Wadi Halfa Dreams to Champagne Wishes on the Ferry Sagalnaam...

From Out of Canuck...

Train stopped at al-Petticoat Junction, Sudan... No room left on the train! Let's move on boys...

Nice Sudanese folks out on the desert stretching their legs after a sardine-like experience the night before...

From Out of Canuck...

Bleak...

More bleak... Didn't think they had telephone service on Mars, yet...

From Out of Canuck...

Typical 2nd class compartment. Ain't much better than first class I'm tellin' ya.

The hall way were I "slept" last night...


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This map marks the opulent Hotel Nile in Wadi Halfa...

Wadi Halfa is my Timbuktu.

Incredulous you say?

I've never been to the fabled Timbuktu in Mali. But, Wadi Halfa has to rank up there in terms of mystique. Well, in my book of checklists at least. I've always wanted to come here since I first thought up this pan-African adventure. I have a crush for off the beaten path, desolate, bleak places...

The scenery had been pretty bleak all day, just flat endless desert. When late afternoon came, the train entered a landscape of low mesas. At this point, the train slowed its pace while mesas to either side forming a reminiscent bowling lane. Could this be my Timbuktu? Slowly, slowly, a town revealed itself in the shimmering sand in the distance. Hell, I could have missed this place if I batted an eyelash. The train wheels squeeled once again. I looked outside the window and I read on a sandblasted sign: Station No. 1.

I had finally made it. Mixed emotions: elation, relief, and sadness. This was the end of the line.

Everyone just piled out. I got my bag and found Matt on the platform. We jumped in the back of pickup truck/taxi and headed off to town still a few kilometres away.

We booked into the Hotel Nile (not much to it other than a bunch of cots spread out under what looked like camouflage netting) then headed for a restaurant across the street. If I didn't know Lake Nasser was to the north (somewhere close by), it would have been very strange that I had grilled fish for dinner.

I did a bit of exploring after dinner. Walking around the moonlit streets, I thought this town may as well have been a mirage. It's a miracle, considering the desolation of the surrounding desert, that it actually exists.

**********

The Nile Hotel was not as bad as Michael Palin described. I thought the outside setting was great. If it weren't for a thin veil of high clouds, the star-filled night sky would have been overwhelming (I did see the Milky Way though).

It was warm out. But, by 2 or 3 AM, the temperature was just freezing. I was sleeping in my silk liner and was chilled to the bone. I think I caught my fourth cold of the trip. Damn, I'm so susceptible to colds now.

Feeling a bit under the weather now, I thought I would relax and wait for the boat today. That was until the long arm of the Sudanese bureaucracy pulled me back into its grinding gears. I had to spend a couple of hours cued up for previously unheard of departure fees and another security check. Then I had to confirm my boat ticket (damn lucky I found out about that otherwise I'd would have been denied admission at the boat).

I stocked up on water and snacks at the local market. As I walked back to the Nile, a truck sounding its horn, stopped alongside. On board was my friend Ahamed!! He had loaded his worldly possessions in the back of the truck and was on his way home to Abri. I reached up to the window, shook his hand, and bid him farewell. Last night we talked about the possibility of him buying a hotel in Wadi. Because Wadi Halfa was at a crossroad, he thought it might be more exciting to move here. I might be back one day but just in case I wished him a good life. He reciprocated... Such a good man.

It was something like noon when we decided to make a break for the boat terminal. Damn taxi drivers. They just wanted to rip us off for the last time. So we defiantly started marching towards the ferry terminal. Damn terminal must have been at least 5 K away. The sun was just baking us. That was until a black pickup truck picked us up. Damn the taxi drivers!!! Ha!

The Sagalnaam...


First class cabins have square windows, cattle (second) class has the round tiny windows...

The loading process was chaotic. We were in the terminal building for the longest time. Just one more layer of bureaucracy to go I thought, the border control and luggage inspection... Fingers crossed.

Once the boat launched it was smooth sailing (not a cloud in the sky or whisper of wind). The second class sitting area was pleasant enough: air conditioned and padded benches. The A/C has helped defuse some of the tempers in the crowd. There must have been at least 200 passengers squeezed into 2nd class.

**********

The family I'm sitting with are just amazingly friendly. They keep giving me food...

**********

It's something like 6 PM... We just spotted Abu Simbel lit up on the western shore... pretty cool.

