi and Ahmed. Their fire is still burning and used to make new tea. They first light a cigarette while they are stretching and rubbing their eyes waking up. They played dominos for the greater part of the night and only slept for a few hours.

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Just when the tea is ready we see a car approaching us. The man that gets from the car holds a 20-liter jerry can of fuel in one hand and a bag full of bread in the other. Ahmed called a friend in Kharga (100km away), who came to Baris the evening before to bring our fuel! We cut a water bottle and use the top of the bottle as a funnel to fill the tanks of our bikes. We pay for the fuel, the service and the bread and say goodbye to our new friends.

Distance travelled to Dush Temple: 7085 km (4403 miles)

Egypt outside of the cities seems to be the place to be! Very warm people, it seems. I can guess they long for tourists just as tourists long for Egypt!

Thank you for the photos and update on your travels! I love reading the reports from travelers on smaller bikes!

Ancient Egypt
 

We leave Temple Dush and drive back to the main road through the village of Baris. At the police checkpoint at the intersection we are kindly greeted. They had already recorded information about us when we passed there the night before, so after we have confirmed that we will directly go to Luxor today, they wave us through. It is Friday, the rest day for Muslims, and therefore very quiet on the road. Apart from a number of trucks we see almost no other traffic. The town of Baghdad is the last oasis on the route and after the police checkpoint there, we do not pass any other villages or checkpoints any more. On both sides of the road we only see a golden sand sea. There is a strong wind and we can only just keep our light motorbikes straight.

At the beginning of the afternoon we see a city looming in the distance. The end of the desert is in sight, we are approaching the Nile. From one moment to the other we drive along green fields, meadows with cows and fields of sugar cane. The transition from the dry desert to the green fields is very abrupt, as if a line is drawn in the landscape with a ruler. We drive along a canal towards Luxor. It is busy on the road. Most cars and donkey carts we pass are loaded with sugar canes. The canes are loaded on railroad cars that are waiting on a railway track that runs parallel to the road.

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After we have driven along the canal for some time, we turn right and drive up a high bridge to cross the Nile. The river is extremely wide and has a strong current. Along the side of the river cruise ships are waiting for tourists to take a Nile cruise. We enter Luxor and immediately notice how clean it is. For the first time we see street sweepers that sweep all the trash into a green bin with a big broom. We drive through a ’green corridor’ with oleanders and tall palm trees on both sides of the road. A big difference with the dusty roads in the desert and oases.

We can camp in the middle of Luxor at Rezeiky Camp. In the past the site was often visited by overlanders, but now we are the only guests. On the advice of John and Ruthi (the overlanders we met in the Egyptian desert) we eat at the restaurant of the camp site that evening and enjoy a delicious stew and our first beer since Italy.

After the quiet nights in the desert, we have to get used to the sounds of the city again. We hear cars honking until late at night and early next morning the call to prayer blares loudly throughout the city. The rooster and the dogs at the camp site are also making a lot of noise that morning. The dogs, a mother and three young pups, are playing on the camp site and running round the tent at high speed. At some point I hear a strange noise and then someone next to me cursing heartily. One of the puppies has ran into a line of the tent at full speed, leaving a huge tear in the nylon. If it then appears that the toilet does not flush and there is no water in the shower, we are a bid fed up. A rough start after a short night. Only after a strong cup of coffee and some pastries we leave the broken tent for what it is and head into town to visit the Valley of the Kings.

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With the sun in our faces, we walk to the ferry that takes us to the west side of the Nile. We buy a ticket for the ferry and find a place on the upper deck. It is hazy and we can hardly see the other side of the river. When we are still on the ferry we are approached by a taxi driver. He offers to drive us around Luxor to visit different sites that day for a fixed price. He speaks good English and shows a notebook in which where several tourists have written nice comments about him. Clever marketing and it works, because after we have negotiated about the price we agree that he will be our driver that day.

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Once on the other side, an old Peugeot from the 70s stops in front of us and we are introduced to the cousin of the marketeer. As we get in the car it becomes clear that his cousin will actually by our driver, while the smart marketer himself will look for new customers. Not quite what we had agreed, but okay for as long as we safely get where we need to be. In the old Peugeot he takes us to the entrance of the Valley of the Kings. We exchange phone numbers with the cousin so we can call him when we want him to pick us up.

At the entrance to the Valley of the Kings we are approached by a small, slightly older man named Mohammad. He offers to be our guide and gives us his business card. It states that he graduated in 1980 as an Egyptologist and has been working as a guide in Luxor ever since. He already has one customer, a student from South Korea, and for a good price we join him.

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In the Valley of the Kings 63 royal tombs have been found from Pharaohs who lived from 1550 to 1069 BC. The mummies that we saw in the National Museum in Cairo were once buried in their golden sarcophagi in this valley. The tomb of Toetanchamun was also found here, as one of the few tombs with all its treasures still there. A map of the valley shows how long corridors are carved into the rock to different burial chambers. We visit three tombs and listen to the wonderful stories of Mohammad. He knows a lot about ancient Egypt and tells about the life of the pharaohs, the decoration on the walls, the hieroglyphs and the treasures that were found in the tombs. There are only a few tourists so we have plenty of time to walk around the tombs. It is beautiful and very impressive to see.

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After three hours we call the cousin and not long after that the old Peugeot stops at the gate. It is time for lunch and we ask him to take us to a local place where we can eat koshary. He grew up in the area and quickly knows where to go. We both order a large plate of koshary and a coke (all for 22 EGP, which is around €2.20).

On the advice of Mohammad we then visit Habu Temple. The complex consists of several buildings and is still in very good condition. Especially the colours of the hieroglyphs are very well preserved. One of the guards of the complex is trying to make some pocket money by pointing us and all other tourist to the most special hieroglyphs and giving us access to closed areas of the buildings. He barely speaks any English and it seems he makes up most of the stories, but it still allows us to make some nice pictures. When we leave he asks for a contribution for his ’services’. We give him 2EGP, a common amount for services you did not really ask for. He pulls a glum face, gives back the coins and makes clear that he wants to receive more money. Only after I have put the coins back in my pocket and walk away he suddenly agrees to the fee after all.

The brown Peugeot is already waiting for us when we leave the temple. The cousin, now again accompanied by the marketer, takes us back to the ferry where we pay them the agreed fee. Even though we had agreed on a fixed price, they both ask for a ’tip’ on top of the price. One can always ask, but we have already paid enough (and probably even too much, as we are not really good negotiators yet). With a clear “NO” it is OK and they wish us a good day.

Both the actions of the guard at the temple and the question of the taxi drivers are in line with the image we had of Luxor before we came there. We were warned that we would be approached by people who would try to sell us something (a ride in a carriage, a boat trip on the Nile or souvenirs) and would have to negotiate the prices. Especially now that there are fewer tourists in Egypt, the salesmen have to make an effort to get your attention. In some cases, in an unpleasant way. Luckily we did not feel harassed of hassled in any way. While everyone is trying to make some money, most of them stop asking when we tell them friendly but very clear that we do not want to use their services.

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On our second day in Luxor we visit Karnak Temple, again with Mohammad as our guide. It is one of the largest temples in the world and very well preserved. Mohammad is already waiting for us at the entrance when we arrive and has already bought tickets for us. We follow him along the beautiful tall columns, the huge obelisks and the many images all morning, while he talks about the history of the temple. Very beautiful.

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It is obvious that Mohammed has been around as a guide for a while, because he leaves no question unanswered. He knows all the other guides, who casually say to us that he was their teacher. He also knows the guards of the complex very well, as he takes us to all closed corners of the temple while the guards squeeze a blind eye. A great experience, thanks to a very good guide!

The remainder of the afternoon we spent at the camp site. I work on the blog and cook pasta, while Peter repairs the tent. After a chat with the owner of the camp site about the dogs, the shower and the toilet, he allows us to take a hot shower in one of the rooms of the hotel. A good ending to a great day after all.

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After three days in Luxor we get on our bikes again and continue our way south. We drive along the Nile to Aswan. A scenic route along the wide river and the green fields there right next to it. Along the way we meet a Chinese cyclist who has been travelling for seven months through the Middle East and Africa. His loaded bicycle stands on the side of the road while he sits in the shade playing his guitar. His name is Zhai Xu Dong, but like many Asians he has an easier western nickname and we can call him Tulsi. Like us, he is on his way to Aswan, to take the boat to Sudan. We exchange contact details and agree to try to meet each other in Aswan.

At the end of the afternoon we reach Aswan and we park our bikes at Adam Home Overland Camp (more on this in the next post).

Distance travelled until Aswan : 7596 km – 4721 miles

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Waiting for the ferry
 

(Please note that we travelled from Egypt to Sudan in January 2014)

To go from Egypt to Sudan we have to take the ferry that runs between Aswan in Egypt and Wadi Halfa in Sudan. The ferry runs on Lake Nasser, an artificial lake in the Nile that was created when a large dam was built in Aswan in the 60s. There are two land borders between Sudan and Egypt through which you can travel on a road from one country to another, but for unknown reasons those borders are not yet in use. Well, you could use the landborder, but only if you have received prior permission and pay € 3,000 per vehicle. In that case we prefer the ferry! Although even that is easier said than done.

The ferry runs once a week, but it is not really a regular service. For example, the date and time at which the ferry leaves changes from time to time. It can even happen that the ferry does not run at all for several weeks. The ferry takes only people and luggage, but no motorbikes. So the bikes have to be put on another barge to Wadi Halfa. All in all it is a lot of work, especially if you do not know how it works and do not speak the language.

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On the Internet a lot of information can be found about the ferry service (especially on Horizons Unlimited). There we found contact details of various ‘fixers’: people who arrange the paperwork for you for a certain fee. We were in contact with Kamal, one of the two fixers in Aswan. From him we learned that the ferry for people would leave on Sunday and the barge for motorbikes leaves on Tuesday.

Other travellers had told us that Aswan is a good place to wait for the ferry, better than Wadi Halfa. We decided to try to send the bikes to Sudan first and leave a few days later. On our way to Aswan we had already been in contact with Kamal several times. His English was not good and he sounded angry. While we were still driving through the Egyptian desert at ease, he could call with the message: “I need you bike Monday” or “You must come to Aswan now” or even worse [I]“There are problems. No tickets for you”[?/I]. We tried not too pay too much attention to his remarks and would sort things out when we got to Aswan.

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On Monday afternoon we arrive at Adam Home in Aswan from Luxor. We are welcomed by Sammy (a double of Eddie Murphy) and Mohamed (you can say ‘Mo’). After we put our stuff in one of the rooms, Mo invites us for tea. He has lived in England for a few years and speaks good English. He proudly explains that Sammy and he are Nubians, the people who traditionally inhabited this region. He explains in what way Nubians differ from the Arabs in Egypt and tells about Nubian customs and habits. It is a very nice afternoon after such a hot day on the bike. When I look in the mirror later I see a red face and flat ’helmet hair’. No wonder Mo remarked that we look a little tired and thirsty!

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We use the afternoon to sort out our stuff. Part of our gear will be left on the motorbikes and leave for Sudan the next day. Only the valuable and much needed stuff we keep with us, to take on the ferry later. At Adam Home we stay in one of the rooms, so -among other things- we leave the cooking equipment and camping gear on the motorbikes. We prepare some pasta in the kitchen of Adam Home that night. It is a nice place to stay and although we had thought to go to a hotel in the city, we decide to stay here the whole week.

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After dinner we meet Kamal. He has come to Adam Home to talk about the ferry, the barge for the motorbikes and other administrative matters we have to settle this week, like visas for Sudan. It is a big man with a tough looking face. If he had been an actor he would probably only be casted in the role of the ‘bad guy’. Just like on the phone, we sometimes struggle to understand his English and he sounds quite compelling. The things he says and his hard face make that we do not trust him for one bit. That feeling only gets worse once we start negotiating the price for his services. He asks $50 per motorbike, so a total of $100. We think it is a lot of money. When we to negotiate about the amount, he demonstratively becomes angry, stands up, sticks his finger in the air warning us and threatening to resign. That is when Sammy calls Mo to mediate between us about the price. With the help of Mo, Kamal calms down and the price is lowered to $40 per motorbike. It still is a lot of money, but we decide to do it. Even though we think we could easily obtain a visa for Sudan without his help, this is definitely not the case for getting the bikes on a ship. We decide to have Kamal do everything for us for that price, including the visas. We agree that we will meet him at the train station in Aswan the next morning at 08:30 AM.

Somewhat unhappy we say goodbye to Kamal and start packing our last things. We fix our mosquito net above one of the beds and crawl into our sleeping bags. We actually only just fit under the net and lie closely together in the huge bump in the mattress. Very cosy, but the narrow bed, the frustration about Kamal and the concerns about our motorbikes make that we hardly sleep that night. It feels very early when the alarm goes off the next morning.

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We are at the train station half an hour early and decide to get some fuel first. We heard it is difficult to get fuel in Sudan, so leaving the ferry in Wadi Halfa with a full tank seems like a good idea. We chat with the friendly Greek owner of the fuel station and drive back to the rendezvous point where Kamal is now waiting for us. He drives an old Peugeot from the 70s which is painted in taxi colours. He does not get out of his car to say hello, but indicates us to follow him immediately. We first go to the Sudanese Consulate to apply for visas.

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We follow Kamal through the city. We drive almost at walking pace, because he has a lot of trouble avoiding the many potholes in the road. We park our bikes at the consulate and follow Kamal inside. Everyone seems to know him. We are asked to take a seat in the waiting room. It looks clean, much better than the Egyptian government buildings that we have visited so far. The walls are white, the electrical wires are neatly tucked away and there are clean seats. We fill out an application form and give it to one of the employees of the consulate. He lets us know that we can pick up the visa Thursday morning (two days later). Kamal is still talking to that same employee for a while before we follow him outside again. That was it! Applying for the Sudanese visa was easy and was not in any way like the complicated procedure that Kamal had described the night before. Compared to the Libyan – Egyptian border, this was a breeze. We feel a bit conned by Kamal and get on our bikes in silence.

We follow him to another part of the city where we go to the office of the Traffic Police. Kamal asks Peter to go with him, while I wait outside with the motorbikes. It is warm in the sun and takes quite a while before Peter and Kamal come back out again. When I ask Peter what they have be doing inside, he shrugs. It is not exactly clear to him, something with our Egyptian driver’s license or with Egyptian license plates. It remains a mystery.

We follow Kamal through Aswan. In the middle of town he stops and two men of the traffic police get into his car. Then we drive out of town towards the harbour, which is about 30km outside the city. We see him stop at a bakery and while he remains in the car, he buys some bread. I get off the bike and follow his example buying bread. It is now almost noon and we both could use some lunch. A few hundred meters further Kamal stops again and orders us to come and stand beside him. From the car he explains that we need to make copies of our documents here. In the meantime he will go to the harbour to drop off his passengers. Once all the copies are made, we drive to the entrance of the where -after a while- Kamel picks us up to take us inside the compound.

Just after the entrance we are asked to stop at the customs office. Our bags have to be examined. A stern looking man asks us to take our bags to the scanning device. After a chat with him about our travels he is suddenly a lot more friendly. His examination is not as thorough anymore, he seems to find the chat more important.

When we are done, we follow Kamal to yet another office. We park our bikes in front of the entrance and see Kamal disappear inside. It is now midday and quite warm. We find a place in the shade to have a drink. It takes a long time before Kamal comes out of the office again, accompanied by two other men. They walk past us, busy talking and heading for a boat that is in the harbour. Besides the boat are three trucks full of large blue bags that are loaded onto the ship one by one.

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After a while Kamal comes back and says: “Problem. Big problem”. The blue bags contain fertilizer. The captain of the ship did not think it would be a problem to take our bikes on the same ship, but the harbour master is afraid that the boat will explode when the sun, the fertilizer and the fuel in our bikes somehow come together. The harbour master does not give permission to put our motorbikes on this ship. Tomorrow we have to try to find another boat. Slightly frustrated, we return to Aswan. We agree with Kamal to meet him in the harbour the next morning for another attempt.

It is 15:00 when we park our bikes at Adam Home. Sammy and Mo are surprised to see us, still with our motorbikes. We join Sammy and Mo for sweet tea, finally eat our bread and tell them about the ship with fertilizer. As we still have the motorbikes and all of our gear, we decide to take out our camping gear We do not want to move to a hotel in the city, but we do not want to spend another five nights in the bumpy bed at Adam Home either. We pitch our tent in their courtyard, do some shopping, eat pasta again and then crawl in our own green ‘home’, away from the mosquitoes.

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The next morning we drive to the harbour to meet Kamal. We do not need to go to customs again, the friendly guy of the other day just waves us through. We park our bikes next to two tough looking and fully equipped Land Rovers. At the office of the harbor master we meet a couple from Great Britain and another couple from Switzerland. They have arrived in Aswan a few days earlier from Sudan and have since waited for their cars to arrive. Like us, they use Kamal as their fixer. He needs to go back to the city for them to arrange some paperwork and asks us to fill out some paperwork in the meantime and have our Carnets de Passage stamped. Once this is done, the long wait for Kamals return begins.

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It takes a very long time. We chat with the other overlanders, exchange tips and routes and listen to their interesting stories. They are already on the road for a long time (two and four years, respectively). While we are still full of energy and look forward to the adventures yet to come, they seem a bit tired of traveling. They had to wait a long time before their cars arrived in Aswan and have camped under primitive conditions in Sudan before that. They now look forward to the comfort of an all-inclusive resort on the Red Sea.

It is late in the afternoon when Kamal finally returns in the harbour. He is in an extremely bad mood and does not seem to feel well. We are told that we can take our bikes on the boat, while he finishes the paperwork for the other overlanders.

We ride our bikes to the boat. It lies transversely along the quay. One of the men gestures: “Well, drive onto the boat”. I watch him for a moment in disbelief, because the boat is still quite high compared to the quay and without a drive-plate it will be quit hard to get the bikes on there. We first ask where they want us to park the bikes. At the other side of the boat is a place at the front of the deck. The men shows us how they think we can get there: Drive along the edge (on the quay side), over a 50cm high metal threshold, then turn twice and finally ride along the edge (on the water side) to the front of the boat. We look at each other in amazement. The men look very serious so their are probably not joking. It is doable to ride along the quay side on the boat, riding on the waterfront is a lot harder, making the turns seems pretty hard and lifting the bikes over the thresholds is definitely impossible. On the front of the boat there is also a spot on the quay side of the boat. I ask whether the motorbikes are allowed to stand there by showing them how to get there.The man talk to each other for a bit, when we hear some grunts of approval and are told that we can park them in front.

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Before I even notice, Peter has already put his motorcycle on the boat. With the help of the men, his bike is put on the foredeck. Then he also takes my motorbike and rides it on the boat. With some pushing and pulling, bended plastic, dimpled bags, a small curse and a lot of sweat the bikes are both placed next to each other. We are glad that we are travelling on the small CRFs, because this would have been a lot hard on the Transalp and the Africa Twin. The motorbikes are very close to the anchor chain and ratchet. We hope that this will not be a problem. One last photo and then we walk back to the harbour office. It is a very strange feeling to leave the motorbikes and a large part of our gear on the boat and even hand over the keys to the captain. We hope for the best.

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Back at the harbour office the other overlanders have finished their paperwork. We say goodbye to them, wish them a lot of fun on the Red Sea and step into Kamals car to drive back to the city. It is late in the afternoon and the end of the working day for the staff at the harbour. In addition to Peter and me, Kamal takes three other men to Aswan. We only just fit in the old extended Peugeot, but it is not comfortable. Peter sits with two of the three passengers in the first back seat and I am behind them with our motorcycle jackets and helmets. The old car has already endured a lot since the 70s and waddles across the road. The suspension is so worn out that I hit my head against the ceiling several times when we go through the many holes in the roads. Luckily it is only for a short ride.

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At some point we turn off the main road. One of the men explains that we need to go somewhere, but that it will only take 5 minutes. We do not understand exactly where we are going and why, but we will see. We drive into a street that is full of car repair shops. One in a well maintained building with “Toyota” or “Nissan” on the wall. The other in no more than a shack made of corrugated iron. The soil is black with oil and is littered with engine parts and tires.

Kamal and the men from the harbour step out and ask us to wait in the car. They walk across the street to one of the shops and start a conversation with one of the customers there. The conversation quickly turns into a heated discussion, they even start yelling at each other. People come running up from all corners and there soon is a large group watching the angry men. One of them seems to want to fight with Kamal and is stopped by the spectators. The men from the harbor do the talking on behalf of Kamal, while he is watching from the side.

Peter is now out of the car and is told that Kamal had a car accident that morning and hit the car of the man he is now arguing with. That explains why we had to wait so long for him to return to the harbor and why he was in such a bad mood. The man he hit had asked Kamal to pay a large sum of money to repair the car. When he had refused to pay this, he was beaten and punched by the driver and his friends. Kamal had also called in the help of his friends. While he was driving back to the harbour to finish our paperwork, his friends had gone off to the driver and his friends. They had been a bit more rigorously and threatened to use a knife. That caused even more trouble.

Now his work in the harbor was done, Kamal tries to restore the situation with the other driver with the help of the men from the harbour. All the bystanders seem to want to interfere with the dispute. The atmosphere is grim and I am told to stay in the car. We do not feel at ease and find it annoying that Kamal involves us in this. That feeling is strengthened when a stranger gets into the car of Kamal, start the car and starts to drive it, while I am still in the car!! I shout and ask him to stop. The driver first seems to ignore me, but then does stop the car. I immediately step out. I would rather stand outside the car with Peter on the street, instead of being on my own in a way too hot car that is driven away by another person.

It takes a long time before the calm is restored. While we are waiting for Kamal in the blazing sun, he drinks tea with the angry driver and Kamals mediators in one of the shops. While drinking tea, they eventually find a solution that does not involve any insurance or police.

We are a bit fed up. ’Quickly taking the bikes to the boat’ is now already taking most of the day. We let Kamal take us to the city and call Mo to tell him we are ’coming home’. When we get to the other side of the Nile, he is already waiting for us. At the sight of our heated heads, he puts on the air conditioning in his car and directly takes us to Adam Home. Once there, we drink mint tea and let the frustrations about Kamal slide off.

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The next morning, we need to go to Aswan once more to complete the final administrative things. Mo brings us to the ferry that will take us across the Nile and on the other side we get into Kamals car. The door of the car is repaired and Kamal looks a lot better today. We ride with him to the Sudanese consulate to pick up our visas. While we are waiting for our turn we meet Tulsi, the Chinese cyclist we met earlier, who is also there to pick up his visa. Like us, he had waited only two days before he could pick up his visa. And this without a fixer! For us it is clear now that we could have obtained the visa without the help of Kamal easily. When we make a remark that -unlike what Kamal had told us- it does not take six days to get the visa, Kamal states that Tulsi only got his viso so quickly, because he had put in a good word for Tulsi. At this point we do not believe a word he is saying any more and consider it to be a good lesson for next time.

With a Sudanese visa in our pocket, we drive with Kamal to the ferry ticket office. The procedure for buying a ticket for the ferry to Sudan is an entirely different story. The boat to Sudan is so busy that the tickets are usually sold out in one morning. If the sales start on Monday morning for the boot that leaves the following Sunday, there is usually a large group of people waiting. Some of them even sleep in front of the office to get a ticket. This is the first time we have the idea that Kamal is worth his money. While we were having breakfast in Luxor on the morning we drove to Aswan, Kamal had already been in the line on our behalf as of 06:00 AM to buy our tickets. Or at least to put our names on a passenger list. We can only buy the actual tickets now we have a visa for Sudan.

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At the ticket office, we meet Tulsi again. We met him on Monday while we were all on our way to Aswan, so he had not been standing in line for tickets either. Friends of his had however put his name on the passenger list, so he had now come to buy his ticket. Unfortunately, the clerk could not find his name on the list. There were no more tickets, so he had no other option than to wait another week for the next boat. And not only that, he should also stand in line again the following Monday to buy a ticket, because -even though he was in the ticket office now- the tickets for the next boot would only be sold then. Wow!! Too bad, because that would also mean that we would not be on the same boat to Sudan.

Somewhat happier with the services of Kamal, we get back in his car again. The last thing he then helps us with is changing our Egyptian Pound for Sudanese Pound. Now we still need to get on the ferry to Sudan. On Sunday he will only still help us with the final formalities before we step on the boat. We have Kamal bring us to McDonalds and we eat thick burgers and delicious fries. It tastes even better than at home.

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Now most of the work is done, we can enjoy two days of relaxing in Adam Home and Aswan. Mo is not only the contact person for all international guests at Adam Home, but also captain of a motorboat. That should be fun: sailing on the Nile. On Friday, after we have slept in late, Mo takes us to his boat. His cousin Sherif has already started the boat and has laid cushions on the roof of the boat. Near the city it is still quite busy on the water, but after the rapids we are practically the only ones there. We sail along the botanical gardens, Elephantine Island, several Nubian villages and the Old Cataract Hotel (where Agatha Christie wrote “Murder on the Nile”). Every now and then Mo sticks his head through the stairwell to tell us about all the sights. We sail until we can see the dam and then turn around towards the city again. Halfway we eat a delicious lunch. Peter even attempts to catch fish for dinner.

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That afternoon and the next day we do virtually nothing. We sleep in late, drink tea with Mo and Sammy, go for a walk along the Nile and do work on the blog. On Saturday, Mo takes us to his village, introduces us to his parents and shows us his newly built home. We can use his computer to upload some pictures to the blog and help him to open a Facebook page for Adam Home. All in all a perfect relaxing ending to an otherwise busy week in Aswan.

Distance travelled to the ferry in Aswan: 7,692 km (4,779 miles)

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I'm really enjoying your trip, and all of the pictures!
Looking forward to the next installment!
:scooter:

After a fun week in Aswan we leave for Sudan on Sunday. We will follow our bikes to Sudan where they have arrived on Friday (hopefully). We look forward to seeing our red and white motprbikes against in Wadi Halfa!. But it will still take some time, because we first have to take a trip with the ferry from Egypt to Sudan of about 17 hours!

We say goodbye to Sammy at Adam Home and get into Mo’s car with all our stuff. Again we first take the ferry across the Nile to the city. Kamal is waiting for us at the other side. There is a lot you can say about the man, but he always was where he said he would be. Upon seeing all our luggage he opens his trunk. Despite the fact that we had already sent part of our gear on the barge with our bikes, it still is quite a lot and quite heavy. It only just fits. Especially the bag with the helmets, the boots and suits, is very heavy. And to think that we could have just left those with the bikes, because if the bikes are stolen, the gear it not much use any more either.

