Foul, falafel and fuel.
My introduction to the Sudan was a smiling Mazar standing behind the big gate separating the country from no-man’s land. The gap from Egypt into Sudan was teeming with trucks waiting for the gate to be opened at the end of prayers and a well needed lunch break.

Mazar waving and joined in with the ribbing I was receiving from all the truck drivers complementing and critiquing my bike and asking how I was surviving, clad as I was in my motorbike gear in the ceaseless heat.

This welcoming was from one of the most effective and well-known fixers I’ve ever come across. The man who helped Ewan McGregor and Charlie Boorman across the very same border crossing years earlier had me into the county in minutes for an entirely reasonable price.

The dramas of Egypt finally felt behind me as I settled down to a quick coffee and a chat after clearing the final gate. By this point I was hopeful that I’d come across Guy who had crossed at some point in the previous few days. He is another rider who I’d been pestering with questions for weeks as he had dealt with all the border crossings ahead of me.


What words are needed
Rather than waste the fading light I headed off for the 150-odd km to Abri where we had made tentative plans to meet. It amazed me now, as it would for the remainder of the trip, that Africa is developing at a rate of knots. This route down the Nile used to be a stretch of badly corrugated dirt that caused the first issue for the Long Way Down crew as they passed through.

The change could not be starker if it tried. The road I headed along was top notch bitumen and one of the most consistent and smooth roads I’ve ever driven on. Peace and quiet for hundreds of kilometers was a rare treat and I was elated as I wondered whether I’d head off into the dunes to pitch camp for the night or go off in search of Guy. Settling on the pre-agreed plans I reached Abri and headed to the only possible guest-house in the town.

Having set up my tent and headed down to sit beside the river and watched the river taxi’s plying their route. Slightly alarmingly, standing sentry over the doorway for the hostel was a very well preserved and quite substantial open jaws of the proverbial Nile Crocodile. I had asked the host whether it was safe to swim and was assured that it was. But having such evidence of the proximity of the big beasts had me quite unwilling to risk it.

Unbeknown to me Guy had snuck up, his bike as quiet as a whisper and was parked out the front of the hostel attempting to call the phone number listed on the door. The first fellow motorbike traveller I had come across on my trip I was a delighted by the prospect of some company. It felt particularly appropriate as I’d finally arrived at the beginning of real Africa, it was slightly reassuring not hitting it solo.

The modern age has made traveling an entirely different experience than it was for the likes of Ted Simon or Elspeth Beard in the ‘70s and ‘80s. There are few moments when you are really disconnected and to this point I had hardly missed a night where I couldn’t communicate with the friends waiting at home. Part of me is envious of the disconnect, something I would experience for the first real time later in the trip.

Having moved Guy into the lodge courtyard we caught up on the dramas of the past few days and discovered that I had ridden straight passed the man stranded as his bikes fuel pump gave one of its many regular hissy fits. At least this time he knew what the problem was having been stuck in South America due to a similar fault. Never the less he assured me that his trusty BMW was nothing short of reliable. Do you still hold that belief Guy?

Abri offers access to an Island that features several ancient ruins and quite an impressive view off the peak of a mountain in its direct centre. The gate keeper for the guest house assured us that the ferry was just a few kilometres out of town marked by a sign. At the point we were confident was the turn off we headed along a smooth piece of tar which simply and abruptly ended at the start of the fertile lush lands skirting the Nile banks.

Unadjusted to the need to look beyond the road we turned tail and continued along the river in search of the mystical ferry having not come across the sign.

The search for ferry’s was an activity that would begin to consume a great deal of our time in the coming week. Our first attempt was a river taxi who attempted to assure us that we could load the bikes into his 4-foot-wide timber raft to cross. Neither inspired nor full of confidence we called and conferred with the gate keeper who told us that the ferry in question was indeed “kabir”, which means big in Arabic.

We returned to our smooth but dead ended tar road to discover a sign facing away from the direction we had first come which stated simply and eloquently that there was a ferry by the road. Slightly bemused we found the trail leading off perpendicularly from the nice dead end we had found an hour before.

