Many beers through Ethiopia


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Our route south


Our group had now been reduced to 4 and we still had several days cycle to make it to Addis, which we were all very much looking forward to. Our route dropped us down into a vast and fertile valley and it grew hotter. The four of us got along really well, and it was easy (well as easy as Ethiopia can be). Our days consisted of making sure one of us didn’t whack an Ethiopian child (who was hurtling rocks at us), cold beer stops, avoiding injera (we had all had enough of it by now), negotiating hotel rooms (we sometimes had to pretend we were two straight couples), pimped up two minute noodles and more cold beers. Moments that stand out during our ride into Addis include; a hotel room that was so filthy (blood stained sheets) that Astrid and I slept on the balcony and the guys put their tents on the actual beds; eating chip butties on the side of the road; getting drunk and laughing endlessly in one of our rooms (while cooking two minute noodles); climbing up a beautiful pass that was lined by eucalypts and reminded me of home; the kindness of a family in whose hotel we stayed in at the top of the epic climb, and sailing into Addis so ready for a few days break.


Snack break


Early mornings are best


It is such a beautiful country


A beautiful fertile valley, such a contrast to the dry north.


Pedalling through a village


View as we climbed


Reminds me of home


The road upwards



Beers at the top


Selfies on the descent


Reminds me of Scotland!


Cyclist’s in the mist


Where we slept when the room was too gross


Breakfast stop


Beers outside the friendly hotel


Avoiding injera



Festy bed on which tent was pitched

Ethiopia wears on the soul like no place I have ever visited before. Addis however did prove a short reprieve. We treated ourselves to a hotel that had hot water and working wifi (most of the time), drank delicious coffees in a hipster café, ate (vege) burgers and the best samosas I’ve ever encountered.


Hipster coffee happiness


View of Addis from our hotel


Gelato happiness

Dimitri also arrived back in town, after a short break in Europe, bringing with him treats from France, as well as treats Craig had ordered for everyone to share (thanks guys!).


Craig, the bearer of many gifts

My favourite memory of Addis is of drinking cheap wine and helping Ewaut cook up a massive couscous dish for all of us (Craig, Clo, Arthur, Dimitri, Astrid and I) in the slightly festy kitchen of their hotel. We ate it on the roof, along with cheeses and French wine,(thanks Dimitri and Craig) laughing and trying to make sense of Ethiopia, and discussing onward plans. Later we caught a bus to see some jazz, accidentally crashed a brothel and stumbled home around 6am. It was the blow out I think we all needed.


Cooking happiness


The couscous mater chef


Getting into the couscous


Ewaut’s amazing couscous


Wine on the balcony with Clo, Dimitri and Craig


At a jazz place. We look like we are a advert for a weird sitcom

Soon it was time to leave, which meant a heartfelt goodbye to Ewaut who was heading back to Belgium to begin work on his sailing boat. I have no doubt he will manage this and our paths will one day cross again (he’s promised to come pick us up in his boat!). I will miss Ewuat a lot; his facts, humour and podcast/tech genius, and just the fact that he is an all round awesome human. Thanks for a brilliant three months man.


Outside of favourite cafe before leaving Addis


Ethiopian church, Addis Ababa

Our ride south towards the border with Kenya disintegrated rapidly in a way only Ethiopia can. We’d been warned the south was worse; and it was. There were people everywhere and I felt like from the moment I pushed down on the first pedal stroke, to when I wheeled my bike into a crummy hotel room at night, there was abuse. People (adults and children) shouted; ‘you, you, you!!’ aggressively, we were chased by kids who tried to grab stuff off our bikes, or put a stick in our spokes, or simply scream ‘give me money, give me pen!’ At one place some men grabbed my arse (I lost my shit and they eventually apologised) and in another village a woman punched Astrid. Not all of it was aggressive, but a lot of it was.


On the road doom south


Virgin power, virgin pride!

As I pedalled I wondered if  this was some kind of universal karma for being white and middle class? For daring to pedal through a country, displaying my relative wealth? I have no idea. I keep grappling with the why. Why is it so difficult here?! I don’t believe people are inherently bad or anything. I can come up with partial reasons; poverty and lack of education for sure, although having now travelled in countries poorer, or just as poor, where the kids don’t throw a single rock, it can’t just be this. Then there’s the fact that Ethiopia suffered a devastating drought in the 1980’s and was subject to much international attention and although diverted by the army,  subsequent international aid. Do they simply see foreigners as a source of endless ‘stuff’ given to alleviate our western guilt? And then there’s also the myriad of agencies like USAID, Oxfam and various Christian charities that operate here, possibly leading to the assumption that foreigners exist to do something for you. There are many people in Ethiopia that simply stand on the side of the road holding out their open hands when we pass. And at some point some tourist (or worker?!) must have given out a nation worth of pens. I want to have a serious conversation with that person or people.