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We buy some falafel sandwiches for lunch and then head towards the port with Kamal. At the entrance to the harbor it is already quite busy. A big difference with the days before, when we were there to put the bikes on the barge. Everywhere are people waiting between huge piles of suitcases and boxes until they are allowed to enter the port area. We do not only see suitcases with clothes, but also boxes with televisions, computers, kitchen appliances and even refrigerators. It is reminiscent of the fully loaded cars that we saw in the harbor in Italy heading for Tunisia. We understand that especially electric appliances are currently not for sale in Sudan. The Sudanese now buy their stuff in Egypt and the United Arab Emirates. This is why the boat is not only full of people, but also with an extreme amount of luggage. Each passenger drags along at least five heavy bags or boxes.

Carriers in blue smocks offer to bring the luggage to the boat for a small fee. The young men carry things on their backs, the slightly older men with worn backs pull a loaded cart behind them. Between those passengers and all their luggage are street vendors who offer to sell drinks, nuts, books and blankets. Others walk around with a pile of banknotes offering to change Egyptian Pounds to Sudan Pounds.

Kamal parks his car and presses us to stay in the car with the windows closed until he is back. We see him walking to the entrance of the port and chatting with the guards. Then he comes back. He helps us unload, parks his car further away and leads us to the entrance. With the help of additional straps that Peter has attached to the luggage, we carry all our stuff passed the waiting passengers. Kamal apologizes for not being able to help us carry the luggage. He can only do so after our bags are checked in customs. At the entrance Kamal leads us along a long row of passengers.

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Kamal looks at the guard, he nods at him and then we are allowed inside the port area. There we first have let the customs check our luggage. There is only one scanning device in the port. A few days earlier when we had our bags checked, it was very quiet and we had a good chat with one of the employees there. Now it is not quiet at all!

When we arrive the door to the scanner is still closed and a long row of passengers is waiting outside. When the door suddenly opens, the row of waiting passengers splashed and everyone runs forward to put his bag in the scanner first. All luggage is thrown on the belt and forms a high stack within seconds blocking the scanner. The guards explode. They throw all the luggage off the belt again, scream with a red head that everyone should step back and then close the door of the building again. Then they come out to do some more shouting.

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Among them is they guy we had a chat with a few days earlier. A friendly smile appears on his angry red face when he sees us. Not long after the doors open again and we are guided by Kamal with our luggage to the beginning of the row. The babbler takes our luggage and puts it in the scanner, while snapping at the Egyptian and Sudanese passengers that they have to get out of the way. We are glad our stuff is now been checked quickly, but we also feel awkward to be treated with priority.

Kamal takes one of our bags and walks in front of us to the harbour office for the final formalities. One of the things that needs to be sorted out is, crazy enough, our visa for Egypt. We thought we had already obtained one when we entered Egypt from Libya, but unfortunately that was not the case. We then paid, but received no sticker in our passports. We already thought that to be a little strange, but since we did receive a receipt, we thought it was OK (see “From pillar to post”). Later it became clear that we were cheated anyway and the receipt was worth nothing. In our passports it was written in Arabic that we would pay for the visa upon leaving Egypt. That is in Aswan. After we have paid 200 Egyptian Pounds per visa we get our passports back with stamped visa stickers.

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The port office is also a lot busier than it was in the previous days. We do not seem be the only one that had a priority treatment, for almost all foreign tourists are already in the hall. We meet Luca, an Italian backpacker traveling to South Africa by public transport. In the hall are also three bikes from a French family with three children traveling through Africa by pushbike. The eldest son of seven cycles himself and the youngest two boys (aged five and two) sit together in a bike trailer behind the bike of their father. Very special!

Once our tickets are checked, we can go to the ferry. We had not been able to obtain a place in a cabin so we will have to sleep on the deck of the boat. We had already understood that if you pay the captain 50 Egyptian Pounds each, he allows you to sleep next to the bridge on an enclosed piece of the deck. That is about EUR 10 and we think it is a good idea. Kamal leads us onto the boat and takes us to the captain, to whom we pay his pocket money. Then we say goodbye to Kamal on the ferry. When we see him walking on the quay later, he calls Peter again and waves with both his arms high in the air. A big difference with the cool encounters during the last couple of days. All in all, we have spent some special days with Kamal in Aswan. We are pleased that we did not have to arrange everything ourselves, but we still feel that we paid too much. Mixed feelings so to say.

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It is 10:30 AM when we goodbye to Kamal. The boat will only leave at the end of the afternoon, probably around 05:00 PM. We look for a place in the shade, eat our sandwiches and take out our e-readers. While we are reading, the boat slowly fills with passengers. If I go to the lower deck to go to the (now still reasonably clean) toilet, it appears to be utter chaos there. I end up in a mass of pushing and shouting people who make their way to the banks on the lower deck with all their belongings. At the entrance of the “first class” is an employee of the ferry holding a large iron gate to stop people from going in. He keeps the gate in front of him as a shield while he tries to push back the crowd with his full weight. The whole thing is reminiscent of a noisy herd of cattle that is pushed back in the barn.

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I walk on to the restaurant, through the crowded lounges on the lower back, towards the upper deck. I have a chat with the other tourists. Luca and the French family have found a shady spot under one of the lifeboats. Meanwhile, there are two Chinese cyclists and two Chinese backpackers who have joined them. In awe we watch how the deck around us is crammed with luggage. Passengers are trying to safe a spot to sleep by putting cardboard or a blanket on the floor. The French family has even set up their tent on the deck, but it is a real struggle to even keep the spot. There is more and more stuff coming up and the stacks on deck are getter higher, while the quay is still full of luggage and there are also still people -with additional bags- coming out of the port building. Here and there quarrels arise. At some point the lifeboats are even filled with luggage. It is an unimaginable chaos.

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When I go back to Peter, who stayed with our stuff, I notice that our sleeping area has also been filled with luggage. The deck in front of the bridge is full of televisions, computer monitors and crockery. Our ’sleeping spot’ had been crammed with boxes of cornstarch. Like the passengers on deck, we also begin to ’defend’ our spot, by putting our airmats on the floor to safeguard our spot.
In the course of the afternoon, it is clear that the boat will not leave anytime soon. The quay is still full of boxes when we see the sun go down and the passengers next to us turn toward Mecca to pray to Allah. On the deck the passengers have kept a space free for prayer, but there is not enough room for all passengers. If the first group has completed their prayer, they make room for others so that eventually everyone who wants to call on Allah has the opportunity to do so. It might be a good idea to call upon the help of a higher power because the boat is now so full that we could use all help in case of any shipwreck.

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A lot of people stop for a chat with the captain in the bridge. It is not always clear what their role on the boat is: captain, first officer, manager, customs or just a passenger. Unlike in Europe we cannot recognize them by their uniform. One of them, a tall man with a big belly in a brown shirt with short sleeves approaches us and says -somewhat out of nowhere- that we should give him our passports. If we laugh and say that we will do no such thing, he is suddenly very upset and says that we will not get into Sudan then. He appears to be working for Sudanese customs. He is not wearing his uniform now, because he is still on Egyptian territory. After we have understood that all other tourists have given him their passports, we decide to ’obey his order’ and give ours as well.

Our tickets not only gives us the right to sleep (on deck), but also to a meal. We doubt on the hygiene in the kitchen, especially with the now very filthy toilets in mind, but decide to give it a try anyway. Peter goes downstairs to the kitchen with our dinner vouchers and returns with two plates of vegetables, boiled potatoes and chicken. It looks good and smells good too. It tastes surprisingly good.

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Our place next to the bridge is relatively quiet compared to the rest of the ship. Yet there are people who come to chat with us now and then. We meet four young (very beautiful) Egyptian girls. They are dressed in Western clothes and we initially ask where they are from. We are surprised to hear they come from Cairo. With two other women, they are on their way to Sudan to Meroe to visit the pyramids. They want to take a bus from the port in Wadi Halfa to the pyramids and return with this same ferry to Egypt 24 hours later. A quick visit to Sudan, but it should be possible.

All four went to a French-language high school. They do not only speak very good English, but also speak French fluently. They all just started studies at university and are about to go abroad for their studies. It is very interesting to hear about their lives in Cairo. Each of them comes across as a very strong young women that is doing a very good job in a culture that is mainly dominated by men.

The sun has set and it is quite dark now. Luggage is still taken up from the quay and loaded on the ship. It does not look like we will be leaving any time soon. The girls do not have another option than to leave the ship, otherwise they will not make it back in time for their flight home. As we say goodbye to the ladies, it is almost 09:30 PM.

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The door to the bridge opens again and out come three beautiful Sudanese women. They make themselves comfortable on the floor and are given blankets by the captain. The captain again closes the door to the bridge and turns off the lights. It looks like we will share our spot with them this night. It is a clear night and it starts to get a little chilly. We are both a bit tired and decide to try to get some sleep. Without shoes, but with all our clothes on, we crawl into our sleeping bags. It does not take long before I fall asleep under the stars.

When I wake up after a while, I see the stars move above me. We have left Egypt! I get up and stand in my sleeping bag to look over the railing of the boat. It is pitch dark and there are a lot of stars in the sky, a beautiful sight. There is a chilly wind. Happy we have left the port, I get back on my mat again and crawl deep into my sleeping bag for another few hours of sleep. If I opens my eyes again a few hours later, the sun is already low in the sky. We smell fresh coffee coming from the bridge. On the roof of the bridge our French fellow travelers look out over the water. When the boys see us lying in our sleeping bags they come to the edge of the roof to have a chat. It is still early, but they are already full of energy.

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The pile of blankets at the foot end of our bed starts to wake up. One by one the ladies show up from under the blankets. Out of their bag comes a water boiler, which they give to the captain. While the water is boiling, they take out cups, tea and sugar. A little while later, Peter and I are enjoying a cup of sweet mint tea while the ladies smoke one cigarette after another. They do not speak much English, but with hand gestures we can surely talk a bit to each other.

Now we are awake, I have to go to the toilet. The toilet was very dirty already the night before and the situation will not have improved. Armed with toilet paper, a towel and a large block of soap, I dare to go to the lower deck. When I enter the washroom, I am glad that I am wearing my shoes. There is about three centimeters of water (at least I hope it is water) on the ground and it smells pretty special. Water leaks from the pipes everywhere, but the toilet does not flush. Like I am preparing for open-heart surgery I thoroughly scrub my hands and try to freshen up. I only hope I will not have to go to the toilet again. I go back to Peter. And now I am back at our stuff, he can now go to the toilet. When I see that he is still wearing his flip-flops, I can only just stop him to hand over his shoes.

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While we have been on the move all night, it will still take until the end of the afternoon before we arrive in Sudan. We take away our mats and sleeping bags and find a spot on top of the boxes with cornstarch. At the end of the morning the ferry will pass along the temple complex Abu Simbel. The temple was formerly on the Nile. Because of the plans to build a dam in Lake Nasser in Aswan, Abu Simbel would disappear under water. To prevent this, the temple was broken down and rebuilt on higher ground to safe it from the rising water. The temple is now on Lake Nasser and can be seen from the ferry. The captain specifically comes out of the bridge to tell us that we are almost at Abu Simbel. We take our cameras and find a nice spot for a picture. We are not the only ones! When I look to the right, I see that all passengers on deck a looking over to watch Abu Simbel. Great to see!

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The remainder of the day we hang around on the ferry. We talk to the Sudanese women and eventually share a lunch with them we received from the captain. We take turns to walk around the ship to chat with other passengers or to buy a drink. At the beginning of the afternoon, we are allowed to pick up our passports. The customs guy has now put in his uniform and possibly looks even stricter than the day before.

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It is warm in the sun and the time passes very slowly. Especially once I have finished my book (Murder on the Nile, what other book could I read). We are pleased when we are told by the captain that we will arrive in about an hour. Around us the first people start to move their luggage to the lower deck.

After a while, we see a quay looming in the distance. We only see a few low buildings, not what you would expect from a city with a port. On one of the quays we see a cargo ship like to one we put the bikes on. The cargo ship is still too far away to see it clearly, but we can just see some vague ‘red -and-white’ spot. Would that be the bikes? If we take a picture and zoom to see the details, we can clearly identify our two bikes! Great, as least they made it to Sudan, we now only have to see in what state.

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As the boat pulls up, we are told that we are allowed to go below deck. We drag our stuff through the narrow corridors of the ship and make our way down. We are first stopped in the canteen. We sit down next to all other foreign tourists and fill out some forms for the Sudanese customs. Then we are allowed to leave with a copy of the forms we have just filled out.

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The door is already open and in the aisles are many people pushing their way out with their heavy bags. Leaving the ferry in Tunis is a joke compared to this. I try to be a proper and kind Dutchman by waiting my turn. However, when everybody keeps passing me, even old gray ladies, I decide to put aside my good manners and just as brutal as the Sudanese and push my way out. Step by step we get closer to the exit. Just when we get our heavy stuff up the stairs, we are stopped by two men: “Where is your form?“. They want the form that we had just neatly tucked away and they want it NOW. While I can nearly stand up straight, I grab my backpack and get out the forms. I see Peter do the same. We can finally go off the boat. It is still one small step and then we are outside, in Sudan!

Distance to Wadi Halfa: 7981km, of which 298km by ferry. (4,959 miles of which 185 miles by ferry)

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It has been an interesting report, just with the ferry part! Maybe it is the 'ugly American' in me, but compared to Egypt, which I would be most excited to do, and is on my mental 'bucket list,' going to Sudan would be just a little more palatable than entering North Korea with a suitcase full of Bibles! I am sure you will find more excitement there than I believe is available, but I think my experience with that country will be limited to reading your reports. I do eagerly await to read them, even if I have no desire to go there myself...

Once on the dock, we drag our luggage to the direction of the Sudanese customs. Mazar, our fixer on the Sudanese side, had already informed us that he would wait for us there. It is warm and the bags seem even more heavy than usual. Sweaty and with a red face we arrive at customs.

There we meet Mazar, a young, busy guy with a cheerful face and a contagious laugh. He wears neat trousers, black shoes and a blue shirt. He welcomes us to Sudan, puts our passports in his briefcase and asks us to follow him. Then it suddenly goes very quick. Before we know it our luggage is checked, we have a stamp in our passports and we sit in the back off an old Landrover pickup that brings us to a hotel. We have not seen the motorbikes yet. Yes, a red-white glimpse in the distance, but no more than that. Our boat was delayed and the customs office has already closed. All the administrative stuff concerning the bikes will have to wait until the next day. So we have to wait another night and only then we will know how the motorbikes have endured the journey.

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Mazar has booked us a room in the pink Cangan Hotel, which is said to be the best hotel in Wadi Halfa. He has booked one of the better rooms, with a private bathroom. Once in the room, it shows that this sounded better than it actually is. Let’s just say that the room meets the ’African Standard’: a door that does not close, sockets of which the wires are hanging out of the wall, a floor full of dried drops of pink paint, a closet with a broken mirror, a dip in the mattress, stains on the cushions, a toilet that does not flush and a cold shower that sometimes works and sometimes does not. Fortunately, we are already quite used to this now.

When there is water, we both manage to take a quick shower after which we go to the restaurant for chicken and salad. There we meet Volker and Mülle, two Germans who ride their motorbikes from Cape Town to Cairo. Mülle rides a Honda Africa Twin, the type of motorbike that Peter has left at home. Like Peter, Mülle is a true ’Twin-lover’. The remainder of the evening we talk about motorbikes and share exciting stories about Africa.

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The next morning the moment is there: we can pick up the motorbikes! In the back of the Landrover taxi we bounce over the sandy roads to the port. I cannot wait to be back on my own bike again. Mazar, again dressed in neat trousers and a blue shirt, rides behind us on his Kawasaki KLR that was given to him by a happy customer. His briefcase tightly clamped between his leg and the tank and his eyes half-closed against the dust.

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Once in the harbor, we give our papers to Mazar. Volker and Mülle are also in the harbor with their fixer. They will go north and have to put their motorbikes on the barge today. We see both fixers disappear in the customs office and then the long wait begins. The four of us stand in a corner of the harbor and continue talking where we left off the previous night, the usual motorbike talks about tire pressure, oil usage and broken petrol pumps. Around us the harbor is getting more and more busy. The boat for Egypt only departs in the beginning of the afternoon, but the first passengers already gather in the port area. Again with many large, heavy suitcases.

It takes at least three hours, until after lunch of the customs staff, before we get permission to go to the barge with motorbikes. The closer we get to the boat the more clearly we can distinguish two bikes. They stand next to each other on the deck, just where we left them, but now with a thick orange rope that is wrapped around them. They were certainly secured tightly during the trip.

The way the boat is mored to the dock, it is impossible to drive the motorbikes off. After some consultation with the captain, the ship is turned and mored parallel to the quay. Then a structure is built with a pontoon, scaffold planks and some pallets to our bikes off and to put the motorbikes of Mülle and Volker on. Once we are on the barge, we free our bikes from the orange rope. They look good and all our stuff is still on the bikes. Fortunately, they have survived the trip. When the captain then hands over our keys, our relief is complete. With the help of the crew, Peter takes of the bikes and safely parks them on Sudanese soil.

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Then it is up to Volker and Mülle to put their bikes on the barge by the same shaky construction of pallets and scaffolding planks. The captain, another man than we had met in Aswan, had not been so happy with the place where our bikes had been parked. They were so close to the anchor wrench, that it had been almost impossible to throw out the anchor (just like we feared!). Mülle and Volker therefore have to do it the hard way: drive along the edge (on the quay side), take the bikes over a 50cm high metal threshold, then turn tightly twice and finally park along the edge (on the waterfront). The route that we still had deemed impossible, they now have to take with their much larger bikes.

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Volker is the first to try. With the help of the crew his Honda Dominator is lifted over the thresholds and eventually parked on the other side of the ship. It only just fits. Mülle had hurt his foot in a fall earlier and is struggling to move his heavy bike. Peter knows how to handle the Africa Twin and -with the help of the crew- he puts the bikes in the right place on the barge. It definitely is something else, such a 250kg weighing Africa Twin compared to our CRFs of 150 kg. (Mülle would later write in his blog that Peter was only too glad to help him, to be able to have an Africa Twin in his hands again and I think he was right!).

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With the motorbikes on the quay, Mazar can complete the paperwork. We see him enter the customs office with his briefcase and walk out a little later with stamped Carnets. We are done, great! After some bizarre events with Kamal in Egypt, Mazar was a welcome surprise. With him, we knew exactly what we paid to whom and why. No frills! And all that with a nice chat and a contagious laugh. A great way to start a new country.

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It is late in the afternoon when we say goodbye our new German friends and finally drive our motorbikes to the hotel. The next morning we do some shopping at the local supermarket and we find fuel to fill up the bikes. The latter is not obvious in Sudan. Because of the conflicts in (neighbouring country) South Sudan and the poor accessibility of the oil fields there, it is hard to get fuel in this corner of Africa. We already noticed that in Egypt, but understand that the scarcity is even greater in Sudan and Ethiopia. To avoid getting stuck without fule, we fill up wherever we can, even if it is only a few liters. Our motors do 3,3 liters on 100km, so every liter is at least another 30km further, perhaps to the next fuel station.

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At the end of the morning, later than usual, we leave Wadi Halfa. Once we drive out of town, we are immediately in the desert. On the map the road seems to run right along the river, but the river and the lush green fields beside it are nowhere to be seen. Around us the land is arid, dry and dusty. It is quite warm and the air vibrates above the long straight asphalt road. Not far from Wadi Halfa we meet the first cyclists that were on the boat to Wadi Halfa with us. The French family is cycling against the wind up one of the hills. Father in front with the two youngest boys in his cart, the eldest son on his own bike behind him and mom as red lantern at the back. On top of the hill we wait for them. We chat, fool around with the boys and share some tips. It is a special trip they are making with their children and a meeting that I will remember for a long time.

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Not much later, we meet up with two of the Chinese cyclists we met on the boat. It is lunchtime and they have found a place in the shade. Their fully packed bicycles are parked along the side of the road. Like Tulsi (the Chinese cyclist we encountered in Egypt) they both have a fishing rod and a guitar(!) with them on the bike. They are on their way to a village about 60km away where predominantly Chinese live.

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Africa is currently being flooded by Chinese. Not only by cycling Chinese tourists, but mainly by miners and road builders. China has entered into contracts with several African countries to derive minerals from the soil. To get the materials for the mining activities to the right place and to transport minerals, the Chinese are building new roads throughout Africa. Along our route there are Chinese settlements everywhere. The feelings about the Chinese presence are mixed and sometimes downright negative. While it is great that the African roads are being paved, the quality of the paved roads is often very poor, as are the conditions under which African workers are employed by the Chinese. Also the cheap plastic items they sell is not appreciated by everyone. Not to mention the fact that valuable minerals from the African soil are taken to Asia. For our cycling Chinese friends it only offers advantages, because they cycle on a new road straight to a delicious plate of rice to celebrate the Chinese new year in a few days.

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Apart from the bicycles there is little traffic on the road. Just a handful of donkey carts, mopeds and a stray tuktuk. The only other road users are the buses, and they are notorious! The Sudanese bus leaves according to an extremely tight schedule, whereby passengers are promised to reach their destination within a record time. If the driver arrives at his destination too late, he gets a fine and in case of serious delay he may even lose his job. As a result, the bus drivers push their buses through the country at mind-blowing speeds of up to 160 km/h. They all have new Chinese buses, which are extremely quiet. And that is particularly annoying because we do not hear them approach and then they are suddenly next to you. That is not even the worst part. It gets really exciting when they ride toward you while they are overtaking other traffic! They just keep on riding there and do not move an inch. We have to get off the road three times to avoid a frontal collision. Idiots!

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On our way south we sometimes see a glimpse of the Nile and the green fields next to it. Most of the houses in the villages we pass have the same beige color as the sand and are hard to see. The most beautiful building in the villages is usually the mosque, which coloured walls tower above the flat roofs of the houses. In the larger towns where we see local motorcycles, we try to buy fuel. Often the stations have no fuel and they have to refer us to another fuel station. In most cases, the guy then jumps on his motorbike to take us there. Very kind!

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In Sudan, we will mostly bush camp. Partly because there are not very many campsites and hotels, but secondly and more importantly, because we can. The country is not very densely populated, so there is always a place to find where you can stay without being bothered. Other overlanders had told us that even if there are people in the area, they will usually leave you alone. And they were right. When we find a nice place for the tent overlooking the Nile just below Abri. We do see some curious faces in the distance, but they just let us go our way. Only after we make contact with them, they approach us to have a chat. And after that chat, they simply leave. Very relaxing and not what we were used to in Egypt.

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On your first day in Sudan we follow the Nile down to Dongola where we buy water, fresh fruit and vegetables. Then we drive away from the Nile and follow the road trough the desert toward Karima in the east. Once we have left Dongola behind us and ride into the desert the climate immediately changes. It is a lot warmer, even warmer than we had experienced in the Egyptian desert. There is some wind, but it is so warm that it seems as if a blow dryer is constantly blowing hot air in your face. The burning sun and warm air give me a sore throat, a sunburnt red nose and cracked lips. We stop for lunch in the only shady place we can find, but immediately decide to make it a quick stop. It is too hot, even in the shade. The bit of wind we get from riding is better, even if it is a warm wind. With sunblock on my face and my buff up my nose, we drive to the east.

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The road is a straight line that disappears into the distance. Along the way, we do not ride through villages and we hardly see any traffic. Very boring. We both put on some music and make our way through the warm air. We had wanted to ride to Karima in two days, but when we are halfway it is still so hot that we decide to drive on. It is too hot to put up the tent now. To think that our cycling friends will travel along this road to the east as well. What a tough ride that will be!

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We end up driving until the sun begins to set. When we stop to take a pictures of some camels, we see a path disappear into the desert. We turn off the road and follow the path until we find a nice flat area for the tent. As the sun sets, we enjoy a fresh mango and a bag of salty chips. In the last light we pitch our tent and when the sky is filled with stars we eat a delicious plate of pasta. After dinner we look for constellations in the sky. It is surprisingly silent. The only sounds come from my phone indicating that I have new whatsapp messages (yes, even in the middle of the Sudanese desert we have full coverage!)

Halfway through the night the wind gets stronger. It shakes our tent up and down. We do not sleep much after that. Once the sun is up, we pack our things and we leave after a quick breakfast in the direction of Karima. It is still early when we arrive at the pyramids. The pyramids are small compared to the pyramids at Giza, but still beautiful. There is no fence around them, there is no ticket office, there are no ‘guides’ and no souvenir shops, there is nobody. Just us! We park next to the pyramids and take our time strolling around them. We like it here, in Sudan!

Distance travelled to Karima : 8,595 km (5,341 miles)
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Amazing stories. I just found your site and am halfway now. As a fellow Dutchy, it's great to read about others that are out and about. ;)

Another Great update! A fun read and good pics too! Thanks SO MUCH for working so hard to keep your report current! WE DO enjoy it!

Do you guys know the "more or less" cost to prepare your CRF250's for the ride? The more I read up on them and see your report the more I am convinced this HONDA may be my next bike.

I've read your blog about the upgrades you made ... but not sure of the total cost? If you did it over ... would you include a "Power Commander" or not?
I've had them on several bikes in the past and found they do very little good.
Maybe the newer ones are better? For me, with a PC, fuel economy was not good.

Does the CRF250L have enough power to pull you through deep sand?

Seems like a fantastic bike overall. I owned a XR250R Honda (dirt bike) and liked it for a lot of reasons. But it was never set up to carry luggage. That bike was very good with chains, sprockets and tires ... all lasted a LONG time. Seems to be the same with your CRF250L's .. yes?

Have a safe and fun trip!
bier

We did not add up the costs of all items, but we estimate that we spent around 4.000€ to prepare both bikes (so around 2.000€ each). The biggest part of that amount was used for better suspension, upgraded seats and solid luggage racks. The costs obviously vary depending on where you live. For example, we ordered our bigger fuel tank in the US, our radiator guards in Canada, our air filters in Australia and had them sent to the Netherlands.

