Addis Ababa - our rest day.
We got up in the morning and rode - I hung out with Erin in the back as she was sweeping that day. We rode past so many tej fields. Tej is the grain they use to make injera bread, and is the staple food of Ethiopia. It is also incredibly healthy - one injera a day will keep you alive and two will keep you in good health?
As we rode we ran into the usual kids, though not that many of them. Mornings are the easiest since a good number of the kids are in school or are doing the hardest/busiest chores of the day. But it doesn't meant they aren't still out there. A couple of little shepherd kids chased along a steep uphill saying "give me Bic, give me shirt, give me MasterCard" - pardon? Indeed, some kid was asking for a MasterCard. And I thought Visa was easier to travel with.
After a while we caught up with John, our 70-year-old rider, who also happens to be a little slower on the hills, so I headed off on my own. Ups and downs through beautiful lush countryside. A few kids were aggressively menacing, and I thought for sure I was going to be attacked by more than stones. I got off my bike, picked up some stones, and walked the rest of the way up the hill without turning my back to them. When I got to the decline the chase was on, but they stood no chance. Stones pinged past me but I got out of there. Apparently Erin was really worried going through there as well. These kids were about 13.
We convoyed into Addis - a long, controlled downhill that we managed to get through at about 30 km an hour. Our convoys are usually terrible. 10km an hour for an hour or two through cities. I don't recommend it.
In Addis it was Valentine's Day and Bruce's Birthday, so we went out. We had terrible pizza (no tomato sauce, no salt), and lots to drink. We pub-hopped along until I heard good music and saw tell-tale Christmas lights from the corner of my eye. We walked into the small club and started dancing like fiends. As usual, some of the women tried to get us shoulder dancing, but I think a lifetime of growing up in the West is enough to keep you from being able to gyrate your shoulder at 75 beats per minute.
Jolie-Ann and Malcolm both went into the back at different points and discovered that the place was actually a brothel - there were beds in the back and there actually were more women than men there, but the music was good and no one seemed to be looking for customers out of our lot, and so we stayed on until we longed for our beds.
The next day was a rest-day, and a great one at that. I had finished all of my chores the night before, so I decided to go with Malcolm and Allan to the Sheraton for the breakfast buffet. The Sheraton is a mixed bag - unscrupulous in that it's an example of wealth picking on the poor - there were thousands of displaced people when it was built as they just knocked down a section of the slums. Most of its occupants are UN workers and heads of different NGOs - hard to come by donations when they are just going to pay to make sure these people have a comfortable stay. On the other hand, it was the first time we had been somewhere clean in months, and we ate like kings. Right after we gorged ourselves, we made our way to the pool. We had no intention of leaving that day. It seemed like the first real rest day I'd had since getting here. I dozed on and off, played scrabble, and swam. At the day's end we decided to check and see if there was a dinner buffet - and there was! We stayed on, enjoying the feeling of sitting at a table, eating with real plates, and drinking a decent wine out of a wine glass, not questionable Ethiopian brew out of a folding plastic cup. But partway through Allan and I started to wind down as our stomachs wound up - in knots that is. Between the amount of camp-shared illnesses and the kids, Ethiopia is by far the hardest country I have ever travelled in.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Saturday, April 25, 2009
Just Gorge-ous
The Gorge.
We knew it was coming, but there's still a lot of nervousness when you know that you are about to do the biggest climb of the trip. Over 22km we would climb 1800 meters. But first we had to cycle 50km before we would even see what we were facing.
I woke up with a bit of a chest cold, which is not what you want in Ethiopia. The children here can smell weakness. It encourages them to attack. I was slow and wheezing, and they knew I was an easy target. At one point I had 20 kids chasing me down the street, pelting me with stones machine-gun style. I did a count at one point. I have 38 bruises caused by these evil little monsters and their stones and whips and sticks. There was a pack of three kids who threw at me. When I stopped, one ran, but the rest stayed, albeit at a distance. I said to the one kid " You want Birr?" - he didn't trust me. I held out a Birr - if he came close I was going to grab him and bring him to the nearest house and get his folks to beat him senseless. He circled me like a nervous pup eyeing a piece of meat. After a bit an adult came near and I went over to him and told him what had happened. He walked over and spoke with the kid - I don't know what happened in the end, because I was on my way again.
The Gorge.
It was beautiful. The Ethiopian Grand Canyon. I looked out at the route ahead, all the way from the very bottom, up the winding road that went on forever. At least we would be going down first. I jumped on my bike and started flying. When I got to the bottom I realized that my tire was on wrong, but I couldn't get the brake to stop rubbing which meant I was only going about 50km/h. It was probably a pretty sensible speed, what with all the women hauling wares up from the depths of the gorge, the donkeys that spooked easily, and the kids (who fortunately couldn't take aim as we were going faster than they expected). It was amazing, nonetheless - being able to fly for 20km downhill.
And then the up. The first 5km had me thinking that I would get on the trucks if they passed. It was well over 40 degrees and the drudgery of each pedal push was unforgiving. Suddenly I came across Sharita - she had found a water spout at the side of the road. I soaked myself completely, and then filled one of my empty bottles ( my camel pack was already running low). After that moment, you couldn't drag me onto one of the trucks. We climbed all the way to the village at 10km, where the backup truck was waiting and we could refill our water bottles. We sat down for a coke and then spotted a kid with a popsicle. We asked the local crew if they were for sale. Next thing you know we were in heaven, eating popsicles in the middle of the hottest climb ever - it was great for the jealousy factor when we got into camp.
And we climbed and climbed - I was riding in close proximity to Sharita, Lloyd, Alex and Tom. Every once in a while we would stop and take in the most stunning views. We were in a time-trial, but racing was secondary.
When we got in we were at a CPAR camp - an aid organization that the founder of TDA also founded. Most of us walked down the road to the hotel and bought showers and beer. I sadly forgot my headband there - it's been following me everywhere since Australia, but I suppose that's what happens when you sweat every ounce of water out of yourself and then have a cold beer. We raced back to CPAR for the rider meeting and dinner, but unfortunately the fellow heading up the organization gave a bit of a talk on what they were doing there and their needs, which consisted of him saying "We are doing many big projects and you should tell your government that we need money otherwise we won't be able to complete our big projects." Basically no detail but incredible wordy. We were starving. The frustration in the crowd was tangible. He finally stopped and we ate ourselves silly. Sometimes it's wiser to have the speech after the meal.
The next day I was pretty run down with the cold and rode only the half day. I couldn't have made a better decision. I slept on the truck as it cruised up a hill, and woke up in time for the most beautiful descent all the way into the next CPAR camp. There was only a bit of uphill at the start of the ride and at the finish - and the highest point on the tour - 3300m. For some reason I got "Rolling Down the River" in my head, and I sang it aloud all the way into camp. I think it helped to scare the kids into submission. Or maybe because I was the first person coming through, they didn't have time to react.
I got into camp and there was a massive pump/well. I had the most beautiful shower as a fellow pumped water over my head.
I walked down with some of the folk to the overlook pub. A tributary of the Nile wrapped its way through the base, and in the distance we could hear religious chanting. There were farms all the way up the cliff sides, accessible only by the thinnest of footpaths. It is no wonder donkeys are so necessary for Ethiopians.
We looked out, talked about how frustrating it is to see Ethiopia, a country that is so agriculturally-rich, and so filled with tourism potential, sit around and wait for the next handout rather than use its own initiative to start up their own economy. The eighties ruined Ethiopia. We need to let Africans run African and back off. Why do we keep thinking that we will be able to "make them see the light"? Why do we insist on lecturing people on how their countries are run?
But in the end, there is not much to be done but hope that it comes out all right.
We knew it was coming, but there's still a lot of nervousness when you know that you are about to do the biggest climb of the trip. Over 22km we would climb 1800 meters. But first we had to cycle 50km before we would even see what we were facing.