Everyone is curious about the weird foreigners on bikes


Craig, ever patient, chatting to a child

One could argue that we have caused at least some of these issues. If I was an Ethiopian child in a village, used to seeing foreigners come and do things for my village, or give me stuff, I’d be miffed too if some rich gits on bikes came through and didn’t give me the sweeties I’m accustomed to. Or the sweeties my parents told me they used to get from the white people. For this is certainly generational. Twenty years ago cyclists were having rocks thrown at them by Ethiopian children too. Those kids are adults now and their kids continue the same behaviour. I might sound harsh; maybe I am. While I am not against all aid, I do think charity is problematic (at best). Sure, if there’s a crisis like an environmental disaster, or famine, the international community certainly has an obligation to assist. What I have a problem with is top down charity; well-meaning rich people or organisations giving, or doing things for people, without proper consultation or collaboration. I think it’s offensive and disempowering to the people that are being ‘helped’ and doesn’t address the deep rooted systemic issues of inequality, and it’s very often not sustainable. I am by no means an expert; these are just my observations combined with some reading I’ve done on the issue. Plus my belief in solidarity, not charity as a guiding principle when trying to assist those less fortunate than ourselves.


Outside a hotel


A typical scene from a village. The children can be cute and curious, but also demanding and irritating.

So it was some of these issues that I pondered while being chased by rock throwing children and jeering adults. Ethiopia certainly tests you. Your humanity and patience, not to mention compassion. I was worried before I came here that I would crack; chase some rock throwing child into his home in a rage and be stabbed by his father (this actually happened to a cyclist). Or maybe just get so upset that I would have to leave. Neither of these things happened however. I think I managed to keep my compassion and humour most of the time, and while tested for sure, I didn’t entirely loathe my time in Ethiopia. I found it challenging for sure, frustrating, tiring, annoying, confusing and down right exhausting. But somehow I still felt the adventure of it all, and the fun of travelling as a group. This certainly helped a lot. Also, by the time we were riding towards the Kenyan border, I knew how Ethiopia in most parts, worked.


Ethiopian coffee is awesome.


Buying papaya


A typical town


All the bread ever


Craig prepares a ‘traveller’


Party in our hotel room



There is something about the human condition that finds comfort in familiarity, no matter how unfun that familiarity can be at times. I knew everyday I would face a certain amount of harassment, which would be tapered by a few friendly interactions. The food was familiar; I knew what I liked and how to order it. I knew the prices of things and where to buy vegetables. At the end of the day I knew what to expect of hotels, that there would be an inevitable battle for Astrid and I to share a room, but that it would be cheap. The water might not work, but someone would bring us some. Best of all, I knew there would be beer. Perhaps this sounds crude, or alcoholic, but I took massive comfort in the fact that at the end of the day the four of us could debrief over beers. I like the taste of beer, but it was more than that. It was something familiar from all our cultures in this often confronting and difficult country. In many ways it felt like debriefing after a hard day at work with people who understand and have shared your experience.


Beer time. Again.


Camping in an empty room of a full hotel.


Coffee and beer coping strategy


One and only broken spoke


Warning: break dancing ahead


Bin donkey


Preparing dinner outside a hotel room


Deep fried snacks


Creepy statue outside a hotel

So we bumbled our way south in this manner, cracking our first beer at lunch time (or sometimes before) and ending our day eating pimped up two minute noodles (a bad habit started in Ethiopia) on the floor of some less than fancy hotel. Some days were better than others; one night, after having refused to pay the outrageous price to camp by a lake, we stopped for afternoon beers at a bar (which was really some guys house) and then asked if we could camp there. We gave him a donation and he and his lovely family let us pitch our tents under a shelter and even brought us a table and chairs to use (not to mention beers).


Would have been awesome to camp here, but they wanted an outrageous price


So we ended here instead. Would rather give money to a family anyway.


The ‘Bar’ aka someones house (:


whooo hooo beer time!

Another day we stumbled upon Odd, while looking for hippos. Odd was a Norwegian guy who had married an Ethiopian lady and was trying to set up a camp. He warmly welcomed us to camp by his VW’s and spend an afternoon relaxing and watching hippos. It was our first encounter with African wildlife and we were all rather excited. We decided to take a day off and enjoyed relaxing and Astrid gave the guys awesome hair cuts.