With the ferry started by a sandal clad foot pinning a fraying cable to a battery’s terminals and a resulting shower of sparks throughout the engine bay it was an exceptionally cool and relaxing boat ride across onto Sai island where we took off in search of a few lonely planet recommendations. These included an impressive old fort overlooking the surrounding desert, an ancient old church and some ancient Egyptian ruins. From here we aimed up the rock in the centre of the island and a short while later crested the top under what appeared to be an old military outpost. A 360-degree view out over the Nile and off into the desert beyond. While there I noticed a man, wandering alone across the cauldron of dust and sand below us.


Batting flies from our eyes we took to posing.

We found it eventually.

The breeze coming off the river was one of the coolest moments in the whole time in the Sudan.


Our rickety old ferry.

Top of the big old rock

Old ruins


It was a long way down.....

I adore these old doors.

Off into the distance our ticket man was wandering across the plain.

Turning tail, we headed down the mountain and back towards the ferry to return to the lodgings for the evening only to be intercepted by the fellow we had spotted wandering across the desert. Lonely planet had informed us of a fee for visiting the island which supports the local community, so we paid up without complaint before being flabbergasted as he removed a Bluetooth printer from his briefcase and from his phone printed off a ticket for our visit.

I have never been so utterly amused and it really hit home on me that no matter how far I wander the world really is so much smaller than it used to be. Here in Sudan, several thousand kilometres from Khartoum in the northern desert I rarely had poor cell service while at home some 45km from Melbourne I could barely connect.

****

To start the day we arranged a water taxi for a stint up the river to a little known archaeological site north of Abri. The site is the capital of Kush, the old Nubian capital in the region. Once a thriving walled city it is not consumed by the dunes. Currently, the British Museum is undertaking continual work at the site including the establishment of an information center. While there we ran into the most stereotypical archaeological types. Scarves, hats and glasses as they dragged the parts of the temples across the desert to take it back home with them. To top it off, one of the guys names was Niall......


The British Museum were present - removing sections of the temple to take home.


First time I've ever seen a functioning archaeological dig.

The next morning saw us head south searching for yet another mystical ferry across the Nile and petrol so that we could head to Soleb Temple. Kilometres ticked away as we gradually headed far further south than where the temple stood on the opposite bank. We cut across into towns looking for both and left stumped time and time again.

At one point I saw a donkey sitting atop a rise through the middle of a town and thinking that there might just be a raised road I shot up the side to try and see whether I’d found the route to our ferry. Yet just a moment later I disappeared as I plummeted down a near vertical drop into a drain. Whether it was built for irrigation or the once in a millennium floods I’ve no idea, but I managed to keep the bike upright and stood there shaking my head, looking up at the donkey on the other edge.


Stayed on it and upright on the way down.

Up and out, these bikes amaze me
I’m not a technical trails rider by any means and this was my first real experience learning just how much the humble motorcycle is capable off. With the minimum of fuss, most stress completely unnecessary I popped up and over the lip back into the rest of the world.

Fuel was a persistent problem, having stopped at a petrol station that seemed like it could operate, we were pointed off into the desert and told that there would definitely be petrol out there.... True enough we managed to get our hands on a few litres in the Mad Max, gold rush style mining town near Wawa.


AKs not pictures but I was glad to be here with a friend. Needless to say, we didn't dither for long.
By this point the day was drawing to a close, so just north of Delgo we ducked off the road and tucked ourselves away in the rocky dunes. An attempt to find wood for a fire culminated in the regions only thorned bush being dragged back to camp and then pruned in an effort to crush its straggly branches close enough to burn. Didn't work though did it.


First time I dropped the bike....

We attempted to find enough wood for a fire.

Success!

The next morning we arrived at the Delgo ferry terminus just in time to hear the most amazing call to prayer I've ever experienced. From his road side tent the Imam called the Adhan with his hands cupped around his lips to increase its volume. A short time later we were across the ferry and headed back north in search of Soleb Temple.

Refusing to take the major highway up the east side of the Nile we stuck as close as we could to the river and wound our way up. Through small villages and sandy roads we found petrol, food and dealt with the loose battery terminals on Guys BMW that had him stuttering to a halt on the corrugations.


Are you sure that's 5 liters mate?
Despite aspiring to make it to Soleb that day we settled for a nights camping. The dunes had opened up making being subtle more challenging. Having tried to hide and succeeded only in sinking the Dr up to the bash plate in sand I took the bags off and settled down closer to the opening before dragging the bike out of the sand. Wrecked from the exercise I resolved not to bother with the tent. What a quality nights sleep under the stars.