***********

There's no where to lie down. I'm not going to sleep tonight...

Midnight Train to Heaven - Somewhere between Khartoum and Wadi Halfa, Sudan.

Don't get me wrong. Looking back now, those were the best of times (on the entire African trip). The living conditions were horrendous. But I shared them with so many nice people on board the train, despite various Nazi-like figures.

I took a couple of GPS readings while on the train...

View Larger Map
This coordinate shows the railroad tracks running beside the Nile River.

View Larger Map
The above map shows the tracks eventually leaving the banks of the Nile, heading straigh through the inhospitable Nubian Desert.

The day started ok. The souq al-arabi bus station is chaotic at anytime of the day. It downhill the moment I got on the train. I was just settling down to my 3rd class seat. Ahamed, my friend from Abri made it to the train and we sat together. I rolled out my camping pad for both of us to deaden the pain of the wooden bench. Everyone seemed really friendly and ready to roll. That's when a conductor tapped me on the shoulder. There was a minor kerfuffle between him and surrounding passengers. Apparently, the seat I was sitting in was already spoken for. They kicked me out. I was a bit confused as I stepped back out onto the platform. A blessing in disguise, I thought, when they plunked me in padded seat in a 2nd class compartment as a replacement.

From there, the train slowly chugged out of Khartoum. As it turned out, ”slowly chugging” was its only speed. It didn’t matter though. We were soon out of Khartoum and into the bleak landscape of the Nubian desert to one side and the occasional rendezvous with the Nile river to the other side of the train.

I shared the compartment with a really nice family: Mahmoud, his wife and 5 kids. The smallest kid was pretty nasty. He’d wail away every time he wanted sometime. Very annoying. I wanted to club him one right over the head. But, for the most part, his parents did the corporal punishment for me. From my observation face and wrist slapping of children was a quite common occurrence. Anyways, Mahmoud was a junior high teacher in Khartoum. He was taking his family to Cairo for a holiday. For hours they plied me with drinks (I tried to reciprocate but they'd have none of it). In return I entertained them with my 10 word Arabic vocabulary. All the while we watched the desert dust pilfered into the compartment.

The fun did not last however. When we arrived in Atbara in the early evening, the trained stopped for a half hour. The locomotive was changed. New passengers came on board. I decided to stretch my legs on the platform. There I saw, walking down the platform, my American friend Matt from Vermont with a group of Sudanese boys. He tried to buy a train ticket but the train was sold out. To avoid being stranded his friends suggested that he be a stowaway. Ha! He climbed on board.

(Ahamed was on the platform, as well. I asked him about this morning's debacle. He threw up his arms and said with a big smile, "This is Sudan". Such a nice man, I laughed and agreed with him.)

I made my way back to compartment only to find it occupied with strangers. All women except for a lone guy. He motioned to me, asking whether the backpack was mine. Upon my confirmation, he angrily threw the pack at me (not a light backpack at all) and declared that it was an all-woman's compartment. Struggling with my bag, I noticed the nice family was also camping out in the hall way now.

The hall way was packed. There wasn't a spot to sit except on a water cooler. Matt and I tried to stay in the dining car for as long as possible but the Nazi-like dining car owner idiot wouldn't have anything to do with it (even though I kept pounding back the Cokes). If we weren't eating, we were in the way.

I returned to the passenger car. It was jammed to the rafters. People were slathered all over every square inch of the hallway floor trying to sleep. I had no choice but to return to the dining car. This time to the very butt end of the car, hoping Adolf wouldn't notice. No such luck. This time his was really fuming. I climbed over the snoring people in my old car to find a suitcase to sit on. With my back against the outer wall and legs cantilevered over a particularly obese woman, I checked my watch. 1 AM. Still 36 hours to Wadi Halfa.

Good fun had by all.

Out of Canuckistan: A travel blog, May 15/07
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Khartoum, Sudan - Will the real alien office please stand up!

Couldn't complete the tasks today. Yah, you heard me. I still have to get registered. I'm feeling a bit antsy because I must be at least 2 days over the deadline.