I woke up with a bit of a chest cold, which is not what you want in Ethiopia. The children here can smell weakness. It encourages them to attack. I was slow and wheezing, and they knew I was an easy target. At one point I had 20 kids chasing me down the street, pelting me with stones machine-gun style. I did a count at one point. I have 38 bruises caused by these evil little monsters and their stones and whips and sticks. There was a pack of three kids who threw at me. When I stopped, one ran, but the rest stayed, albeit at a distance. I said to the one kid " You want Birr?" - he didn't trust me. I held out a Birr - if he came close I was going to grab him and bring him to the nearest house and get his folks to beat him senseless. He circled me like a nervous pup eyeing a piece of meat. After a bit an adult came near and I went over to him and told him what had happened. He walked over and spoke with the kid - I don't know what happened in the end, because I was on my way again.
The Gorge.
It was beautiful. The Ethiopian Grand Canyon. I looked out at the route ahead, all the way from the very bottom, up the winding road that went on forever. At least we would be going down first. I jumped on my bike and started flying. When I got to the bottom I realized that my tire was on wrong, but I couldn't get the brake to stop rubbing which meant I was only going about 50km/h. It was probably a pretty sensible speed, what with all the women hauling wares up from the depths of the gorge, the donkeys that spooked easily, and the kids (who fortunately couldn't take aim as we were going faster than they expected). It was amazing, nonetheless - being able to fly for 20km downhill.
And then the up. The first 5km had me thinking that I would get on the trucks if they passed. It was well over 40 degrees and the drudgery of each pedal push was unforgiving. Suddenly I came across Sharita - she had found a water spout at the side of the road. I soaked myself completely, and then filled one of my empty bottles ( my camel pack was already running low). After that moment, you couldn't drag me onto one of the trucks. We climbed all the way to the village at 10km, where the backup truck was waiting and we could refill our water bottles. We sat down for a coke and then spotted a kid with a popsicle. We asked the local crew if they were for sale. Next thing you know we were in heaven, eating popsicles in the middle of the hottest climb ever - it was great for the jealousy factor when we got into camp.
And we climbed and climbed - I was riding in close proximity to Sharita, Lloyd, Alex and Tom. Every once in a while we would stop and take in the most stunning views. We were in a time-trial, but racing was secondary.
When we got in we were at a CPAR camp - an aid organization that the founder of TDA also founded. Most of us walked down the road to the hotel and bought showers and beer. I sadly forgot my headband there - it's been following me everywhere since Australia, but I suppose that's what happens when you sweat every ounce of water out of yourself and then have a cold beer. We raced back to CPAR for the rider meeting and dinner, but unfortunately the fellow heading up the organization gave a bit of a talk on what they were doing there and their needs, which consisted of him saying "We are doing many big projects and you should tell your government that we need money otherwise we won't be able to complete our big projects." Basically no detail but incredible wordy. We were starving. The frustration in the crowd was tangible. He finally stopped and we ate ourselves silly. Sometimes it's wiser to have the speech after the meal.
The next day I was pretty run down with the cold and rode only the half day. I couldn't have made a better decision. I slept on the truck as it cruised up a hill, and woke up in time for the most beautiful descent all the way into the next CPAR camp. There was only a bit of uphill at the start of the ride and at the finish - and the highest point on the tour - 3300m. For some reason I got "Rolling Down the River" in my head, and I sang it aloud all the way into camp. I think it helped to scare the kids into submission. Or maybe because I was the first person coming through, they didn't have time to react.
I got into camp and there was a massive pump/well. I had the most beautiful shower as a fellow pumped water over my head.
I walked down with some of the folk to the overlook pub. A tributary of the Nile wrapped its way through the base, and in the distance we could hear religious chanting. There were farms all the way up the cliff sides, accessible only by the thinnest of footpaths. It is no wonder donkeys are so necessary for Ethiopians.
We looked out, talked about how frustrating it is to see Ethiopia, a country that is so agriculturally-rich, and so filled with tourism potential, sit around and wait for the next handout rather than use its own initiative to start up their own economy. The eighties ruined Ethiopia. We need to let Africans run African and back off. Why do we keep thinking that we will be able to "make them see the light"? Why do we insist on lecturing people on how their countries are run?
But in the end, there is not much to be done but hope that it comes out all right.
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
The ups and downs of the roads
The rest day in Bahir Dar was a true rest day. I sat back, ate injera, did email and drank about 6 of Ethiopia's amazing juices - they are layered drinks, usually four layers - mango, papaya, avocado and guava - sometimes pineapple. We are all hooked on them, and are drinking them with the knowledge that in a few weeks we won't get them again - but there is always something just as good around the corner.
Rest day is sort of a misnomer for us. In just over 24 hours we need to do all of our laundry, email if we can get it - super hard in Ethiopia with dial-up access and constant power-outages - fix our bikes, eat and shower - sometimes with real showers, lots of times with buckets or hoses, change money, try and find atms, try to find postcards and mail services, charge everything with batteries and maybe even take in a bit of the culture. I've been trying to get at least my bike fixed before I get into town, and do laundry if we have access to water.
After the rest day I rode with Erin. It was my favourite day of riding so far. I think Erin took the brunt of the hits from the kids, which may have made me feel like they were finally being nice, though I did get a few stones, a whip, and one stick. But the riding itself was amazing! The hills were large and rolling, so every down would take you right back up. We've been gaining quite a bit of elevation.
When we left the camp we passed by women with baskets strapped to their heads - the baskets sunk all the way down to their calves and were filled with ... shit. And some were filled with corn husks. "Where do you think they're going?” Erin asked. "To the shit and corn shop, of course." Turns out that was precisely what they were doing, what with it being market day and all. For the less traveled, cow patties are a large part of the fuel resources in this part of the world.
The hill tribes are a lot more traditional in their dress as well. As we climbed we saw more women wearing thin, black, coiled headdresses, and tribal colours went from green to purple to cobalt blue.
People here keep talking about the vastness of the population, and while there are a lot of people here, the real reason we notice them is because they are walking everywhere. The cars on the roads are buses, the occasional tourist rental, and the very occasional rich local who is zipping through to the next city.
I love one-on-one rides because you really get to know people, so much more so than sitting around in camp shooting back and forth the same stories. Erin is our kiwi nurse, and a beautiful, ever-smiling presence who loves the outdoors, making her own clothes and doing yoga. We actually meet up frequently for yoga after rides. She used to teach, so loads of people come to her for advice on stretches.
As we flew past the hilly farm-lands the rain clouds moved in, but the showers quickly turned to hail, just as we were hitting our biggest downhill so far. I have discovered that I am pretty comfortable doing about 68km/h, but any more makes me a little nervous, especially in an area where kids jump into the street randomly to stop you, or a troupe of donkeys might be around the next corner.
When we got into camp we saw that they had set up a perimeter to keep the hordes out. Kids had come in with warm bottles of pop and beer to sell us (no electricity), and the rest were folk with nothing better to do than to come and watch the circus.
Erin and I did yoga, so the campers got a reprieve while everyone circled around us. watching what was I guess the gymnastics part of the show.
Through the night we listened to the sounds of children creeping through our tent area, scavenging anything we had forgotten to lock away, and hyenas calling - a sound which did not sound anything like their stereotypical laughter.
.
The next day was a slog. The first part was wonderful downhill. I raced down at about 55km/h, keeping in check with the kids who would jump out in front, or play chicken, or red-rover - a group of them would hold hands across the road. The only solution was to aim for them and hope they didn't do a deer in the headlights thing.
We entered a valley where hundreds of people were walking tens of kilometers up the highway to get to a market to sell their wares. Women carried round baskets slung over their heads, with the basket itself sitting on their bottoms. They were filled with any sort of mystery. James, our cook, bought one filled with 700 eggs. There were donkeys carrying up earthenware jugs, four at a time, half the size of me. Then I realized that some of the women carrying the body-sized baskets on their backs were doing the same, only they were six slightly smaller earthenware vases. Droves of people on their weekly commute, nary a car in sight, and all with burdens that a westerner would balk at.
The road became a very long climb. It was steep and unending. We got into a town where someone had found a fruit juice stop, and that was that. We were there for an hour, drinking a few juices each, consuming some of Ethiopia's dry, bland pastries, and enjoying that we would have nothing but downhill the rest of the way. That was when we relearned the now age-old lesson "Don't fully trust the TDA directions."
True, there was more down than up, but there was also a lot of gravel, and a lot of gravelly ups. On one downhill I almost died. I also almost killed a kid. I sometimes wonder if that would have been such a bad thing. I was racing down the hill, and coming around a bend when this kid decided to dive-bomb me. It was all I could do to swerve, keep control, and not go over the side of the cliff. My hatred for these children grows on a daily basis.
