the Journal 2
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Entering The Dark Continent

Although there is some contention as to whether the Sinai Peninsula officially is part of Asia or Africa we were more than happy to count entering any part of Egypt as our first real success. Finally, after a month on the road, we could proudly say that we had reached Africa. As far as we were aware this was the furthest East any Routemaster had been driven direct from London and that alone was a comfort as the cargo ferry neared Nuweiba Port on Egypt’s eastern coast.

The customs building was a tacky black glass pyramid hinting at a government drive to tastelessly advertise its nations’ tourist treasures as much as possible. We had already been very publicly detained until the boat was emptied of passengers to have our passports checked and it felt immediately like the authorities were just looking to find a mistake and invalidate all our documentation; probably with the now very standard phrase "Not possible." Earlier comments on the grape-vine about the ease of importing a vehicle into Egypt had ranged between, "It's just a hassle, takes about 3 hours" to that from a diminutive Spanish couple "Our car was impounded … we were kept in a military jail for month and had to get our embassy to help release us."

A large smiling man greeted us sporting a garish Tourist Police uniform complaining that we were on the cargo ferry and not the passenger ferry (it had a 3.9m clearance so not even worth considering). He led us through a mind-numbingly circuitous immigration procedure that resulted in: five hours of bureaucracy; the vehicle being turned upside down by customs; a visit from the bomb squad; a sampling of some of our medicines in their drugs labs; the issuing of a pair of Egyptian number plates that had to be on display at all times; and a heavy tax on our wallets. Miraculously however it appeared that we were legally on the road in Egypt, Barry proudly the possessor of a new Arabic driving license and seemingly now the official vehicle owner after an illegal Tippex forgery, courtesy of the Tourist Police.

We spent the night in Dahab and sped through to Sharm-El-Sheikh on the very southern tip of Sinai in the morning through the desolate, sun-baked desert that was more fitting to the surface of Mercury. It was certainly not an ideal place to be stranded for forty years of wandering and we quickly realized that pushing on in the heat much past 9am was out of the question given the recent smell of burning rubber and the quickening pace with which the engine was using water.

Barry had visited Sharm in June and we pulled in next to the hotel where he had stayed with the plan of organizing some diving and enjoying a much needed rest day; the last was in Prague. By 3pm Barry and Jonny were starting their check dive in preparation for tomorrow's all-day excursion to the national marine park, Ras Mohammed. Andy lamented his asthmatic state and this was accentuated by the diving companies' treatment of mere snorkellers as some kind of physically handicapped and mentally retarded breed; special lunches, fish cards, armbands if he asked nicely. Needless to say Andy had a serious sense of humour failure. (“I’m not a f**king mong!”)

On the check dive Barry's equipment sprung a leak with bubbles streaming out of his high-pressure hose. Jonny, being his attentive and much more experienced dive buddy failed to notice anything untoward and it was frustrating to cut short the first dive because of shoddy apparatus. After a brief sponsorship pitch to our SCUBA outfit, Emperor Divers, they agreed to let Andy splash around in the shallows for free and gave us a generous charitable donation of $1000.

The following morning Jonny strode from the bus into the nearby 4-star hotel at 7am and helped himself repeatedly to the buffet breakfast; a victimless crime requiring skills honed to perfection after several backpacking trips through Africa. The national park was fairly full of boats and it was not encouraging to witness the disregard that some groups had for the reef. All the instructors mentioned that the degradation in the quality and quantity of the coral and marine life is perceptible on a day-to-day basis. Irrespective of this negative aspect of heavily visited dive sites the day's dives were reasonable, we didn't catch sight of any mantas or sharks but saw a turtle, barracuda, and napoleon wrasse.

The nights' entertainment was muted a little after Barry announced that his ear was "the most uncomfortable thing ever". A quick trip to the doctor's revealed a double baro-trauma from over strenuous equalizing at depth requiring drops and a course of antibiotics. We decided to allow ourselves another rest day. Andy fixed the unequal braking distribution and the lax handbrake to prevent melting off the rear left tyres; about the only brake that appeared to be stopping the bus.

The moon-like landscape on the way to Suez was only broken by the occasionally settlement, well collection of one storey buildings that appeared totally abandoned as the inhabitants wisely ventured out only in the cool of the evening. We watched a movie on the bus as our inverter had decided to start to work again. The entire route through to Cairo was devoid of shade and again the bus was transformed into a giant pressure cooker, the top deck maintaining a blistering 55°C whilst the lower averaged a comparatively arctic 39°C.

Ninety seven percent of Egypt's population of 60 million lives in the Nile Valley; 16 million of them are in Cairo and we could see the orange haze of the great city from at least 30km away from the outskirts. Only a masochist would entertain the idea of roaring into the centre of the city given the crazed nature of most of the drivers and the rush hour that begins at around 8am and finishes some time after midnight.

There was little argument that trying to drive the bus into downtown Cairo would be a recipe for disaster so we parked it on the outskirts of the city and continued our journey into the centre by bus. Within minutes we realized how difficult driving in the city would have been, there appeared to be one traffic law: if you're in front, you have right of way. This simple rule does of course lead to the problem that everyone tries to get in front and a dangerous game of chicken has evolved between the bus, car and bike users of Cairo each lunging at every available gap.