Unfortunately after the brief reprieve of the hippos, we encountered the most harassment we had faced so far. One town in particularly was awful; screaming, people trying to grab at us, or our stuff, children chasing us and just a generally very aggressive energy. This wasn’t helped by the torrential downpour we encountered while pedalling through, adding to the feeling we had reached some kind of end of the world apocalyptic village. Once we reached the outskirts we all kind of looked at each other. I think we had run out of words. Even for Ethiopia that had been bad.


Beer coping strategy

Clo needed to meet his dad in Kenya and wisely decided to waste no more of his time pedalling through Ethiopia, which by that stage was causing us all various emotions from rage, to confusion, to despair. It was sad to see him go. Our group of four had been fun, and an antidote to the insanity that can be cycling through Ethiopia.


Going to miss Clo

Astrid, Craig and I pushed on towards the border and I am pleased to report that things started to improve. Children still chased us up hills yelling for pens, but the aggressive vibe began to change. The ‘you, you, you!’ felt more like a greeting, then a threat and the  population also thinned out as we reached the beginning of the Great Rift Valley. We would follow this epic geographical feature all the way down into southern Africa. The vistas really were beautiful and we even managed to wild camp twice before the border.


South bound


A much more peaceful Ethiopia


A beautiful sunset, things getting less hectic as we approach Moyale


A rare wild camp in Ethiopia

By the time we reached Moyale on the Ethiopian side however, we were all very much done. I felt my temper really fray negotiating our last hotel room (which was an epic struggle and overpriced), had a melt down of the price of beer and food and snapped at anyone who was remotely annoying. I knew I needed to leave for my own sanity. I think we all felt the same. We spent the last of our Ethiopian birr on beers (which felt fitting) and then slowly rolled towards the border.


We are nearly done! Last day breakfast in Ethiopia


We can see Kenya!

Kenya, I am so ready for you.





Coffee, injera and violence – the first few weeks in Ethiopia.


One of the many beautiful roads we cycled in Ethiopia.

For decades Ethiopia has been notorious amongst long distance cyclists due to stone throwing children and aggressively begging individuals. In the weeks leading up to our arrival, people relayed their recent experiences on the Cairo to Cape Town WhatsApp group; a head injury due to a rock being thrown from the ledge above; the relief felt after the fear of having been locked in a room for a prolonged time and a man with an AK47 opening the door with aggressively yelling people around him; an attempted robbery and assault; and military escorts due to escalating tribal warfare and one of the these escorts being attacked too. It sounds crazy while I am writing this, that despite all of these reports we were still willing to cycle in Ethiopia. Our choice of crossing at the remote Lug Di border into the Tigray region was influenced by continued reports of civil unrest around Metema. We rationalised with ourselves that as a group of four we should be less of a target for abduction and random violence, and that wearing our helmets could prevent potential head injuries. Before arriving we would often chat about how we wished our time in Ethiopia could/would differ from other people’s experiences – that it would be a pleasant and fun experience, how much we wanted to love the country and the people that lived there. I can honestly say that when the time arrived, we all crossed the Lug Di border with open minds and hearts.


With my helmet on, I am optimistic about our cycle through Ethiopia.

It was another 25 kilometres of riding in the scorching afternoon heat along a mostly deserted road, until we could see if our hope had been misplaced or not. Pulling into the first place that looked like it served food and perhaps the highly anticipated cold beer we had been dreaming of for weeks in the Sudanese desert, we were not disappointed. Plates of injera (the staple food of Ethiopia – giant pancakes made from fermented grains) were prepared and consumed, as were numerous cold beers and strong coffee. Our presence had drawn attention, but it was the curious and friendly type. Those who spoke English asked us about our trip. Those that didn’t still shouted ‘faranji’ as we cycled by and groups of children would run to the road shrieking and waving madly for our attention. A group of children followed us out of town on their bikes and we enjoyed their friendly chatter and cycling camaraderie.


Our first plates of injera – the local staple.


Excited to have our first cold beer since Egypt.


Drawing a friendly and curious crowd.


Our cycle escort out of town.