Going up the last gravel slog I stopped to hang out with David, our current lonely planet guy (we get two new ones every section). We sat and were surrounded by curious kids, who would occasionally be distracted by the new passing riders. We shouted out to everyone who passed, "You you you you you, give me money, give me pen, where you from, what's your name, you you you!" The riders laughed and then the kids, confused a bit at first, also caught on to the fact that we were making fun of them and laughed as well.
Camp was in a beautiful forest, obviously replanted as the trees were linear. The kids climbed up the trees barefoot and snapped off branched from the top of the spindly pines, working their way down. All of this effort was for their kindling. I did some yoga to an audience and rested before dinner. When I had to go to the washroom, they followed. I grabbed the shovel (we bury our waste), headed off into the bush, but there was no shaking them. So in the end I defecated in front of an audience of 60. They starred laughing when I used toilet paper. Welcome to Ethiopia.
M
Rest day is sort of a misnomer for us. In just over 24 hours we need to do all of our laundry, email if we can get it - super hard in Ethiopia with dial-up access and constant power-outages - fix our bikes, eat and shower - sometimes with real showers, lots of times with buckets or hoses, change money, try and find atms, try to find postcards and mail services, charge everything with batteries and maybe even take in a bit of the culture. I've been trying to get at least my bike fixed before I get into town, and do laundry if we have access to water.
After the rest day I rode with Erin. It was my favourite day of riding so far. I think Erin took the brunt of the hits from the kids, which may have made me feel like they were finally being nice, though I did get a few stones, a whip, and one stick. But the riding itself was amazing! The hills were large and rolling, so every down would take you right back up. We've been gaining quite a bit of elevation.
When we left the camp we passed by women with baskets strapped to their heads - the baskets sunk all the way down to their calves and were filled with ... shit. And some were filled with corn husks. "Where do you think they're going?” Erin asked. "To the shit and corn shop, of course." Turns out that was precisely what they were doing, what with it being market day and all. For the less traveled, cow patties are a large part of the fuel resources in this part of the world.
The hill tribes are a lot more traditional in their dress as well. As we climbed we saw more women wearing thin, black, coiled headdresses, and tribal colours went from green to purple to cobalt blue.
People here keep talking about the vastness of the population, and while there are a lot of people here, the real reason we notice them is because they are walking everywhere. The cars on the roads are buses, the occasional tourist rental, and the very occasional rich local who is zipping through to the next city.
I love one-on-one rides because you really get to know people, so much more so than sitting around in camp shooting back and forth the same stories. Erin is our kiwi nurse, and a beautiful, ever-smiling presence who loves the outdoors, making her own clothes and doing yoga. We actually meet up frequently for yoga after rides. She used to teach, so loads of people come to her for advice on stretches.
As we flew past the hilly farm-lands the rain clouds moved in, but the showers quickly turned to hail, just as we were hitting our biggest downhill so far. I have discovered that I am pretty comfortable doing about 68km/h, but any more makes me a little nervous, especially in an area where kids jump into the street randomly to stop you, or a troupe of donkeys might be around the next corner.
When we got into camp we saw that they had set up a perimeter to keep the hordes out. Kids had come in with warm bottles of pop and beer to sell us (no electricity), and the rest were folk with nothing better to do than to come and watch the circus.
Erin and I did yoga, so the campers got a reprieve while everyone circled around us. watching what was I guess the gymnastics part of the show.
Through the night we listened to the sounds of children creeping through our tent area, scavenging anything we had forgotten to lock away, and hyenas calling - a sound which did not sound anything like their stereotypical laughter.
.
The next day was a slog. The first part was wonderful downhill. I raced down at about 55km/h, keeping in check with the kids who would jump out in front, or play chicken, or red-rover - a group of them would hold hands across the road. The only solution was to aim for them and hope they didn't do a deer in the headlights thing.
We entered a valley where hundreds of people were walking tens of kilometers up the highway to get to a market to sell their wares. Women carried round baskets slung over their heads, with the basket itself sitting on their bottoms. They were filled with any sort of mystery. James, our cook, bought one filled with 700 eggs. There were donkeys carrying up earthenware jugs, four at a time, half the size of me. Then I realized that some of the women carrying the body-sized baskets on their backs were doing the same, only they were six slightly smaller earthenware vases. Droves of people on their weekly commute, nary a car in sight, and all with burdens that a westerner would balk at.
The road became a very long climb. It was steep and unending. We got into a town where someone had found a fruit juice stop, and that was that. We were there for an hour, drinking a few juices each, consuming some of Ethiopia's dry, bland pastries, and enjoying that we would have nothing but downhill the rest of the way. That was when we relearned the now age-old lesson "Don't fully trust the TDA directions."
True, there was more down than up, but there was also a lot of gravel, and a lot of gravelly ups. On one downhill I almost died. I also almost killed a kid. I sometimes wonder if that would have been such a bad thing. I was racing down the hill, and coming around a bend when this kid decided to dive-bomb me. It was all I could do to swerve, keep control, and not go over the side of the cliff. My hatred for these children grows on a daily basis.
Going up the last gravel slog I stopped to hang out with David, our current lonely planet guy (we get two new ones every section). We sat and were surrounded by curious kids, who would occasionally be distracted by the new passing riders. We shouted out to everyone who passed, "You you you you you, give me money, give me pen, where you from, what's your name, you you you!" The riders laughed and then the kids, confused a bit at first, also caught on to the fact that we were making fun of them and laughed as well.
Camp was in a beautiful forest, obviously replanted as the trees were linear. The kids climbed up the trees barefoot and snapped off branched from the top of the spindly pines, working their way down. All of this effort was for their kindling. I did some yoga to an audience and rested before dinner. When I had to go to the washroom, they followed. I grabbed the shovel (we bury our waste), headed off into the bush, but there was no shaking them. So in the end I defecated in front of an audience of 60. They starred laughing when I used toilet paper. Welcome to Ethiopia.
M
Monday, April 20, 2009
Ethiopia the friendly
If there is anything anyone can actually learn from my natterings, let it be this: Please, when you are in a third world country, don't just go around handing out money. Really, that one birr you just gave the cute kid is doing more harm than good.
Feel guilty for having been born in the first world where we have the luxury of travel and everything else? Give your money to a local school or NGO or something where it will go to "teach a man to fish" - style projects, but don't just give a kid a buck and think you're doing some good. Do you know what happens after you've gone? If you've given it to a particularly small child, that child will get beaten up by the local bully and the money will go to them. The locals think we're idiots and think that it's their right to steal from us. If further travelers come through and don’t give them money, they resent us and throw rocks. Do you know what happens when we give them the left over sandwiches from lunch? They throw them on the ground and ask for money. We are going through an agriculturally rich area where the kids aren't starving and yet these idiot tourists (a busload of Polish tourists pulled over and started handing out one birr notes to the kids, much to our dismay) know only about what they see on the World Christian Fund ads, assume the whole bloody country is still in famine, and that their 10 cents is going to change that child's life. My impression of Ethiopia is that it has received too much aid - so much so that it no longer has the ability to be self-sufficient. The famine ended in the 80's, agriculture here is thriving, and yet the people themselves are not being industrious because, well, why should they? Foreign nations are giving them tons of cash constantly. I'm not saying that NGO's are wrong - I'm just saying that if you want to help, be progressive and put your money into something that requires the people to meet you half way. There are many projects out there that help people with low-interest loans, or give money conditional on having some form of business strategy, or some form of effort that will use the initiative of the people, rather than just handing over the cash and thinking that the problem is on its way to being solved. This may sound harsh, but I'm only describing what I'm witnessing here.
Ethiopia, even with its children who throw stones, hit you with sticks, and even the occasional bullwhip, has become my favourite country so far. It seems crazy, but it's true. It is so unbelievably beautiful here. The rolling hillsides, the shepherd children at the roadside (the unarmed ones), and how everyone dresses in traditional dress. For the most part, in the places we went through people were dressed in rich green garments - in the morning the shepherds covered themselves in thick cotton blankets, all green, with their sticks in hand to guide their sheep, goats, donkeys, or whatever their family herds.