No we would not. We hardly notice a difference. A better modification, is to change the front sprocket to 13-teeth (1 tooth less).:thumbup1:

We can ride through deep sand, especially with deflated tires we manage quit well. We doubt whether the bike would have enough power to cross sand dunes with the luggage we carry. We got stuck once in Sudan and 'wiggled' the bike out of the sand by moving it sidewards a couple of times. With Peters Africa Twin, he would have been able to drive out of the sand on pure power of the bike.
bier

Chit-chat in Khartoum
 

After we have admired the pyramids, we drive to the centre of Karima where we find the hotel that was recommended to us by Volker and Mülle. We can park our motorbikes in the courtyard of the hotel. After two days of bush camping it is great to have a shower (even if it is a cold shower) and to sit on a normal toilet. The remainder of the afternoon we work on the blog, filter some water and wash our clothes. Only when the sun is set we venture out to the main square of Karima to eat in one of the local restaurants.

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It is very busy in the square. Vans drive off and on and park in the square next to the donkey carts. Around the square there are lots of ’Chai-mamas’, ladies offering coffee and tea. They sit on a stool behind a low table that has glasses and jars with different spices and sugar. In front of the table are a few chairs and stools for guests. On a charcoal fire beside her are two pots with boiling water, one with water for tea and one with coffee. In addition, there is a pot of charcoal on which herbs are smoking to keep away mosquitoes.

Around the square are about ten Chai-mamas. We choose one of the mini-terraces and order two cups of tea with sugar next to it, because if she puts in the sugar the tea is really very sweet. From under her bench she pulls a small round tray on which she puts tea glasses and a jar of sugar. She is holding a sif over the glass containing tea in which she pours the boiling water. The tea tastes very spicy and is delicious!

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The next morning we drive further east to Atbara, from where we head towards Khartoum. South of Atbara we will first visit the pyramids of Meroë. Other travellers had told us that it would be a good place to bush camp. From Karima it is about 400km to the pyramids, a long distance we normally spread over two days. But since this road again runs through the hot desert, we decide to make it one long day. That way we sit in the (riding) wind on the bikes all day and we only have to pitch our tents when the sun sets.

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In Karima we buy extra water and fresh bread with falafel (the usual breakfast in Egypt and Sudan) before we leave. After we have filled the tanks of our motorbikes, we set off. The first part of the route winds along the Nile, but we soon turn left onto the long straight desert road. It immediately is very hot. In the distance we see the hot sky shiver above the sand. It really does seem like there is water in the distance!

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The sun is so bright that I do not only wear my regular sunglasses, but also use the sunglasses of my helmet. With sunblock on my nose, the hose of my camelback close by and the buff over my face, I can just manage to drive with an open visor. We only stop to fill our camelbacks and eat the falafel sandwiches. We ride as fast as our motorbikes can carry us through the desert.

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At the end of the day we see the pyramids of Meroë from the road. As in Karima, the pyramids are smaller and pointier than in Giza (Egypt). They are built in a group between the sand dunes. We take the road towards the pyramids and look for a camping spot.

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The sand on the road to the pyramids is quite deep. We wobble through the sand and at some point Peter gets stuck in a small sand dune. We both deflate the tires of the bikes to 0.8 Bar and that does wonders! On our soft (knobby) tires, standing on the pegs and hanging from the handlebars so that the front wheel is lighter, we suddenly fly through the sand. This is a lot better! We find a spot for the tent and pitch it while the sun is setting.

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The next morning we wake up while the sun rises over the sand dunes. When I walk up the sand dune to seek a ‘toilet’ I come across all sorts of tracks in the sand; lizards, snakes, beetles. We were not alone this night. I also see some strange insects, beautifully shaped creatures that could be aliens.

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During breakfast we are surprised when suddenly a camel stands next to us with on his back a gentleman who offers us a ride to the pyramids. The feet of a camel make almost no noise in the sand, so we did not hear them approach. We kindly decline the offer, pack our stuff and continue our journey to Khartoum.

From Atabara we drive on the main road to Khartoum. In addition to the buses (the ’idiots’), there are also a lot of trucks that ride from Port Sudan to Khartoum. The road has suffered from heavy traffic, that has pulled deep tracks in the soft asphalt. The roadside is littered with broken tires and we regularly pass stranded cars with a boiling engine. We only stop at one of the “restaurants” along the way to drink tea at one of the Chai-mamas, but keep going most of the time.

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At the beginning of the afternoon, Peter suddenly brakes. I hear him say over the intercom: “A motorcyclist with a helmet“. I see a big motorbike with attached to it suitcases coming our way, and indeed there is a helmet on the head of the biker. In Africa this can only mean one thing: it must be an international traveller. Until now we have not come across any Africans wearing helmets. We turn around and see the BMW doing the same. The big man on the bike takes off his helmet and says: “Hello! Are you ‘Amsterdam to Anywhere’?” We are stunned by this greeting and answer surprised that this is indeed the name of our blog. He introduces himself as Gernot from Germany and tells how happy he is that he now actually met us. We are just as happy to see him because he is the first overlander we see in a long time. It is clear that there are other travellers on the move in Africa, some even on motorbikes. Great!

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He wanted to skip Egypt and shipped his motorcycle to Khartoum, where he arrived just a few days earlier. Today he is on his way north to visit the pyramids of Meroë, but -just like us- he will travel to South Africa after that. His wife Anja is still in Germany, but will arrive in Addis Abeba (in Ethiopia) a few weeks later to join him. She was the one who had followed our blog. We exchange contact details and agree that we will meet in Khartoum the next day.

With new energy after this unexpected meeting, we arrive in Khartoum. It is as if we enter a different world. We ride along high modern buildings, we are overtaken by the most luxurious cars and pass billboards that advertise the latest round LED TV of LG. After having driven through the desert along mud houses with donkey carts for a few days, the contrast to the city could not be bigger.

Because of the heavy traffic we drive straight through the town to the National Reserve Camping, just outside the city center. We cannot really call it a campsite. It is a sports complex with training facilities. We can pitch our tent on the central square and use the showers and toilets in the residential barracks of the athletes. It is very hot and there is no wind, so the cold shower is wonderful to cool off and refresh. We do some shopping and search on the internet for information on Khartoum. In the coming days we will have to arrange our visas for Ethiopia here.

Our green tent and our red-white motorbikes are a true attraction at the camping. The manager, the superintendent, the maintenance man and groups of athletes, they all come for a chat. Always only after we have actually invited them with a friendly “Salaam Aleikum“. They are all very friendly, helpful and far from intrusive. Great!

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The next morning it is 6:00 am when the alarm goes off and 7:30 am when we are on our bikes and on our way to the Ethiopian embassy ​​to apply for a visa. On the internet we read all sorts of horror stories about long queues and chaotic situations at the entrance. We had therefore decided to be there early just to be safe. With the coordinates that we had received from Gernot we quickly find the parking area of the Ethiopian embassy. The poles along the edge are painted in cheerful green-yellow-red colours of the Rastafarian flag of Ethiopia. The two guards make clear they will watch our bikes when we are inside.

As we walk through the gate of the embassy, ​​we enter into a beautiful green garden with birds and a fountain in the middle. In the garden is a covered terrace where some people are waiting. There is a ticket window with a lady who hands out papers. All in all a fairly peaceful environment, without long queues or chaos. When we have completed the paperwork we are searched and are allowed to enter the embassy. We enter a beautiful round building with lots of glass and large pictures of the President of Ethiopia on the wall. It looks very clean and new. They even have air conditioning, a working one! We hand over our papers and are told that if we wait a half hour we can take our passports with the visas. Only 30 minutes? Great, getting visas was never faster. That saves us a ride into town the next day and waiting in the air-conditioned waiting room is not a punishment. Not even twenty minutes later it sounds: “Mr. Peter?“ Our visas are ready! After we have paid, the man hands over our passports with a beautiful Ethiopian visa of three months in it. Great, that is settled!

Once back at the campsite we hear the humming BMW-motorbike of Gernot ride onto the camping ground. He has visited the pyramids, camped there and is now back in Khartoum to drive further south from here. He had been in Khartoum some days earlier and knew a great pizza restaurant. We get on our bikes and ride to the city for a tasty pizza. We talk endlessly about our adventures so far and the plans for the rest of Africa. On the way back we drink tea at one of the dozens of Chai-mamma’s in town.

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When we arrive at the campsite after dinner there is a sturdy Toyota Landcruiser with rooftop tent and a Dutch license plate parked next to our little green tent. We meet Maurits and Marloes from The Hague in the Netherlands. On Peter’s question whether Marlous is ‘Mouse83′ on the forum of Horizons Unlimited she looks as surprised as we must have looked when we first met Gernot. Through their messages on the forum, Peter knew that there was a Dutch couple in a car riding through Africa. It is a coincidence that we actually met. That evening we talk about our adventures and exchange tips until we are all five yawning and decide that we should crawl into our tents.

Like us, Maurits and Marloes do not really like the campsite. We decide to move to the Blue Nile Sailing Club, a camp site in the center of Khartoum on the Nile. Despite the negative stories on internet (you apparently require waders to go to the toilet) we want to take a look there. We pack our stuff and say goodbye to Gernot. He leaves for Ethiopia where he will pick up his wife in a few days. We agree to keep in touch and meet in South Africa for cold drinks and a good piece of meat.

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On the way to the second camp site, we will first look for an insurance office where we can buy insurance for the motorbikes. As of Tunisia our European green card is no longer valid, so we have to buy insurance at each border. In Africa they have the ‘yellow card’ called Comesa, which is valid in many countries. We would like to buy that yellow card, so we do not have to go through the administrative mill at each border for insurance. Moreover, it saves some money.

On the internet we found an insurance company that offers the COMESA insurance in Sudan. With the fully packed bikes we drive into the busy city. It is hot and because we cannot find the building immediately we are almost floating in our suits when we finally find the building. Peter stays with the bikes, while I go inside with all our papers. The guard looks a bit strange when I enter. I cannot blame him. A red sweaty face, a gray T-shirt which is now dark grey with stains of sweat, a dirty motorcycle pants that was once white and clunky motorcycle boots.

When I get to the ticket window and ask: ”Comesa?” , the man behind the glass confirms that I can get it there. There is only one problem, the man who knows everything about Comesa is on holiday. I am send through to the manager, who again sends me to his manager. In the posh office of the manager (where I am sitting in my dirty, smelly suit) it again appears that only the holiday-man is familiar with Comesa. They try to call him, but cannot reach him. They give me his telephone number and asure me I can call him. Even though everyone was very helpful, I leave the office half an hour later without insurance and without the intention to disturb the holiday of their colleague. It is so warm outside, that we decide not too look for any other insurance office. We will sort that insurance out when we get to Ethiopia.

We drive to the new campsite, The Blue Nile Sailing Club, in the centre of town. As we drive onto the campsite we see the car of Maurits and Marlous parked in the shade. On the lawn are more tents, in addition to some bicycles we also see… two Honda Africa Twins! We park our bikes next to the Twins and meet Argentines Julian and Lorena. They own a beautiful purple Africa Twin, which is plastered with stickers from virtually all corners of the world. They have travelled for over twelve years around the world, of which the last ten years with their dog, Trico! They have really been everywhere. Julian is working on a blue-green Africa Twin owned by a Sudanese friend who rode that bike from Khartoum to Cape Town.

If you are on holiday and meet other travelers that is always special, but if those travellers are motorcyclists it is usually more special in a crazy way. Often you will hear: “Hey, you have a motorcycle? I also ride a motorbike!” You will never hear someone say, “Hey, do you have a car? I also have a car.” Somehow there is an immediate inexplicable click with other motorcycle riders. And if that motorbike than also is a Honda Africa Twin, that is often the start of a new friendship. Once Peter and Julian start talking, there is no stopping them. The men squat next to the bike, discuss technical details and exchange the latest news around the fuel pump. If I mention that the Africa Twin might very well be Peters first love, Julian proudly shows the tattoo of his Africa Twin. It is not very different in Argentina, the love for the Honda Africa Twin is universal!

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The Blue Nile Sailing Club turns out to be a really nice place, in the middle of the city and overlooking the Nile. There is a constant breeze which make it nice despite the heat. The rest of the day we hang out on the patio and we exchange stories with Maurits and Marloes, the Argentines and a group of German cyclists who are also staying at the campsite.

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By the end of the afternoon, the owner of the blue-green Africa Twin, Obay, also comes take a look. This time on a brand new BMW GS. Not much later, three other biker-friends of Obay arrive, one of them on a brand new KTM. In the parking lot are now also some very expensive cars. The Blue Nile Sailing Club is the clubhouse of a business club in Khartoum. The businessmen meet in the evening to talk or play cards. We talk with them about our trip, their businesses in Sudan and Ethiopia, and the state of the toilet in the clubhouse (although we did not need waders, it was pretty dirty and not ‘business-club-worthy’).

The contrast between our meetings in the business club in the lively Khartoum and our encounters with the simple Sudanese living outside Khartoum is enormous. The difference is even confirmed when we ask Obay if he can recommend a restaurant and he replies: “Let me call my driver, he will take you.” Not much later we sit in his new Toyota and we enjoy a great meal with Maurits and Marloes among affluent Sudanese, while the driver is waiting for us in the corner of the restaurant. Remarkable!

The next morning we say goodbye to Maurits and Marloes. They have folded in their roof tent and will drive further north today. Julian and Lorena also leave. Once they have packed all their belongings and put on their suit, their dog Trico is wagging his tail on the ground. He knows that they are going to drive and is clearly excited! As Julian and Lorena have taken their seat, Trico jumps on the saddle and lies down between them. What a great sight! And what lovely people, we hope that during our wanderings around the world we will again meet them (and their Africa Twin)!

We stay one more night at the campsite on the Nile and then move on. Time to go to Ethiopia!

Distance travelled to Khartoum: 9,269 km / 5,760 miles

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Goodbye (for now) North Africa
 

With a visa for Ethiopia in our pocket we leave Khartoum and head for the border. It is about 600km to the border town of Metema. South of Khartoum there are no places of interest that we want to visit, so we plan to ride two full days. If we then camp just before the Ethiopian border on the second day, we can arrive there early to complete all the formalities and still have sufficient time to ride to the first campsite in Ethiopia.

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Once we have left the bustling Khartoum, the landscape quickly changes into dry, dusty plains. No more expensive cars or high buildings, but mud houses and donkey carts. Only the main road on which we drive is paved, all other roads are dirt roads with deep potholes. But even the paved road is in poor condition. We regularly need to slalom between the potholes to avoid a flat tire.

We drive through villages with long rows of small shops just next to the road. Oddly enough, you often find a number of the same shops next to each other. First a row of carpenters who all offer the same wooden frames, then a row of blacksmiths with the exact same metal fencing and then a row of restaurants. What is also striking, is that you can get a Coca Cola everywhere. In the most deserted village and most secluded restaurant you can always get a bottle of sugarwater. A bottle of Coke is often more readily available than a bottle of water. There is tap water, but we only use that to brush our teeth and to cook, not for drinking. A good alternative is tea. The water has been boiled, so it is safe to drink. And along the way there are ‘chai-mamas’ everywhere selling their spicy tea.

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At one of the many villages we stop at the market to buy some fruit and vegetables. While I am negotiating about the price of bananas, a large group of Sudanese men gathers around the bikes. Peter is subjected to a cross-examination. “What brand is the motorbike?“, “How many cc?”, “What is the maximum speed?” and the most asked question “What does the motorbike cost?“. As I put away the groceries I get out my camera to take some pictures of the crowd. After two pictures I walk across the street to take some picture of the market, the group of Sudanese men and Peters white helmet that only just sticks out of the crowd. When I get back to my bike and want to store away the camera, a man next to me commands in a loud voice, out of nothing that I should delete my pictures.

“Sorry? Delete my pictures?“.

“YES , DELETE THE PICTURES! NOW!“

In Sudan you require a permit to travel through the country and a permit to take pictures. But even with the permit you cannot take all the pictures you want . As in many other countries, you cannot take any photos at strategically important points such as bridges and police posts. In Sudan the rules are even more strict as they do not allow you to take any pictures of ‘public buildings’. The problem is that a lot of the buildings fall under that Sudanese definition and you may not always be aware of that. Sudan even adds to this by also prohibiting photos of slums and beggars.

You need to carry several copies of the permit with you so you can always give one to the police when requested. We only heard of the compulsory permit in Khartoum and did not want to put in the effort to get one at that time. It went fine without a permit so far and we figured that the last two days in Sudan, from Khartoum to the border, would surely be OK as well. At least, so we thought.

The man again demands that I remove the photos. Because he is not wearing a uniform it is not clear whether he is a police officer or whether he is a bystander who did not like that he was photographed. A bit overwhelmed by his command I ask once again what he means and explain that I want to take pictures because Sudan is such a beautiful country. But he does not want to talk. He points to a man in uniform who is standing a little further away and says: “We are police. No talking. Delete! NOW!“

It is clear what he wants. Apparently I have made pictures of a subject they do not like to be photographed. There is no building around for miles that can be regarded as a “government building”, so probably the market is considered to be ‘slum’. Just before he makes a move to grab the camera out of my hands I decide to delete the photos. Especially since we do not have a permit, I do not want to risk loosing all our pictures or even the camera. I keep the camera in front of his face and I show that I delete the photos I had just taken. To prevent that he also wants me to delete the other pictures of Sudan, I then only show pictures of Europe that are still on the memory card. He is OK with this and does not ask for the permit. After we have promised that we will not make anymore pictures in Sudan we can go.

A bit confused I get back on the bike. What a “#$*&*%BEEEP” of a guy! We have come across a number of policemen and soldiers, but this was the first time the hairs on my arms raised. A situation where your intuition tells you: “He means business.” We drive out of the village and stop a little further to switch the memory card. Maybe we can still retrieve the deleted photos with some special software. And if we are stopped again we will not risk loosing other pictures we took. Stubburn travellers as we are, we stop a few more times after that to take pictures of Sudan. It still is a really beautiful country! And what are the chances that we will encounter that policeman again?

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We stop to drink some tea at one of the ‘restaurants’ along the way. We park the motorbikes and see a group of men just getting ready for afternoon prayers. One of them gestures that we can find ourselves a table, he will be right out. After prayers, he takes our order while the others examine the motorbikes and ask us the usual questions. They consider our journey to be an adventure and cannot believe we have really driven the ‘mopeds’ from Amsterdam to Sudan. When the tea arrives they excuse themselves and take a place on the beds in the corner of the restaurant. A great place to get through the hot afternoons of Sudan. The tea is ’on the house’. The man explains that as a Muslim he has a duty to take care of travellers and that he is happy that he can offer us some tea. Welcome to Sudan!

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There is a lot of traffic on the road to and from Khartoum. Just like in northern Sudan we have to be very careful for oncoming busses that overtake slower traffic in the strangest places. But we also have to keep an eye on the traffic that overtakes us in order to avoid being cut off. It often happens that overtaking traffic just keeps driving next to us to examine us more closely. One car in particular acts very strangely. The driver continues to ride beside me for a long time, getting closer and almost pushing me off the road. I pick up speed to get back in front of the car, but the driver also accelerates and drives next to me again. At the point where he comes too close again, I gesture that he should back off. Then he accelerates and starts driving very closely to Peter, almost pushing him off the road. Then I suddenly see it is the policeman we met earlier that day. So yet again after all!

The angry policeman hangs out the window and gestures that we should stop. Apart from the uniform of the person next to him, we can in no way see that we are dealing with police. It is a normal car. The angry man asks Peter for his passport. Peter asks in turn for the identification of the agents and explains that he is not just giving his passport to anyone. The agent starts rummaging in the glove box. First he pulls out a gun which he keeps high up in the air ostentatiously while he continues looking in the glove box with his other hand. He gives a card bearing the photograph of the person next to him. Unfortunately, he had left his own card lying at home (yeah right…)

After a brief look at the passports, he asks whether we have registered (all foreigners must register as they enter Sudan and pay as much as $50 per person on top of our visa of $50). Peter points to the green sticker in our passports.The man takes another look. Once we have again promised that we will not take photos in Sudan, we can go. Luckily he does not ask for the missing permit. Will this be the last time then? After that we see the car one more time while it stops to drive into a little town. We hope they think it is enough now. We are fed up any way.

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At the end of the afternoon we leave the main road and find a wonderful old baobab tree a few kilometers down the road where we can camp. Before we pitch the tent, we sit under the tree for a while to have a drink and to consider whether we can sleep here without being disturbed. If after one hour no one has come to see us and it is not so warm anymore, we pitch our tent and again cook some pasta.

The next morning I an woken up by someone who is singing loudly. I also hear the occasional cow moo and branches breaking. As I look out the window of our tent, I see a large group of cows trudge past with a boy on a donkey in front. It is the same boy that we had seen with his cows the night before when we drove onto the sandy path to the big baobab. From a distance he takes a look at our tent, but then rides along singing loudly. The cows follow him. We are again amazed by the fact that we can just be here, without people coming to visit us.

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We drive through warm Sudan, stopping occasionally for cattle crossing the road, helping a Sudanese motorcyclist with his flat tire and eating a sandwich in the shade. Gasoline is still difficult to get, so wherever we can we fill up the motorbikes to avoid getting stranded. The landscape changes as we drive further south. We pass dry plains with the occasional brown hill and dry riverbeds meandering through the landscape. The houses are not built of clay anymore, but are made ​​of wooden sticks and straw. Small round huts in a group together, with some cows and goats grazing in between them. The villages blend in perfectly and can hardly be seen from the road against the brown hills.

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At the end of the day it takes a little more effort to find a camping spot. Right next to the road the forest is either too dense or the plain is too open. Finally we drive along some fields towards a dry river where we find a reasonably flat spot for the tent. Again we wait a bit before we pitch the tent to see if there are any angry farmers asking us to leave. Once the tent is pitched we hear a truck very close to the tent, but that is it.

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The next morning we wake up well before the alarm goes off. We sit on the motorbikes packed and ready to go by 09:00 am. After 30km we arrive in Metema, a small village with a long row of busy shops and a number of larger buildings. In no way it looks like the land border between Tunisia and Libya or the border between Libya and Egypt. No big gates, no stern looking officers or long lines of people waiting. Only a barrier that is manually operated by a customs official who still slumped in a broken chair.

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Before we pass the border and enter Ethiopia, we still need to get some stamps on the Sudanese side. It is not quite clear where we should go, but as usual we attract enough attention and one of the bystanders exactly knows where we should go. First to the local police station for registration. We enter a large empty room. In one corner there is a television with one chair right in froth of it. A soap opera is broadcasted. On the other side there is an empty desk with only a big book and a pencil lying on it. The man behind the desk holds up his hand and asks for our passports while continuing to watch the television.

After our data is recorded, our guide takes us to another building. We sit down in one of the chairs in the waiting area. We are the only people waiting and even the only ones in the entire building. The offices are empty and appear to be little used. The customs officer is still missing, but our guide is going to find him. After some time our guide comes back with a man who takes our carnets. We follow him to an office; a small room with two desks, some worn chairs and a cupboard full of binders. On one of the desks is a computer which is protected against dust by a piece of plastic. The man sits down at the other empty desk and takes out some big books, a pen and carbon paper. Then he begins to fill out one form after another, while properly placing the carbon paper in the right place. A signature here, a scribble there, a staple in one form, it seems to take forever but we finally get stamps in our carnets.

He refers us to the next building. This time there is an English movie showing on television. We hand over our passports and see a senior customs officer checking the documents after which he instructs his staff to take our details and stamps the passports. With the stamped passports we walk back to the bikes. A large group of young guys has gathered there offering to exchange money. The exchange rate is very bad but despite tough negotiations we do not get the price up. We decide to exchange only half of all of our Sudanese Pounds and try again in Ethiopia. We have all the stamps we need, so we can go! The customs officer at the gate slowly get up from his chair, lets the barrier up and waves us through, out of Sudan.

At the other side someone is already pointing us where to go on the Ethiopian side. We first have to take our passport to customs. Even though we are only 100 meters from the Sudanese customs office, it seems like we are in a completely different world. On the desks are computers, printers, cameras and even finger scanners. On the wall are posters with beautiful photos of Ethiopia, pictures of the president and the Ethiopian flag. In fluent English we are asked to take a seat in one of the chairs.

Our picture is taken with a futuristic webcam, the fingers of both our hands are scanned and all data is neatly captured in the computer. After fifteen minutes we are back outside and redirected to another building to register our motorbikes. This department of the Ethiopian customs was not so lucky yet and has not yet have a computer at its disposal. The man has to use a pen and some carbon paper to fill out the different forms. Yet it all goes very smooth. After the man has seen our motorbikes and has verified the colour and the chassis number, he stamps our documents. Then the rope across the road(!) is lowered and we can ride into Ethiopia!

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We drive through a street with many shops, just like in Sudan. However, it does not look like the street on the Sudanese side where we just came from. We can now read the signs and placards, because the text is not only in Amhars (the beautiful Ethiopian curl script) but also in English. In Sudan most signs were only in Arabic. It is also a lot busier in the street. At this side of the border there are at least five times more people on the road than in Sudan. We are also struck by how colorful everyone is dressed. In Egypt and Sudan most people were dressed in brown, black or white. Now we see bright blue and bright red, colors that stand out against the dark skin of the Ethiopians. Their favorite t-shirt is without a doubt the green and yellow striped football shirt of the Ethiopian team.

Yet the biggest difference are the ladies! For the first time in a long time we see a lot of women in the street. And not just women, but very pretty women! Ethiopian women are known for their beauty. Long slender bodies, handsome faces and special hairstyles. And all in Western clothes and no longer hidden under a long wide dress. I am not the only one who notices all this beauty. Over the intercom I hear Peter utter several approving comments about their curves and their beautiful eyes.

We exchange the second half of our Sudanese Pounds against an equally bad rate, buy an Ethiopian phone card and ride out of town. We head for Gorgora, a small town on Lake Tana. Several overlanders told us to visit “Tim & Kim Village”, a lodge and campsite that is run by a Dutch couple. On a beautiful smooth asphalt road we drive into the hills. The road winds and for the first time in a long time we ride some great curves. Very nice after the long straight roads in the last few countries. We drive from the border, which was at 700 meters, to 2200 meters altitude. The higher we go, the cooler it becomes. That is also very nice after the hot hair dryer-like air we drove through during the last weeks.

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At the end of the afternoon we drive onto the gravel road to Gorgora. It is a very bad road with large loose stones and huge “potholes”. The average speed drops to 30km per hour. It still is 60km and at this speed it will take some time before we are at the campsite.