After another 25 kilometres we arrived in Humera where we were to register our arrival in Ethiopia with the immigration office (Lug Di is such a small border that they don’t officially register your arrival there). We spent an hour riding around town searching for the office and by the time we had received reliable information as to its’ location, office hours were over. We booked into a cheap guesthouse and freshened up for the night before hitting the town for more cold beer and injera. Humera had a relaxed, friendly and unassuming vibe – and we liked it. The next morning we did register ourselves as having arrived in Ethiopia and no one minded that it was a day later. The rest of our time was spent doing all the things you need to do when first arriving in a new country – cash, SIM cards, food supplies, washing clothes, eating, drinking coffee – the usual.


Enjoying a coffee break.


Appreciating cold beer.


Relaxing of an evening in Humera.


One of the many tasty meals we ate while resting.

Over the next 5 days we cycled from Humera to Shire along the small northern road that ran along the Eritrean border. It was desolate and beautiful. After the flatlands of Sudan our eyes feasted on the mountains that loomed on the horizon. Drawing ever closer, they appeared as giant monoliths that looked ancient and weathered. Our thigh muscles burned happily, cycling on the first hills we had experienced since arriving in Africa. A hot sun beat down on us and we felt as dry as the earth that was a stark parched yellow, devoid of anything but the occasional tree. As we moved from the flatlands into the mountains the housing changed from wooden buildings to stone ones, reflecting the natural materials available for construction.



Enchanted by the boababs.


A typical farmhouse with goats.


The housing changed as different building materials became available.


Brightly coloured churches are everywhere in Ethiopia.


Enjoying the hills.


Many modes of transport.


Dropping down into another valley.


Typical streetscape.


As this is road is rarely visited by travellers, our presence in the small villages would draw everyone from their homes. We would rest, eat and drink, being watched by hundreds of eyes, mesmerised by our presence. Having been a teacher at one stage in his life, Martin was excellent at engaging with the kids. He’d play with them, joke around, they’d pull back with uncertainty and then shriek with laughter when they understood what his intentions were. The one adult that spoke English (usually the school teacher) would be found to engage with us and translate for the village, answering who we were and what we were doing there. The teenagers and young men continued to ride their bikes with us from the village for a few kilometres and then with a wave of the hand they would turn back leaving us to the empty road ahead.


Everyone would come out of their houses on arrival in a village.


Martin was great with the kids.


Whatever we did would draw a crowd.


On that rare occasion when we didn’t have a crowd.


There was always a farewell group of watchers.

With the region being so sparsely populated, we were able to wild camp for a few nights, which we enjoyed. Consistently being the centre of attention was tiring and at times overwhelming. This feeling of needing our own space would grow exponentially as we entered the more densely populated areas of Ethiopia, but for now it was just a pleasure to be free to set up camp and cook dinner in nature, watch the sun set, listen to music or a podcast and then fall asleep with the stars shining above.


Wild camping.


Sunset over our camp.

But for me not all was well. I had been experiencing intermittent left hip pain since Greece and this was now increasing in frequency and severity. In Humera I had developed angular cheilitis around the side of my mouth, which was spreading to my cheek and chin. And two days out of Shire I developed the symptoms of fatigue, insomnia, fever, reduced appetite, epigastric cramping and nausea. I knew how sick I was, but in the age-old struggle of the long distance cycle tourist, I must admit that I still wanted to cycle every kilometre of our journey. So I ignored my body and pushed myself on. Fortunately the others took pity on my stupidity and we agreed to shorter cycling days with increased rest breaks. On the first night we pulled over early and camped in the beautiful grounds of a nunnery. I had no energy to look at the intricately and brightly painted church and sat exhausted on a log surrounded by the white robed, elderly nuns. Despite the poverty they lived in, they glowed with kindness, generosity and a spiritual exuberance. My feelings were in stark contrast to their energy.


All churches draw a crowd as religion plays a large part in Ethiopian society. (Martin’s photo)


Our camp at the monastery – also draws a crowd.


Our guard for the evening – photo courtesy of Martin.

Our next rest days had been scheduled for Aksum, one days ride from Shire, and home to the ancient Aksumite kingdom and as legend has it – the of the Ark of the Covenant. Still weary with illness and lulled into a sense of security by the beauty and kindness of the last week, the shock of the first begging and screaming was shattering to me. The high pitched “you, you, you”, followed by “pin, pin, pin” (actually pen mispronounced) followed me the whole way from Shire to Aksum. Where and why this changed occurred befuddled my fevered brain, but even when the sickness passed I could still not figure out what made some villages/areas immune to begging and others rampant with it. I continued with my friendly smiles and waves, and apologised to everyone for my lack of foresight in packing my panniers full of things I needed for my journey and no “pins” for them. Then came the first rock. Again I was not expecting it. I saw a small boy, perhaps 5 years old, running towards me like many small boys had over the previous days. Thinking nothing of it, I waved and called out the local greeting of “Selam”. Just as I passed by him, he launched a fist-sized stone at my head missing me by half a metre. I slammed on my breaks, spun the bike around and started yelling abuse at this child. I dared him to throw another at me while we were face to face. He was running back to his house to hide, his face pale and legs visibly trembling. Neither of our finest moments in life, that’s for sure.