The mornings are the most beautiful, with mists covering the fields, livestock wandering about, and the heat of the day not yet upon us. The children are also busy at this time. They seem to be either in school (which closes at 1 - that dreaded hour when they come out in droves and attack you), or too busy working under their parent's supervision. The birds here are magnificent too, and people come from everywhere to see species which don't exist anywhere else in the world.
We got to Gondor, and this is where I got my stomach ailment. As far as rest days go, it wasn't the best. I was feverish and running to the washroom the whole time. When a bug hits our lot, it takes us all out one by one. Some are made of a stronger mettle and ride regardless (the racers), some are foolhardy and ride when they shouldn't - Nick, who fainted in the morning and rode anyhow - I think the goal of EFI can be a troublesome one that gets people pushing themselves harder than they should. EFI goes to all of the folk who cover Every F#$@#ing Inch. I blew that when I sprained my ankle. That's fine. I won't get stubborn about being sick. Which I didn't. When we got back on the road I went in the truck. There were a bunch of us - in fact, all of the female racers. I, by the way, have dropped from the race. After the sprain I was riding before the racers started, getting out much earlier in order to not get stuck in the heat or stuck riding alone, so I kept getting 12 hour penalties, which got to be a little ridiculous. And then because the racers start so late and the Ethiopian road was so rough to begin with, and the children so horrible, I decided that it wasn't important to risk myself just to stay in the race. I might pick up a later section.
So we were on the truck all the way to our camp. We were in a beautiful field with tons of shepherd onlookers, as per usual. Some of the folks left us to go on a tour of Lallibella, and the rest of us sat around chatting for the evening under our first full moon since the start of the trip. Yup, it had been a month.
In the morning we had a quick 68km jaunt into Bahir Dar. It was an awesome ride. The uphills went into downhills and there was very little effort needed to get into town. I did need a bit of time to warm up at first, but that was more because of having been sick. Because of that, I lost my group of co-riders, but did get to see a whole troupe of monkeys scamper by in a field. Then I got a flat. Nick stopped to help, and I hung back with him for a while because I was a little worried about him riding while he was sick. After an hour though, he started drafting a truck, and I wasn't about to start pedaling 60km/h behind something that could stop at any minute. We made our way into Bahir Dar just in time to see their monthly bike race. The streets were closed off and the crowds were roaring. On some downtime we made it across the street to our hotel, where we set up in a lovely little garden area and hit the showers.
I went off with Malcolm and Claire to get some injera for lunch and to look for costumes. Yup, we were having a costume party that evening. We were each given a name and had to dress up our victims. I got Swen, a tall, lanky Canadian old boy, who I dressed up as an Ethiopian Shoulder Dancer - white peasant dress with embroidery, sash, and a 10 birr note on his forehead (you put those notes on their heads to pay them for their dance). I was dressed as a shepherd.
We got drunk. At least, some of us did. We drank beer, then horrific Ethiopian wine, then tej - a sort of Ethiopian mead, and then I think whiskey. Most went to bed, but
a few of us decided that it was time to go dancing. But first, the shoulder-dancers.
The shoulder dancers are awesome. Like bards, they sing to you in rhyme, usually making fun of you, politics, or whatever they can think of. Then you slap a buck on their forehead and they move on, time to tease someone else. And what they do with their shoulders! It is the standard case of something being made to look easy when clearly it is not.
We then went to some of the local little nook night clubs and danced our hearts out. At this point it was only Paul and Wondy (our local guy). The chicks kept grabbing me to dance with them, and finally at about 2 am it was time for me to go home. I crashed in my tent, forgot my malaria meds that night, and giggled for about half an hour before passing out.
M
Feel guilty for having been born in the first world where we have the luxury of travel and everything else? Give your money to a local school or NGO or something where it will go to "teach a man to fish" - style projects, but don't just give a kid a buck and think you're doing some good. Do you know what happens after you've gone? If you've given it to a particularly small child, that child will get beaten up by the local bully and the money will go to them. The locals think we're idiots and think that it's their right to steal from us. If further travelers come through and don’t give them money, they resent us and throw rocks. Do you know what happens when we give them the left over sandwiches from lunch? They throw them on the ground and ask for money. We are going through an agriculturally rich area where the kids aren't starving and yet these idiot tourists (a busload of Polish tourists pulled over and started handing out one birr notes to the kids, much to our dismay) know only about what they see on the World Christian Fund ads, assume the whole bloody country is still in famine, and that their 10 cents is going to change that child's life. My impression of Ethiopia is that it has received too much aid - so much so that it no longer has the ability to be self-sufficient. The famine ended in the 80's, agriculture here is thriving, and yet the people themselves are not being industrious because, well, why should they? Foreign nations are giving them tons of cash constantly. I'm not saying that NGO's are wrong - I'm just saying that if you want to help, be progressive and put your money into something that requires the people to meet you half way. There are many projects out there that help people with low-interest loans, or give money conditional on having some form of business strategy, or some form of effort that will use the initiative of the people, rather than just handing over the cash and thinking that the problem is on its way to being solved. This may sound harsh, but I'm only describing what I'm witnessing here.
Ethiopia, even with its children who throw stones, hit you with sticks, and even the occasional bullwhip, has become my favourite country so far. It seems crazy, but it's true. It is so unbelievably beautiful here. The rolling hillsides, the shepherd children at the roadside (the unarmed ones), and how everyone dresses in traditional dress. For the most part, in the places we went through people were dressed in rich green garments - in the morning the shepherds covered themselves in thick cotton blankets, all green, with their sticks in hand to guide their sheep, goats, donkeys, or whatever their family herds.
The mornings are the most beautiful, with mists covering the fields, livestock wandering about, and the heat of the day not yet upon us. The children are also busy at this time. They seem to be either in school (which closes at 1 - that dreaded hour when they come out in droves and attack you), or too busy working under their parent's supervision. The birds here are magnificent too, and people come from everywhere to see species which don't exist anywhere else in the world.
We got to Gondor, and this is where I got my stomach ailment. As far as rest days go, it wasn't the best. I was feverish and running to the washroom the whole time. When a bug hits our lot, it takes us all out one by one. Some are made of a stronger mettle and ride regardless (the racers), some are foolhardy and ride when they shouldn't - Nick, who fainted in the morning and rode anyhow - I think the goal of EFI can be a troublesome one that gets people pushing themselves harder than they should. EFI goes to all of the folk who cover Every F#$@#ing Inch. I blew that when I sprained my ankle. That's fine. I won't get stubborn about being sick. Which I didn't. When we got back on the road I went in the truck. There were a bunch of us - in fact, all of the female racers. I, by the way, have dropped from the race. After the sprain I was riding before the racers started, getting out much earlier in order to not get stuck in the heat or stuck riding alone, so I kept getting 12 hour penalties, which got to be a little ridiculous. And then because the racers start so late and the Ethiopian road was so rough to begin with, and the children so horrible, I decided that it wasn't important to risk myself just to stay in the race. I might pick up a later section.
So we were on the truck all the way to our camp. We were in a beautiful field with tons of shepherd onlookers, as per usual. Some of the folks left us to go on a tour of Lallibella, and the rest of us sat around chatting for the evening under our first full moon since the start of the trip. Yup, it had been a month.
In the morning we had a quick 68km jaunt into Bahir Dar. It was an awesome ride. The uphills went into downhills and there was very little effort needed to get into town. I did need a bit of time to warm up at first, but that was more because of having been sick. Because of that, I lost my group of co-riders, but did get to see a whole troupe of monkeys scamper by in a field. Then I got a flat. Nick stopped to help, and I hung back with him for a while because I was a little worried about him riding while he was sick. After an hour though, he started drafting a truck, and I wasn't about to start pedaling 60km/h behind something that could stop at any minute. We made our way into Bahir Dar just in time to see their monthly bike race. The streets were closed off and the crowds were roaring. On some downtime we made it across the street to our hotel, where we set up in a lovely little garden area and hit the showers.
I went off with Malcolm and Claire to get some injera for lunch and to look for costumes. Yup, we were having a costume party that evening. We were each given a name and had to dress up our victims. I got Swen, a tall, lanky Canadian old boy, who I dressed up as an Ethiopian Shoulder Dancer - white peasant dress with embroidery, sash, and a 10 birr note on his forehead (you put those notes on their heads to pay them for their dance). I was dressed as a shepherd.
