Best Seat in the House

The shrill screams of children and a busy road bring us to Luxor. From the doorways of mud huts across a canal, children gather to shriek Hellos and How are you?s to us. Some of the closer ones stand with stalks of sugarcane, ready to insert through our spokes; however, most just wave and hope we return the gesture.

Behind the children are fields of sugarcane, and further behind, a red streaked plateau. A line of palm trees buffer the fields from one another with the odd palm lost amid the crops. The branches of the lone palm seem to burst from the trunk like a firework frozen during its most spectacular moment. The palms make the landscape look primordial.

During a peaceful part of the ride, a caravan of tour buses shattered the silence and tore past us in speeds in excess of 150kph. This is in response to terrorist attacks on tourists in 1998 and again in 2002. The coach’s drawn curtains meant that eyes were likely closed or focused on television screens. What a way to experience Egypt, I thought to myself. Dodge manure, slip past donkey cart, pedal harder, avoid smiling child, smile and wave back, sip some water, switch gear, hop speed bump, stand to stretch legs; my mind and body are fully engaged. I smile knowing that my seat is the best in the house.

Pictures are posted:
http://cofc.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2106450&l=a302c&id=21304754

Mustafa

Our time skirting the Red Sea has come to an end and we are now gaining altitude. Steadily climbing away from the sea, we follow a road nestled amid dusty, corrugated mountains. I’ve been told that in previous years, this stretch has been particularly difficult due to strong headwinds. I am stationed at a refresh stop, 100km into the ride. This is where I meet Mustafa.

Mustafa is an Egyptian policeman. He and his crew sport military issued wool sweaters, long johns and a canary yellow oxford separating the two. It is hot outside. They laugh as I tug my thin undershirt and then point to their heavy garments. I am embracing each slight breeze and chance cloud that lessens the sun’s intensity—if only for a few moments. Mustafa puffs a hookah as we speak. Each inhale reddens the coals above and sends the water below into frenzy of bubbles; the glass base intensifies the sound. He exhales, sending two plumes of smoke across his think, ebony moustache.

We take a break from our gesticulating to munch typical Egyptian morsels; their favorite being foul. Don’t let the name fool you, foul is a delicious bean dish similar to unsweetened American refried beans. Served with copious amounts of vegetable oil, the dish is complemented with chili powder and other ground herbs. With a fork to further mash the beans and mix the dish, I savor each bite.

We continue to Luxor.

Weekend Getaway in Safaga

Weathered by the sun, a toll booth operator’s face is shroud in a checkered head scarf. The picnic table patterned headwear is wrapped like a bonnet, as if holding a bundle of ice against a sore tooth. He waves us through and we continue our journey through the deserts of Egypt.

Today is our final day along the Red Sea. Tomorrow’s directions will send us into the mountains we’ve seen on our right for the past two days. As we drive along the freshly laid tarmac, curiosities line the side of the road. Yesterday we saw a rusted tank which has laid unused for at least 15 years. Today's treasure was a half buried King Tut bust and a nest of wire left from the burning of abandoned truck tires.

Moving at a cool 60kph, we follow a truck carrying a payload of gravel. Atop the ashen stones, a man unfurls a tarp, preventing winds from littering the road behind. Like a James Bond fight scene, the man moves between a standing and kneeling stance. His plaid shirt and slacks press tight against his body, while his jacket bottom tries to rip free from his arms. It’s a daring maneuver.

As we enjoy our last day along the Red Sea, I’m struck by the architecture. Purposely or by chance, builders struck a style suiting the surrounding desert and sea. Buildings stand one story, and are unobtrusive. Equidistant windows and modest roofs are the only adornment to the simple russet and red exteriors. Each room enjoys a view of the banks of the Red Sea. The squat style buildings allow passersby to see the Red Sea coast without interruption.

Today we’re enjoying the city of Safaga. The town reminds me of a small beach town found in Hawaii or the Florida keys. Safaga, like many other small resort towns, punctuate the lonely shores of the Red Sea. The palms are no doubt imported, as is the local scuba diving culture. Another unwelcome difference is the small general stores. We are still very much in Muslim territory, thus all of their beer is non alcoholic. The best selling imported beer is Amstel Zero. I’ll trust the reader to figure out what the zero stands for.

My ears are beginning to adjust to the guttural grunts of Arabic spoken by our local support. Nearly every sentence is punctuated with inshallah –God willing. It’s no new insight that to understand a culture, one must understand their language. Inshallah like the common Chinese greeting, Ni chi fan le ma—Have you eaten?, provides a unique insight to a country’s people and their culture.