The retired professor, residing in the hotel, was nice enough to take me to the new registration office (as directed by the security officer at the "old" office) this morning. The "new" office (quite the distance from Souq al-Arabi), turned out to be another dead end, another "old" office. I couldn't believe it. Apparently, the most recent reincarnation of the office was sighted near the US embassy. Ahhhhhhhh!!! Nooooooo!!! According to my map, it was 1 or 2 miles away from the hotel!!! Damn. I couldn't believe it... (I will take care of it tomorrow...I promise...)

I thought the professor said he was going to wait for me while I was in bogus Office #2. I came out and realized he'd taken off with the taxi. There must have been misunderstanding, but I waited a half hour for him to return. There's one characteristic that I've observed about Sudanese: they have very short attention spans. If it weren't for the shade trees lining the road, I would have burnt to a crisp... I gave up (again) and took an expensive minibus ride over to the Train Station/Ferry Ticket Office.

The Train Station was huge. Ironically, this cavernous building served the one active train route in the country: here to Wadi Halfa on the shores of Lake Nasser. There must have been better times for train travel in Sudan. I was waiting in line for a train ticket for an hour before the que of about 30 people broke rank. Everyone ran for the front doors and around the building. The que reformed outside in front of another ticket window. I followed but I was just taken aback by the proceedings. Apparently, the first and second class just sold out (inside the station) and the rest of us slobs were now vying for hard seats in cattle class. Crap.

Consolation was that next to me in line was an interesting guy from Abri (town in the north). His name was Abdullah. Coincidently, Adullah worked in the oil fields for Talisman, an energy company whose headquarters are in Calgary (my hometown in Canada). He had good memories of working for them. Nowadays, he thinks the West is "total fucking shit" (his words) for forcing Talisman out of Sudan. He's on his way home, leaving "shitty" Khartoum. I understand your pain, my friend. As it turned out, he bought his ticket with mine and we'll be bench mates for the trip north. Good company...

After an hour in the hot sun, I got the train ticket (27 USD - for this Monday) and came back into the building to buy the boat ticket. Another 5 hour wait. There must have been at least 40 people ahead of me. Damn, the ticket sellers were slow. While in line I was surprised to meet an American guy. His name was Matt (from Vermont). There aren't many Americans in Sudan. We talked about his experiences here. Suffice to say, he was constantly explaining his personal position on Sudan as opposed to his government's. He's not taking the train to Wadi Halfa but I'll probably see him on the ferry, maybe, in a few days.

I managed to get 2nd Class "deck" seats on the ferry (44 USD). Any seat was OK, I guess. Damn, I'm just gonna be wasted by the end of this segment...

By the time I stepped out of the Station and into the heat of the late day sun, I felt cheated. 7 hours of my life I could not get back...

Out of Canuckistan: A travel blog, May 12/07
Bigtubofgoo.com
Buy Bubba a Beer Now!

allah wa akbar and the train to hell...

the train from/to hell...

train from/to hell, part 2...

the nubian desert...

second class passengers...

pray time on board the ship from/to hell...

Hello my friends,

The traveling has been hot and heavy for the past while. A little too quick for my taste. (even though I'm theoretically control the pace). So, I find myself in Cairo now relaxing after the rigours of traveling the Sudanese outback.

The train from Khartoum to Wadi Halfa really was a physical and logistical nightmare. The debacle started right away. After the stampede (I don’t know why people rush because each passenger has a ticket), I was unceremoniously yanked from my 3rd class seat. Apparently they sold it previously to another passenger. A blessing in disguise, I thought, when they plunked me in padded seat in a 2nd class compartment as a replacement.

From there, the train slowly chugged out of Khartoum. As it turned out, ”slowly chugging” was its only speed. It didn’t matter though. We were soon out of Khartoum and into the bleak landscape of the nubian desert to one side and the occasional rendezvous with the Nile river to the other side of the train.

I shared the compartment with a really nice family: Mahmoud, his wife and 5 kids. The smallest kid was pretty nasty. He’d wail away every time he wanted sometime. Very annoying. I wanted to club him one right over the head. But, for the most part, his parents did the corporal punishment for me. From my observation face and wrist slapping of children was a quite common occurrence. Anyways, Mahmoud was a junior high teacher in Khartoum. He was taking his family to Cairo for a holiday. For hours they plied me with drinks. In return I entertained them with my 10 word Arabic vocabulary. All the while we watched the desert dust pilfer into the compartment.