We got drunk. At least, some of us did. We drank beer, then horrific Ethiopian wine, then tej - a sort of Ethiopian mead, and then I think whiskey. Most went to bed, but
a few of us decided that it was time to go dancing. But first, the shoulder-dancers.
The shoulder dancers are awesome. Like bards, they sing to you in rhyme, usually making fun of you, politics, or whatever they can think of. Then you slap a buck on their forehead and they move on, time to tease someone else. And what they do with their shoulders! It is the standard case of something being made to look easy when clearly it is not.
We then went to some of the local little nook night clubs and danced our hearts out. At this point it was only Paul and Wondy (our local guy). The chicks kept grabbing me to dance with them, and finally at about 2 am it was time for me to go home. I crashed in my tent, forgot my malaria meds that night, and giggled for about half an hour before passing out.
M
Friday, April 17, 2009
The Children of the Sorghum
A little fyi - These emails are getting harder to get through, due to very basic dial-up in Ethiopia mixed with frequent power outages. In four days I'll be in Addis. It's not meant to be any better there. Then four more days to the next rest stop, with more crappy internet, and then 8 straight days of riding through southern Ethiopia and Northern Kenya, where our main concern will be getting water and food for the trek, so likely no internet. So you'll hear from me, but slowly.
From the border town of Matema to a mountain camp, I was on the bus. Matema had Bob Marley playing over the loudspeakers to greet the morning. Kids and people were everywhere. Women were sitting in front of their little shops selling tea, men were carrying heavy things hither and thither. And from everywhere, left right and centre, all you could hear was "You you you you you you you". The kids shout this at you all the time. They say it, scream it, holler it, and sing it.
We jumped out for lunch - injera (fermented flatbread ) with choro and salad. It was Wednesday, and Wednesday and Friday are fasting days, when only vegetarian food is available. Choro is a spicy chickpea paste that tastes like an awakening of your tongue. The food is served on the bread which looks like a bubbly crepe and is the size of a platter. You rip pieces of the bread off and use it to pick up your food. Right hand only.
The roads were terrible. Rocky and awful. Occasionally a river had taken over the road. And hills. The mountainous beauty of Ethiopia comes at the cost of having to ride steep, gravely inclines. But even in the month since the truck had last been through new roads had been built. Apparently the Koreans are financing this venture. The first racer actually beat the truck. Everyone came in covered in mud. It was a rough day. I wish I had been on it.
Allan came in first, put down his bike and said: "Miranda, do you know how to cut hair?"
"I've never tried."
"That's good enough for me!"
He pulled out some barber scissors and I went to town. I get a nervous giggle cutting people's hair. And the answer to his question - No. I don't cut people's hair. I butcher it. He would have been luckier to have gramma and a bowl. But he loved it because most of it was gone and it made the heat less intense.
Kids were all over our camp. Erin and I did yoga, and they watched. They stand a couple of feet away from you and just watch. Everything you do is interesting. You fly in on crazy bikes, build your homes in minutes, and then start contorting yourself. We are the circus for these folk.
Erin showed them a few poses, and then taught them how to somersault. They weren't quite willing to try the cartwheel. They were adorable. Word from the road was that there were not too many stones thrown that day. We had been so worried for so long. Maybe Ethiopia's threat to cyclists was exaggerated.
Then we woke up the next day to the hardest day on tour. An 1100m elevation gain over 10km on a gravel road. Slow but steady was the only way to take it. And sometimes even a bunch of walking. I walked quite a ways with Lloyd. After the climb there were bits of pavement. Such a wonderful surprise. We went through a school village with children who surrounded us with questions like "What's your name?, Where are you from?, where are you going?" and the constant, unending "Give me Money!" youyouyouyouyouyouyouyouyouyouyouyouyou! And as we passed them, the stones started. One girl grabbed onto my back rack. One girl grabbed my handle bars "Give me Money!" "I don't have any" "That is false!" And a few seconds later a rock went whizzing past my head.
Something I didn't mention, that morning I was actually suffering from the plague that is going around our camp. I had been stopping frequently, and then was stuck going through these villages with no escape. Finally Lloyd and I got out of range of people, I told him to ride on, and in one move I somehow managed to unclip my peddles, jump off my bike, grab it, jump a massive ditch, run through the sparse eucalyptus trees and make it in time to find a nice spot in the field. When I headed back I realized I was in trouble because without the adrenaline it was going to be very hard to get back across that ditch with my bike.
Finally I made the lunch truck. It was after three. I was starving. I had a sandwich and some oranges and let the truck go back to do the sweep. If I hadn't made it yet they would pick me up on the way. It was then that I went through the valley of the Children of the Sorghum. They came out of the fields carrying their sticks and picking up stones. The questions started flying. I answered them all, and as soon as I passed, the rocks started flying. One kid hit me across the back with his stick. There were patches of these kids for as far as the eye could see. I jumped off my bike at one point and the kids scattered. They ran into the field and from over a hundred yards were able to pitch a rock with deadly accuracy. I decided to pitch one back. Eight feet. Peels of laughter and more rocks came my way. Now if I need to I only pick up the rock in threat, so that my shameful secret won't leave me exposed. After being absolutely stoned by the little bastards, I made my way up one last hill where two were waiting for me. I sped up. They ran. Those kids can run 12km/h barefoot without breaking a sweat. I'm not exaggerating. Then came a rock the size of my head. It slammed into my shoulder and I cried out in pain. Two adults saw it and chased the kids into the field with their canes swinging. Shortly after that the truck came by and wild horses couldn't have kept me off.
It took me 9 hours to ride 70km that day. I was a broken mess after that. We drove to the hotel and I checked into a room with Evelyn. I showered, dressed up and got myself a gin and tonic from the bar. I didn't even want to think about bicycling that night. We were in Gandor. The following day was a rest day. That was exactly what I needed.
M
From the border town of Matema to a mountain camp, I was on the bus. Matema had Bob Marley playing over the loudspeakers to greet the morning. Kids and people were everywhere. Women were sitting in front of their little shops selling tea, men were carrying heavy things hither and thither. And from everywhere, left right and centre, all you could hear was "You you you you you you you". The kids shout this at you all the time. They say it, scream it, holler it, and sing it.
We jumped out for lunch - injera (fermented flatbread ) with choro and salad. It was Wednesday, and Wednesday and Friday are fasting days, when only vegetarian food is available. Choro is a spicy chickpea paste that tastes like an awakening of your tongue. The food is served on the bread which looks like a bubbly crepe and is the size of a platter. You rip pieces of the bread off and use it to pick up your food. Right hand only.
The roads were terrible. Rocky and awful. Occasionally a river had taken over the road. And hills. The mountainous beauty of Ethiopia comes at the cost of having to ride steep, gravely inclines. But even in the month since the truck had last been through new roads had been built. Apparently the Koreans are financing this venture. The first racer actually beat the truck. Everyone came in covered in mud. It was a rough day. I wish I had been on it.
Allan came in first, put down his bike and said: "Miranda, do you know how to cut hair?"
"I've never tried."
"That's good enough for me!"
He pulled out some barber scissors and I went to town. I get a nervous giggle cutting people's hair. And the answer to his question - No. I don't cut people's hair. I butcher it. He would have been luckier to have gramma and a bowl. But he loved it because most of it was gone and it made the heat less intense.
Kids were all over our camp. Erin and I did yoga, and they watched. They stand a couple of feet away from you and just watch. Everything you do is interesting. You fly in on crazy bikes, build your homes in minutes, and then start contorting yourself. We are the circus for these folk.
Erin showed them a few poses, and then taught them how to somersault. They weren't quite willing to try the cartwheel. They were adorable. Word from the road was that there were not too many stones thrown that day. We had been so worried for so long. Maybe Ethiopia's threat to cyclists was exaggerated.