The closer we got to Aksum, a town frequented by tourists, the more intense the begging became. “You, you, you. Money, money, money.” “You, you, you. Pen, pen, pen.” “You, you, you. Give me … (insert money, pen, books, your bike, something/anything!!)” Cycling in through the poorer local section, before getting to the business and tourist district, one could see that this was indeed a town divided by socio-economics. Martin had already found a hotel for us and I was so happy to collapse into a clean bed next to a functional bathroom. And there I remained for approximately the next 24 hours as the bug I had progressed to the bum water stage (eek…).


Main street of Aksum.


Riding through town.


The stelae of the ancient Aksumite kingdom.


The waters.


Feeling good enough to have a beer – kind of.


Exploring Aksum by bicycle.

While convalescing, Ewaut and Martin let us know that they would both be heading their own ways. Ethiopia had been Ewaut’s dream destination and he wanted to do some solo riding in the mountains. Time was of the essence for Martin and he felt he couldn’t wait for me to recover. So after 7 weeks of cycling and love, the habibis would be disbanding. I felt like we were losing part of our family and my heart was sad. We had travelled so well together, each of us had brought something unique to the group and we had supported each other through many challenging situations. Despite this sadness, it felt like our little family had come to a natural conclusion. We all had our own paths ahead of us, and this was exciting. The habibis would always be there, both in our memories and in real life on the end of a phone or another cycle journey in the future. Ewaut and Martin, thank you for the amazing and crazy times that we shared, this journey was enhanced by your presence, and your friendship and love will always be remembered.


Sunset over Aksum.


Our farewell beers – the end of the habibis (for now).

Looking at the map, we chose to forego the main road and take the more direct route through to Lalibela. Having come out the other end of my illness, I was ready for the freedom of cycling again. Arriving in Adwa we turned south on to the newly paved secondary road and at Sele we turned south again on to the dirt road that would lead us the whole way to Lalibela – 260kms away. In hindsight, this was one of the toughest sections we have cycled. We relished the remote and desolate surroundings, the exceedingly hot and dry climate, and the challenge of climbing thousands of metres on bad roads. The stark natural beauty was some of the most spectacular of the trip so far. What pushed me beyond my limits was the people. For every positive interaction, minutes later we would have a greater opposing interaction. Leaving every village, large groups of children and teenagers would mob us, begging, mocking us and eventually the stone throwing would begin. Luckily their aim was bad most of the time, but we both ended up with bruises from when it was good. Despite being malicious, the rock throwing always involved cowardice as it was always done when our backs were turned and they would run away immediately when challenged. On one particularly bad occasion we were followed for 5kms up a hill (so we couldn’t out cycle them). Being harassed and threatened with violence for that long is harrowing. Eventually we gave up, sat down and hoped to bore them into leaving. But children with nothing to do, have a high boredom threshold. Then to complicate my frustration and rage, before eventually leaving us, a small group came up and offered us the remainder of their lunch. Recalling this day still brings tears to my eyes.


The kids would have a fun time with us and then throw rocks as we cycled away.

Ewaut messaged us with photos of himself with a head injury from a rock being thrown at him from above. Only two days ahead, this was the catalyst for the partial reformation of the habibis. En route to him we stopped for beers with the men of one village. They had also met Ewaut and were mortified to hear about what had happened. The headmaster of the local school was so distressed and subsequently worried about our safety that he ran next to us for 6 kilometres, slept at the same monastery we camped at and woke with us at 4am to wave us off and see that we had left his district unharmed. Our 4am start in the dark felt necessary as we were climbing into the highlands that morning and the thought of being harassed while doing such a big climb was too much. We trundled through villages, our presence only being noticed by dogs and sheep. In the predawn light we marvelled at the beauty of the landscape below us. For the first time that week a small sliver of joy entered my heart and I knew that the depression I had sunk into was not all encompassing.


Sharing beers with the local teachers.


Exchanging hats.


Pre-dawn looking down over the valley we just climbed out of.


Looking back.


Jude making her way up and up.