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It is very busy on the road. Not with traffic , but with people! People are walking everywhere! Many of them with large packs on their heads or backs, but most with cattle. With a stick in their hand they herd donkeys, cows, goats and sheep. We are becoming used to being an attraction, but we have not experienced before what is happening to us now, here in Ethiopia. Several times the people throw the package they are carrying on the ground after which they run to the side of the road screaming with their hands on their head. Hiding behind a tree or ducking behind their cattle, they watch us. And when we are inching through the small villages, I have to brake hard several times to avoid hitting a petrified pedestrian that is gaping at Peter. By the time they have recovered from the initial shock and turn around they look at me with big eyes and then run to the side of the road. OK, we may look like aliens but here we certainly feel like aliens as well for the first time.

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As quiet as the people in Sudan were, so intrusive are the people we encounter in the first Ethiopian villages. Once we stop to take a picture kids come running from all sides. “You, you, you” it sounds and “Faranji! Faranji!” (Which means “White man! White man!”). Although their hand first goes up to wave at us, the same hand then is made into a bowl and we hear “Give me pen“, “Give me money!”, “Give me something!“. Not only do children come to ask for a pen, water or food, but adults also hold up their hand as we pass.

The differences with Sudan, especially with regard to the people we encounter, are overwhelming. Because we travel overland by motorbike the landscape and culture usually change very gradually. The transition from Sudan to Ethiopia however feels like the culture shock that you may experience when you fly to a distant destination. We were not prepared for this.

It is already getting dark when we arrive at the camp site and are greeted by Kim. We quickly pitch the tent, take the first proper shower in a week and join Kim and Tim for diner that evening. Then we hear that Saturday is ’market day’, which means that people come out of the hills to take their cattle to the villages for sale. A large number of people will not often, or perhaps even never, have seen a motorcycle let alone a rider in a motorcycle suit with a helmet. So to them we might very well have been aliens after all!

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After the limited facilities at the camp sites in Khartoum and the days of bush camping it is great to be at the campsite of Tim and Kim: a toilet with a toilet seat and toilet paper and a shower with a jet of (cold) water. We enjoy the first cold beers in a long time and the delicious food cooked by Kim. Lake Tana also appears to be a birding paradise. We sit with our binoculars at the lake or under the big tree next to our tent watching the most beautiful birds for hours. We see Paradise Fly Catchers, Blue Cheeked Cordon Blues, Mouse Birds and Firefinches. Truly beautiful. We end up staying four nights to recover from the initial culture shock and to gain new energy to conquer the rest of Ethiopia. A great time!

—–
By leaving Sudan our time in North Africa ended. From leaving the ferry in Tunis we drove 7,200 kilometers through Tunisia, Libya, Egypt and Sudan. Countries that do not have a good reputation and are better known for riots and wars.

Although indeed incidents happen, our experience is that the media shows those events very one-sided. The positive stories around the referendum in early January 2014 that buzzed through Egypt, could not be found in the media. To the contrary, the emphasis was placed on the number of police officers that were needed to even hold the referendum and the number of incidents that took place nonetheless. We feel that is a pity. We often thought of the book “Het zijn net mensen” (They are just like people) by the Dutch journalist and author Joris Luyendijk, in which he describes the gap between what we read in the newspaper and the actual events in a particular area. As if a parallel universe is kept up.

We were pleasantly surprised by North Africa. Because of the way we were welcome everywhere and by the extraordinary hospitality that we experienced. Moreover, we have seen beautiful things. A step back in time with Leptis Magna in Libya, pyramids in Egypt and Sudan and treasures from ancient times in the National Museum in Cairo. But also great scenery: a beautiful coastline along the Mediterranean Sea, impressive desert landscapes and the beautiful Nile. Therefore, we do not say “farewell” but “Till next time, North Africa”, because we would love to come back again!
—–

Distance covered until Gorgora = 10,079 km (6,263 miles)

To the north
 

Before we ride further south, we will go to the north of Ethiopia first for a tour around the beautiful Ethiopian Highlands. First to Gonder, a medium-sized provincial town north of Gorgora. There we can withdraw money, buy insurance for the motorbikes and hopefully get internet access. At Tim and Kim Village we could not access the Internet, but the blog could use an update and we would like to read some emails. After Gonder we will ride towards the Simien Mountains and the rock churches in the Tigray province.

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We say goodbye to Tim and Kim and set off. It is not as busy as during “market day”, but there are still plenty of people and animals on the road. We are now better prepared and drive at an appropriate speed on the gravel road back to the main road. We arrive in Gonder in the beginning of the afternoon. We need to refuel. Like in Sudan and Egypt, fuel is hard to get in Ethiopia. At the first fuel station, the attendant comes to meet us while shaking his head. He has no ’regular’ and refers us to a fuel station a few miles away. But even at that fuel station and the next six(!) stations then they cannot help us. We decide to find a place to sleep first before we continue the search for fuel.

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At the Fogera hotel we find a simple double room. In the reception there is a large sign that says “Free WiFi”. Great, because that was one of the things we wanted to settle in Gonder. But unfortunately, we cheered too soon. Although we are connected to the router, there is no internet. We still need to go to the city centre to get on the Internet in another way. Once in the centre we pass ETC Telecom. ETC provides postal services and owns all Ethiopian telecommunications. Maybe they can activate the simcard we bought at the border a few days ago.

In Africa, they more or less skipped the communication via land lines and immediately went mobile. It is not expensive. A prepaid simcard only costs 30 Ethiopian Birr (€1,12) and phones, especially the older models, are less than 270 Birr (€10). The number of mobile connections in Ethiopia has risen so quickly that the network cannot handle it. Especially for mobile Internet the network does not have enough capacity. A problem that will not be solved easily, because the number of mobile connections increases everyday. While I am waiting my turn at ETC, one mobile phone after another is sold. Some customers do not even have decent shoes, but they do have the required amount to buy a phone. Very remarkable.

Once it is my turn, a friendly lady informs me that I will not be able to access the Internet with the simcard we bought at the border. For Internet we need a different simcard or a dongle. For a dongle she refers us to a shop around the corner. We find the shop and are assisted by Sammy, a young whiz-kid who speaks a bit of English. After we have paid for one of his dongles, he ask for my phone. Before I know it, he has changed some of the settings and gives me back my phone grinning: “You have internet in half an hour. No problem“. Great, at least that is something.

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Back at the friendly lady at ETC I give her the dongle, a passport photo and a copy of my passport. It may not cost much, it does require quit a lot of paperwork to get online. Once she tries to register the dongle it appears the device does not work. We go back to Sammy. From his warehouse he grabs all the dongles that he has to join us to the ETC building. Together with the ETC lady he tries to register one of the dongles for us. It is now well past 17:00 and colleagues of the kind lady leave their workplace one by one. Several times we propose to come back the next day, but she says that wont be necessary, she will finish it tonight. What a service! In the end, it is almost 19:00 when one of the dongles is successfully registered. We still did not manage to get on the internet, but according to the lady that is due to the crowded ETC network. We should keep trying.

That evening we try to get on the Internet with the dongle several times. Unfortunately without any luck. The internet on my phone does work, so we can at least read some of our emails. The next morning we meet Sammy again to go back to ETC. The conclusion remains unchanged; the dongle works, the faulty network is the real problem. We will see about that later.

Now we can start the next administrative task: insurance for the motorbikes. In Sudan we had tried to get a ‘yellow card’ for Africa, but we did not succeed. We should be able to buy COMESA insurance in Ethiopia. At the first insurance office they luckily know what Comesa is and they can also sell it to us. Peter goes with the manager to his office, while I stay outside with our bikes. Like all administrative matters in Africa this also takes very long, but the long wait is rewarded. Three hours later Peter comes out with a yellow card for Africa for both of us. Great, that is settled. Now we can look for fuel.

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In the centre of town is one fuel station that we had not tried before. There is a long line of cars and -more importantly- a long line of tuk-tuks and motorbikes. Cars and trucks mostly take diesel, but tuk-tuks and motorbikes use fuel like us. We join the queue and drive little by little to the pump. Once there, it appears that there are two lines; one with vehicles and one with people with jerrycans. A spirited lady at the pump keeps a close eye on everybody and gives everyone the required fuel in turn. Full tanks means that we now only have to find a bank to withdraw some money.

In the centre we find a bank where the Visa card of Peter is accepted. We withdraw enough money for the next few days and then can finally go! We get on the bikes and start the bikes. Then I hear Peter grumbling. He left the GPS at the insurance office! We have to go back to get it. Unfortunately, by now it is lunch time and the office is closed for the next two hours. We decide to have some lunch as well and park our bikes in front of the insurance office 1,5 hours later. One of the ladies already comes out of the building with the GPS high in the air. Relieved that the GPS is not gone missing, we drive out of town. Without a working dongle, but with mobile internet, insurance for the bike, a full wallet, a full tank and good spirits to finally head north.

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Once we are out of town we immediately drive on a beautiful road in the hills. What is striking is that virtually every piece of land is cultivated. On steep slopes terraces are made ​​to grow different crops. There was not much rain lately, so the fields are dry and yellow. From the high road, we look down on a yellow patchwork blanket. It is really beautiful. Behind every corner lurks another view.

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We stop very often to take pictures and look at the views. And while we often think we are alone, this never turns out to be the case. Every time we switch of the engines, we hear someone shouting in the distance: “You, you, you, Faranji“. Before we know it there are a number of spectators around us who watch us while we are taking pictures, drinking or are trying to eat a banana. The latter is quit hard if you have a group of children with hungry eyes around you that have one hand to their mouth to indicate they would like something to eat or drink as well.

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At dusk we arrive in Debark. The town is situated at 2800 meters altitude and is the starting point for hikes in Simien Mountains National Park. For the first time since a long time we see a lot of tourists and tour groups. It is so busy that the first three hotels we go to are full, even camping is not possible. We eventually find a single room with a large cozy bed. There is no running water. In the corner of the tiny little bathroom is a big bucket of water to wash and to flush the toilet. Despite the fact that we sleep in one of the better hotels in the town, it still feels a bit like bush camping.

We decide not to go hiking in the Simien Mountains, because we are both not really in shape and not used to the high altitude yet. We decide to drive to Axum the next day. We attempt to fill our tanks again at the fuel station in town, but are soon told that we can only get fuel in Axum, the next big town. Even on the black market in Debark there is no fuel. With our extra jerrycan of fuel we should be able to make it to the next pump in Axum.

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Once we leave the village, we also leave the asphalt road and ride on a nice gravel road. In some parts the gravel is very deep. It makes the bikes ’dance’, but overall it is not very hard to ride here. Though we are standing still more than we are riding, because it is so beautiful. We often stop to take pictures. The views, steep cliffs and the shapes of the hills are very impressive. The only traffic we encounter are coaches that ride slowly up the mountain and then roll down the hills at high speed. Behind the each bus is a huge cloud of dust. So much dust that we cannot see a thing anymore and have to stop to avoid that we would drive off the road.

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Halfway through the day we run into a traffic jam. Along the entire route there are road works. As in Sudan, the Chinese also build new roads in Ethiopia. With local workers, they cut out the mountains and smooth the gravel to pour a layer of asphalt on it. The traffic jam is caused by two large machines that are drilling out the mountain to make the road slightly wider. No luxury, because it was not wide enough for two buses to pass at the same time. We ride our bikes along the long line of waiting cars until we cannot go any further and join the other spectators. Between all Ethiopians is one “Faranji”, Brian from the U.S. He is backpacking through Ehtiopia and is on the bus to Axum. He has been here for several hours to wait until the road reopens. While we are talking to him, one of the machines moves and the workers gesture that we can ride our bikes along the road works. We say goodbye to Brian, maneuvering past the machines and continue our way up north. For now without any busses or dust in front of us.

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If after a few kilometers we look back, we see that the road is open again and the busses are in hot pursuit. While we stop for a sandwich the first bus and its dust overtakes us. After lunch we take over the bus again, but each time we stop to take a picture, we are caught up and have to overtake them again afterwards to avoid the dust. This ritual is repeated several times, until we arrive at the tarmac in Shire. In the last sunlight we drive from Shire to Axum, where we check in at the Africa Hotel. When I look in the mirror, I see my face is black with dust. I did not only drive in the dust of the buses, but also more than 200km in the dust of Peter who drove in front of me. Fortunately the showers at the Africa Hotel do have water!

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When we go to the centre of Axum the next morning, we walk past another ETC office, recognizable by the blue phone booths on the street. We decide to have the dongle checked once again. Like in Gonder, it is very busy in the office with people buying phones. When it is my turn, and I explain our problem, the man behind the desk looks at me with a stern face. He takes our problem very serious and apologizes on behalf of ETC for the poor service. He will personally investigate my dongle and if necessary contact his colleagues in Addis Ababa. He writes down all data and promises to call as soon as he knows more. Meanwhile, I should visit the city, as waiting would only be a waste of my time.

We follow his advice and visit the one attraction of Axum: the pillars of Axum. In the town, as well in its surroundings, several field with stone pillars can be found. The pillars were built around 400 ac as tomb stones. In Axum itself three pillars can be visited. One of the pillars has been in Rome for a long time, but some years ago the Italians gave it back to Ethiopia. At the gate we buy a ticket, that is handwritten by the men behind the counter.

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At the foot of the pillars we bump into Brian again. The roadworks took so long that his bus did not go all the way to Axum. He had to stay the night in Shire and had taken a very early bus to Axum that morning. Brian advises us to go to the cattle market in Axum. It is market day today and farmers have taken their animals to the market. A good idea to visit the market! We say goodbye to Brian and agree to meet for dinner that evening.

To go to the market, we hold down a tuktuk and negotiate the price. Just when we want to get in, it appears there is already someone sitting in the back of the tuktuk. We assume that the other passenger will be dropped off and that we drive to the cattle market after that, so we get in the tuktuk anyway. The cattle market is a little out of town. The road is very bad and we are bouncing in the back of the tuktuk. When we arrive at the market area it is completely empty. No cows, no sheep, no goats or even a chicken to be seen. We are too late and just see the last farmer with his cattle disappear over a hill in the distance. Unlucky.

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We ride back over the same bumpy road as Peter suddenly shouts: “GET YOUR HANDS OUT OF MY POCKET! That man tries to pickpocket me!” While we were tossed around the tuktuk the third passenger had put his hand in Peters pocket. Peter had initially not noticed. Only when he accidentally stuck his hand in his pocket he felt the hand of the other guy! Angry, Peter begins to check his pockets. It turns out that one pocket -the one with the zipper- is empty. The camera batteries and SD cards are gone.

Peter yells and says the man must give him back his stuff and searches the man. The door of the tuk-tuk is on my side, so long as we do not get out, the crook can get nowhere either. While the man is getting smaller and moans that he has nothing, Peter demands the driver to go to the police. Then the man in the back starts to moan louder and points to the ground. Maybe the stuff has “fallen”? We indeed find the missing items on the floor. After we have checked all our stuff three times, we get out of the tuktuk. The thief runs away. A little confused we have the chauffeur take us to the hotel where we pay him. Once inside we realize that the driver was probably in on it. If we had realized that before, we would certainly not have paid him. We were not so streetwise yet. Fortunately, we still have all our stuff.

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At the beginning of the evening we meet Brian and walk to a restaurant in the center of the town. We enjoy a cold beer and injera, the national dish of Ethiopia. Injera is a pancake made ​​of teff flour, a cereal that is grown only in Ethiopia. The injera itself is not so good and really only good to eat together with the sauce. You eat injera with your hands (only with your ’clean’ right hand and never with your left hand), by tearing off a piece of injera and taking a bit of sauce with that. It is so common to eat with your hands that you do not even get cutlery. In North Africa, we had already learned to eat without cutlery, so we now have no problems to eat injera. Ethiopians eat injera throughout the day, at breakfast , lunch and dinner. A day no injera is a day wasted. We stick to one injera per day, Bozena Shiro is our favorite.

After the nasty tuktuk ride, it is ultimately a very nice evening with Brian. He tells us about his trip (14 days in Ethiopia, Djibouti and Somaliland), about his work in San Diego and the time he worked as a volunteer in Mongolia. He also wants to know everything about our adventure. At the end of the evening he is fantasizing about which motorbike he could do a similar journey. He tells us about “The True Size of Africa”. Most of the “flat” world maps give a distorted picture of the true size of countries, especially those on the equator. In reality, the African continent is so big that if fits the U.S., China, India, Japan and Europe and then there is still space left! No wonder it takes us so long to cross this beautiful continent.

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The next morning we sit quietly at breakfast when my phone rings. It is the gentleman of ETC who would check our dongle. As in Gonder, he concludes that the dongle works fine, but the network is down. He feels very bad, but has a solution. He is now outside our hotel with a sim card with which we can get on the Internet. The Internet will not be as fast as with the dongle, but it will work. I hurry outside. He wants to give me the simcard for free, but that really is not necessary. What a service! And that on a Sunday! We really went out of his ways to help us! And he was right, with the sim card he gave us we did manage to get on the internet. The remainder of the day we use it to read our emails and update the blog (which in the meantime was about time).

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After a relaxed Sunday, we drive to Wukro on Monday to visit a rock church there. In the northern province of Tigray are more than 120 rock churches. The churches are carved into the rock and often beautifully painted. Most rock churches are very difficult to reach because they are carved into a steep cliff or hidden in a cave. Some churches may only be visited by men or by practicing Christians. The local priest determines -sometimes after an interview- whether you are allowed to visit the church. The rock church in Wukro can be accessed from the village and is open to both of us. On the way to Wukro we see a lot more colourful churches scattered in the landscape. Often on top of a hill, visible from far away. When we arrive in Wukro we are too late to visit the church, but we eventually go there the next morning. It is a small church with some beautiful paintings. A nice preview of what we can expect in Lalibela.

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After our visit to the church in Wukro we drive to Mekele where we are invited by Kevin and Els and their children Jotan and Moshe. We met this Belgian family at Tim & Kim Village where they were on holiday with their sister (in law) Becky. They live in Ethiopia for several months now and work at the Mekele Youth Centre (MYC), a youth centre run by a major mission organization. Kevin is waiting for us in the centre of Mekele. We follow him to their house, park our bikes in the walled garden, put our stuff in Jotans room where we can sleep and then go with the family to a restaurant nearby for a delicious burger!

In the afternoon, Kevin takes us to the MYC where he gives us a tour and introduces us to his colleagues. The MYC is visited daily by about 800 young people from Mekele. Kevin and Els provide workshops in the field of health education. They also guide young people in their everyday problems such as housing, employment and education. A wonderful project and very inspiring to see how committed they are to help the Ethiopian youth.

In the evening we enjoy a lovely meal made by Els, we talk endlessly about their lives in Ethiopia and I fill my time with Jotan and his book about the knights. Great we could visit them!

The next morning, when daily life starts again, Moshe goes to school and Kevin to the MYC. We pack our stuff and start our trip to Lalibela. More about that in a future post.

Distance travelled to Mekele: 10,756km (6,684 miles)

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Rock-hewn churches of Lallibela
 

In most guidebooks it is listed as one of the highlights of Ethiopia: a visit to the rock-hewn churches of Lalibela. In the small village high in the Ethiopian hills eleven beautiful churches were carved out of the rocks in the 13th century. The village is a place of pilgrimage for the Orthodox Christians in Ethiopia, for tourists a ’must see’. It is a 360km drive from Mekele to Lalibela, a trip that we do in one long day.

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Once we have left the city we ride through the beautiful hills of Ethiopia. After 300km we leave the main road to go to Lalibela following a beautiful back road. The last 60km we drive on a gravel road higher into the hills. The road is in some parts very bad, too bad for cars and trucks. For that reason we do not come across any other traffic. In the villages we pass, we are a true attraction.
Like before, it is beautiful! Very impressive views, especially in the sunlight at the end of the afternoon. After a long day, we arrive in Lalibela where we find a room in “The Seven Olives Hotel”, where we enjoy the best injera bozena shiro of Ethiopia.

The next morning we get up early to visit the churches. At least that is what we thought. As we walk to the motorbikes, we smell fuel. The motorcycles are parked in front of the reception and underneath my bike is a puddle of gasoline. Peter gets out his tools. It soon becomes apparent that the rubber gasket between the fuel tank and the fuel pump is pushed out and does not fit anymore, causing fuel to leak from the tank. We decide to postpone our visit to the churches one day and fix the leakage first.

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Peter takes my bike apart, while I, as his assistant, hand him his tools. Both the tank and the fuel pump must be cleaned before the ‘liquid gasket’ can be put on again. With toothpicks, napkins and scrapers we clean both parts. Around us are now a number of spectators. They are all giving advice from the sidelines. One of them gives us some empty water bottles so we can get the gasoline out of the tank, another give us cable ties. At the beginning of the afternoon the pump is neatly fitted on the tank with liquid gasket. Now it should only dry before Peter can mount the tank again and before we throw the fuel back in the tank. If we were to do that now the gasket might dissolve again.

That afternoon we send an email to the Dutch automobile association (ANWB) asking if they can send a new gasket to Ethiopia. Not even half an hour later we receive a phone call from the ANWB. A friendly gentleman has already figured out exactly what part he needs to order from Honda. If we give him the address in Addis Ababa, he will order the part and have it delivered in Ethiopia within a few days. What a service!

The next day we get up early and visit the rock-chewn churches of Lalibela accompanied by a guide. King Lalibela had wanted to build “little Jerusalem” with replicas of the tomb of Christ, the tomb of Adam and the River Jordan. This way, his citizens could go on a pilgrimage to Lalibela if they could not afford to travel to Jerusalem. The eleven rock churches are divided into two groups. In the morning we visit the churches in the north, above the river Jordan. After lunch we cross the river and visit the remaining churches, including the most famous Bet Giyorgis that was built in the shape of a cross in honour of St. George.

It is a special place and the churches are impressive. No wonder they are on the World Heritage list.

Distance travelled to Lalibela: 11.118km (6908 miles)

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"Boerenkool" and "Bitterballen"
 

After our tour through the north of Ethiopia and our visit to Lalibela, it is time to drive to the south again. We will go to Addis Ababa, the capital city of Ethiopia, where we have to apply for a visa for Kenya. But to me that is not the main reason to go to Addis. I especially want to go to “Wim’s Holland House”. In the middle of the city Wim has a bar that serves Heineken beer, a restaurant with Dutch specialties as “Boerenkool” and “Bittenballen” and a camp site for overlanders. It is like a hub where many travelers get together. That is where we will go!

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From Lalibela we drive to Addis in two days, spending one night in Kemissie. On maps very often a green line is drawn along roads which are nice to drive, so-called “scenic roads”. In Ethiopia they can easily draw such a green line along all the roads, because it again is beautiful! As in the north, the scenery is amazing, especially the rows of hills becoming a shade lighter as they disappear into the distance.

And we can enjoy the view, because we cannot really drive fast. This is despite the good asphalt and the great curves that do invite to speed. There are way too many people and animals on the road. It often happens that we have to break hard to avoid a donkey that is standing or even lying on the road. Occasionally it happens that the cattle crosses the road just before we arrive, encouraged to cross by a farmer who is hitting the back end of a donkey of sheep on the side of the road. Sometimes we even have the impression that they push their animals on the road in front of our bikes in the hope that we will hit them after which they can ask us for a compensation. We have to watch out!

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The other traffic on the road mainly consists of Toyota Land Cruisers. There are countless of these large and expensive cars around in Ethiopia. They are not driven by the Ethiopian ‘John Doe’, but by tour operators and NGO’s. The number of aid organizations that are active in Ethiopia is very high. In the villages we pass through all sorts of signs stand along the side of the road with the name of the organization and the nature of the project. It is indisputable that the assistance provided is badly needed and that the outcome of the projects is good. We have experienced that first hand in Mekele where we learnt about the project of Kevin and Els. Yet we have also raised some questions about the way help is in some cases offered. For example, would it really be necessary to have a team of aid workers drive in an expensive Toyota on the predominantly good roads in Ethiopia? And would it not be possible to spread the aid a bit more? In some villages the organizations seem to stumble over each other, we see so many signs along the side of the road. A big difference with Sudan, where it seems a part of the population could also use some help.

We also have the impression that the presence of aid organizations has somewhat affected the population of Ethiopia because we have not previously encountered so many people who hold up their hand as we drive along. The motto in most travel books is: do not give what is asked for. The population would be helped more by programs in education, health and food distribution run by aid organization than by just receiving money, food or water along the side of the road. The latter would especially not encourage children to go to school and to learn to work for what they need. Yet it is not easy to follow this advice. Having lunch by the side of the road with five pairs of inquiring eyes looking at your sandwich remains extremely difficult and a challenge we do not want to face everyday. On the way to Addis we have lunch twice in a hotel before we drive on with a full stomach.

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At the end of the second day, we arrive in the outskirts of Addis Ababa. From the elevated road we look out over a crowded neighborhood with small houses that are built closely together. Between the houses we see unpaved streets that turn into mud slides after a downpour. All shops are located along the road on which we ride. Although it is Sunday many shops are open. It is buzzing. With a full bag of groceries shoppers stand along the side of the road to stop a minivan that can take them home. The minibuses stop at the oddest places and sometimes even suddenly cross the street to pick someone up on the other side of the road. Very dangerous if you just want to take over that minivan. In front of us a long row of minibuses, taxis and motorcycle taxis drives in to the city. We follow a speeding taxi that zigzags through the traffic further into the city.

The further we drive into the center of Addis, the more modern and high buildings we pass. A two-lane road with several flyovers leads us along high office buildings and large hotels. Until we reach the first road construction. The first, but certainly not the last, because the entire city is a mess! The GPS is puzzled at some times. Whenever he wants to send us to a certain direction we drive passed that closed road after which the GPS needs to recalculate. But even on that new route we came across several junctions where the road is closed. It is in some parts a big chaos and a muddy mess because of the rain that has fallen in the previous days. However, we do have bikes that are made for this kind of work! We drive past the gates, onto the muddy street towards the bus station in the direction of Wim’s Holland House. After a huge detour through the city and a major quest for the bus station, we stand in front of a big ‘SHELL’ sign and we see a Heineken flag fluttering over a red-white-blue fence. We made it!

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Wim is playing cards with his friends in the restaurant. Once the round is played, he comes to meet us and says “So you are Peter and Leonie? You are already famous around here“. Then he points to the wall behind us. On the gray wall a message is written with pink chalk:
”Dear Leonie & Peter, Happy New Year! The fries and fried rice are delicious! Enjoy it. We think a lot of you. Also note messages in Hawassa and Arba Minch. Big kiss, Leon & Celine”
A message from my cousin Celine and her boyfriend Leon! Great! Leon works in Ethiopia and Celine had come to see him in Ethiopia early 2014. During a trip around the country they had left messages for us of which we had now found the first one! What a surprise.