Then we woke up the next day to the hardest day on tour. An 1100m elevation gain over 10km on a gravel road. Slow but steady was the only way to take it. And sometimes even a bunch of walking. I walked quite a ways with Lloyd. After the climb there were bits of pavement. Such a wonderful surprise. We went through a school village with children who surrounded us with questions like "What's your name?, Where are you from?, where are you going?" and the constant, unending "Give me Money!" youyouyouyouyouyouyouyouyouyouyouyouyou! And as we passed them, the stones started. One girl grabbed onto my back rack. One girl grabbed my handle bars "Give me Money!" "I don't have any" "That is false!" And a few seconds later a rock went whizzing past my head.
Something I didn't mention, that morning I was actually suffering from the plague that is going around our camp. I had been stopping frequently, and then was stuck going through these villages with no escape. Finally Lloyd and I got out of range of people, I told him to ride on, and in one move I somehow managed to unclip my peddles, jump off my bike, grab it, jump a massive ditch, run through the sparse eucalyptus trees and make it in time to find a nice spot in the field. When I headed back I realized I was in trouble because without the adrenaline it was going to be very hard to get back across that ditch with my bike.
Finally I made the lunch truck. It was after three. I was starving. I had a sandwich and some oranges and let the truck go back to do the sweep. If I hadn't made it yet they would pick me up on the way. It was then that I went through the valley of the Children of the Sorghum. They came out of the fields carrying their sticks and picking up stones. The questions started flying. I answered them all, and as soon as I passed, the rocks started flying. One kid hit me across the back with his stick. There were patches of these kids for as far as the eye could see. I jumped off my bike at one point and the kids scattered. They ran into the field and from over a hundred yards were able to pitch a rock with deadly accuracy. I decided to pitch one back. Eight feet. Peels of laughter and more rocks came my way. Now if I need to I only pick up the rock in threat, so that my shameful secret won't leave me exposed. After being absolutely stoned by the little bastards, I made my way up one last hill where two were waiting for me. I sped up. They ran. Those kids can run 12km/h barefoot without breaking a sweat. I'm not exaggerating. Then came a rock the size of my head. It slammed into my shoulder and I cried out in pain. Two adults saw it and chased the kids into the field with their canes swinging. Shortly after that the truck came by and wild horses couldn't have kept me off.
It took me 9 hours to ride 70km that day. I was a broken mess after that. We drove to the hotel and I checked into a room with Evelyn. I showered, dressed up and got myself a gin and tonic from the bar. I didn't even want to think about bicycling that night. We were in Gandor. The following day was a rest day. That was exactly what I needed.
M
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Into Ethiopia
From Camp Alfonse to Gedaref we traveled 136 km straight into a brutal easterly headwind. It seemed like most of the day my odometer was stuck around 12. I rode with Ann (the South African birder - very fun when you pass pretty birds) all day. We stopped every 30 km for a sanity-saving coke-stop. For the last 14km we suddenly veered to the right, and got tailwinds! Our speeds almost hit 40! We rode with renewed love for the road. Until that one 2km twist back into the headwinds. When we hit that it was a simple matter of heads-down and muttering curse-words. And zippee! Back onto the tailwinds for the last 5km. One of the harder parts of today was that not only were the headwinds so soul-eating, but a lot of the distances were underestimated. It's funny how on a day which is particularly brutal, having a lunch stop suddenly turn out to be at 75km instead of 70km can be so upsetting.
Something worth noting: throughout Sudan the houses have been beautiful white compounds with houses inside the perimeter and small courtyards in the centre. The doorways are always painted and some houses are decorated with flowers, stars and other geometric shapes. We have just moved into a fully different construction - it actually happened the evening before this ride. You could almost draw a line where the compounds stopped and the thatch mud-huts started. Our view now are these cylindrical mud huts with conical thatch roofs. And we are starting to see people walking around. Sudan is so wonderful in it's silence. It's like a shrouded Arabic woman walking through a marble temple. Beauty and grace under intense control. I have also mentioned the men in their white garb, but I don't believe I've mentioned the women. They are gorgeously dressed in colourful lengths of cloth that cover them from head to toe. Their faces remain uncovered, and they smile. It's such a great smile. It's one you don't have to ask for like in Egypt, where you receive wonderful smiles in return for yours. It makes you feel at peace.
We camped that night at a hilly outcropping. People were elated to know that we would be riding with a tailwind for the next 152km, right into Ethiopia.
There were hoots as we started riding the next day. People stretched out on their bicycles. They embraced the sky with their hands. We could move. We didn't have to stay slumped in one position, hoping the wind would take no notice of us. We were free! And the views changed from the desert we had grown so accustomed to. Taren said that with all the trees we were probably getting more oxygen! But it was true - there was greenery and hills. We whizzed past fields of sorghum covered in mist, the golden crop crowned in burnt red. Thatch huts were everywhere with children playing and people working. Women walked through fields with baskets on their heads, and even loads of bound sticks which I wouldn't be able to grab around the circumference with both arms. There were even some carrying 20kg bags of rice. We sped along in the 30s and 40s all day, and after lunch I departed from Ann. I was having seat troubles. My bolt wasn't holding. Slowly sinking as I went up and down hills, I rode most of the way to the Ethiopian border clown-style.
But I got there. And went and immediately spent the rest of my pounds before crossing the border and getting Birr. We exited Sudan and went straight to the campsite before officially entering Ethiopia. We needed to leave our things locked on the bus, and our bikes in a locked area. In Sudan we were protected by Sharia Law. They cut the hands off of thieves, so there aren't any. In Ethiopia, anything not locked down will get stolen.
Our campsite was a shit heap. Literally. There was shit everywhere. Both animal and human. Evelyn and I decided to set up tents right away, thus avoiding some of the shittier areas. We swept the visible shit away from where we were going to put up camp. We then went over to the customs office to get our entrance visas. The Ethiopian Immigration Office is a mud hut at the side of the road with chickens running through it. The nice thing is that they serve beer there. After the two hour wait with no food but a few beer, I was pretty tipsy. I got back to camp, had dinner, and then went for a shower at the brothel. It was a little tin shack with no light, a pipe, and a sort of showerhead. All that for 40 cents.
We swapped out our tires for off-roads, and while we were doing that Graham decided to test his pepper spray. A small dose upwind from where we were all working. Ten minutes after he did his little test, we were all coughing, choking, stinging, and vomiting. He'll be hard-pressed to live that one down.
That night I wasn't feeling very well. I got about three hours of fitful sleep before the donkeys started , and then the chickens, and then the dogs, and then the chickens again, and then someone shot a gun twice and there was silence. And then the donkeys, and then the chickens, and then the dogs. And by the time the Mosque called us to ride, I knew I would be on the bus that day.
xo
M
Something worth noting: throughout Sudan the houses have been beautiful white compounds with houses inside the perimeter and small courtyards in the centre. The doorways are always painted and some houses are decorated with flowers, stars and other geometric shapes. We have just moved into a fully different construction - it actually happened the evening before this ride. You could almost draw a line where the compounds stopped and the thatch mud-huts started. Our view now are these cylindrical mud huts with conical thatch roofs. And we are starting to see people walking around. Sudan is so wonderful in it's silence. It's like a shrouded Arabic woman walking through a marble temple. Beauty and grace under intense control. I have also mentioned the men in their white garb, but I don't believe I've mentioned the women. They are gorgeously dressed in colourful lengths of cloth that cover them from head to toe. Their faces remain uncovered, and they smile. It's such a great smile. It's one you don't have to ask for like in Egypt, where you receive wonderful smiles in return for yours. It makes you feel at peace.
We camped that night at a hilly outcropping. People were elated to know that we would be riding with a tailwind for the next 152km, right into Ethiopia.
There were hoots as we started riding the next day. People stretched out on their bicycles. They embraced the sky with their hands. We could move. We didn't have to stay slumped in one position, hoping the wind would take no notice of us. We were free! And the views changed from the desert we had grown so accustomed to. Taren said that with all the trees we were probably getting more oxygen! But it was true - there was greenery and hills. We whizzed past fields of sorghum covered in mist, the golden crop crowned in burnt red. Thatch huts were everywhere with children playing and people working. Women walked through fields with baskets on their heads, and even loads of bound sticks which I wouldn't be able to grab around the circumference with both arms. There were even some carrying 20kg bags of rice. We sped along in the 30s and 40s all day, and after lunch I departed from Ann. I was having seat troubles. My bolt wasn't holding. Slowly sinking as I went up and down hills, I rode most of the way to the Ethiopian border clown-style.
