Saturday, February 04, 2006
Khartoum
This is my Irish friend Paul, chilling in his red box after a ride. We keep everything we have access to for 5-8 days at a time in these boxes and live out of them (tent, sleeping bag, mat, clothes, food, biking gear). It is a good way to stay organized with 42 riders and the only way for gear to keep stuff intact on the rough roads. It takes some getting used to though.
I spoke earlier about how quickly people adapt. I have adapted since writing the last segment but decided to post it anyways for dramatic tension (Will he make it? Will he quit and go home?). Now writing from Khartoum on a rest day, we have but 5 cycling days left in the Sudan. While I found the first few Sudanese desert days very trying, I am now accustomed to the inconsistent roads, 40-45 degree afternoons, and dirty living. My mom thinks that music is the ultimate drug, and although our tastes differ more than slightly, cranking the tunes while cycling has definitely helped me push myself a little more, which has helped me get into and enjoy the riding. Abetting my frustration with the riding in those first few days were the facts that I had traveler's illness of the unpleasant variety for seven days as well as a cold, and the fact that I had my first decent crash of the trip (we fall over in the sand all the time but this was a pretty good one on a gravelly downhill). My bike and I made it through with just a few repairs and bandages and it has not kept me from riding.
We hit some pavement in the past few days as we approached Khartoum and had a fun cheered-on convoy ride into the city this afternoon with police escorts as well as appointed 'big ugly riders' (guess who) blocking traffic at intersections. Khartoum is a sprawling city, not very clean or organized by western standards, but is the mecca of this area. We had a dinner courtesy of the Sudanese 'cycling association', which is apparently made up of generals escorted by pickups full of riot troops, and the function of which is to boost the generals' egos by having them applauded by tourists. It's a strange way to promote cycling but is perhaps an apt example of the political problems in this area.
We have found the Sudanese common people fantastic. Friendly, hospitable, interested, and willing to go out of their way for you. We are constantly asked to stop and go to their houses, wherein if you go in you are brought whatever food they can muster, told stories, your hair is braided, and they are disappointed when you tell them you cannot stay the night. The communication is a roundabout process similar to a never-ending game of charades with lots of questioning smiles and uncertainty about what, if anything, has been understood. The Sudanese government, however, is more like the former example. Or the following: We had a rest day in Dongola six days ago, a tiny town with very limited facilities, but when the 'officials' heard we were coming they came up with an 'entry tax' just for us, which gets bargained and argued over and causes all kinds of discomfort and I have a hard time believing that the citizens ever see a Dinar of it. More important concerns aside, we did, however, manage to find yogurt in Dongola, which was a major highlight (I ate 3 liters). The first liter was paid for by one fo the regular incredibly firndly locals, who spoke a little English, as I didn't have the currency and couldn't access an exchange. He wouldn't accept my American dollars, even knowing what they were and where he could change them. He simply said "you are tourist, you are welcome" and shook my hand. Great people, poor political organization.
And so the trip goes on. Nothing about our regular day is really shocking as we progress, we have hit a routine. Up in the dark, pack tents, oatmeal or gruel for breakfast, ride to the lunch truck for sardine, tuna, or peanut butter sandwiches; fruit; and energy bars; and then ride to camp, set up tents, hang out or have private time, a rider meeting going over plans for the next day, dinner, and then bed. Exhaustion, sun, dehydration, sand, no toilets, no showers, and most interactions, are all by now standardized. The funniest thing about it is that I the power of the group. Nobody complains because everyone else is going along. The dishwater is filthy but no-one complains, we are hungry after riding but no one complains, we all have our cranky moments but very few people complain… the internal mental reaction is that: "if no one is complaining then this must be acceptable, I am just a wuss and should suck it up".
Also, despite the dicomfort, we are all here for an adventure and I don't know that we would want it any easier way given the option. If it was easy everyone would be doing it. This of course raises the question of what the heck is wrong with all of us (I'm not even jesting) and it is one that I am puzzling over. If you don't know, I have been filming, which is coming along really well, and will have a documentary of the trip and some particularly interesting characters on it at the end to share with anyone interested. The question of what is wrong with us is a definite theme and there will be more to come on that later…
