Farewell Khartoum: and with a new pair of sunglasses

I've replaced the shonky sunglasses. I've paid NZ$2.50. Alright, more expensive than the NZ$1.40 Ethiopian pair. But wait! The Ethiopians were 'no names'. My new ones are Ray Bans! What a bargain, huh? The Chinglish on the tag only has two spelling mistakes.

















Essential to getting out of The Sudan, overland, northbound is getting a train ticket. There's a weekly train to Wadi Halfa. You can try and truck it through the desert along the Nile. But it can get over 50 degrees. Back in Kenya, Ewan McGregor and Charlie Boorman's "Long Way Down" crew told us of 40km in 24 hours, in flash , new, tricked up Land Cruisers. Max, the German, came down that way, took 48 hours to do 70 kms, and said: "Don't. Catch the train." Besides we enjoy train travel, but this one is supposed to be a doozie.

On our second day in Khartoum, we went to get tickets having read to book early. We were lead to an office and met Yasir Yaseen. But no, they don't go on sale until the Saturday before travel: Mondays. He gave us pricing and after a bit of a chat, a list of useful placenames in Khartoum, like the station, the bus stations, our hotel district, all written in Arabic. Very useful for getting around. Not a complete waste of time.

We asked if he could take down our names, and maybe ... you know ... kind of 'reserve' seats for us. He said yes, but we didn't feel comfortable about it all. Especially when he used say "8:30am in the night, or 2:00pm in the morning." We left with no real idea of what time the train leaves. "Come back Saturday, 8:00pm in the morning. Tickets on sale."

We tried to do some planning. We wanted to see the Dervishes on Friday evening, pick up the tickets 8:00am Saturday morning(?), and catch the train 8:30pm Monday. We went to Sudan Airways to try to book flights to Port Sudan, to see the Red Sea, for midday Saturday and maybe comeback midday Monday.

Well. All (one a day) flights booked until Tuesday, the day after the train leaves. Return flights aren't until 6:30 pm. - too late. And, a new rule a month old, travel permits required for flying into Port Sudan. Bugger that, not going there. I've had enough of permits and registrations. What is with this government? So that trip wasn't going to happen. And a good thing as it turns out.

Anyway back to the station, 8:00am Saturday (in the morning), and back to what we thought was the ticket sales office. There was a large crowd thronging in the main hall. We find Yasir. Much greetings, hand shaking: old friends. "Yes. Of course. I have booked you a cabin, a two person sleeper." (Wacko! This train is notoriously a zoo.) "Come to ticket office." We are lead behind the 'sales window', introduced to another joker, who confirms our booking, but come back 1:00pm. (Lucky we hadn't got a midday flight to Port Sudan, eh?)

Yasir leads us back to his office. He calls out a request to some joker, soon a woman appears with coffee. Shortly a shoe shine boy stops by, then another boy drops a newspaer on his desk. It turns out that Yasir is the station master! And he has taken us under his wing and looked after us.

He explains, they can't issue a ticket yet. The carriage numbers of the train coming back from Wadi Halfa haven't been phoned through yet. He can't look this info up on his PC - he doesn't have one. But he does have a big office, and a big desk befitting a station master. And it's a tough job. He has to manage operations of one train a week to Wadi Halfa, one to Port Sudan, one passenger and two goods trains to Atbara ("very busy, Atbara."), and one train a fortnight to Nyala, in the West. No wonder he has time for a chat and coffee with us, not to mention look after our booking.

He took particular delight in looking at the photos in our Bradt Sudan Travel Guide. "Very beautiful book." (I like this Guide. It's a first edition, and its approach is: we'll get you started, but you've found your way to Sudan, you're big kids - you work it out. Much more refreshing than some that act as bibles, telling you how, when, where, why on every step of a trip - ones that people spend so much time traveling and looking at they don't see the country, or the same one millions of others see also.)

But we now have sleeper compartment tickets in our back pocket for a train that leaves at 8:00am Monday morning! Lucky we hadn't got a midday flight return from Port Sudan, eh?). Train to Wadi Halfa, then the ferry (tickets we got on first visit to station) to Aswan, Egypt. Fortunately the ferry doesn't leave until the train arrives. It's known for derailments, delays, and sand over tracks. On time, it should take 36 hours. Could be interesting.




















Sudan, mostly Khartoum, really has been a wonderful experience - bureaucracy apart. There's some really sweet guys who work the juice bar on the corner near our hotel, that we have made a regular. They have become very familiar. Topping up our glasses when two-thirds drunk, giving Deb oranges as we leave, and taking photos of us with their cell phones.

A charming chai seller operating from a seat in the alley allows us to take our glasses (yep, glasses of tea) on a silver tray up to our hotel room and take back later. Oh yeah, spiced and minted tea, and herb and ginger coffee are not bad.

I'm not that naive. Sure there's nice people, but people being people there's bound to be the dislikable as well. Like anywhere. Just haven't met too many here.

I'm still plugging away with John Reader Africa: A biography of the continent but spotted in a market a book Season of the Migration to the North (1969, Heinemann) by Tayeb Salih, born in Sudan, university educated in Khartoum and London and served as Head of Drama at BBC's Arabic Services. It looks a nastily photocopied, cheap production, but an interesting read.

It all started big, open-ended and timeless. We will now be entering the last country of the African trip. It feels odd. But then, there's Spain and a brother and his family to look forward to.

I think I always wanted something like this to happen. Never dreamt of it. Never planned it. It's just happened. And it's pretty cool.

Max
aka Mad