Who needs a tent?
In need of a little wash the following morning, both of our pots and pans and our bodies we headed to the river for a moments respite. As with everywhere on the trip a short time later we were seated in the house of a local man for a cup of tea while he called a friend of his who was an English teacher to translate. Despite pleas to stay the night we committed to getting to Soleb and headed off a short while later. Up the road we arrived at the ruins of the temple by which point my brain had been melted by the sun and I stumbled around in a dazed shock, loving the place for the shade it offered more than anything else. It was built by a Pharaoh in memory of his wife. God knows what she did to deserve her own Temple in such a remote corner of the empire.


Dishes and then tea

Some bizarre old ruins besides the road.

Made it to Soleb and I was almost too fried to really enjoy it.


Enjoying the shade of one of the restored pillars.
As you can see there isn't much original remaining of the temple with much of it recreated by way of mud brick to support those bits that could be identified and pieced together. I was glad to have made it and the prospect of a shower had us hightailing it down to Dongola. Having heard the place described as a city the town we stumbled across was all the more amusing. This was one of the few times iOverlander failed us as the much recommended hotel was all booked out. For less than 2 dollars a piece we found ourselves a guest house that was definitely the most strung out accommodation I experienced on my whole trip. Having decided to stay the following night we relocated, the beds, dust, questionable parking and awful showers getting to us. The need to fix Guys bike had us stay the extra day and I will admit to having enjoyed the relax.


I helped, I promise.

Cool old characters
From Dongola we headed across the first bridge over the Nile and aimed for the Kawa temple. Fully loaded bikes and a rutted and sandy track between barbed wire fences had us abandon our attempt at making it as every time we dropped the bike we had to try not hang ourselves up on the rusted razor sharp wire.

Full of wisdom we picked the route following the Nile, again on the opposite side of the river from the major route to Khartoum. If we thought we had found a road that ended suddenly near Abri the dead straight road through the desert ended abruptly at the base of a dune. An unsuccessful attempt at riding the dunes resulted in Guy stuck and an extraordinary effort to free him from the grip of the sand. From there we headed back onto the main road you can vaguely see in the background and headed as close to the Nile that we could get in order to pick up the route between the villages.


Just below 40 degrees in full riding kit anyone?
What followed was one of the most lovely nights of the trip as we arrived next to a small settlement where the track we had been following petered into oblivion. This was one of the only times on my whole trip that I wild camped openly near a village. The costs became apparent in dealing with the small children in the area but with the dignity and respect of Islam present we had nothing to worry about beyond some cheeky youths.


Children everywhere

Attentive and curious children

We survived! After the kids left us to our own devices.


The curious but scared children

Coffee and tea after a hard days exploring?

Breakfast - words are unnecessary. The hospitality is amazing.


Having been fed dinner and then breakfast the following day Guy went in search of a guide to lead us through the dunes and hopefully tout the luggage leaving us a little more free to enjoy the dune riding, rather than just struggle. A short while later we had a trusty Hilux loaded up and we began negotiating the dunes. Unencumbered the freedom was delightful. So much so that Guy attempted to mimic Evil Kenievel as he launched his bike off the top of a dune some way off to the right of our guide and I. Having seen him disappear I slowed and eventually the guide stopped wandering where my friend had disappeared too. Thus we headed off in search to find him perusing the damage. Having stuck the landing without any broken bones the bike seemed rather intact. So we committed and headed south to our ferry to the good road in Mulwad. With me tailing at the rear we rode across a spectacular patch of corrugations. With the rear tire hammering up into the wheel arch the BMW unceremoniously dumped a heap of plastic components out the back of the bike, showering me in shards. I stopped to collect the parts and eventually the intrepid adventurers returned to find me clutching pieces that "surely" couldn't have been from his bike. The BMW logo printed on one of the shards was fairly clear as I dont imagine too many BMW's ply this route.


I can only imagine what was being said on that phone call.....
With little more drama we made it to the ferry and bade our guide a good day. Waiting for the ferry under a palm Guy attempted to teach some cheeky local boys how to count to 10 before we were joined by a local police man and his friends for a laugh.


I think I was a little slovenly for the Islamic temperament
From here we had a little jaunt down the main road towards Old Dongola some impressive conical temples and a spectacular camp in the bowl of some rocky dunes. Sadly I appear to have lost some of my pictures from this point but I'd describe the place as being very similar to Tatooine in Star Wars. What the pictures below do not reveal is just how steep nor tall the dune we are sitting a top is. It could barely be climbed.