And there was not just one message on the wall at the Wim’s. Underneath it was message by Billy and Ross, the motorcyclists with whom we had traveled through Libya, saying: “Leonie, Peter, Just a quick hello. Hope you are well! Billy + Ross”. While we take a look at the messages, Wim is standing behind us, grinning about our cheerful response. For two months he had been wanting to know who the mysterious Peter and Leonie were and he thought it good that we were in Addis now. Then he takes us to the other side of the road to the campsite.

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At the camp a big Toyota Land Cruiser with Dutch license plates and a roof top tent is parked. We meet Pim, who is en route from the Netherlands to southern Africa through the Middle East. We had already been in contact with him by email after we had left a message in the guestbook at Tim & Kim Village that we were looking for other travellers with whom we could drive to Kenya via Lake Turkana. Pim had responded to that message. Nice to now meet him in person and exchange stories.

Once we say that we have traveled with Billy and Ross in Libya he says, “Ross? From England, with those curls? Yes he is still here. I think he is in his hammock.” He points to a blue plastic tarp that hangs between two trees. Ross still at Wim’s? What a surprise! Form his messages on Facebook we had understood that he was on his way to Tanzania, but it now turned out that he had engine problems again and had had to return to Addis. At that time, the plastic tarp starts to move and then Ross steps out of the hammock in his boxershorts. A cheerful encounter and embrace (still in his underwear) follow. Really nice to meet him again so unexpectedly. Once our tent is pitched and Ross has put on some trousers, we all go to the bar where we exchange stories while enjoying a beer and a plate of nasi goreng. It would be a long night.

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After the first successful evening, seven more follow! In those days we chat with Pim and Ross, we get to know Wim and his wife Rahel a bit better and we are introduced to Jim who travels through Africa on his bicycle. We enjoy pancakes with syrup, fries with “Bitterballen” and delicious cold beers. We toast with Philip, the Consul of Belgium, chat with Dutch flower farmers who also love “Bitterballen” and meet Chiel -cousin of Wim- who starts his ‘gap year’ by visiting his uncle. We exchange waypoints with the Dutch couple Peter and Carla who make a tour with their car from Uganda through East Africa. We drive through the city to the Kenyan embassy to apply for a visa and ride the same route back again a few days later to pick it up. Peter works on his motorcycle and that of Ross, while I update the blog and our administration. We walk into the city to find a hotel with a decent internet connection, find a hairdresser for Peter and do some shopping. Finally, we are also introduced to Michael and Judy from Australia, who shipped their (great!) Toyota Land Cruiser to South Africa and ride from there, via Africa, the Middle East, Russia, Mongolia and China back to Australia.

A wonderful week at Wim ‘s Holland House and a great time with Wim and Rahel. As we pack up our tent after a week, Wim comes to say goodbye: “Welcome to the Wim’s Holland House Family! Keep us updated on your whereabouts.“

Please note that we visited Wim’s Holland House in February 2014. Sadly, a few months later Wim lost his battle against cancer and passed away. We feel very fortunate to have met this lovely man and will never forget his warm welcome at Wim’s Holland House.

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After we have refuelled in Addis, it takes an hour before we are really out of town. From Addis Ababa, which is at 2,400 meters, we slowly drive to the lower part of Ethiopia. The lower we go, the hotter it gets. Mid-afternoon, Peter hears a strange noise coming from his motorbike. We drive off the main road and find a place in the shade to check it out. The front sprocket does not seem to fit perfectly any more on the shaft and makes some noise. Peter must replace it to prevent any damage on the splines on the output shaft. That means the rear wheel has to be taken off, so that the chain can get off and the sprocket is free to be replaced. While Peter is working on the motorbike and I hand him his tools, there are already a number of people around us. After about an hour the sprocket is replaced and we can continue.

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At the end of the day we arrive in Hawassa. In this city Celine and Leon had also written a message with chalk. To find the messages they sent us the GPS coordinates. The coordinates lead us to the entrance of the Agricultural University in Hawassa. Unfortunately, we could not find the message any more as the rain had erased it. It was still fun to try to find it. They had also recommended a hotel, where we indeed find a nice room. We can park the motorbikes in the courtyard.

The next day we set the GPS for Arba Minch. There we will again meet Pim to ride from there to the south and eventually through the Omo Valley to Kenya. Along the Ethiopian lakes we descend further and when we enter Arba Minch the GPS indicates that we are at 1.250 meters. It quite warm there. We try to find a room at one of the hotels, but cannot agree on the prices at the first four hotels. Above the reception desk of every hotel is a form with the prices for 2014. Prize for ‘Faranji’ is twice as high as the price that Ethiopians have to pay. We have not seen that before in Ethiopia. It is low season and the hotels are almost empty, so we try to get a reduced price. A win-win situation you would say; we have a good room, they have paying customers. But no, if we want to stay, we have to pay full price. Then we will try somewhere else. Finally we have had enough of it when we arrive at the Tourist Hotel. We finally accept a room at a slightly reduced Faranji-price. As soon as there is water from the tab, we freshen up, take a shower and dive into our sleeping bag liner under the mosquito net.

Tomorrow we will search for Pim and go shopping in preparation for the “Turkana Route”. More about that in the next blog posts .

Distance to Arba Minch: 12,457km (7,740 miles)

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Turkana Route I: To the Omo Valley
 

To go into Kenya from Ethiopia there are two routes we can take. The first route is from Moyale in Ethiopia to Marsabit in Kenya. A route that is known for the poor condition of the road and the many freight trucks and also the road that is sometimes referred to as the “Bandit Road”. The second option is from Omorate in Ethiopia, along Lake Turkana, to Maralal in Kenya. This route leads through a remote part of Kenya without any tarmac roads for over 800km, where facilities are far away and where gasoline, food and water is hard to get. But this is also the route through one of the most beautiful and unspoiled parts of Kenya. We chose to follow that Turkana route.

Still, this sounds easier than it is. The advise on the Turkana route is: “Do not travel alone.” The area is remote and difficult to reach, so help is far away when you go get stuck in the mud, have engine troubles or -even worse- get hurt. And in addition to that, we cannot take enough water, food and fuel on the bikes to cover the entire track. Space on the bikes is limited. We would therefore only ride the Turkana Route if we would meet another traveller who would want to travel with us and who would be willing to carry our fuel on the roof of his car. But gasoline on the roof of the car; that is not something everyone would agree to. And besides that, there are currently not many overlanders in Africa anyway. Yet, against all odds, we did find a travel companion!

We had placed a message in the guest book at Tim & Kim Village in Ethiopia: “Wanted: fellow traveller for the Turkana Route”. One week later we received an email from Pim. He wanted to ride the Turkana route and was willing to take fuel on the roof of his Land Cruiser. He also mentioned that he had met another Dutch couple that might want to ride along Lake Turkana. In Addis Ababa we met Pim, we planned the route and came into contact with Jan and Margriet. Peter and I went to Arba Minch, where we would meet Pim again to do some shopping. After that we would drive with Pim to Turmi in the Omo Valley. There we would meet Jan and Margriet to convoy to Kenya. A good plan!
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It is warm in Arba Minch. During the day the temperature rises far above 30 degrees Celsius and at night it does not seem to get any cooler. Even the thin cotton sheet we sleep in is too hot. Bonding with sweat, we are awakened at dawn by the announcer of the Orthodox Christian Church across from our hotel. Over an hour we hear him sing one song after another, very loud and quite out of tune. No chance to sleep anymore and a refreshing shower is not possible either, as there again is no water. Alas, with some wet wipes and lots of deodorant we are “not-clean- but-all-fresh” and sit down for breakfast a little later. We have some coffee to regain energy for the rest of the day.

After breakfast Pim joins us and together we go out to do some shopping. We have calculated that we need about six days to drive to Maralal (in Kenya). According to the information we found on the Internet, we would be able to find fuel, food and water there. Therefore we take food for six days. Fresh vegetables for the first few days, but cans of vegetables for the next few days, because in this weather vegetables go bad without a refrigerator very quickly. In Arba Minch we can get anything we want to take: pasta, rice, cans of tuna, cans of peas, tomato paste, noodle soup, biscuits, jam, peanut butter and even chocolate paste and Snickers! With this we can get a long way!

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We also need drinking water for at least six days. In this hot weather we both drink lots of water. Especially when we ride offroad we drink at least three litres per person per day. To make sure that we have enough water, we end up buying more than 40 litres of drinking water in large bottles of two or five litres. We cannot bring all this on our own bikes and are happy we can put this in Pims car.

Then the extra fuel. With the help of a man at the hotel we buy three jerrycans in which we can take gasoline and water. They are large yellow cans which were used for cooking oil. Perhaps not quite CE or DOT certified to transport fuel, but for a few days it will be fine. With two of the cans on our bikes we drive to a gas station in the city centre. Initially the attendant refuses to fill the cans with fuel. He points at a sticker on the pump that says: “No plastic containers.” At the same time, at least three tuktuks are filling the same plastic cooking oil cans at the pump next to us. We point to the plastic IMS tank on our motorbike and take another look at the tuktuks beside us and then he gives in and fills the cans.

Back at the hotel we fill the third can with tap water. We cannot use it as drinking water, but if we boil the water we can use it to cook rice, pasta, tea and coffee. And we can also use it to wash and do the dishes. It takes some time to fit our three jerry cans, next to the cans of Pim on the roof of his car, but it fits. After an hour, the fuel and the “cooking water” are rock solid strapped to the rack on his roof.

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The next morning Pim arrives at our hotel early in the morning. We have breakfast together and again head for the market in Arba Minch to buy fresh vegetables and bread. Peter stays with the packed motorbikes and I go to the market with Pim. When we come back, we cannot even see Peter because there are so many people around him. They all want to see the motorbikes and preferably touch all buttons. It is too hot to be standing in the full sun, we should get on the road to have some airflow. When we start the bikes and open the throttle a bit, most bystanders take a few steps back and we have enough space to turn the bike and drive away.

We leave Arba Minch and drive along Lake Abaya south to Konso. It is a beautiful and paved road along golden fields in which people are at work in the blazing sun. The landscape is very different than in northern Ethiopia. Less mountains, much lower and much warmer. On the road dozens of women and girls are carrying huge bundles of branches on their back. Apparently a task for the women, because throughout Ethiopia we have not seen a man carrying such bundles of wood. We pass a river that is buzzing with people. In the small trickle of water in the wide riverbed people stand to wash, cattle are drinking, laundry is done and mopeds are polished.

Every time we stop to take a picture or to eat something, there is a group of Ethiopians around us within seconds. “Where are you go?” is a question that is often asked. To date, we are still not entirely clear whether they want to know where we come from or where we are going. It is even very doubtful whether they themselves know what they ask us. It often happens that we properly answer the questions and then ask a question ourselves to make a chat, but get the exact same questions again as their response: “Where are you go?” or “How are you?” or “What is your name?“.

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The road from Konso to Weita (also known as Woyto) still consists of smooth asphalt, but once we take the exit to Arbore we drive on a gravel road. The first kilometres of at least another 800km without asphalt. It is dry and the road is good to drive on. That is a different story in the rainy season. The wide rivers are then full of water, blocking the roads and cutting off the villages from the rest of the world. The roads then chance in muddy paths with deep tracks that are not easy to ride on for most traffic. Our guidebook evens described the Omo Valley as a ‘No-Go Area’ in the rainy season. The rainy season is about to start, so we should not travel too slow and just keep driving now the roads are still passable.

We drive on, further into the Omo Valley. The area is known for the 24 tribes that live there, each with their unique characteristics. Well known tribes like the Mursi (famous for the clay plate in their lip), Hamer (known for their muddy dreadlocks) and Karo (known for painting their bodies). Although the roads are pretty good to ride, we cannot ride great distances because the average speed on some stretches is quit low. A distance of 20km may take 30 minutes, but depending on the condition of the road can easily take an hour.

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At the end of the afternoon we arrive in Arbore. A village that consists of no more than a handful of huts. The village also has a campsite. Although it is not much: there is no running water, no electricity and the toilet is a squat toilet over a hole in the ground. But at least we can camp quietly, because there is a large fence around the field and at the gate is a friendly security guard who keeps most bystanders at some distance. We are welcomed by some boys on a moped that offer to bring us some cold drinks. After a long a hot day that sounds like a great plan. The drinks at the camp are not cold yet, but once the generator has run for a while in the evening we receive our drinks. Not really cold, but colder than the outside temperature and even warm beer and lukewarm cola tastes OK after a day in the heat.

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The next day we drive to the south-west, to Turmi. The route is beautiful! Golden yellow gravel paths lined with low acacia trees and the occasional small antelope (dikdik) and beautiful birds. This is the real Africa! We pass several tribal members wo let their cattle graze among the acacia trees. They look beautiful with painted faces, beautiful hairstyles, special clothing and beautiful jewelry. We find them as interesting as they find us. If they have not run off the road in fear, they stands as if petrified with an open mouth staring at us. If we wave at them, we often only get a response when we already are a few 100 meters away.

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At the end of the morning we arrive at ‘Mango Campsite’ in Turmi. A beautiful campsite along a dry riverbed. We find a spot in the shade of the large mango trees and pitch our tent. Then we get into the car with Pim to go to Dimeka. It is Saturday and it is market day in Dimeka. Hamer-people from the surrounding area all come to the market today to buy and sell stuff. The closer we get to Dimeka, the more villagers we encounter who are on their way to the market with their cattle. Once in Dimeka it appears that all tourists have gathered at the Tourist Hotel. In the courtyard of the hotel a large number of Land Cruisers is lined up. The terrace is full with a large group of Belgians that are listening to the story of their travel guide. Once we have eaten something, we are assigned a guide. He takes us to the market, tells us about the Hamer people and calmly answers all our questions.

Trading on the market is a little quiet. Most of the people seem to have come to the market to chat, to exchange the latest gossip and to flirt. Way more fun than just selling goats. Women and children under one tree and men under another tree in the shade. Most of them wear traditional clothing consisting of animal skins decorated with beads and beautiful necklaces. Some people, especially the younger generation, sometimes wears western clothing and shoes. Especially the younger girls wear a bra over their goatskin. The most particular still remains the hair of the Hamer people. They are known for the ocher-colored clay dreadlocks. They make them with butter and ocher-coloured sand which they smear in their hair. A peculiar sight, but also a peculiar smell. The butter in their hair starts to smell quite bad after a while in the sun. And there is also a strong ‘cattle -scent”. An hour on the market is really enough.

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We walk along the stalls and look at all the beautifully dressed people. And all completely at ease, as -for the first time in a long time (and unique to Ethiopia)- we are left alone. There is no one who comes to us to ask for money, for a pen, for water or for food. The people on the market are primarily concerned with themselves and do not seem to take any notice of us. We are now the ones that watch and approach them. It does feel a bit awkward, like being in the Zoo, the way we watch their every move. Even more so since we have to pay for portraits we take after we have negotiated about the price per photo. But still it was very special and definitely worth the visit.

After an hour on the market and a lukewarm coke we get back in the car and back to the campsite in Turmi. Jan and Margriet have now also arrived. We exchange stories, get a tour in their beautiful Land Cruiser Camper and trudge to the adjacent Buska Lodge for a warm beer. We hear that a “Bull Jumping” ceremony will take place in Turmi on Monday. We agree to stay in Turmi on Sunday, visit the ceremony on Monday and then together drive to Omorate afterwards.

Distance travelled toTurmi: 12,734km (7,912.5 miles)

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Turkana Route ll: Bull jumping ceremony
 

Like in Arba Minch, it is very hot in Turmi. However in the shade of the mango trees and with the breeze blowing through the valley, it is OK. We use the Sunday to relax, to select some photos and to do some maintenance. At the end of the afternoon we walk with Jan and Margriet and Pim to the adjacent Buska Lodge for a beer. Not a bad way to spend the day!

Even the next morning we can take our time to eat breakfast and pack the tent, for the Bull Jumping ceremony only begins after lunch. With the help of some guys at the campsite we manage to buy some fuel. There is no gas station in Turmi, but fuel can be found on the ‘black market’. It is slightly more expensive than the gasoline we could get at the gas station in Arba Minch, but still OK. The two boys leave on a small moped to the centre of Turmi and come back a little later with a large white plastic bag containing eight water bottles filled with fuel. It looks good, there is no dirt or water in the fuel, so we feel OK to use this. Especially with the filter we have in our fuel tank. It is enough to top off both bikes. Two days earlier we had also bought some extra food and water in Turmi, just to be sure. Especially the bottles of water were going fast in this hot weather.

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Once the tent is packed and we have had lunch, we drive with Pim, Jan and Margriet to Turmi. In the center a long line of Land Cruisers is blocking the road. There are all packed with tourists that have come to watch the Bull Jumping ceremony. We follow the long line of cars out of town and turn onto a narrow path. On either side of the sandy path we pass a dense acacia forest. Between the trees we catch a glimpse of some goats and cows. We follow the trail a few kilometres until the path is again blocked by a long line of 4x4s. Even more tourists.

We leave our motorcycle jackets, helmets and some other items we carry on the motorbikes in Pim’s car. It is great to travel on motorbikes, but sightseeing is always a bit of a puzzle. We cannot just leave our stuff on the bike everywhere. And sometimes you would also like to take off the suit and the motorcycle boots. A ride from someone else, like the ride with Pim to the market in Dimeka, is really nice because that way we can stroll around the market in our regular clothes and with normal shoes.

With a full Camelbak on my back I follow Margriet further down the path. At the bottom of the path a large group of tourists is standing in the full sun in the dry riverbed. Their attention, cameras and video cameras aimed at the Hamer people sitting in the shade of the acacia trees. They have found the better spot! All the boys from Turmi seem to have taken up the job of ‘guides’. They walk among the tourists to collect the Ethiopian Birrs before the ceremony can begin.

The Hammer girls look beautiful. Not only their beautifully decorated leather clothes and their particular hair due, but also the bells they wear around their calves. It makes a nice sound when they walk. The girls sit down to chat and pose for our photos. I think we are just as interesting to them, as they are to us. Sometimes you see them suddenly all look in a certain direction at the same time and then laugh really hard. Perhaps it is sometimes a good thing we cannot understand them.

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Many villagers have come down to visit the ceremony. It is one of the most important ceremonies in the Hamer society. The ceremony is the culmination of a three-day initiation rite for young Hamer men. On the third and last day of the initiation, the young Hamer man should run naked over seven bulls three to five times. The bulls are then standing in a row next to each other. If he succeeds, he may choose a wife. If he fails, he must wait a year before he can try again.

But that is not all. The Hamer women play an important role in the ceremony as well. To demonstrate their devotion to the Hamer boy jumping the bulls, they are ritually hit with long thin branches. They choose the branches themselves and challenge the boys from the village to hit them with the branches by dancing in front of them while pushing the branches in their hands. When they are hit, the branches bend around their body and leave a deep wound on their backs. The bloody wounds and scars are a sign of honour: the more scars, the greater the status of the lady is. For the same reason, they make the wounds extra dirty to get an even bigger scar. All in all a painful affair. The day begins with the women drinking a local brew (lots of it). We follow the Hamer people over the riverbed to a clearing in the acacia forest. Several women already have gaping wounds on their backs. I have rarely seen such wounds and can imagine that they have been trying to get drunk that morning to prepare for this.

Once in the open space, the tourists form a circle within which the Hamer ladies dance, sing, jump and blow their horns. It sounds very catchy and rhythmic. Next to the dancing crowd, there are some Hamer boys, not older than 16 or 17 years. While the ladies are dancing, they taunt the boys to take their branch and to hit them. We cannot understand what they say to the boys, but it is clearly not friendly. Between the ladies there a real battle is going on to ensure that the boy takes their branch. And once they have tackled the boy to take their branch the woman keeps dancing and singing until a loud slap sounds. SLASH, like a whip of an animal trainer. No screaming, no tears, no shrinkage. She got her tap, a gaping wound on her back and continues to dance to convince the guy to hit her again. But she has had her turn, the other ladies are now crowding around the boy, pushing him around and trying to get their slap. For the ladies a painful affair, but the young men who has to hit them does not seem very happy with the job that was assigned to him either. It is part of the ceremony, but to maim your own aunt, sister or niece might be difficult as well.

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From a distance Margiet and I watch how one after another woman is hit, until I have had enough of it. It is clear that the women choose to be hit, because some of them remain a bit in the background. It usually are the same (most drunk) ladies in the front that get the most hits. But the sound of that branch on their back is so awful that I cannot look at it any more for my own ’amusement’. But then again, I am also the type that watches a scary film through the slits of her eyes while she holds her hands to her ears. Peter, Pim and Jan seem to be less bothered by it.

After this part of the ceremony is over, the bulls come to the scene. A large group of bulls calmly enters the circle of tourists. The men of the village choose a number of bulls and try to put them side-by-side. Not an easy task, because the bulls give a proper fight. The men grasp the bull by the horns and their tail and then try to put it in place.

While the bulls are put in place, the ‘Bull Jumper’ is taken apart by his friends and the men of his family. They form a circle around him in an attempt to keep the tourists away for this part of the ceremony. Something that does not always work, because some tourists put their cameras over the heads of the men to take a picture anyway. Very particular, probably a ’unique photo opportunity’.

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After this part of the ceremony is done, the young man gets ready to jump the bulls. His fellow villagers mingle with the tourists to properly see his attempt. He takes a run-up, jumps on the first bull, run across the backs of the seven bulls and jumps off on the other side. Then he turns around and runs across the row of bulls again. Stark naked he hops from one back to the other. He manages to run back and forth four times. Not the required five times, but from the murmur of approval around us, we gather that he has succeeded. He can choose his wife.

The ceremony is over and the tourists walk back to their cars. With mixed feelings I look at the gaping wounds on the backs of the ladies. It is an ancient tradition associated with their culture, but I personally have some difficulty with the mutilation (often of women) that is part of the ceremony. Moreover, it feels like a ’show’ that is put up for the large number of tourists that is here, which makes the mutilations even more questionable. On the other hand, it is undisputed that the ceremony is still part of the Hamer society and will occur anyway, with or without tourists. It may perhaps feel like a show, but is their right to invite tourists to the ceremony, take advantage of the tourist interest and generate an income therewith.

After the ceremony, we continue our way from Turmi to Omorate. It is dusty and hot, but the dirt road is fine to drive. At the beginning of the evening we arrive in Omorate, the last place in Ethiopia before the border with Kenya. We drink a warm Coke, eat the last enjera we will eat in a long time and then crawl into our tent. Tomorrow the real adventure begins when we ride along Lake Turkana to Kenya!

Distance to Omorate: 12.824km (7.969 miles)

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Turkana Route lll: 1,000km offroad
 

To know how much fuel, water and food we had to take, we had read several reports of travelers who had done the Turkana route. Travel reports that in the first place describe the adventures on the road. The information about the state of the ‘road’ was quite interesting to say the least. Long stretches of deep sand, a great number of river crossings, paths with loose stones and fields with sharp lava rocks as big as footballs. An additional factor was the weather. It could either be very hot, what makes driving even more difficult, or very wet, which would make the route impassable. Although the travel report also describe how incredibly beautiful the route was, in Omorate I was mainly thinking about the challenges that awaited us. At the hotel where we stayed, we meet a motorcycle rider from Barcelona. A year earlier he left from Omorate to ride the Turkana route on his Yamaha Ténéré. Only 30km outside Omorate he had fallen in the deep sand and broken his leg in two places. It had taken three days and two different planes before he was taken from Omorate to a hospital in Addis Ababa and another year before he could walk normally again. He was now back to patch up his bike and try it again. Impressed by his story, I wonder: What are we getting ourselves into?

Tense and a little nervous I crawl into our warm tent that night. We do not use the fly of the tent to have a little bit of wind through the tent, but it does not seem to help. Sweaty and a little sick, I try to sleep. Half an hour later I run across the courtyard of the hotel in my underwear, because I cannot keep the last enjera of Ethiopia in. I feel horrible. After a sleepless night, we pack up early the next morning. We can put our duffelbags in the back of Pims car, just like the groceries we buy that morning. After we have changed our Ethiopian money, we drive in convoy to the customs office. Half an hour later we have stamps in our passports and our Carnets de Passages. We leave Omorate.

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Just outside Omorate we turn right, onto a sandy path. It is just wide enough for one car, you can not really call it a road. In some parts the sand is very deep. We are less than two kilometres on our way when my bike swerves all over the place. I can barely keep it upright. This starts well. Peter comes running with a tire pressure gauge and together we let some air out of the tires. With the softer tires riding is much easier in the loose sand. Standing on my steps and hanging on to my handlebars to keep my front wheel up, it goes pretty well. In sections where the sand is deeper, I remember the offroad course that we followed with Toine van Dijk. It is as if he is riding next to me: “Gas, gas, hit the gas Leonie! And shift now!” It feels unnatural, because when my motorbike starts swabbing I would prefer braking and putting my feet on the ground, but that is only more difficult. So speed it is!

With every kilometre we ride, it is going better and my confidence is going up. We are not going fast (no faster than 40km per hour), but we are making sufficient progress. Before I know it, we even drove through several dry riverbeds. Even that appears to go just fine, especially on these light motorbikes. I am so glad we left our big Hondas (Africa Twin and Transalp) at home!) In some riverbeds we have to drive through really deep sand. It reminds me of the deep, loose sand you would find at the beach just below the dunes. With my feet on the ground, I strum in first gear through the track in the sand. Not really ‘Dakar-material’, but that is how I keep my bike upright and my stuff and especially myself in good shape.

Peter and I drive in front, Jan and Margriet behind us and behind them is Pim. This way we are less affected by the dust their cars throw up and they can better keep an eye on us. The sand is much less of a problem for the cars. The only risk is that they get stuck in the deep sand in the dry riverbeds, they will not topple over. In the deep stretches of sand where I ’walk’, Jan waits behind me to drive through the sand at high speed as soon as I am at the other side. It looks impressive.

There are multiple tracks through the sand and sometimes it is quite hard to find the right one. We use ‘ Tracks4Africa ‘ on our GPS, which shows routes that were previously ridden by others. Together with Jan, who sees the route on his iPad, and Pim, who has a newer version of Tracks4Africa, we manage to find the right paths.