After a day of rather tedious administration we returned to the bus with the prospect of the pyramids of Giza the next morning, which we were all greatly looking forward to. We had a quick meal and a road shower (we hang our portable shower from the top deck of the bus and stand under it in our swimming shorts) before we intended to be off. As Barry was just drying himself off he heard a distinct sound of glass breaking and was startled to find Jonny storming out of the bus yelling expletives. At first we thought someone had thrown a stone through one of the side windows though the hole was minute, but after clearing some of the glass out of the bottom deck we found a clue that suggested something else had broken the window. We had in fact been shot at. Admittedly it was a pellet from an air rifle, but should Jonny have been sitting were he was just ten minutes before he could have very easily lost an eye.

We needed little more encouragement to leave so after a very quick patch up job by Andy we headed for the ring road that would take us around Cairo and on to Giza and the Pyramids, or so we thought. The signposts to the ring road were a little confusing to say the least and before we knew it we were in smack in the middle of down town Cairo in the same goddamn chaos we had seen that morning. Barry had the unenviable task of getting us through this traffic and with the help of a family we picked up along the way we made it safely across the Nile, with ample use of the international sign language of driving. This was one city he didn’t crash in. We arrived at the pyramids at 1am and after an in-depth explanation of our ordeal the Tourist Police parked us in the theoretical safety of the camel sheds around the pyramids; the smell of manure alone would have kept the criminals away.

The pyramids were fantastic and everything we expected. We spent all morning exploring tombs within the pyramids and simply marveling at their presence. After some negotiating and an exchange of a little money we were even allowed to drive the bus in within spitting distance of the second pyramid.

That afternoon our luck seemed to return when we discovered that Cairo's major car window fitters had conveniently set up shop just a stone’s throw away from the pyramids. We found a windscreen specialist who was more than happy to help. He did however fail miserably to disguise his shock when we took him to the bus and showed him the window. But he was not deterred, and just an hour later we had a brand new window for the equivalent of six pounds.

Our next stop was Alexandria, a port city some 200 kilometres north of Cairo founded by Alexander the Great and the site of his final resting place in 323 BC. Alexandria was a welcome change from the overwhelming mayhem of Cairo, more than anywhere bearing the hallmarks of earlier colonial influences, and we parked up in a very modern shopping centre on the outskirts of the city. This would be our last journey in the bus until Kenya as we were forced to arrange shipment around Sudan due to the lack of roads in the north.

Alexandria, however didn't stay in our good books for long as we discovered the cost of shipping and the fiasco that went with it. There followed three days of painful negotiating and paper work. By far the most frustrating aspect was obtaining a certificate needed to prove we'd had no accidents in Egypt, which the Alexandria traffic authority refused to issue us because Barry's Arabic driving license declared our address to be ‘British Embassy, Cairo’. The authorities informed us the certificate could only be issued in Cairo, and as a passing comment the gentleman assigned to 'help' us added, "Ah you are English. We hate Tony Blair". We finally drove the bus into the seedy-looking docks, leaving her with much apprehension to be placed on a ship on the twenty third of September (the certificate problem being resolved with a substantial under-the-table job).

After 6000 kilometres, 12 countries, and 5 weeks we relinquished Tas into the murky world of Egyptian, Italian and Kenyan dockers who will no doubt mistreat her. We fear she’ll return a shadow of her former self, if, that is, she returns at all.

Sadly we little opportunity to see the sites of Alexandria (although these number few of note) and had to return, backpacks laden, to Cairo for more administration, in the form of visas for Sudan and Ethiopia. After just one night in Cairo we were on an overnight train to Luxor, to visit the famous Karnak Temple and the Valley of the Kings - the site of the tombs of many of the great Pharaohs.

It was a welcome break from paper work and deadlines and we all enjoyed being ferried around like any other tourist. Without the bus, however, people looked at us with mistrusting eyes when we told them what we were doing and how we had got to Egypt. Some even accused us of forging the photos we showed them.

Just two days later we were on a train back to Cairo for a date with the Sudanese embassy to collect our visas. Arriving at first light we collected our passports from the Ethiopian Embassy and set up camp outside the entrance of its Sudanese counterpart. There ensued a tedious period of six hours entailing being repeatedly refused entry to the building, as we were informed visas were not issued on Thursdays. Sadly Friday and Saturday were the weekend, meaning our intension to catch the weekly ferry from Aswan into Sudan on Monday morning was looking optimistic at best. By 2.30pm our patience was wearing thin. With thirty minutes until closure for the weekend, Barry finally wangled our way into the embassy, whereupon we were issued our visas with minimal fuss, but slapped with an exorbitant charge of $300. Being in no position to argue, we paid up and departed, glad that we would not have to kill one week in Aswan waiting for the ferry.

A further overnight train took us down to Aswan, where we took a day trip to visit the temples of Ramses II at Abu Simbel and a relaxing sunset felucca ride on the Nile.

As we boarded the train for the short journey to the High Dam Station, where we were to catch the ferry across Lake Nasser, anxiety began to envelop us. With not a foreigner in sight we have set up camp on the deck in the shade under one of the two lifeboats along with several hundred Sudanese. The Sahara Desert awaits, unknown and unforgiving. We are off to Sudan – God knows where the bus is.