Not quite the Great Sand Sea, more the Great Slag heap.

Too slow....

What a view.


Its nice having a cameraman.
Rather than head towards Khartoum along the desert shortcut highway route we stuck with the much loved Nile up to Karima and the epic collection of Nubian Pyramids. Having been spoilt by Egyptian ruins the tombs south of the town at El Kurra are still a sight to be seen but a little underwhelming for the price they're charging. The highlight was the archaeologist who let us down into a tomb that was in the process of having some stairs put in to protect the original steps. What didn't fail to impress were the pyramids at the base of Jebel Barkal and the scattered remains across the river at Nuri.


PYRAMIDS

Exercise on a Pyramid anyone?

The temple of Amun at the base of Jebel Barkal


Huge slab of engraved stone so hot I could have fried breakfast on it.

In a bad state of repair the Nuri pyramids are some of the biggest in country.

Jebel Barkal rising behind me


Posing with the temple...
Having camped in the dunes the other side the of the road we went wandering around them before breakfast while local footballer was using one for exercise doing step ups on the bottom tiers of the structure.

Another night in the dunes before Atbara had us closing in on Khartoum. During a lunch stop we made the decision to push on towards the pyramids at Meroe and the temple complex at Naga. Atbara also offered up our first actual, legitimate, real petrol station in the couple of thousand km since Egypt! We stopped before it and discussed whether we would bother to check it and when we pulled up and asked if they had petrol we received the most bemused 'of course' look I've ever been given.


The pyramids were attacked by a crazy Italian who thought they contained treasure


Goats


Beautiful.

I was feeling as frazzled as I looked.

One more without me ruining it.


A pano of the area.
The pyramids at Meroe are one of the largest complexes in the country. Attacked by an Italian in the 1930's who believed they were full of treasure the tops of many of the pyramids removed. You see them from the main road in the background and pull off towards the complex. It was getting dark and we were in search of a camp site for the night. While searching for an ideal spot I saw a tail light disappear around a dune. A motorbike rider! I chased after the rider looking to make friends only to find two. The Barnecut's were riding north from Cape Town aiming for Cairo. I almost felt guilty as I tore off to the camping spot while Katelyn paddled along through the sand behind me being pushed by two camaliers. A lovely couple from the States the company was delightful and the camp site was truly spectacular. Unwilling to pay the entry fee I climbed the mountain behind the Pyramids and took my shots from there.

The next stop we headed off road towards the Naga (Naqa on some maps) temple complex. One of the most substantial and well preserved in the country it was an awesome experience. With Guys bike continually kicking itself into limp mode he was ride, switching it off and restarting repeatedly as we crossed the corrugated and sandy roads. A mechanical pit-stop revealed loose battery terminals again. Always check the simple things!


Pit-stop in the 'shade;


Beautiful.


The view from the ruins of one temple, no wonder they were built here.

Temple of Amun

Beautiful carvings.


Bits of pillars and full pillars.

Even camels need shade.
Tip for the Sudan - offer to pay entry fee's in the local Sudanese Pounds rather than USD.

From here we committed to the final crazy ride into Khartoum. Ridiculous traffic, a ride that went into the night we arrived at the Youth Hostel in Khartoum to discover several other riders there. A nearby pizza and then a much needed nights sleep.

In the end I spent 5 days hanging out with the handful of riders in Khartoum. Servicing the motorbikes, attempting to find ways to repair that which could not be replaced, riding through city for Mango smoothies in the Omdurman souq and joining in for a day with the Sudan Bikers club as we rode out to a fish restaurant en masse.

From Khartoum I was on a mission to get to Ethiopia. The time ticking away on the visa and a lot of kilometers to cover I camped by the side of the Nile some 200 km south of Khartoum and was at the border early in the afternoon of the following day.

Leaving Sudan is a fairly straight forward process. First go to the police station, on the right as you come into town and get your departure recorded by the police. Then proceed to immigration's just down the road towards the border who will have you stamped out in a jiffy. After that, if you're with your own vehicle the customs compound is always busy but head inside and ask for a carnet stamp and someone will appear. No fee's incurred during my departure. One last passport check at the boom gate and you'll be allowed to cross the bridge over the riverbed and then itll be time for Ethiopian border procedures!

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