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We sway over the track on the dry savannah. We pass several small settlements, where a few huts form a little village. In several villages we encounter a barrier that is lowered over the path. We stop and are quickly “encircled” by a large group of interested people. We are just as interested in them, as they are in us. They look beautiful with traditional clothes, jewellery and impressive weapons. After we tell them where we are going, the gate opens and we are allowed through. We pass through a number of villages where we are stopped before a barrier or a rope. In the fourth village we seem to be at the border with Kenya. There are two police officers in uniform and once we stop we are greeted with a cheery; “Jambo, Mzungu!”, Swahili for “Hello, white man.” Now we know for sure, this is the border with Kenya!

There is no customs office and we cannot get a stamp in our passports here. That will be of later concern. After a brief chat, one of the officers opens the barrier: “Karibu Kenya” (Welcome to Kenya!). On dusty dirt roads we drive further south. For the first time we can now see Lake Turkana. The path leads us through a village with small huts where freshly caught fish is dried. Mid-afternoon we arrive in Illeret, the first slightly larger village in Kenya. Here we have to register with the police. We are welcomed by Victor, who takes our passports and shows us where we can get a ’cold’ soda while he takes our details. The warm Sprite tastes good after the efforts of that day. Again, we cannot get a stamp in our passports here. Stamps, we must eventually get in Nairobi.

If everything is noted, we leave Illeret and drive to the entrance of Sibiloi National Park. We will not drive through the park, but along the park boundary. As we drive to the east, away from the lake, the trail slowly changes structure. We no longer driving on sand, but across large round stones. The road winds up and down. At the end of the afternoon we find a flat plateau that overlooks Sibiloi National Park, a great place to camp. With the shovel of Jan we clear a piece of land as big as the groundsheet of our tent. At dusk we cook some pasta and make a sauce of tomatoes, onions, garlic and some spicy herbs. It tastes great! Satisfied we look back on a successful first day. Driving through the deep sand went better than I had expected and the motorbikes were perfect. A little more confident and a lot less tense we crawl into our tent early that night.

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Halfway through the night I am again standing outside in my underwear. This time not because of the food, but to cover the tent with the flysheet because of the rain. And not just rain, but a downpour with crackling thunder. The worst heat is now out of the air, so sleeping is a little easier now. We will see tomorrow what the rain has done to the road. The alarm goes early next morning. After a breakfast of dry bread with jam and a cup of tea, we pack everything again. Breaking down the tent, packing the bags and putting on our suits, takes quite a lot longer than the time Jan and Margriet need to prepare their Land Cruiser for departure. Pim is also a lot faster with collapsing his roof tent. It might have some advantages to travel by car.

The route takes us along the park. The road is not really deteriorated by the rain and the river crossings are still (or again) dry. Peter rides in front of me and is more or less our ’spotter’. He is clearly a lot better in riding offroad, because he can also enjoy the scenery. While I try to manoeuvre my bike on the paths with my tongue out of my mouth, I hear over the intercom about all the birds and animals he sees. He is a good spotter and also sees the first ‘wild animals’; a group Topi antelope. Around the national park is no fence and the animals naturally are not bothered by the park boundaries. From a distance we look at each other. Only when we turn off our motorbikes to make some pictures, they run away.

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Further south we reach the announced fields with lava stones. Stones as big as tennis balls, and later stones as big as footballs. On part of the route, the path is cleared from the largest stones, but on other parts we need to go across the stones. Very difficult, especially where the road goes down sharply to a dry riverbed to then goes up again steeply. The stones are loose and shoot away from under our wheels. We must pay attention and cannot stop just anywhere. If the stones are large, the holes between them are big too and in between there is no place to put your feet. Keep riding!
That morning we have put some air in the tires again to prevent a flat tire when hitting the sharp rocks. Although we try to avoid the biggest rocks, we sometimes bounce over them quit hard. We stop several times to check the tires. The bikes are doing great, even the steep slopes are no problem. Again we talk to each other about how happy we are that we are traveling on these light Hondas.

We are on our way to Loyangalani and along the way we pass a sign that says “107.5 km”. We do not drive fast and can only go 15km per hours in some parts. Taking into account much needed breaks and the slow speed, it will take at least four to five hours before we will be in Loyangalani. But it is still early, so who knows, we may just make it. A campsite with a shower and a drink would be fantastic.

The motorbikes bounce over the stones and our arms vibrate. It is very tiring and after a while I start to feel it in my arms and my back. On parts where we can stand still, we stop frequently to rest, to shake our arms and to have a drink. We stop for a mid-morning coffee break, and not long after that again for lunch. I empty my Camelbak twice. And in the difficult moments when we are panting, Margiet comes with a tray of candy. What a treat!

The closer we get to the lake, the more sandy roads and dry riverbeds we encounter. The heat and fatigue begin to take their toll. At the end of the afternoon we must stop more regularly to catch our breath and drink. Especially in the areas with deep sand, when my motorcycle swerves in all directions, it is really tough. Out of breath, I put my feet on the ground to stretch out on my tank bag panting. At one point, when Peter is out of reach of the intercom, Jan has overtaken me, and I can only see deep sand, I want to give up. I ask Pim to stay behind me, so he can help if I fall and I then plow on through the deep sand towards Peter. The fear of falling sometimes paralyzes me and makes me brake where I should accelerate. Strange if you consider that up until that time I did not fall on the ground even once.

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Once with Peter, Jan and Margriet -who were waiting for us on a hill- we let out some more air from the tires to make the ride through the sand easier. We just have to be careful of the stones that are still sticking out of the sand, because with the soft tires the chance of a puncture are larger. We drive to the lake through the deep sand. On my bike, I see that it is only 15km to Loyangalani. I really want to go there, not only to drink a cold Coke myself, but also so to allow the others to have a shower and a cold drink. But I can not. Every 100 meters my bike swerves over the dirt track and I can only just keep it upright. I am dead tired and need to stop. A difficult decision as it is clear that the others, including Peter, could have continued for another 15km.

We find a flat piece of sand overlooking the lake. It is still light and while Peter puts up the tent, I start cooking. Again pasta with tomatoes, onions, garlic and spicy herbs. But this time accompanied by a delicious coleslaw salad made by Margriet. It tastes good! Once the cooking equipment is cleaned, we crawl into our tent. No idea what time it is, but it is dark and I am tired.

Our liners and pillows are wet with sweat when we wake up the next morning. It is very hot and had been so all night. We walk to the lake with a towel and some soap to freshen up. First we look for crocodiles or their tracks, because the lake is full of them. The coast seems clear. We wash ourselves and then trudge back to the tent. Next to our tent are two Turkana watching those crazy five ’mzungus’. One of them speaks good English. We talk about our trip, their village and the weapons they carry. In this area there are fights between different tribes regularly, but the men assure us that the weapons are just to protect them against wild animals like hyenas. The men want a ride and can come with Pim to Loyangalani.

We get back on the road for the last 15km to Loyangalani, through deep sand and crossing several dry riverbeds. We drive on a vast plain whit small gullies that run from the hills to the lake. The gullies are dry now, but the sides have recently been carved out by the water and are very straight. With the bikes this is fine, but for the cars this is more difficult. They hit the ground with the back of their car each time they want to drive out of the gullies again. We take our time to take some pictures and make some movies.

After 15km there is still no trace of Loyangalani. A glance at the map shows us that we still have to travel at least 50km before we get there. As we drive on, more and more stones are on the path. We slowly ride into the hills with lava stones. From the hills we have a great view over the lake. The lake has a beautiful jade green color and contrasts beautiful against the threatening dark sky. We stop frequently, especially to take pictures. By lunchtime we arrive in Loyangalani. A small village, but after being in the middle of nowhere for what felt like eternity, it comes across as a busy city.

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We find a spot on Palm Shade Camp, which has a toilet and a shower which even has water! What a luxury! Just as we want to set up the tent, it starts to rain very hard. The green grass turns into a little swamp. When it is dry, I leave to the village with Pim to do some shopping, while Peter is engaged in the tent. In the street are a dozen small shops where you can get everything you want. In the local grocery store they have lots of things; from matches to floss and from rat poison to spears. And we are lucky because a truck with new stock has just arrived, so we can buy fresh fruit and bread. But we do not cook that night, because we enjoy a delicious three-course meal that is prepared by the cook at the campsite. Soup, curry with rice, fruit and even a cold beer! What a feast.

With new energy we get back on the bikes the next morning. Again we have to wait and see what the rain has done to the road. The manager of the camp site advises us to come back to the campsite when we come across a flowing river and to not cross it. This is to prevent that we get stuck between two rivers. He gives us his phone number and presses us hard to call him in case we encounter any problems along the way. We drive out of the village. As far as the eye can see, we see fields with loose lava rocks. There seems to be a sort of trail over the stones where other cars and trucks have driven. But you cannot call it a ’road’, even though a nice yellow line is drawn on our map.

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In the beginning we drive on a flat area with stunning views over the lake. After that we slowly drive into the hills and that is were the trouble begins. The stones are loose and very slippery as a result of the rain. They shoot away under our wheels. As during the previous days, we can not just stop anywhere and we must be very focused on the steep sections to manoeuvre the motorbike over the stones. At some point, I suddenly lie on the ground with my bike next to me. The rear tire had skidded on some loose stones. It did not hurt and the bike was still working, but I did have to find some new energy to get on the bike again.

There are huge trenches in the road in places where the water came from the mountains, flowing into the lake. On the way down, the water carried stones and left deep holes in the ‘road’. Like us, the cars have a hard time on this piece. Several times Jan and Pim have to get out of the car to explore the road before they can drive on. Three times Peter rides both our bikes through a difficult piece, once even by walking alongside the bike. While I am at the top of a long slope gathering courage to drive down, I hear cursing over the intercom and I see Peter bouncing off his motorcycle. Luckily he is OK, just a bruised elbow, a bent brake leaver and a torn strap on one of the bags. Over the intercom I hear him say: “Stay up there, I will ride your bike down.” Hero! He comes up and drives my bikes down without any problems (slightly slower than the first time though).

We are not even 10km out of Loyangalani, but are both already very tired. It takes a few miles before we finally leave this rotten piece behind us and drive away from the lake into the hills. It is steep and in some parts the corners are made of concrete, which makes it a lot easier to ride up. At the other side of the hills, we ride onto a sandy dirt road. Not like the deep white sand we had before, but dark brown or even red sand that has become really hard from the rain. The average speed goes up and even though it starts raining hard at some point, this is going great. We can relax a bit and let the difficult miles of that morning behind us. For the first time I can even look around are enjoy the scenery. Though I still only see animals after Peter has clearly says; “At your 11 o’clock: two deer.”


We drive on the dirt road until we arrive in South Horr in the afternoon, a little earlier than expected. South Horr is a Samburu village along a wide river where we find a spot on a beautiful campsite. Once the tent has been pitched and our gear is hanging on a line to dry, we walk around the village, look at the Samburu huts and trudge through the now dry riverbed. At the end of the afternoon, we move the chairs together, Jan and Margriet take out snacks and we experience the exciting moments of the morning again.

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The next morning we continue our way on the hard sandy paths from South Horr to Baragoi. We leave the hills and ride onto a huge savannah. It is beautiful, just like you would know Africa from the BBC documentaries. An area where you would expect giraffes or elephants at any moment. Incredibly beautiful! We take our time to take pictures, to drink coffee and to have lunch. A few hours later we arrive In Baragoi, we do some shopping and then drive on towards Maralal. We find a spot on the Yare Camel Camp. It is our last night as “Dutch Turkana Team”. Jan and Margriet have to go home unexpectedly and will from here take the shortest route to Nairobi from Maralal. We exchange contact details, pictures and films, and wave them goodbye the next morning. Together with Pim we prepare ourselves for the last part of the route, from Maralal to Lake Baringo.

Although we expected that the offroad bit would be over after Maralal, this was not true. We follow a poorly maintained dirt road full of potholes through small villages where not tourists have been for a long time. We drive along a National Park and see our first zebras! Just before Lake Baringo we turn right onto a sandy track. The road is wide at first, but becomes more and more narrow as we continue. The rain has left deep trenches, deep enough to make your motorbike disappear. And as often, the last bit is the hardest. The final (long) kilometres towards the lake are on a ‘road’ through the hills with loose rocks, deep holes and steep sides. Only at the end of the day we see the first glimpse of Lake Baringo on the horizon. Once in the valley, my heart jumps when we finally ride onto an asphalt road in Loruk!

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From Woyto in Ethiopia we have then driven 956km offroad. Nearly 1,000 km through a beautiful area, with special people and spectacular scenery. A route that sometimes drove me to despair, but of which I am very happy (and proud) that we took it. The preparations we had made ​​were good, but maybe a bit too much in hindsight. Although there was no fuel station for a long time, we could have obtained fuel anywhere. The same goes for food and water. Perhaps they did not have chocolate paste or snickers, but definitely enough food to finish the route well-fed.
This being said, we were very glad we had extra fuel, water and food with us and had found a companion who was willing to take all this for us. But above all we were happy with the moral support and the company of Jan, Margriet and Pim. Thanks again, also for the liquorice!

Distance travelled to Lake Baringo: 13,590km (8,444miles)

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Both thumbs up for this ride report and especially the last part! :thumbup1::thumbup1:

Joerg

Im gonna share this to my fb!!:thumbup1:

Like!!bier

Birdwatching around the equator
 

At the end of the afternoon we arrive at Robert’s Camp, a beautiful campsite on Lake Baringo. During the trip Peter and I made ​​in 2007 to Kenya and Tanzania (then not as a couple yet), we also visited Robert’s Camp. We both had some good memories of the place: hippos at the campsite, eyes of crocodiles that light up in your flash light, a boat ride on the lake and a nature walk led by Cliff. We wanted to go back again, but now as “lovers”.

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We recognize the sign that points us to the entrance of the camp and as we stand at the reception desk we recognize the restaurant “The Thirsty Goat”. But that is the only thing that is still the same, because the whole campsite as we remember it is flooded! The water level of Lake Baringo increased rapidly in the beginning of 2013 with no less than five meters. A huge amount of water when you consider that the lake is 22km long and 11km wide. The former camping field, the toilet blocks and various cottages have disappeared underwater. We see parts of walls or roofs stick out above the water, it is a sad sight. But despite the setback, Robert’s Camp is still open. The restaurant is redone, there is a new toilet block and the former parking lot of the adjacent Lake Baringo Club (which had to close) is transformed into a beautiful campground. So we can pitch our tent, no problem.

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After the hardships in Ethiopia and the ride along Lake Turkana, it feels like we have arrived at a luxury resort. There is a thick jet of water coming from the shower, there is toilet paper at the clean toilet, the refrigerator of “The Thirsty Goat” is filled with at least three different types of cold beer and they even have a menu full of delicious dishes! With a smile on our faces we join Pim for a cold Tusker and a ‘Spitting Cobra’ pizza. We will definitely stay here for a while!

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Apart from the increased water level, it is much the same as seven years ago. It is still a beautiful campsite! Not in the last place because of the birds! Around Lake Baringo you can find as many as 400 different birds, 173 of which have been seen at Robert’s Camp. A paradise for ornithologists and also for Peter! With binoculars in his hands, he stares at all the beautiful birds. And it is addictive, because soon after Pim and I are also watching birds. From our armchair we see kingfishers repeatedly take a dip in the water to get a fish. In the bushes small sunbirds buzz from flower to flower, while the sun lights up the colors of their wings. In the waterfront a Hamerkop is looking for fish, while the Striated Heron next to him is trying to swallow the catch of the day. During our breakfast brutal Hornbills try to eat the bread from our plates, while we hear African Fish eagles call each other. If you were not a birdwatcher yet, you will become one here for sure!

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Between all the chirping of the birds we hear the occasional loud and heavy “MWOEHAHAHAHA”. Hippos! In the water in front of the restaurant there is a group of hippos. They only show their backs and big head and flap their ears. Occasionally they disappear completely under water to come out snorting a few minutes later. During the day they stay in the water, but when the sun is down and it starts to get dark, they leave the water to graze during the night. And they do so on the campsite, next to our tent! After some splashing, steps in the mud and rustling bushes, we hear them eating grass just beside us. It sounds just like a cow. From the tent we see them getting closer, they would almost trip over the ropes of our tent! We sit up to watch the hippos, sometimes four at a time, scurrying around our tent. Every night they come out again, fantastic!

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We just need to be careful when we go to the toilet in the dark, because hippos are very dangerous. They kill more people every year than lions! Despite their heavy body, they can run fast and if you are between the hippo and the water they can run you over on their way to the water. And with their big mouth and sharp teeth they can seriously injure or even kill you. As long as we stay in our tent when they are grazing it is fine. It definitely gives the feeling that we are in Africa! Just like when we saw from the restaurant at the campsite how a crocodile ate a goat, when the monkeys stole our cookies and when the lady in the kitchen started screaming when she found a snake on her kitchen counter…..

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Like seven years ago, we take a boat trip to see the area and the birds. And all under the guidance of … Cliff, the same guide we had in 2007! He is an ornithologist and does not need a book to recognize birds, one chirp is enough for him. As we walk to the boat he points us to one bird after another. He even manages to have an owl answer to his lure after which we can find the little creature high up in the tree.

The boat trip is super. It is still early and the light is beautiful. Cliff shows us lots of new birds. We see crocodiles warm up in the morning, while less than 15 meter away the ladies from the village are doing their laundry. From the boat we can see how much damage the rising water has caused and how many buildings have disappeared under the water. Not only hotels and our campsite, but also the local fish factory, a school and several houses. It has only been a year since the flooding, but it has already had a devastating effect on the buildings. The animals have adapted much faster than the inhabitants of the village. The crocodiles lurk in the former hotel rooms, the hippos waddle across the floor of the restaurant and the birds have built a nest in the reception.

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Lake Baringo is one of the many lakes in the Great Rift Valley. This valley runs from Syria to Mozambique and is formed by plates of the earth that are slowly drifting apart. In the valley are some very deep lakes of which we have already seen a number (like Lake Abayo, Lake Awassa and Lake Turkana). From the boat we can see that Lake Baringo is also situated in the valley, with cliffs on both sides. That same afternoon, our guide named Cliff takes us for a walk to the edge of the valley. We climb the cliff and have a beautiful view over the lake and the steep wall on the other side of the valley. On the way there we see ostriches, scorpions, snakes and again a lot of birds.

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We enjoy a little vacation at Robert’s Camp and end up staying more than a week. We eat more “spitting cobra pizzas”, but also enjoy the seafood platter which Big Mama Brenda prepares for us. We trudge through the village to the luxurious Soi Lodge for a swim and to use their Internet. We go shopping in the village and cook pasta or rice together with Pim. We pick up some Swahili and talk with the people in the village. We take plenty of time to drink coffee, read a book, work on the bikes or the blog and settle down every night in the cozy chairs at “The Thirsty Goat” for a drink. Great!

And as that happens when you stay in one place for a long time, we again meet some great people. We meet Michaela, Timm and their four children from Germany. During a trip through Africa with their daughter, they got ’stuck’ (by choice) in South Africa. They built a house there, started a business, had three more children and lived in Cape Town for over five years. When we meet them they are heading back to Germany to live there a few years. They travel in a super tough Landrover with a trailer and even a quad on top of the trailer. On the roof of the car is a huge roof tent where they sleep all six of them. Wonderful people and certainly a huge inspiration to know that traveling does not have to end when you have children.

A few days after the German family left, another Landrover parks at the campsite. Two friends, Belgian Steve and Dutchman Pieter, take a trip through -as they themselves say- the ‘easy countries of Africa’. From South Africa they have now reached their most northern point in Kenya and will ride south again through Tanzania and Malawi. Trendy guys, that -to my slight surprise- turn out to be fanatical birdwatchers. Armed with a large lens on their photo camera and two thick books about birds, they stare at the trees around them. Only when we look at their bird books, we see just how many yellow-and-black birds there actually are. Even with the book it is quite difficult to find the right one. But searching for the right bird makes it a fun challenge! We do not have space for a bird book, but we do find a great app for the iPad with all the East African Birds. This makes it even more fun!

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Along with Pieter, Steve and Pim we take another boat trip with Cliff to see birds, but also just to enjoy the amazing views. I could do this every day, I love it! Cliff buys fish from a local fisherman to feed to the African Fish eagle. With a piece of wood in the fish, the fish floats in the water. Cliff calls the eagle, that comes flying from a great distance and grabs the fish out of the water with his big claws. On the boat the cameras are clicking. Steve makes beautiful pictures with his large camera lens.

After 10 days, we pack our stuff again. Although I could have stayed for another month at Robert’s Camp, it is time to move on and to visit other parts of Kenya. The manager seems to agree: “Are you leaving? Finally!”, he says with a smile on his face.

Together with Pim we drive further south passed Lake Nakuru in the direction of Lake Naivasha. Halfway we suddenly see a big yellow sign on the side of the road: “You are now approaching the equator.” The equator! That is quit something. Here we are, riding on our own motorbikes from the northern to the southern hemisphere. Very cool! We stop and park our bikes at the equator to take a pictures of this moment for our future grandchildren.

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At Lake Naivasha we pitch our tent at Carnelly’s between the roof tent of Pim on one side and the roof tent of Pieter and Steve on the other side. It is a beautiful campsite on the edge of the lake, where again many birds can be found. If we take a stroll around the camp we see a Crested Eagle, pelicans, more African fish eagles, Marabou storks, a Giant Kingfisher and cute little lovebirds. High up in the trees Colobus monkeys are jumping from one branch to another, their long black and white tails swaying behind them. The next day we do not get on the motorbikes, but on two bicycles! We go to Hell’s Gate National Park, one of the few parks in Kenya where you can walk or cycle. Along with Pim, Peter and I make our way up the hills to the entrance of the park. Our condition is not really improved after four months of sitting on the bike, so we are both panting when we buy our tickets. And then our bike ride through the park has yet to begin, that is promising.

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But once inside the park, we ride onto a large open area and cycle slowly down. There is some sunshine and a breeze, perfect weather for a ride on these bikes! From the saddle of our bicycles we see all sorts of wildlife: zebras, buffaloes, giraffes, antelopes and warthogs. Really great! And yet a bit exciting because there is a chance that we encounter lions and elephants. We cycle slowly through the park, stopping frequently for photos or just looking at the animals using our binoculars.

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At the beginning of the afternoon we park our bicycles and climb into the gorge at the other side of the park. We follow a local boy who has offered to be our guide. The water has carved out the sides of the gorge beautifully.

Across the gorge are warnings of “Flash Floods”, a tidal wave that suddenly runs through the now dry gorge when it rains. At various places emergency exits have been constructed, where you can climb out of the gorge with the help of a rope ladder. In itself, we did not pay much attention to it, until we hear the rumbling in the distance and it suddenly starts to rain very heavy. We follow our ‘guide’ to the first emergency exit and shelter under the roof of a souvenir stall. Once the rains stops, we get back on our bicycles to go to the campsite. Halfway it starts to rain really heavy again. Like wet kittens and with a sore bum we arrive at the campsite in the late afternoon. With long trousers, a thick sweater and warm socks we join Pieter, Steve and Pim for dinner and we toast to a very nice day.

Tomorrow we move on, to Nairobi.

Distance travelled to Lake Naivasha: 13,798km (8,576 miles)

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PS : For those who also love birds hereby a list of all the birds we have spotted until Laka Naivasha: African Darter, Common Squacco Heron, Striated Heron, Great Egret, Goliath Heron, Purple Heron, Intermediate Egret, Hamerkop, Yellow-billed Stork, Marabou Stork, Sacred Ibis, Hadada Ibis, Greater Flamingo, Egyptian Goose, Black Kite, African Fish Eagle, Osprey, Long-crested Eagle, Black Crake, African Jacana, Common Sandpiper, Gull-billed Tern, White-winged Tern, African Mourning Dove, Brown Parrot, Fischer’s Lovebird, White-bellied Go-away-bird, White-browed Coucal, African Scops-Owl, Verreaux’s Eagle-Owl, Pearl-spotted Owlet, Speckled Mousebird, Pied Kingfisher, Giant Kingfisher, Woodland Kingfisher, Malachite Kingfisher, Blue-cheeked Bee-eater, Northern Carmine Bee-eater, Lilac-breasted Roller, Green Wood-hoopoe, Red-billed Hornbill, Jackson’s Hornbill, Hemprich’s Hornbill, Cardinal Woodpecker, Banded Martin, Yellow Wagtail, Common Bulbul, Spotted Morning-Thrush, Lead-coloured Flycatcher, African Paradise-flycatcher, Mouse-coloured Penduline-Tit, Hunter’s Sunbird, Beautiful Sunbird, Brubru, Fork-tailed Drongo, White-headed Buffalo-Weaver, White-billed Buffalo-Weaver, White-browed Sparrow-Weaver, Black-headed Weaver, Northern Masked Weaver, Black-headed Weaver, Golden-backed Weaver, African Black-headed Oriole, Long-tailed Cormorant, Great Cormorant, Greater Flamingo, Pink-backed Pelican, Red-winged Starling, Bristle-crowned Starling, Rüppell’s Long-tailed Starling, Greater Blue-eared Starling, Superb Starling, Parrot-billed Sparrow, Rufous Chatterer, Northern White-crowned Shrike, White-fronted Bee-eater, Augur Buzzard, Verreaux’s Eagle, Lammergeier, Eurasian Hoopoe, Common Ostrich, Trumpeter Hornbill, Vulturine Guineafowl, Red-cheeked Cordon-bleu, African Firefinch en de Tropical Boubou!

Brown bread and Dutch cheese
 

A night out on the town with friends, watching our favourite Dutch talk show, visit to a beauty salon for a pedicure, lunch in town with the girls, swimming laps in the pool, a cup of coffee on the lounger in the garden, a large double bed with crisp white sheets and brown bread with Dutch cheese.That does not sound like a motorcycle trip through Africa where most nights are spent in a tent. Yet we had all of this and more when we visited our good friends Wouter and Agnes in Nairobi!

From Lake Naivasha we drive on a busy main road towards Nairobi. At first we ride through the Great Rift Valley, but at the end of the morning the road winds up along the steep cliffs at the edge of the valley. Heavy lorries have difficulty reaching the top. The road becomes a two-lane highway that leads through the outskirts of Nairobi. As we drive further into the city, it is getting busier with many cars, ‘matatus’ (minibuses) and ’boda-boda’s’ (motorcycle taxis). We follow the GPS that leads us further into the city until we reach a beautiful green neighbourhood and stop in front of the home of our friends. A beautiful bungalow in a large walled garden with tall avocado trees, tropical birds and two tortoises that scavenge the garden. A beautiful place and a true oasis in the busy city.