The fun did not last however. When we arrived in Atbara, the train stopped and I decided to get out for a breath of fresh air and escape the stifling heat in the train. In the meantime, unbeknownst to me, the compartment was being usurped by a contingent of women. I barely got back when I saw my backpack being tossed into the hallway by an unscrupulous male relative of one of the ladies.

There I was, at the cusp of nightfall, an honourary sindeega for god’s sake being forced to sit on someone’s water cooler with no where to go.

To complicate matters at the Atbara a swack of new passengers (paying and non-paying) including an American guy named Matt (non-paying) climbed on board. The train packed to the rafters now.

I thought I had a brilliant idea when I thought of staying in the dining car. It turned out to be a good idea. I mean there were empty seats and lots of room to bed down for the night. The only problem was the dust pilfering through the windows. Waiters would come by every 15 minutes to wipe off the micro-sand dunes that would form on the tables. The idyllic situation would of course come to a crashing halt. Along came Mustafa, the Nazi dining car owner. Mustafa was the big man on campus who apparently paid a million Sudanese dinars for the exclusive rights of dishing out the slop, he called food, to unsuspecting passengers. Unfortunately, he thought he owned the entire car. He sussed out our plan (Matt American, also homeless, joined me for “dinner”). Let’s just say I was nursing my bottle of coke for a long long time. He became enraged. The fury was palpable. He kicked us out. I was homeless again.

I tried to return to my water cooler seat only to find it hijacked by an old lady. No matter. The way was blocked by 2 rather obese women who had packed it in for the night and were blissfully asleep on the narrow hall way floor.

Long story short, it was a helluva sleepless night. Taking turns with a nice koran-toting man, I spent the night either standing in the aisle or sitting on a wooden crate.

Next day, the obese women somehow got off the floor after their comfortable slumber, thus making room for the homeless. I was lucky enough to be able to share a seat on a cardboard box the rest of the way to Wadi halfa.

After a restful night in Wadi Halfa, sleeping under the stars, we climbed aboard the venerable SS Sagalnaam. From Wadi Halfa, it was a 16 hr. overnight “cruise” along the entire length of Lake Nasser, the largest man made lake in the world, to the Aswan high dam. I had the luxury of a second class ticket. No, there isn’t a third class. This meant sitting on a barely padded bench in the mid deck. What it really meant was another sleepless night. Only this time there was A/C in the cattle section I shared with 200 other folks.

Looking back now, those were the best of times (on the entire African trip). The living conditions were horrendous. But I shared them with so many nice people, despite various Nazi-like figures. There was Mahmoud and his family. They were also kicked out of dining car. That was the last I saw of them (just kidding). Really, they traveled first class on the boat. Good on them. There was Ahamed, who I met while buying my train ticket in Khartoum. Lucky bastard. He got to keep his third class seat on the train. Better third class than no class I always say. He learned a lot of his English while working for chevron in the oil fields. Retired now, he was moving back to his beloved village of Abri in the north of Sudan, because he thought khartoum was “fucked up”. By the way, he also worked for Talisman Energy of Calgary, Alberta before the “fucking” americans forced it out of Sudan. He was “fucking” hilarious. Then thanks to Ahmed and his family for buying me drinks on the boat. They also gave me a whole chicken to eat. They, too, laughed at my arabic. Plus, there was a boat load of other great people I shared these unbearable 4 days with.

Crossroads…

I’ve been thinking seriously of finishing this particular journey. Like my friend wasta said, it’s been only 7 months. But it’s been 7 months through Africa. I’m a wee bit tired. I’ve been thinking of going home. Getting a mundane job. Finding a proper woman. Settling down and producing some offspring. Any objections out there? Words of wisdom?

I went to the American University in Cairo to leaf through some of their lonely planet guidebooks hoping to spark my imagination. Nothing. The logical place to go next is perhaps Yemen or to Asia. To Iran. Perhaps re-visit Pakistan (the AUC was missing the LP Pakistan). Or, visit the “stans”, even though I feel totally unprepared (language-wise) to go there. To tell you the truth, language has not stopped me in the past from going somewhere.

But then, I met this Korean girl from Seoul last night. She bought a ticket to Bangkok (from Cairo) the other day for $340 USD (tax incl.). Damn that’s a good price.

Perhaps, if I spent sometime resting by the Red Sea, I might have a change of heart.