First light hits the mountains.


Further along looking down another valley.

Ewaut spotted us from a distance across the valley and came out to greet us. Chatting excitedly, we appraised his stitches and laughed at how the beret he had found in the Sudanese desert covered the injury nicely. Still a bit shell-shocked, we all needed a few days of peace and Sekota was a nice little town that provided the space. We relaxed, ate big plates of salad and pasta, and enjoyed fresh fruit juices. Together again, we cycled in a small pack, each watching out for the other. Not far out of Sekota we stopped to explore Wukir Meskele Kirstos, our second rock-hewn church along that road. The priest guided us around the small carved church with 6 pillars and colourful paintings dating back to the 13th century. The skeletons of the local kings and chiefs since its construction were in residence, as was an underground tunnel that supposedly led to Aksum in one direction and Lalibela in the other.


Catching up with Ewaut at the side of the road.


The most exciting meal I had eaten in months 🙂


The habibis partially reunited.


Inner entry to Wukir Meskele Kirstos.


The priest next to one of the colourful pillars.


The painted pillars.


The priest in front of the room where the remains are kept.

Stopping for lunch in Asketama village, we had a timely reminder about keeping our eyes on our belongings. We usually choose a restaurant that we can sit outside of to keep an eye on our bikes. As we had had no issues thus far with theft in Ethiopia, we thought nothing of sitting just inside the only restaurant that appeared open and trying to keep an eye on our the bikes that were parked just outside. With our attention diverted by food and the hilarity of Ethiopian music videos (men jiggling about in tiny shorts and shirts covered in buttons, AK 47s slung over some shoulders), we missed the gathering crowd outside that was hiding the youths that were stealing our belongings. At least a hundred people saw them doing it, but only the family who ran the restaurant said anything to us or them. By the time we had reached the police station, one of the two youths was already in custody. Within 20 minutes a second youth was in custody and our belongings were returned to us. We made a statement and were then told that we had to remain in the village until the court case tomorrow afternoon. “Not a chance”, we replied, thanked them for their help and cycled out of that village as quickly as possible. After another 30 minutes riding, my handlebars began to slip and I realised that as I had nothing of value to steal from on the bike, they had attempted to steal my handlebars.


Our bikes are already drawing a crowd in Asketama village.


Jude thanking the police officers for getting our things back.

Due to my increasing despair and depression, I had no inspiration to take photographs while cycling and I stopped keeping my daily diary, as I did not want to relive the trauma of each day. Instead I lived each moment and then forgot it, the rhythm of cycling and the beauty around me giving me reprieve from the ever burning question of ‘Why?’. The problem is so complex, I could not come up with an adequate answer. The adults would tell us that it was due to the fact that the children were illiterate and uneducated, excusing them with one hand and throwing a stone at them with another, as they were getting too close and boisterous. Slowly I began to see how violence was entrenched and normalised in the culture, and concentrating on this I lost sight of the kindness that was present too. Luckily I had Jude to remind me of the value of perspective.


I lost sight of the beauty and kindness that was around me.

It was not just Jude that kept me afloat at this time. It was also the acts of kindness and decency from the handful of amazing adults that we met, such as Abebe (our couch surfing host in Lalibela), his friends and family. Abebe’s house in Lalibela was an oasis for us, removed from the main tourist area, it was surrounded by trees and birdsong. He took us to his favourite places in town, shared his story, hopes and dreams, and gave us space to explore Lalibela in our own time.


Some of the people that showed us kindness – an invitation for coffee as we cycled by.


Abebe’s house where we spent a relaxing weekend.


Jude and Abebe at his favourite breakfast cafe.


Abebe’s extended family had us over for dinner and drinks on our last night.

The 12 rock hewn churches of Lalibela were the reason for our visit. Unlike the churches in Tigray, which are carved into the rocks above the ground, the churches of Lalibela were carved into the rock below. Legend has it that they were completed in 12 days, one of them overnight by a group of angels. I spent two afternoons wandering through the labyrinth of tunnels and the dark interiors of the churches, awestruck by the work and dedication that went into creating such a place. On Sundays the churches are still used and it was interesting to see all the locals and pilgrims dressed in white gathering around the buildings, the preachers giving sermons to the masses. Religion plays such a large role in Ethiopian society, culture and history.


The incredible churches of Lalibela.