As I sit in my office, a single outlet beneath a 20 foot thatched tiki umbrella along the Red Sea, popular Arabic ballads play on an outdoor speaker. Local music is one facet of traveling I strive to embrace, but popular music here is only slightly better than Chinese pop. The synthesizer has destroyed what may have once been tolerable. Organ-like interjections, slurred with an intensifying wah-pedal effect, pierce behind the singer’s voice. Our South African driver likens the sound to a cat being spun in circles by its tail.

Onwards to Luxor.

The Egyptian Desert

Instead of turning left to Suez and crossing the canal, our right, southerly route brings us along the shores of the Red Sea. Boulder strewn mountains slope to our right while our left is flanked by the magnificent Red Sea. Straw thatched bungalows decorate sandy shores like a line of diagonally cut sandwich halves. Abandoned umbrellas thatched with straw rest against the sand. Their poles tip to the sky looking like primitive satellite dishes. We speed through the town Mena.

The emerald green coastline seems alive as five inch white waves kiss the rocky shore. After several meters, the depth creates a turquoise layer dividing the clear shores from the majestic blue sea. Each turn provides a fresh look at a sloping finger of a mountain meeting the sea. Our road splits two extremes.

Mountains give way to an extraterrestrial desert. I’m convinced that if I look close enough, I will find the something discarded by NASA. Considering the close proximity of water, it is a wonder there is no vegetation. Perhaps the salinity is very high and all of the top soil has been blown away by the harsh winds currently in our favor.

Tips of lazy tri-blade propellers appear around the next bend. It is a wind farm. The wind is picking up and the blades noticeably gain speed. Road signs rattle to and fro and seem as though they are trying to squirm free from their post. The airborne sand crackles as it passes dry brush and thuds against long abandoned containers.

The increase in wind coats us in sand. It is intrusive; it roosts in our ears, wrinkles—any crevice it can find. Protecting my lips from the sun was a mistake. Lip balm provides a magnetic surface for sand. As I rub my lips back and forth, I can feel the grit of sand.

The Tour Begins

We awoke to a cool satin fog and the wailing of a local muezzin. With the morning just cold enough to send a plume of steam with each breath, a sea of riders surrounded Duncan, the tour leader. Ears beneath shiny new helmets keenly listened to the first of many directions in getting to Capetown. A series of bicycle clicks and the crank of two diesel truck engines meant the official start of our 120 day adventure across Africa.

The low fog set a sureal scene as we wove our way through the streets of Cairo. Amongst the blare of horns and unpredictable traffic, women’s faces framed with a headscarf and men peering from beneath turbans gawked in astonishment as our 62 strong mobile village rolled along.

Signaling our approach to the pyramids, camels and their handlers trotted alongside our convoy, bobbing their heads in rhythm as if listening to some unheard reggae music. Winding our way along the ancient pyramids, we observed people, vehicles, and camels looking much akin to the figurines sold by vendors. The truth being, the pyramids dwarf anything that tries to compete.

Our first day has been windy in the most unfortunate direction—straight in the face. We’re slowly finding our cycling muscles. With today being 128km and a 168km day ahead, everyone is thriving off the thrill of a new adventure.

The Wind is in from Africa

Welcome to my next adventure blog.

I've lived in China, cycled from Istanbul to Beijing, and am now days away from my next adventure...cycling from Cairo to Capetown.

I leave Monday for Cairo, with a day to burn in Amsterdam. I'm arriving four days prior to the start of the tour; the official start is Saturday, Jan 12. In addition to my blog, I am in charge of updating our tour blog, race results, and tour photos. If it has to do with communications, It's my responsibility. I'm very excited for this trip and have been preparing by reading up on Africa. My Africa library includes:

In The Shadow of the Sun - Ryszard Kapuscinski
Dark Star Safari: Overland from Cairo to Capetown - Paul Theroux
I Didn't Do It for You: How the World Betrayed a Small African Nation
A Continent for the Taking: The Tragedy and Hope of Africa
Don't Let's Go to the Dogs Tonight: An African Childhood - Fuller
No Mercy: A Journey Into the Heart of the Congo - O'Hanlon

Be sure to check back often as I will update this blog as frequently as possible. How often do you get to read a blog entry written from the Sudanese Desert or from the highlands of Ethiopia?

Get ready for the vicarious adventure of a lifetime.

-CB