Aswan: I was here 15 years ago and we have both changed. Possibly for the better in my case, but I'm not so sure about Aswan. My horizons may have expanded, because it doesn't seem so exotic anymore. The river front could be any mediterranean corniche, and there has been a lot of cleaning up and new building. But in true Egyptian style the modern buildings already look in need of maintenance, and the expensive new paving is starting to deteriorate.
And what have the hell have they done to the Old Cataract Hotel? It used to have a special atmosphere, tired colonial grandeur and a sense of history. Now it is undoubtedly luxurious, a haven of birdsong, the scent of flowers, and carefully tended grounds away from the awful traffic. But it has become a western chain hotel, little different from so many others and definitely not Egypt. It could be anywhere in the world. The clientele seems to be long on gold Rolexes and multiple facelifts. Not people you would like to meet at a dinner party or join for a pink gin as the sun sets over the desert hills - and looking just like the backdrop to a school nativity play. Something unique has been lost to grubby commerce.
A G&T there cost me more than my average nightly "hotel" cost. Apparently in Sudan the accommodation is going to get very much cheaper - with all that might entail.
I had a few beers with the driver/organisers. I don't know what formal educational qualifications they have, but these kids are bursting with confidence, emotional intelligence and sophisticated quick-fire repartee. And they have seen more of the world in their young lives than most people could contemplate in a long lifetime. I can think of very few better people to spend an evening with. I suggested we might try taking a few cans into Sudan, but apparently that very felony recently cost some European travellers 3 days in prison, and they were lucky it was nothing worse. Something like that could turn this trip into a seriously major adventure, but I can't help wondering how I might get on with potential new friends amongst my cellmates. Even though I am already sick of Fanta and won't touch Coca Cola on principle, I think I'll stick to the rules.
Tom, our group leader/driver, came on ahead to Aswan 5 days ago so that our Sudanes visas would be ready when we arrived here. They weren't. This is now our third day in Aswan, the working day is coming to an end and Tom is still at the consulate. The only way to enter Sudan from Egypt is by means of an ancient ferry boat for 300 miles through Lake Nasser. It runs once a week, and leaves tomorrow morning (allegedly). Without visas we will not be getting on, and there is no Plan B.
The one possible saving grace is that it seems the boat is always delayed for several hours - so we may have one last chance to get the visas tomorrow. I wonder if the process could be accelerated with a bit of baksheesh?
I really need to move on from Aswan. The heat is exhausting and although it is only going to get worse as we move south I am told the night on the boat will be very cold. Sublime or ridiculous? There is little left to do here except to find somewhere to drink too much - not a great idea before a 24 hour boat trip. What's more it is not unknown for the voyage to exceed 50 hours. If the visas arrive I am looking forward to seeing this boat. Apparently it is a sight to behold. We have booked "first class" cabins. My hopes are not high.
In Aswan, I have sailed a felucca (under strict supervision), swum in the Nile, and seen some more ruins. I am about ruined out. At the last one, I stayed on the bus - then came home and had a long siesta.
Oh, 3 little things:
- a street vendor offered me a crumpled copy of a local newspaper in English at a ludicrous price. He could see I wanted it, and so my haggling didn't get me far. He pocketed the money, handed me the paper and began to walk away. Suddenly he turned back, pulled one of the notes from his pocket, kissed his fingers, pointed to the sky, gave it back to me and turned away. Again he stopped and came back, took my paper, pointed to the creases and gave me a better copy.
- I asked the hotel receptionist if I could get fresh fruit juice anywhere. Apparently not. Later she knocked on my door having collected a mango from her mother's garden and liquidised it for me.. Nice people.
- the standard hustler's opening gambit is "Hello my freend. Where you from?" Although my head-down ignoring skills are now well-developed, sometimes when I have time to kill I answer "Iceland". They don't skip a beat and go straight into their sales pitch. My next line is "We don't have any money in Iceland. Can I pay with fish?" It usually ends up with a good-natured chat about Mubarak, Gadaffi and Wayne Rooney (whoever he is), my money still in my pocket, and lots of back-slapping. Even the hustlers are nice people. I like to think they might say the same about people from Iceland.
A process which started 4 months ago has just concluded. Tom has got my Sudanese visa.
Onwards and downwards.
Chris.
BTW: there may now be a bit of a hiatus. I don't know what internet access there will be in Sudan.
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