The guys we had met and left in Khartoum were gaining on us, so we had organised to meet up in Weldiya and travel together until Addis Ababa. The morning we meant to leave Lalibela to meet them, Jude was struck down with a tummy bug. With 108kms to cover that day, and now being in a more densely populated area resulting in no privacy when squatting on the side of the road, we convinced her that getting a lift that day would be the best thing. The difference was palpable and it made travelling through the landscape and especially the towns much more enjoyable. I could now see why people on package tours would not find the country all that challenging. It was only if you stopped that the shrieks would begin and you would be mobbed. As we were cracking our first beer in our lodgings, Craig, Clo and Arthur arrived. It was great to see them all again. That evening we sat on the balcony, drank beers and exchanged stories about how messed up travelling by bike in Ethiopia is. There was again talk about ethnic tensions ahead, so we agreed that sticking to the main road would be the safest and fastest option for our route to Addis.


First beers with the guys in Weldiya.


The crew of 6 getting ready to go.


Ready to hit the road. (Photo courtesy of Craig)

As we had found when travelling in a group of six in Tajikistan, the greater the number of cyclists, the greater the number of styles and speeds of touring. Collectively our usual number of kilometres covered daily dropped, our morning leaving time blew out and our rest breaks were longer as we were waiting for more people to arrive at the same place. Despite this draw back (Jude and I now had a specific time to get to Nairobi as we had been accepted on a meditation retreat there) there was something thoroughly enjoyable about travelling in this new group. Negotiating accommodation was also sometimes interesting for us. We found that if the hotel was run by Christians, they would have a huge problem with people of the same sex sharing the same room and bed, but no issues with us drinking beer at the establishment and the locals bringing prostituted women back to the hotel. If the hotel was run by Muslims, they would have no issue with people of the same sex sharing a room and bed, but the consumption of alcohol was prohibited, but chewing chat and locals bringing prostituted women back to the hotel was also fine. The religious and cultural nuances would humour and infuriate us to no end.


Cycling together is fun.


Time for lunch and beers.


Clo and Craig.


Ewaut and Jude.


Another rest break.


Coffee and doughnuts.


Got to love fresh papaya.


The soon to be ‘Smash it to Kenya’ group.

From Lalibela onwards the scenery was changing dramatically. It was more lush and green, and when we began to drop down into the different valleys along the route, the feeling was at times almost tropical. Rain clouds began to gather in the afternoons and during our epic descent from Dessie to Kombolcha the sky opened up and we were drenched in our first rain since we left Athens the previous December. There was something exhilarating about dropping 800 metres over 20 kilometres, rain pelting our faces and bodies as we lent into every corner and switchback. Steam rose in clouds off the road and mini streams formed across our path. A hot coffee and a cold beer were the perfect finish to such a ride. It was also the last stretch of road that we would ride together as a team of six. Ewaut had chosen to catch a bus to Addis from Kombolcha as he no longer enjoyed riding in Ethiopia and wanted to spend time in Addis listening to live jazz. Arthur had come down with a stomach bug in Haik, and despite being a trooper and pushing on to Kombolcha, his diabetes added to his increasing dehydration and symptoms of dizziness and weakness. After starting with us for the first 10 kilometres out of town, we received a text message from him that he felt too sick to continue and that he would stay for the rest of the weekend in Kombolcha to recover. And that left four. The ‘Smash it to Kenya’ group was born – we had a beer and coffee.


Crossing the Sahara

Wadi Halfa to Lug Di

UNADJUSTEDNONRAW_thumb_1112eSudan felt almost immediately different. Although we were delayed in disembarking from the ferry by at least an hour, as they had somehow managed to ram it into the dock in a rather obscure way, meaning no one, and no one’s washing machines could get off.


Finally getting off at  Wadi Halfa


Pleased to be here


I decided to take a short cut


Lots of stuff coming from Egypt

When this was finally rectified, we joined the masses in piling off the ferry. This was an exercise in unorganised chaos, but eventually we got everything unloaded. A quick search of our bags (not very thorough) and we were finally in The Sudan. We pedalled the short distance into Wadi Halfa itself, where we had to register at the police station (a load of more random paperwork, passport photo and copy of passport). Once that was achieved we set about getting Sim cards (note to anyone reading this who is planning to go there, at the time we visited MTN had almost no coverage outside of major towns, I would consider going with ZAIN). When that was done, as well as some drinking of mango juice, we set about finding a hotel for the night. The arrival of the ferry is a big event in this small, desert town and hotels book up fast. We did manage to find one in the back streets however.


Night time food, Wadi Halfa


Banks don’t work for us in Sudan. Cashed up with Sudanese pounds.