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It is very nice to see our friends again after such a long time and to hear about their live in Kenya. We join for a late lunch with juice, eggs and freshly baked brown bread with Dutch chocolate sprinkles and even Dutch cheese! As Dutchies we really miss our sandwich with Dutch cheese, so this is a real treat. It tastes heavenly! The next day I join two friends of Agnes to surprise her with a lunch in the city and a pedicure. All this to celebrate her maternity leave now she is eight months pregnant. At the end of the morning we step into a bright pink beauty parlour. With soft feet and pink toenails we leave an hour later to enjoy a delicious lunch with salad, fresh mint tea and chocolate cake. After four months on the motorbikes with mostly men around me, it is great to get pink nails and be in town with the girls and chat about typical women stuff!

And after my afternoon with the girls, Peter also gets his night out with the men. They visit a Kenyan kick boxing match. A great evening with burgers, beer and lots of flashy shows.

We end up staying a few days with our friends. We sleep in the delightful guest bed, play in the garden with Seth, enjoy the swimming pool of the Dutch school, watch the Dutch news and our favourite Dutch talk show, go out for a lovely dinner, talk endlessly about our trip, their life in Kenya and plans for the future and enjoy more brown bread with Dutch cheese. Wonderful days on which we look back with great pleasure!

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On one of the days we were at their place, we went to the centre of Nairobi to the headquarters of Kenyan customs to get a stamp in our passports. We are now more than three weeks in Kenya, so it is about time. Driving in a big city is not our favourite activity, but for a stamp we will have to. Well after the morning rush hour, we arrive at the business district of Nairobi. A long row of buses, matatus and cars is waiting for a green traffic light. Despite the green light, there is no movement, traffic is stuck. Just until the light turns red. At that time the line of cars in front of us suddenly begins to move. This is odd. We ride along with the crowd, ignoring the red light in a very Kenyan way and driving to a roundabout. Then it appears that the traffic lights are mainly hanging in the city as decoration, because the traffic is controlled by police.

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The police does not have a good reputation in Kenya. Police officers are known for stopping you for any reason and only letting you go after you have paid a ‘small fee’. A fee that does not disappear into the state treasury, but in their own pocket. At least in part, because the fee should be shared with his boss and the boss of his boss. They know exactly what amount to retrieve at which intersection. So the traffic lights work fine, but disrupt the earnings of the police force.

At Nyaya House, where the Immigration Department is situated, it is busy. The waiting room is full and there are long queues. Our friend Pim already went to get his stamps earlier that week and let us know by email where we needed to go. According to his instructions we walk past the waiting crowd and go directly to ‘Room 18′. Not even 15-minutes later a kind man stamps our passports: “Welcome to Kenya , enjoy it to the maximum.”

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For a stamp in the Carnet de Passage, the “passport” of the motorbikes, we need to go somewhere else. We walk along the high office buildings to the Times Tower. For this part Pim also gave us detailed instructions: first get in line outside for a security check, then get a visitors pass in the left tower, go outside to the right tower, up the escalator to the first floor and ask for “Mister Obonyo”.

We find Mister Obonyo in an office behind his desk. He is on the phone and at the same time playing a game on his computer. The sound is on and all of his colleagues and probably also the person at the other end of the line can enjoy the sounds of the game. He refers us to his colleague, Miss Catherine. She takes our passports and carnets and asks where the motorbikes are. When we explain that we left them at the Nyaya House, she looks worried. She was supposed to check the chassis number of the motorbikes, but when we promise we will bring the motorbikes next time (whenever that may be), she takes out her stamp pad. Great, this is settled!

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Refreshed and rested after our stay with our friends, we pitch our tent at Jungle Junction a few days later. It is a camp site on the other side of Nairobi that is run by Chris, a German who got stuck in Nairobi after a long motorcycle trip through Africa. Jungle Junction is a place where a lot of overlanders meet, not in the last place because of the great workshop at the site. Among travelers it is well known that you can get spare parts at JJ’s in Nairobi for cars and motorcycles. But Jungle Junction is also a place where overlanders park their vehicle for a long time until they continue their trip. On the camping ground a long line well-equipped Land Rovers and Land Cruisers and as many motorcycles are waiting for their owners to return. The car of Jan and Margriet, who went back to the Netherlands for a short time, is also parked on the property. For us Jungle Junction is the place where Peter can do some maintenance on the bikes.

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At Jungle Junction we meet Pim. A surprise, because we did not know whether he was still in Nairobi. His car is in the workshop on a jack while the mechanics at JJ’s look for the hole in his tire and try to fix his inverter. His car cannot be moved to the camping area, so he has put up his roof tent in front of the workshop to sleep. We also meet Johan and Ben, two Dutch motorcycle riders who have been riding the world for over 1.5 years. They are now on their way home, because their money has run out. In Nairobi they wait for an Ethiopian visa and a set of new tires. And as is often the case in Africa, it takes just a day or two longer than expected. They have now been at JJ’s for 10 days.

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At Jungle Junction we not only work on the motorbikes, but also on the website. The Internet is super fast. Great, because that gives us the opportunity to do some maintenance on the site, to download new software and apps and to Skype with family and friends. To prevent that we are staring at the screens of our computer or iPad all the time, we also take enough time to sleep, cook in the public kitchen of JJ’s, do laundry and exchange exciting stories with Pim, Johan and Ben while enjoying a beer.

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And we take our time to shop! Nairobi has a number of large shopping malls where you can really get everything (or so it seems when you have been traveling through Africa for a while). The first time we entered such a mall (which was already in Nakuru, on the way to Nairobi), we experienced a slight culture shock. For weeks we had been buying our food in small villages where you ask at a little window in a corrugated iron hut whether they might have bread, marmalade, fruit or matches. Usually they have one of the sought items and you need to go to at least 5 or 6 shops before you have everything you need. In the Nakumat supermarket (which I imagine is the East African equivalent for Wallmart) we could suddenly choose from 15 kinds of toothpaste, 30 kinds of marmalade and 15 different types of water.

For the much-needed variety to our menu we can find exactly what we need at Nakumat. Some pesto, Thai curry paste, brown bread, dried fruit and of course many things we do not really need but which are simply delicious. Since we have no fridge and we cannot keep meat in the African heat, we mostly eat vegetarian meals. The nuts and peanuts that we find in Nakumat are great to add to our menu.

Jungle Junction is located in the beautiful Karen district. The area is named after Karen Blixen, the Danish author of -among others- the book “Out of Africa” (later made ​​into a movie with Meryl Streep in the lead role). At the beginning of the last century she owned and ran a coffee plantation in this area. The plantation has now made way for a large number of beautiful houses, but the home of Karen Blixen is still there. After seeing the movie and reading one of her books (“Shadows on the Grass”), a visit to the house was inevitable. Together with Pim we get a tour of the house and the garden. A special house of a remarkable woman, that was definitely worth a visit!

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After ten days in Nairobi, we feel it is time to move on, but not because we want to get out of Nairobi. Contrary to what you might think when you hear that ’Nairobbery’ is the nickname of the Kenyan capital, we found it a very nice place to spend some time. But we also want to see some other parts of Kenya. In a subsequent post you can read about our ’Tour in Kenya’.

Distance travelled to Jungle Junction in Nairobi: 13,984 km (8,689 miles)

Tour through Kenya
 

At the beginning of the afternoon we are in front of the high electric fence of Castle Forest, a small nature reserve on the slopes of Mount Kenya that has elephants, leopards and antelopes. Chris of Jungle Junction had advised us to camp there at Castle Forest Lodge. A cheerful security guard makes us write our names in a large book and then he opens the gate for us. We drive into the forest, deeper into the jungle toward the lodge. Peter drives remarkably slow and is trying to spot the first elephants.

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After a few kilometres we see a sign for a campsite and drive onto a green meadow where cows, goats and horses graze. At the top is a beautiful country house with a veranda that overlooks the forest and the plains beyond. The house was built by Englishmen who used it while hunting. A beautiful place that reminds us of huts high in the European Alps. We are welcomed by Anthony and three huge dogs. He points where we can pitch our tent and warns that we cannot just walk around at night because the elephants sometimes wander around the campsite! That would be something, after hippos now elephants next to our tent.

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It is off season and we are the only ones on the field. On the large veranda surrounding the house we enjoy the beautiful view and the jungle sounds that rise from the forest. We look at the forest with our binoculars in search of the first trunk and tusks. Unfortunately, we see no elephants. We do see a lot of new birds: five beautiful Cinnamon Chested Bee-eaters together on one branch, three huge Trumpeter Hornbills swirling in the air from tree to tree and dozens of small yellow Spectacled Weavers.

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Not only the mansion and the mountain meadow reminiscent of the Alps, so does the climate. It is clear that we are staying at 2000m altitude. After the sun was quite warm during the day, it becomes quite chilly at the end of the day. Anthony lights the fireplace in the cosy living room of the mansion and moves the lazy chairs a bit closer to the fire for us. After dinner we crawl into our tent early to watch some episodes of Homeland from our warm sleeping bags.

The next morning it is still chilly and very quiet as we wake up. All we hear are the dogs sniffing around our tent, waiting until we come out. We smell a wood fire that is lit to heat the water for our shower. Lovely, we have not had such a hot shower in a long time! After breakfast, when the sun is shining and it is warmer, we follow a narrow, steep trail to a waterfall. Because of the elephants we cannot just walk through the forest on our own, but the trail to the waterfall is safe and (mostly) elephant-free. Once the dogs notice that we walk towards the waterfall, they storm past us up the steep path. Occasionally they stand to wait for us, wagging their tails, to then disappear again into the dense vegetation around us.

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Once we are on the steep path we walk in the middle of the jungle. Ferns as tall as trees, orchids, banana trees and vines that hang down from tall trees. And all in 100 different shades of green, from deep dark green to bright green that almost lights up. It is beautiful! We follow the dogs, who know the way much better than we do, and walk to the water. The waterfall clatters down from a few feet with a thundering noise and fills the narrow valley with a wet haze. Really nice.

Curious about the rest of the forest, we take a guided tour through the area. In search for elephants!. Once we have left the camping field , we are immediately in a dense forest. We follow our guide -Patrick- through a swampy field to a small river where the elephants often come to drink. He cuts a pathway through the bushes with his machete (panga). We are only five minutes in the forest when I have lost my sense of direction completely. Without a guide, we would definitely be hopelessly lost, even the “path” that we followed so far is no longer visible. We glide along a steep slope down to the river. No elephants. We do see fresh turds, so they were in the neighbourhood ….

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We walk through the high bushes around us looking for flapping ears and a grey trunk. You would say it would stand out among all that green. Patrick knows a lot about trees and lets us smell pieces of wood, he points which fruits the monkeys eat and which branches the elephants love to tear. The canopy of the forest is beautiful, with winding branches covered with a thick layer of moss. Around us dozens of flies and mosquitoes are buzzing. Our clothes are black with tsetse flies, that fortunately can not sting through the thick fabric of our trousers. Patrick shows us various small paths used by the elephants, broken branches, turned earth, even more poo and a tree that is used as a “love-tree” for them to rub against. But no elephants.

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We end up staying a few days at Castle Forest Lodge. We enjoy the warm mountain sunshine and the cool nights. We eat delicious Thai curry with cashew nuts (finely some variation) and dine out a number of times at the mansion. We read, watch the entire season three of Homeland and peer with our binoculars to the trees in search of birds. Chris was right, what a great place this is. After Roberts Camp at Lake Baringo this is absolutely in our top three favourite places!

On the last night at Castle Forest Lodge, when we are just about to eat, Anthony comes running to our tent. Elephants! Next to the pool a group of elephants is eating. Eight! With our binoculars and camera we follow Anthony to the top of the hill. Even the staff from the kitchen and the guards have come our the watch them. Even they do not see the elephants every day, certainly not eight together. It is a beautiful sight. The big beasts are flapping their ears and their little tail. They stand quietly together and are eating some plants. Their long trunk swinging back and forth and occasionally blowing sand on their backs . They make soft sounds and rock from one leg to the other. We continue to look at them until it is dark. Wow!

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The next morning the biggest dog watches us while we pack our stuff. Once we get on the bikes, he presses his big head against our thigh as if to give a hug. We both pet him and then he gets back. We can go. The path to the exit of the park is slippery after the rain that night, but good to ride with our knobby tires. At the gate we see the same friendly guard. He asks if we have seen elephants. “Eight? That is really a lot!”.

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We drive past the tea plantations on the slopes of Mount Kenya in the direction of Nanyuki to a camp site at the Bantu Lodge. Again we see beautiful animals: baboons, colobus monkeys with long beautiful white fluffy tails, Tree hyrax that scream loud at night and some beautiful birds. The next day we drive to the Thompson Falls. From Nanyuki we follow the C76 to the west, to the waterfalls in Nyahururu. We drive along Ol Pejeta Conservancy, one of the many private game reserves. A visit to the park on the motorbikes is not possible and a night (at $300) is just out of our budget, but a ride along the fence of park is also very beautiful. For kilometres we drive on a gravel road along the park while on the other side of the fence we see giraffes, antelopes and even a rhinoceros with young. Beautiful. And there is also plenty of wild life on our side of the fence, we see zebras and small gazelles. We meander through the African savannah, past small villages, sprawling acacia forests and tea plantations.

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At the end of the afternoon we arrive at the luxurious Thompson Falls Lodge. A place that we visited in 2007, but at the time we did not walk to the falls. This time we do. With four other tourists we climb into the gorge to the foot of the waterfall. A steep climb over a long staircase with high stone steps. Stairs that are used every morning by the best Kenyan marathon athletes. In the early morning, when the sun is not so hot yet, they run up and down the stairs four times before their daily training through the area. A super intense training, especially when you consider that they do so at 2.400m altitude. No wonder they came in 1, 2 and 3 in the London Marathon this year.

The “guide” that takes us to the falls is actually one of the guards of the lodge. But he knows a lot about the surroundings, the river, the waterfall and Mr. Thompson who named the falls (and one of the gazelles). In his uniform he is waving his baton as he is telling us his stories. We follow him closer to the water and get wet by the mist that comes from the falls. While we take some pictures one of the other tourists asks Peter to film while he asks his girlfriend to marry him. While Peter tries to keep a steady hand, the camera focuses on the couple, the man gets to his knees and keeps a ring in the air. The lady in question puts her hands over her mouth, starts crying and yells ”YES”. Very romantic. Afterwards Peter told me that he had actually wanted to ask me to marry him at the waterfall as well, but he felt it was a bit dull to do that now…. (yeah right)

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That afternoon the guard has even more in store for us. In the river that leads to the waterfall there is a pool with 10 hippos that we can visit. If we go at the end of the afternoon we might just see that they come ashore to do some grazing. Before we go there, we first do some shopping in the village. We are offered a ride by Davies and Marloes, a Kenyan-Dutch couple from Mombasa that is on honeymoon. As always, it is nice to hear how they got to know each other, how Marloes ended up in Kenya and what their life looks like now. A short but fun trip to the supermarket! If we go to Mombasa, we will definitely stop for coffee.

With the groceries, we enjoy a lunch at the campsite when my cellphone rings. It is Ross, asking where we are. “Are you still at the falls?” Less than five minutes later we hear the roaring sound of two BMW motorbikes and we see Ross with another motorcycle rider enter the campsite. Ross now travels together with Irish, who rides from Cork in Ireland to Cape Town. They met in Addis Abeba at Wims Holland House and rode to Kenya together via Lake Turkana. They are now on their way to Nairobi. It is great fun to meet our good friend so unexpectedly and it is great to meet Irish.

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They stay at the campsite with us that night and will drive to Nairobi the next morning. While we pay a visit to the hippo pool Ross and Irish install at the campsite. As we walk back to the campsite we meet Ross riding his unicycle. A particular sight, not in the least because of all the people by the side of the road that watch him. He attracts even more people than with his big BMW F800GS. He immediately makes new friends who all want to try to ride the unicycle.

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After a good burger, some cold beers and a great night, we decide to ride with Irish and Ross to Nairobi the next day. All in all, it was only a small tour around Kenya, but a wonderful one. We will keep the rest for another time.

Distance to Thompson Falls: 14,381km (8,936 miles)

PS: Especially for other birding enthusiasts, an addition to our previous list of birds: Olive Thrush, Little Bee-eater, White-eyed Slaty Flycatcher, Cinnamon chested Bee Eater, Black-and-white Mannikin, Tacazze Sunbird, Hadada Ibis, Common Stonechat, Pin-tailed Whydah, African Pied Wagtail, Spectacled Weaver, African Crowned Eagle, African Hill-Babbler, Grassland Pipit, Baglafecht Weaver, White-bellied Tit, Yellow-rumped Tinkerbird, Hartlaub’s Turaco, Mouse-coloured Penduline-Tit, Violet-backed Starling, Eastern Double-collared Sunbird, African Green Pigeon, Grey Crowned Crane, Golden-winged Sunbird, Rufous Sparrow en de Osprey!

Hotel California
 

Essential for a motorcycle trip around the world: a running motorbike. Call it a wise purchase, proper maintenance or just good luck, but the only problem that we have experienced so far (in Ethiopia) is a leaking gasket between the tank and the fuel pump (knock, knock, knock***). Not everyone has the same experience. Our friend Ross practically had to rebuild his bike in Ethiopia and now our other friend Irish has problems with his bike. Halfway through the Turkana route the alternator of his bike stopped, his battery stopped charging and then his bike stopped. To repair or replace the alternator along the way was not an option. The solution? The battery of a Toyota Land Cruiser….

In Illeret he bought the battery, a huge box weighing over 20 kilos. Additional kilos you would rather not take on the back of your motorbike riding the sandy paths along Lake Turkana, but you have to do something! Ross -aka McGuyver- ingeniously managed to connect the car battery to the engine of the motorbike. The first day the battery was charged by a friendly gentleman who drove around with the battery in his car for a few hours. With the charged battery Irish could cover about 300km. Without turning off the engine and without stopping, because if you have to restart the bike or if the fan kicks in while you’re standing still, the battery will be empty soon. Every evening he brought the battery to a shop to have it charged. The next morning, he could then continue driving another 300km.

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This morning we hear Irish leave on Ross’ bike to ride to the centre of Nyahururu to pick up his charged battery. One of the Kenyan athletes in his tracksuit on the back as his fixer. Peter and I have breakfast and start packing so we can leave as soon as he gets back. But unfortunately, the owner of the kiosk had charged the battery until he closed his shop (at 19:00) and then pulled out the plug. It was not until 07:00 that morning that he continued charging, assuming that would be enough. But there was not nearly enough power in the battery to start the bike, let alone to drive to Nairobi. He should try again in a few hours.

Because we only leave a few hours later, we take our time to have breakfast and we pack even slower than we usually do. While we are packing, the athlete friend of Irish comes back with a journalist. The man works for a travel magazine and would like to write an article about the motorcycle trip of Irish. Once on the campsite his face lights up when he sees another three motorbikes, a hammock, two tents and ’Mzungu’ boiling eggs on a gas stove and drinking coffee from plastic soup bowls. He walks round us while he clicks his camera and he takes pictures of absolutely everything. He interviews Irish and asks him to throw back his hair as he poses next to his motorcycle. Then he takes a picture with us and the athlete, the athlete with the motorbikes, himself with the bikes and finally, a group picture with the bikes. That should give him one great article!

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After the interview, Irish goes to the kiosk again, to come back a little later with a battery that is just sufficiently charged to drive for a while. He could probably use it to start his bike, but then driving might be a problem. With some jumper cables, a car and a friendly guy, the bike starts and we can leave. From Nyahururu we drive a beautiful road through the hills with a few lovely curves. We again pass the equator (this time from north to south again after Peter and I went back north at Mt Kenya). For Ross and Irish it is the first time during this trip that they cross the equator. Reason enough to stop and make a picture.

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Then we drive a route that Peter and I already drove before, through Nakuru and Naivasha on to Nairobi. We again enjoy the wonderful view we have over the Great Rift Valley. We stop only one other time to refuel, to eat and to put on our rain suits. Fortunately Irish also finds a friendly motorist here with jumper cables to start his bike. At the end of the afternoon we sway between the busy traffic in Nairobi to the neighbourhood “Karen”, back to Jungle Junction. Just in front of the gate Irish’ bike stops. What a timing!

As we enter the driveway of Jungle Junction Chris comes to meet us. “Problems?”, he asks. A logical question, because that is often a reason why travelers are back on the campsite within two weeks. But no, we do not have any problems, we just want to spend some time with our friends. But this time we only stay a few days, I assure him, then we will move on. Chris gets a mysterious smile on his face: “We’ll see ….”

Once we have parked our motorbikes, we notice that we are not the only ones this time. There are two BMW bikes, a F650GS (twin) that still looks really nice and a lovely BMW F650GS Dakar on a jack with a lot of parts missing. We find the owners on the terrace behind a row of empty beer bottles. We meet the Germans ‘Ollie’ and Thomas and the Namibian fiancée of Thomas, Martha.

Ollie will fly back home that night after a motorcycle trip of a few months through Africa. He will leave his motorbike -the one on the jack- at JJ’s so Chris can patch it up it for the next leg of the journey. The nice BMW belongs to Thomas and Martha. Thomas has been living in South-Africa for some time where he deals in motorcycles and guides motorcycle tours in Southern Africa. He had previously sold this BMW to a biker from Taiwan who had ridden it from South Africa to Kenya. The Taiwanese biker went home and Thomas came to pick up the bike and ride it back to South Africa to sell it there. Together with his fiancée Martha as a pillion.

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Before we know it, Ross, Irish, Peter and I join them for a cold beer, still wearing our gear. Pitching the tent can wait! A great atmosphere and the beginning of a long first night in Nairobi.

The next day I take a seat at the terrace to make use of the high-speed Internet. Meanwhile, Peter does some maintenance on our bikes and then bends with Ross and Irish over their BMW’s. After a ‘busy’ day we all join Thomas and Martha for a delicious Namibian stew with lamb and rice. Delicious! The beers keep coming, the stories become more exciting and the jokes louder. And it does not stop. At dusk four motorbikes drive up the Jungle Junction driveway. Four Suzuki DR650s with South African number plates that belong to Trevor, Shane, Kyle and Garth who drive from Cape Town to Cairo in the record time of two months. After they have eaten something, they pull up a chair and tell us their tough stories.

At some point, Irish takes out his foldable(!) guitar from the big orange suitcase on his motorcycle! There is a hinge in the neck of the guitar allowing the guitar fold up so “small” it fits on his bike! He just has so straighten the neck, tune it and then he is ready to play. Great! Irish has a beautiful voice and gives us goosebumps with his beautiful songs. When it is time for him to take a sip of his beer, Garth shifts on the seat next to him. He asks if he may have a go…. He also turns out to be as gifted guitar player. Together they play some great songs: beautiful singer-songwriter songs, classics by The Rolling Stones and The Eagles, blues songs with matching deep voice and bawdy sailor songs. A great end to a second long night at Jungle Junction.

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The next morning the bulletin board in the reception shows the menu for the day: “Friday = BBQ night”. That sounds good, we stay another day! Everyone signs up for tender T-Bone Steak. And the group gets even bigger, because in addition to the 10 motorcycle riders Brett and Yvon have now joined as well. This South-African/German couple makes a journey through Africa in a Land Rover with beautiful (rooftop)tent construction. From South Africa up to Kenya and then counter-clockwise back to the south. Furthermore, Konrad also joins us. Along with his adopted son Mundi, Konrad is almost part of the furniture at Jungle Junction. For more than five months he is working through the adoption process in Nairobi. His wife and their eldest son have already gone back home, while he awaits the final paperwork with Mundi.

That night Chris turns the enormous slabs of meat while we enjoy the delicious salads. It is a loud bunch that is only quiet as the first pieces of meat are on the table. After that it is back loud again, with jokes, motorcycle talk, beautiful guitar music, Zulu-cabaret, lots of cold drinks and a big campfire. Another long night in the Kenyan capital.

Our departure date is becoming increasingly blurred. The “few days” we would stay already passed and we do not think about leaving yet. There is something to do every day. But we are not the only ones, the others also keep adjusting their departure date. Irish is still waiting for parts for his motorcycle so he will stay some days anyway, but the others do not really have an excuse. It is fun and no one is really in a hurry. Chris begins to laugh as he hears us postpone our departure: “Hahaha, this place is like Hotel California:” You can checkout any time you like, But you can never leave!”

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The next morning the four South Africans are the first to leave. They ‘must’ go on because they are on a tight schedule and have “only” two months to get from Cape Town to Cairo.

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Then Peter and Ross also get on the bikes. Not to leave, but to ride around town. Ross’ bikes has been fixed, so they can go for a tour, “play” around. At the beginning of the evening they return at the campsite with a big smile on their faces. Through various gravel roads they had arrived at the entrance of Nairobi National Park. They were allowed to drive to Sheldricks Elephants Shelter, but could not enter the park. But that did not spoil the fun, because they still saw ‘wild animals’ and enjoyed the view over the savannah. So beautiful and so special that it is to close to the city center of Nairobi.

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After three long evenings everyone needs some sleep. After we ate together (this time Thai Curry made by Irish) everybody gets to bed early. The next day, everyone returns to the order of the day. And for travelers this consists of: maintenance on bikes and gear, charging electrical equipment, work on the blogs, updating Facebook, backing up photos, reading about the next destination, copying series and films, exchanging routes and facilities, shopping and visiting the tourist sites.

Thomas and Martha are then the first to leave. To Tanzania, Malawi and further south. A day later we say goodbye to Ross. He leaves on an Kenyan ‘adventure’. We stay a few more days. In those days I take guitar lessons from Irish, we cook a Mexican dish for the remaining friends, we get a tour around the Land Rover of Brett and Yvon and we are have lunch with Wouter, Agnes and Seth. Then we really pack our stuff, we check out and actually leave our Hotel California.

“Goodbye Jungle Junction, bye Nairobi, on to Uganda!”

Distance to Jungle Junction (Part II): 14,646 km (9,100 miles)

***Touch wood, you never know

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I think the hammar tribe you visited are now the stars of a UK TV series. It's called the tribe and is available on All 4 on demand on the internet. You probably met some of the stars!

Red earth, green hills
 

To go from Kenya to Uganda we can choose between different border crossings. The most commonly used border crossing is in Malaba on the main highway from Nairobi to Kampala. A busy checkpoint where the freight traffic to the Ugandan capital also crosses. Further north, on the slopes of Mt Elgon, we can also cross the border at the little town of Suam. A gateway that is not used by many travellers, because the road to the border is not paved. In the rainy season the dirt road turns into a slippery mud path that is impassable for most traffic. Although the rainy season should have started a month ago, there has been almost no rain. The road should therefore still be in good condition. And when we look at the blue sky we hope it will stay dry the next few days.