But I got there. And went and immediately spent the rest of my pounds before crossing the border and getting Birr. We exited Sudan and went straight to the campsite before officially entering Ethiopia. We needed to leave our things locked on the bus, and our bikes in a locked area. In Sudan we were protected by Sharia Law. They cut the hands off of thieves, so there aren't any. In Ethiopia, anything not locked down will get stolen.
Our campsite was a shit heap. Literally. There was shit everywhere. Both animal and human. Evelyn and I decided to set up tents right away, thus avoiding some of the shittier areas. We swept the visible shit away from where we were going to put up camp. We then went over to the customs office to get our entrance visas. The Ethiopian Immigration Office is a mud hut at the side of the road with chickens running through it. The nice thing is that they serve beer there. After the two hour wait with no food but a few beer, I was pretty tipsy. I got back to camp, had dinner, and then went for a shower at the brothel. It was a little tin shack with no light, a pipe, and a sort of showerhead. All that for 40 cents.
We swapped out our tires for off-roads, and while we were doing that Graham decided to test his pepper spray. A small dose upwind from where we were all working. Ten minutes after he did his little test, we were all coughing, choking, stinging, and vomiting. He'll be hard-pressed to live that one down.
That night I wasn't feeling very well. I got about three hours of fitful sleep before the donkeys started , and then the chickens, and then the dogs, and then the chickens again, and then someone shot a gun twice and there was silence. And then the donkeys, and then the chickens, and then the dogs. And by the time the Mosque called us to ride, I knew I would be on the bus that day.
xo
M
Saturday, April 11, 2009
I’m on the headwinds to hell
Leaving Khartoum was quite the trip. Traffic was everywhere, sometimes three deep on the road headed straight for us. We were run off a few times. There were also many potholes. Today was the first time where I found there was a bit of conflict with the pelotons. I think that a bunch of inexperienced folk joining in on them could have been a large contributing factor. For those of you who don't know, pelotons are when you ride in a straight line, or two by two when there's space. You get really close to the tire of the person in front of you, and it keeps the headwinds off of you. The lead rider keeps a steady pace, tries to keep the whole train intact, and notes any deviations in the road by pointing and shouting out, which then gets passed on down the line. We've been sticking to a 5km lead ride (then you jump of the train and rejoin at the back of the line), though when I ride with the racers they tend to go for longer. Because you're riding so close together, forgetting to mention a hole or a sand patch has the potential of massive damage. Unsteady speeds can shake the people on the tail of your train, and can be exhausting as you just can't get into a groove.
The pelotons had been very useful in Sudan since they allowed you to zip through part of the day - while it's incredibly cool to be in the Sahara, it's still just a desert, and there's not much to look at other than dead camels, donkeys and the occasional vulture. Where I would normally be riding at about 30km/h, in a peloton I can get well into the 40's (though when I ride with the ladies we tend to stick to 25-30) Slower riding is nice because it means not just looking at the ass of the person in front of you, and a higher chance of stopping for tea. Since I've discovered tea with cardamom in it, these tea stops have become very important.
Well on this day Evelyn and I were doing a two-person train to cut the headwind. It was a pretty strong one, the strongest we'd encountered. I looked back at one point and realized that a whole train had latched on to us. Then I caught up with another train and latched on to them. We stuck together for the first 40 kilometers, and then I saw the ladies and decided that I was hooped if I had to keep going at the speeds we had been going at, especially since the cross-winds were prevalent and the peloton wasn't really taking the edge off of the ride. Unfortunately, while I had occasionally had some great drafting experiences with the ladies, there were some new folk in the group who were changing up the pace, and communication was at a low, which lead to three of us hitting a pothole the size of a child's snow angel when someone forgot to call it out.
When we reached the lunch truck, Evelyn and I took off together. Cathy joined in, as she often does after lunch, but she's such a strong rider that she was gone in no time. We got to our camp. It was to be our last day on the Nile until we picked up the Blue Nile in Ethiopia. We set up camp in a Eucalyptus forest with a view overlooking a beautiful sand beach on the Nile. I set up my tent, had my soup (rehydration soup with tons of salt in it - we get it daily, and it's all I can think about most days after leaving lunch), and then saw that one of the other riders was doing very poorly, so I set up their tent for them. By this point I thought I would explode if I didn't get down into that water, so I gathered my washing stuff and ran for the sand. It was like bathwater. At least, bathwater at the point where you start thinking about getting out. And if there is anything more important than water at the end of the ride, it's cool refreshing water. I stayed in it until I was pruney. I washed my clothes, cleaned up, and felt amazing. Sonya was in there as well, and we left just as Simon was jumping in. As I turned I saw Simon drop his skivvies, and between that and the two women leaving, our audience of local townboys scattered like ants to fresh bug bomb. The night was wonderful except for one small pika-like rodent that kept us all awake. The funny thing was that it sounded like a heart-monitor, so we all assumed that the rider who had been unwell had left it on for the night. And then it would be irregular for a bit, and then sometimes it would stop for a couple of minutes. That was when I figured out that it wasn't the sound of our friend kicking it, but some local annoying animal. We generally get woken up by fighting dogs, Mosques, or donkeys. There is no twitter of little birds here in Sudan.
The following day was a nightmare. This whole section was set up with distances of 142,146,137, 152 due to a history of tailwinds. We did not get any tailwinds during this time. These few days left a lot of us thoroughly beaten up and disheartened.
I left the camp and rode through the peace of the morning, expecting not too hard of a day until suddenly our route took a sudden left turn and I found myself in a sandstorm through which I could barely see the road. When I finally got past the big kick up I rode into a little tea shop where a few of the other riders were having some peace before heading off again. Sometimes you just need a few moments rest to realize that you can actually go on. Sometimes all I can do is think that if I can't make it in today, there will be a truck that will come and get me. After a few hours of headwinds, I got in to lunch. I was in quite a bit of pain by this time. My anti-Malaria meds make me sensitive to the sun, so I've got pretty bad burns on my arms and knees and my knuckles - you can't imagine how awful a knuckle burn is. In Asia I tried Lariam - it made me hallucinate, here I'm on Doxycycline - I get thoroughly burnt (great side-effect for a drug that only gets used in regions with excessive amounts of sunlight). I guess if ever I go down to South America I'll go for Malarone and bite the bullet of $5 a day for a pill.
I rode off from lunch but couldn't continue - I was sunstroked. I covered myself with my sarong, but that only worked as a sail to slow me down. Judy passed by and fortunately (for me) got a flat. We started changing it when a bunch of white-robed, white turbaned men who were fixing their own flat came over. Introductions and handshaking passed, and then another car stopped to see what was going on. More white-robed, white turbaned men came out and more introductions and handshaking, this time with the other men as well as us. We had only managed to get the tire off in this time, and then I saw the truck in the distance. I pushed my way through the crowd of men and flagged it down. I got on with the knowledge that there was nothing that could get me to push that pedal one more time. We got into Alfonse's camp. It is named for a past TDA rider who took the day off riding that day. He jumped on the truck in the morning, got in to lunch, tucked away some grub, got back on the bus, had a nap and never woke up. He died peacefully of a heart attack. We had a moment of silence to remember this man who was known for his unending caring and generosity, as well as a disproportionately large smile.
xo
M
The pelotons had been very useful in Sudan since they allowed you to zip through part of the day - while it's incredibly cool to be in the Sahara, it's still just a desert, and there's not much to look at other than dead camels, donkeys and the occasional vulture. Where I would normally be riding at about 30km/h, in a peloton I can get well into the 40's (though when I ride with the ladies we tend to stick to 25-30) Slower riding is nice because it means not just looking at the ass of the person in front of you, and a higher chance of stopping for tea. Since I've discovered tea with cardamom in it, these tea stops have become very important.
Well on this day Evelyn and I were doing a two-person train to cut the headwind. It was a pretty strong one, the strongest we'd encountered. I looked back at one point and realized that a whole train had latched on to us. Then I caught up with another train and latched on to them. We stuck together for the first 40 kilometers, and then I saw the ladies and decided that I was hooped if I had to keep going at the speeds we had been going at, especially since the cross-winds were prevalent and the peloton wasn't really taking the edge off of the ride. Unfortunately, while I had occasionally had some great drafting experiences with the ladies, there were some new folk in the group who were changing up the pace, and communication was at a low, which lead to three of us hitting a pothole the size of a child's snow angel when someone forgot to call it out.