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Suam is situated north-east of Nairobi. To get there, we follow a scenic route passed the lakes of the Great Rift Valley, along Lake Naivasha and Lake Nakuru for the third and last time. This time we ride from south to north. We have a beautiful view over Lake Nakuru and the craters that rise above the green countryside. On the busy road that runs along the steep hillside to the top, we see a cyclist on a packed bike riding up. It is clearly an overlander. We drive past him and park our bikes at the top of the hill to wait for him. There we meet the Argentine Enrico.

He speaks little English and we speak little Spanish, but with hands and feet we come a long way. He has sent his bike to Morocco and rode from there along the west coast of Africa to the south into Nigeria. From there he took a plane to Kenya to continue cycling to South Africa along the countries in the east. Before he cycles to the south, he first makes a tour around Kenya. It has been a long time since he has seen any tourists and he looks genuinely happy that we stopped. We exchange information and advise him to go to Roberts Camp at Lake Baringo. Then he gets on his bike again, because it starts to get warm in the sun and he still has a long way to go.

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From Nairobi we have back-tracked a little, but from Nakuru we start riding roads that we have not ridden before. We ride through the green hills and pass the equator for the fourth time. We will take three days to get to the border with Uganda and spend the first night at a nice campsite in Eldoret. We can feel that the long evenings at Jungle Junction in Nairobi have taken their toll. We both have dark circles beneath our eyes and that evening I fall asleep in the restaurant beside the glowing fire pit while my cold tonic slowly gets warm. It cannot hurt to get some more sleep.

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The next morning we set off early and drive on a dirt road to Kitale. There is a lot of traffic on the road is busy and we must constantly pay attention, especially overtaking motorists are a problem. We have a strong suspicion that the Kenyans obtain their driver’s license when they buy a carton of milk, because their driving is really special.

On the road we see a lot of motor-taxis, called “Boda-Boda’s”. In every village there is at least one taxi stand. Often consisting of no more than a shed with some low wooden benches where drivers sit (or rather lie) while they wait for their next customer. They all wear a fluorescent vest with advertising on the back for a new governor or a local telecom provider. They mostly wear a helmet, one of the only traffic rules that does seem to be observed. The motors are made in China and are “light”, often only 125cc. They are decorated with lights, a radio and cheerful colours. They have a long seat for passengers, which sometimes fits three customers. And if it does not fit, the driver himself sits on the tank! Most particularly is all the luggage they carry: large bags of charcoal, 10 crates of Coca Cola, clusters of live chickens that are held together by their legs, bicycles, beds, corrugated iron plates. Anything you can think of can be transported on their motorbikes.

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At the gas station, we are often waiting among the Boda-Boda’s. They look at our motorbikes drooling and ask a million questions: “What is the engine size?”, “How many miles per litre?”, “How fast can it go?” and “What does it cost?”. They usually offer to exchange, while pointing to their shiny Chinese mopeds. But not only the motorbikes are studied in detail, also our suits, our ’flip-up helmet’, the microphones which we speak in, the Camelbak we drink from and the GPS. And then there are still the surprised looks when I take off my helmet and they find out that I am not a man! I have yet to see a woman driving on a moped or motorcycle in Africa.

We are heading for Kitale. Our guidebooks tell us that most foreigners that come to Kitale are volunteers working in the city. And indeed, at the cosy B&B where we find a camping spot there are indeed quite some volunteers, mostly from the US. A group of young American girls who work at a local orphanage, a group of older Americans from a Christian organization that provides aid through health education, but also students who are doing research for their thesis. We pitch our tent next to a number of large white tents from UNHCR. Not so long ago, there were some troubles in northern Uganda forcing many Ugandans to run to Kenya as refugees. A large number of them found a temporary shelter in Kitale. The situation is better now and many of the refugees have returned to Uganda. The tents are empty and are now used for guests of the B&B.

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At the end of the afternoon our phone rings. Our friend Ross! His adventures in Kenya have taken him to Kitale! He asks whether he can join us. Off course, great! The campsite is in one of the suburbs of Kitale and is not easy to find. On the phone, we explain how to get here. At the Total gas station to the right and then right, left, right. While Peter sits outside with the guard waiting for Ross, the phone rings again. Ross had found the Total gas station and followed the route, but ended up in a dodgy part of Kitale. Only then we find out that he entered Kitale from the north and not from the south like us. He then tries to follow the instructions in the other direction. The sun has set and without lights in the street it is very dark.

It remains silent, we do not hear any motorbike roaring yet. The phone rings again, he cannot find it. It is now more than two hours after his first phone call and the situation in the dark streets is becoming less friendly. With the help of the guard, we find out that there are two Total gas stations in Kitale! Ross gives his phone to a local boda-boda-driver and we give ours to the guard of the campsite so they can chat to each other in Swahili to discuss the route. Ross can then follow him to the campsite. About 10 minutes later we hear the loud sound of the BMW. There he is! Quite a relief to be honest.

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We eat together and hear his stories about an elephant with flapping ears that came after him, food poisoning by a strange lady and tough off-road trails. A real adventure! Happy to see our good friend, we crawl into our tent and he in his hammock. The next day we continue towards Suam, the border with Uganda. Ross’ plans are not really clear yet. He will first drive with us to the border and will see from there. Before we leave Kitale we refuel our three motorbikes at one of the two Total gas stations. As always, there is a group of Kenyans around us in no time asking a hundred and one questions. This time the crowd is so big that Peter can even lift his feet while sitting on the motorbike without tumbling over, his motorbikes is stuck between his ’fans’. With a full tank we drive a little further to buy some water. Again a group of people is around us. Peter almost disappears altogether, I can only see the top of his white helmet.

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We drive onto a dirt road to the border. A beautiful route through an area where not many tourists go. People stop along the side of the road and watch us pass with open mouth and big eyes, scared when we raise our hands to wave. The sand on which we drive is deep red and lights up brightly in the sunlight. It sticks out beautifully against the bright blue sky and deep green fields around us. We hurtle further into the hills and see Mt Elgon. A green ‘pimple’ in the landscape with some faint clouds at the top. The road is getting more narrow as we ride up into the hills and get closer to the border.

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We drive down into a valley and we have to stop at a barrier that has been placed over the road. We are at the border with Uganda! Beyond the gate the road leads further down to a bridge over a small stream where a farmer just lets his cows drink. On the road are two ladies that wear beautifully coloured dresses and are chatting. In a field on the other side of the river children are playing. A gardener is cutting the flowers at the side of one of the building along the road. It is a lovely scene that reminds us more of ‘The Shire’ from ‘The Lord of the Rings’ than of a border crossing.

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Ross has come all this way with us and now decides to just join us to Uganda. Time for new adventures in a new country, why not? Great! On the Kenyan side of the border are several small buildings where beautiful flowers grow. Above the door is a sign that says “Customs”. This is the office where we will have our carnets stamped. The door is open and inside is a gentleman that is reading a newspaper. He welcomes us warmly and asks us to take a seat in one of the chairs in front of his desk. After a brief chat, he takes our Carnets and turns some of the pages. Then he looks up and admits that he has not come across these documents very often. He would like us to tell him what he should fill out. I help him with the forms and make sure that the stamps are put in the right place.

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Then we can move on to immigration in one of the other buildings. On the porch at the entrance are two soldiers. There is a third man that is showing them some jeans that he is selling. The soldiers study the jeans and hold them in front of themselves to see if the size is right. There are not really busy with watching the bridge, the actual border with Uganda.

In the office of immigration and emigration we are welcomed by a friendly guy in his late twenties. He wants to know where we are from. His eyes widen when we tell him that we drove from Amsterdam to Kenya. “On these motorbikes?”, he asks. He shakes his head in disbelief when he writes our data in a large notebook and he puts stamps in our passports. “What a great journey! I can not believe it!”.

Once we come out of the office again and start our motorbikes, the soldiers stand up out of their chairs to lift the barrier for us. We drive over the bridge, past the farmer and his cows and are stopped ten meters further by a police officer with an Ugandan flag on his shirt. After he has checked our Kenyan exit stamp, we can continue to the Ugandan immigration office. We come into a building where two women are chatting and laughing loud. One of them is braiding the hair of a small girls, attaching pink beads at the end of each braid. Ross looks at the ladies and asks: “Is this a beauty salon or the immigration office?”. The ladies smile and indicate that this really is the place to get stamps. One of the women takes our passports and after we have paid $50 per visa, she pastes a lovely visa sticker in our passports which she even makes more beautiful with a stamp.

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Then we drive a little bit further to another office for a stamp in the carnet. Also on the Ugandan side they have not seen many of these yellow books before. But after some instructions the stamps are placed on the right page. The formalities are completed. Now we will look for an exchange office where we can change our Kenyan Shillings. In the small village we find a little house with a sign “Forex”. Two men show us to a room in the back of the shop behind shuttered windows so the other customers cannot see the big stacks of cash. The room is painted in a bright orange color. On the walls are all sorts of flashy posters. A small office that only just fits four people.They are delighted to welcome us to Uganda. They count our money and change it at a decent rate.

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After Ross has also changed his money, we ride on. The route is really beautiful! On a bright red dirt road we drive higher and higher into the green hills. After every turn we have a new stunning view. To the west we see green hills interspersed with red paths. To the east endless green plains where some plumes of smoke raise high in the sky. We drive through small villages where people stand to watch us. Some run off the road, but others wave warmly and put their thumbs up as we pass. If we stop to take a picture or to drink some water a large group of people comes to meet us. There is always someone who speaks English and can translate for the rest of the group. If Ross starts his motorbike and revs the engine the group of people splashes apart. The children run off the road to watch us ride off from a distance.

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In Uganda it has not rained for a long time. The road is in good condition, but very dusty. Our motorbikes, our suit, our luggage and even our faces are all covered in the bright red dust. At the end of the day we arrive on the tarmac and we drive on a lovely winding road to Sipi, a small town that attracts tourists for its waterfalls. We set up our tent at “Noah’s Ark Hotel and Campsite” where we have a beautiful view over the valley. We brush the worst dust of our suits, wash our dusty red faces and enjoy cold beers and the sunset with our friend Ross. Welcome to Uganda!

Distance travelled to Sipi: 15,234km (9,466 miles)

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Heavenly Honeymoon
 

Peter and I are not married, but if anyone asks I introduce Peter as my ‘husband’. First, because “boyfriend” or “partner” sounds a bit funny, but mainly because it is easier and avoids complicated questions. Where it is generally accepted in the Netherlands that we lived together as an unmarried couple and are now travelling together, it certainly is not the case in Africa. When we fill out forms, we can often only choose between “single” or “married.” Anything in between does not seem to exist. In order to share a hotel room we fill in that we are married. And on the streets, when a guy wants to take a picture with me (his “white European girlfriend”), I hold up my ringed finger and I point to ‘my husband’. Although we never officially said “yes” to each other, we are married if any one asks and -in line with that- we even enjoyed an unexpected honeymoon …

From Sipi we drive passed beautiful green hills in the direction of Jinja. In the first larger town we do some shopping. While Peter stays with the motorbikes and as always makes new friends, I walk from one shop to another to find the things we want to buy. In one booth I buy onions and avocado, in the next one I find tomatoes and bread and at yet another one shop I get water and mango. Ross left together with us that morning, but does not ride with us to Jinja today. He goes to look for some adventure in northern Uganda. After we have both finished our shopping, we say goodbye to him in Mbale and see him disappear in the distance on his orange monster.

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Peter and I together ride on to Jinja, the town where the Nile leaves Lake Victoria. From Jinja the river flows through Uganda to the North, here still as the ’White Nile’. In Khartoum in Sudan, the White Nile is joined by the Blue Nile. It then continues to flow through Sudan and Egypt and flows into the Mediterranean Sea at Alexandria. All of these are places we have been during our trip, following and crossing this mysterious river. Just outside Jinja are some campsites and lodges along the Nile. We were advised to go to ‘The Haven’.

At the side of the road we see a large sign pointing us to the lodge. We turn onto a small road and follow the signs to the entrance. When we are almost there, one of the signs says: “The Haven, 264m”. That is very non-African precise. “The owner will probably be German”, we joke to each other. We drive through the gate into a beautiful green garden and park our bikes in the parking lot. We are greeted by several staff members of the lodge, but are so paralyzed by the overwhelming view that we forget to say something in return. Agape we look from the terrace over the wide Nile below us that squeezes itself along the rocks with a lot of violence. The water makes roaring sounds, has white heads of foam and fills the air above the river with fog. Very impressive.

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When we ’wake up’, we say a belated hello and inquire after the prices for camping at the reception desk. We wanted to stay a couple of days, but unfortunately it is way above our budget. Somewhat disappointed we walk back to the motorbikes to look up the address of one of the other campsites. While we are there, a tall man comes walking towards us. He takes more interest in our motorbikes than in us. He introduces himself as Rainer, the (German!) owner of the lodge. He himself is a motorcyclist, the proud owner of a Honda Africa Twin and has travelled through Africa on a motorbike just like us. A nice conversation follows. Just as we prepare to leave, he asks us whether his manager had told about the 50% discount he gives to ‘overlanders’ who arrive to Uganda with their own transport. Well, that changes things! Now we can stay here a few days within our budget.

We register and ride our bikes to one of the beautiful camping spots. From there we have a beautiful view over the rapids in the Nile. Just when we are starting to take our stuff from the bikes, the manager comes to see us. “Mr. Peter!” he says, and then with a mysterious smile he says that he has an offer we cannot refuse. With the compliments of the owner he can upgrade us to the HONEYMOON SUITE for the discounted price of camping! What is your answer hereto? “YES!”

We follow him to a beautiful cottage, right next to the roaring rapids. He opens the door and shows us the cottage. It has a huge bed, a beautiful bathroom and a big bath from which you have a view over the river. With a graceful gesture and a big smile on his face he hands over the key. We are speechless! We sit on the porch for a bit to recover from the shock. Fortunately, that does not take long and we fully start enjoying the luxury that now surrounds us so unexpectedly. Refreshed, we take a seat on the terrace at the front desk. The friendly waiter who brings us our cold drinks asks: “Hello, how are you enjoying your honeymoon?” We exchange a brief smirk and then, chuckling, answer that we really enjoy our honeymoon!

We end up staying three nights in the honeymoon suite and enjoy the delicious food, the huge bed, the rain shower, the bath for two, the hammock, the animals scurrying around the cottage, the never-ending thundering river and the splendid sunrise. It was heavenly at The Haven!

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Fully recovered from the long nights at Jungle Junction we drive to Kampala. The road to the Ugandan capital is busy, especially with lots of truck traffic. The city itself is even busier. In the burning sun we end up in a traffic jam of minivans and motorcycle taxis. After a long hot ride we arrive soaking in sweat at the Red Chili Hideaway, a huge backpackers hotel that is more like a factory than a hostel. We pitch our tent next to the pool, take our laptop to the noisy restaurant and take a seat among young gap-year backpackers. After a meal of rice and beans we crawl into our sleeping bags with earplugs. After the luxury at The Haven, we are now back to reality. But hey, that is actually quite nice as well!

Distance travelled to Kampala: 15,585 km (9,684 miles)

Motorcycle safari in Uganda
 

Grand waterfalls, white beaches on an azure ocean, tropical forests, gurgling volcanoes, blistering hot deserts and raging rivers. All this we saw during our trip through Africa so far. And chances are that we will see such beauty again on other continents. However, one thing is unique to Africa: the vast savannas with the ‘Big Five’. Africa is the only continent where lions, buffaloes, rhinos, leopards and African elephants still exist in the wild. They can be seen during a safari in one of the many national parks. And now we’re here…

We have to drive past most of the parks, because we are not allowed inside on the motorbikes. In Uganda they are more flexible, because here we can enter Murchison Falls National Park on the motorbikes to go on safari! The park is located in the north-west of Uganda on the banks of the Victoria Nile and is named after a spectacular waterfall where the Nile is pressed through a gap of only seven meters wide. The park is home to many different animals, including the ‘Big Five’. We decide that this will be our next destination, because how cool would it be to see elephants or giraffes from the seat of our motorcycles? “Or lions!” Peter then adds…. Well, we’ll see.

Before we go on motorcycle safari, we first stay a few more days in Kampala at “Red Chilli Hideaway.” The huge backpackers hostel has a good kitchen, a swimming pool and high-speed internet. There we meet Mélu from Paris, who, like us, is working on her blog at the bar. She travels by herself on her motorcycle (a Triumph Tiger 800XC) through East Africa. She started in Addis Ababa (Ethiopia) and drove through Djibouti, Somalia and Kenya before arriving in Uganda. It is not just a holiday trip, because she makes a documentary during her trip that will be broadcasted on French television. Armed with a camera, she takes off to capture extraordinary stories of the people she meets along the way. We had already heard about her and had just missed her in Kenya at Jungle Junction. Great to now meet her after all.

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We share stories, drink a beer and agree that she will join us when we go to Murchison Falls. Great! Mélu has already been in Kampala a few days and now knows her way around. The next morning we follow her to a large supermarket to do some much needed shopping. Back at the hostel, I work some more on the website and Peter does some maintenance on the bikes. While I stare at my screen and think of the next paragraph, I suddenly see a very familiar silhouette in the corner of my eye. Our friend ROSS! His adventures in Uganda have today taken him to Kampala. This is the fifth unexpected encounter! The laptop is closed, the tools are put back in the bag and a great evening with friends, beer, pizza and cool stories follows.

The next morning Mélu, Peter and I are up early to tie all our gear on the bikes. Although we do not carry much stuff, the motorbikes are still quite a lot heavier once everything is on there. But the weight of our bikes is nothing compared to the weight of the fully packed motorbike of Mélu. She not only has a much heavier bike, but also carries a lot of stuff. And heavy stuff too, like her recording equipment. So heavy that the bike even falls over while she is packing and three people are needed to lift it. I can only imagine how it must have been to ride through the desert in Djibouti and Somaliland with all that. Once all three of us are ready to leave, we say goodbye to Ross -who has already been on safari in Murchison Falls- and we drive through the gate of the hostel.

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It is busy in the city. The streets are full of long lines of cars and vans. Like the motorcycle taxis we zigzag between the traffic, something that goes a lot better now we have been in Africa for some time. Today it is my turn to ride in front. We have set the GPS to point us to the entrance of the park. It is a useful device, but it cannot hurt to keep using your common sense as well. The thing sometimes sends us onto the strangest roads if ’he thinks’ that it is faster. The same happens today. The GPS seems to ignore the tarred motorway around Kampala and sends us to various small roads in a straight line to the north . After Mélu gets stuck on one of those small roads in a deep ledge (and again five men are needed to get her motorcycle back on the road), it is enough. I turn off the GPS and find my way north using the scarce signs and the road map.

We want to be at the entrance of the park in the mid-afternoon, so we have enough time to drive to the campsite. From the entrance of the park that is still about 30km on a dirt road, which we want to ride before it gets dark. In addition, the ticket for the national park is valid for 24 hours from the moment we enter the park. The later we go in today, the more time we have for the safari tomorrow. It is a long journey of nearly 400km so we only stop for gas and some food.

At the beginning of the afternoon, the “highway” stops and we drive onto a provincial road. The GPS is now back on, but due to the adventures of that morning, I still do not fully trust the thing and the designated route. He points me to several small sandy paths, which I pass because I know there will be a tarmac road leading us all the way to the entrance of the park. Unfortunately, I manage to also drive past that paved road and end up at a sandy track 20 km further. No problem, except that it has been raining and the road has turned into a slippery mud path. Several cars are backwards on the roadside and cyclists walk with their bikes on hand. After one kilometer slipping and sliding the ladies decide to drive back to the asphalt road, even if that is more than 20 kilometres back. Peter thinks it is all nonsense, but this time he is in the minority so he rides back with us anyway.

Due to the delay in Kampala, the many kilometres and this detour, we must now really hurry to arrive at the campsite before dark. Moreover, the sky above us starts to turn rather dark and it seems like it can start raining any moment. That would change the dirt road in the park into a mud road. We hit the gas and try to stay ahead of the rain.

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At four o’clock we are at the entrance of the park and we start the ride to the campsite. We are only a few kilometres along the way as we spot our first ‘wild animals’. Impalas shoot off the road in front of us, in the distance a troop of baboons sits on the road and next to us a warthog runs back into the tall grass with its tail up in the air. We stop to take pictures, but after one look at the dark sky we quickly drive on towards the camp. At the turn off to the famous falls that gave the park its name, we decide to keeping riding towards the campsite. We prefer to go to the campsite now it is still dry, we can still go there tomorrow.

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After half an hour we reach the campsite. In the last light we pitch our tent and from the terrace we see how the dark sky lights up in the distance by lightning. It is still dry when we crawl into our tent, but halfway through the night it starts raining exceptionally hard. As if buckets of water are thrown on the roof of the tent. When the alarm goes off the next morning, it is still raining. In the pouring rain we pack our stuff. Peter and I first want to drive to the falls before we drive to the north with Mélu. We leave our big dry bags on the campsite, let some air out of the tires of the motorbikes and drive off the campsite in the pouring rain.

The road that was so dusty yesterday, has now turned into a shiny strip of thick mud. We drive slowly and still slip and slide in the tracks that were made ​​by cars. We are less than two kilometres on our way when my bikes starts to slide and I drive off the road up onto the steep side. I am covered in red mud from head to toe, but otherwise okay. It was riding so slowly that both I and the bike are in good shape. After much effort, we get my bike back on the road and we continue in the direction of the waterfalls. After one kilometre, Peter makes a pirouette with his bike and also lies in the mud with the bike next to him. No damage or scratches, both just really dirty. The profile of the tires is completely filled with thick red mud and at the slow pace we are driving at, we cannot get it out. Once we have also lifted Peters motorbike, we decide to drive up to 10 kilometres, and turn around if the road is not better there. But we do not even get that far. At kilometre six Peter makes another perfect ’360°’ in the mud. We are not getting anywhere this way, we will go back to the campsite. It is not very promising for the rest of the day, especially with Mélu on her heavy bike.
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Back at the campsite we tie the dry bags on the bikes and drive with Mélu to the ferry that will take us across the Nile to the northern part of the park. While we are waiting for the ferry to arrive, we see hippos stick there heads above the water. They flap their ears and then disappear again under the surface with a sigh. Behind the hippos a huge crocodile moves smoothly through the water. Ferries are not as special to us Dutchies as to the other tourists because they are quite common in the Netherlands, but it is not every day that you see hippos and crocodiles from the ferry!

Once we are on the other side the roads are luckily somewhat better than south of the river. No thick sticky mud, but hard-packed gravel roads. Although these are also quite muddy due to the rain, we can still ride on them. Mélu does not want to be in the park on these roads much longer and decides to take the shortest way to the exit. She assures us that we do not have to drive with her to the exit, because she has already driven a lot of days by her self. We say goodbye and agree to meet in one of the hotels in Gulu that evening.

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And then we are off, on safari on our bikes! We follow a path to the east and look out over the vast plain in front of us. It is still raining very hard, but the view is amazing! Peter, the best spotter I know, soon sees the first wild animals. In the field next to us is a group Hartebeests, a large antelope with a strange shaped head that looks to be a crossing between a horse and a deer. Once we slow down and stop to take a picture they run in all directions, away from us. Once we drive off again, they stop and we can actually see them much better.

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The roads are a lot better and we have no trouble keeping our bikes upright this time. Great, because the wildlife is already exciting enough. We drive a little further and see a group of elephants. They just crossed the road and trudge down the valley. When we stop to take a picture one of the elephants sticks its trunk in the air. Not long after, he turns towards us flapping his ears, the sign for us not to come any closer. He turns back and trudges after the rest of the family. We look at them until we cannot see them anymore and drive on, while Peter scans the area. And we are lucky, because after this first group of elephants, we see yet another group of those gray giants, a group of giraffes with baby-giraffes, buffaloes and many, many antelopes. No lions (to the disappointment of Peter and Leonie her relief), but we will probably still see them somewhere in Africa.

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Around noon the rain stops and the sun comes out. It is immediately warm and the road dries off before our eyes. With the sun also the Tsetse flies come out again, they are some sort of horseflies that can sting. They are attracted to our dark gloves and even manage to sting through them. We cannot stop too long to take pictures because before you know it 15 flies are buzzing around our helmet. We drive on slowly, with just enough speed to keep in front of the flies. Eventually we arrive at the gate of the park at two in the afternoon. Earlier than we had expected, but at least before our tickets expire. We drive out of the park, giving a lot of gas to sway the last bits of mud from our tires and put some more pressure in the tires once we are back on the tarmac.

At the end of the afternoon we arrive in Gulu where we find a room in a small hotel. Mélu is not there yet. Strange, because we expected that she would be there before us, because she took the shortest way to the exit. We leave a message for her at the other hotel we had spoken about. We hope nothing has happened to her! All kinds of horrible scenarios with a fallen motorcycle, broken legs, elephants and even lions shoot through my head. We feel a bit nervous and with a knot in my stomach and a light feeling of guilt because we did not ride with her to the exit, we walk to the center of Gulu. We eat a typical African meal of rice, ugali and fish. When we arrive back at the hotel, it has been dark for some time. Just at that moment, we see a motorcycle driving up the driveway: Mélu! I am so happy to see her that I run off to give her a big hug.

She had indeed fallen when she was still in the park, but she only had to wait two minutes before the passengers of a passing car could help lift the bike. After that she reached the exit without any difficulty. When she arrived there, there was a large group of elephants right beside the gate. She parked her bike and started filming as long as her ticket was valid. Only at the last moment, she left the park to ride towards Gulu. So everything OK, she didnot get eaten by lions. We order a beer and toast to quite an adventurous motorcycle safari in Uganda.

Distance to Gulu: 16,122 km (10,018 miles)

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Awesome trip. Makes me consider the CRF250 as a bike for solo tours in less developed countries, though it's not any lighter really than a 400 or even the KTM6XX. Much better on fuel though. Glad yours are serving you well.

Ah yes African flies are a right pain. Had to deal with those in Morocco. Fortunately no Tsetse flies though.

adventure spec magadan bags - buy again?
 

Can you give us a review of the Adventure spec Magadan bags panniers.
Would you buy them again? Worth the money?