When we reached the lunch truck, Evelyn and I took off together. Cathy joined in, as she often does after lunch, but she's such a strong rider that she was gone in no time. We got to our camp. It was to be our last day on the Nile until we picked up the Blue Nile in Ethiopia. We set up camp in a Eucalyptus forest with a view overlooking a beautiful sand beach on the Nile. I set up my tent, had my soup (rehydration soup with tons of salt in it - we get it daily, and it's all I can think about most days after leaving lunch), and then saw that one of the other riders was doing very poorly, so I set up their tent for them. By this point I thought I would explode if I didn't get down into that water, so I gathered my washing stuff and ran for the sand. It was like bathwater. At least, bathwater at the point where you start thinking about getting out. And if there is anything more important than water at the end of the ride, it's cool refreshing water. I stayed in it until I was pruney. I washed my clothes, cleaned up, and felt amazing. Sonya was in there as well, and we left just as Simon was jumping in. As I turned I saw Simon drop his skivvies, and between that and the two women leaving, our audience of local townboys scattered like ants to fresh bug bomb. The night was wonderful except for one small pika-like rodent that kept us all awake. The funny thing was that it sounded like a heart-monitor, so we all assumed that the rider who had been unwell had left it on for the night. And then it would be irregular for a bit, and then sometimes it would stop for a couple of minutes. That was when I figured out that it wasn't the sound of our friend kicking it, but some local annoying animal. We generally get woken up by fighting dogs, Mosques, or donkeys. There is no twitter of little birds here in Sudan.
The following day was a nightmare. This whole section was set up with distances of 142,146,137, 152 due to a history of tailwinds. We did not get any tailwinds during this time. These few days left a lot of us thoroughly beaten up and disheartened.
I left the camp and rode through the peace of the morning, expecting not too hard of a day until suddenly our route took a sudden left turn and I found myself in a sandstorm through which I could barely see the road. When I finally got past the big kick up I rode into a little tea shop where a few of the other riders were having some peace before heading off again. Sometimes you just need a few moments rest to realize that you can actually go on. Sometimes all I can do is think that if I can't make it in today, there will be a truck that will come and get me. After a few hours of headwinds, I got in to lunch. I was in quite a bit of pain by this time. My anti-Malaria meds make me sensitive to the sun, so I've got pretty bad burns on my arms and knees and my knuckles - you can't imagine how awful a knuckle burn is. In Asia I tried Lariam - it made me hallucinate, here I'm on Doxycycline - I get thoroughly burnt (great side-effect for a drug that only gets used in regions with excessive amounts of sunlight). I guess if ever I go down to South America I'll go for Malarone and bite the bullet of $5 a day for a pill.
I rode off from lunch but couldn't continue - I was sunstroked. I covered myself with my sarong, but that only worked as a sail to slow me down. Judy passed by and fortunately (for me) got a flat. We started changing it when a bunch of white-robed, white turbaned men who were fixing their own flat came over. Introductions and handshaking passed, and then another car stopped to see what was going on. More white-robed, white turbaned men came out and more introductions and handshaking, this time with the other men as well as us. We had only managed to get the tire off in this time, and then I saw the truck in the distance. I pushed my way through the crowd of men and flagged it down. I got on with the knowledge that there was nothing that could get me to push that pedal one more time. We got into Alfonse's camp. It is named for a past TDA rider who took the day off riding that day. He jumped on the truck in the morning, got in to lunch, tucked away some grub, got back on the bus, had a nap and never woke up. He died peacefully of a heart attack. We had a moment of silence to remember this man who was known for his unending caring and generosity, as well as a disproportionately large smile.
xo
M
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Dar-for-what?
Did you know that there are over 2 million internally displaced people in Sudan? Today we went to a refugee camp where we gave mosquito nets to dozens of orphans from the Darfur crisis. They sang to us, Christian songs taught to them by the people in the trenches. One of the reporters I spoke with, a Christian man, said that even though he was baptized with his name, he cannot be confirmed until he gives it up for a western one. Is that still the approach in these global times? Back home, when I'm sitting comfortably in my living room, or thinking about the devastation wrought upon First Nations people (my people now, I guess - did I mention I just got my letter of status?), I can say things like: is what they really need? to have their culture ripped away from them as well? But at the same time, it is the Christians over here who are bringing in the most money to cover the basic necessities. The world is grey, the world is grey.
We went on a tour that was meant to be three hours and wound up being the whole day. I had gotten my laundry done in the shower that morning, and figured I could simply clean my bike when we finished our next day. We went on a boat ride on the Nile, where the white and the blue Nile meet. There were animals about, though there were no crocs. The fella said they tend to be where the current is faster, further in the south.
We went to see where General Gordon was decapitated when the British were initially removed from Sudan (they came back ten years later with the Egyptians to force Sudan into submission). We went to the YMCA to see the offices where they teach people skills to get jobs so that there will be less poverty in what is an extremely impoverished city. Looking at Khartoum, you have to wonder why they don't all just move to the country. And one of the greater complaints of the people is that it is too expensive now to get married. With dowry and wedding costs, buying your bride is about 18,000 US. Mail order from Russia? Kidding.
We were brought round to the house of the man who runs the YMCA. His wife had spent the day cooking for thirty. Soups, vegetables, chicken, rice, fruit, everything you could ever desire! We ate like kings. Tehre was the Reuters correspondent there. He told us of how great it was that there is now peace between the south and the North, as he hadn't gotten to see his family for 17 years. As a journalist there was no way he would be granted permission to travel. When asked for my profession while coming into this country I stated that I was a cyclist. Staying away from the whole writer thing.
After listening to a CD of one of the guests present - Mary, a lovely girl from Sudan studying in South Africa to work for African NGOs - we headed off and went to a cemetery. Malcolm, one of our riders, has a grandfather who was buried here in Khartoum. We left him to find it, and he got a rubbing of the grave to bring home to his family. They are going through the process to bring his grandmother here to Sudan to be buried alongside her husband.
And now I'm here, in this mall where they chant the call to prayer over the intercom, contemplating pizza, and getting ready to head home to my tent and sleep until 5:30, only to start out on the road again.
Love to all - You'll here from me in six days when I get to Ethiopia.
We went on a tour that was meant to be three hours and wound up being the whole day. I had gotten my laundry done in the shower that morning, and figured I could simply clean my bike when we finished our next day. We went on a boat ride on the Nile, where the white and the blue Nile meet. There were animals about, though there were no crocs. The fella said they tend to be where the current is faster, further in the south.
We went to see where General Gordon was decapitated when the British were initially removed from Sudan (they came back ten years later with the Egyptians to force Sudan into submission). We went to the YMCA to see the offices where they teach people skills to get jobs so that there will be less poverty in what is an extremely impoverished city. Looking at Khartoum, you have to wonder why they don't all just move to the country. And one of the greater complaints of the people is that it is too expensive now to get married. With dowry and wedding costs, buying your bride is about 18,000 US. Mail order from Russia? Kidding.
We were brought round to the house of the man who runs the YMCA. His wife had spent the day cooking for thirty. Soups, vegetables, chicken, rice, fruit, everything you could ever desire! We ate like kings. Tehre was the Reuters correspondent there. He told us of how great it was that there is now peace between the south and the North, as he hadn't gotten to see his family for 17 years. As a journalist there was no way he would be granted permission to travel. When asked for my profession while coming into this country I stated that I was a cyclist. Staying away from the whole writer thing.
After listening to a CD of one of the guests present - Mary, a lovely girl from Sudan studying in South Africa to work for African NGOs - we headed off and went to a cemetery. Malcolm, one of our riders, has a grandfather who was buried here in Khartoum. We left him to find it, and he got a rubbing of the grave to bring home to his family. They are going through the process to bring his grandmother here to Sudan to be buried alongside her husband.
And now I'm here, in this mall where they chant the call to prayer over the intercom, contemplating pizza, and getting ready to head home to my tent and sleep until 5:30, only to start out on the road again.
Love to all - You'll here from me in six days when I get to Ethiopia.
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