In the evening we walked around Wadi Halfa and took in the atmosphere of this new country. We are definitely in the desert now, surrounding the town are the sands of the Sahara, with shimmering lake Nasser in the distance. The vibe is completely different to Egypt. So much more relaxed. We were able to walk through the town without being hassled, stared at, or asked for money. I felt like I could breathe again. People were friendly, but not overbearing. Not all of Egypt had been like that of course, I guess it was just the accumulation of stress and frustration over the last few weeks. Sometimes you don’t notice how much a place has worn on you until you leave it.


Typical tea/coffee stand in Sudan. Definitely more women working here.

The four of us left Wadi Halfa in high spirits, ready for the long stretches of solitude and desert. After Egypt I was craving the wild places and the space to just be alone. I was not disappointed. The road south was lightly trafficked, the trucks that did pass were full of waving and smiling people, and we felt very welcome in this new country. The highlight for me was the end of the day, when we pulled off into the desert and built a fire, surrounded by nothing but the Sahara and some low lying hills. Sure, we could hear the road a little, but the sense of freedom and nature was palpable.


Leaving Wadi Halfa


Happiness headstand


Drink break

Our days pedalling south started early, we’d break camp after a quick breakfast and coffee. Second breakfast was at one of the road side tea houses, which served fuul (fava beans in a broth, sometimes spiced a little), bread and hot, sweet chay. The food in Sudan was filling, but not particularly variable! We’d push on and take tea breaks almost whenever the opportunity presented. The road was hot and sparsely populated, the tea houses offered relief from the daily increasing temperatures (and beds on which to rest!). Water became a big part of our day, well drinking and sourcing it anyway. Luckily Sudan is very well organised when it comes to water. The side of the road is doted with ceramic pots full of water for everyone to use. Just another way Sudan’s friendliness extends into all aspects of life. It’s hard not to feel welcome in a country like this. Just before sunset we’d pull off the road and make camp in the desert, usually with a little bit of time for yoga, meditation and generalised relaxing before building a fire and making dinner all together. At night we’d stare at the sky and try and recognise the stars. Beetle juice became a favourite.


Typical water pots


Lunch time in a shelter where you can also resupply with water


Fuul cooking


More water pots


Really feeling the Sahara vibes


A typical meal in Sudan


Such beautiful landscape


I wish! Sudan is dry, sadly.


A magical time of day to be on the bikes


Looking ahead for camping opportunities


Definitely prime wild camps


Campfire happiness


Another super camp

On one day Astrid and I lost half the Habibi team. We’d met up with tour d’ Afrique, an organised cycle tour between Cairo and Cape Town. For many weeks we’d heard about them, trying to guess when our paths would cross. Anyway, while cycling and chatting, Martin and Ewaut completely missed our agreed turnoff. We had all decided to go to the other side of the Nile to see Soleb temple. The Egyptian influence reached far beyond what is now modern day Egypt, into Nubia (this region of Sudan). Astrid and I pedalled into the dusty Nubian village of Wawa alone but were soon found by a local guy who said we could store our bikes at his guest house while he arranged a boat for us. This coincided with arrival of Israa and Van who we had met on the ferry, as well as Oscar who they had met further down the road. Israa speaks Arabic, so after some negotiation, a price was agreed and we all trudged down to the Nile. It was so beautiful; date palms, fields of fava beans, and the shimmering Nile. One of those ‘I can’t believe I’m really here,’ moments.


Pedalling through Wawa


Walking passed the fava fields

We motored across the Nile and then walked the remaining way to Soleb temple, rising out of the landscape in an almost mythical way, this piece of beauty from the ancient world just sitting their amongst the fields of fava beans. It was amazing to explore a temple so devoid of other tourists, or touts. Sudan is such a gem for this. On our way back to the other side of the Nile, we even spot the rather shy Nile crocodile.


Boating across the Nile


First glimpse of Soleb

From Wawa Astrid and I now had to find the lost habibi’s. We bade Israa, Van and Oscar farewell, sure that our paths would cross again, and began to pedal. We surmised that somewhere along the road we would find them. And indeed we did. They greeted us with open arms about 50km up the road and we all hugged excitedly right in the middle of the highway. It felt so good to be reunited and highlighted to us all how much we loved travelling together. From here we rode a little further down the road and ran into the Tour d’Afrique team, camped on the bank above the Nile. They kindly offered us the left over of their dinner (everything is catered for) and we gratefully tucked in.


Taking a break on a rock


Loved these beds, available in tea houses to wait out the heat of the day


The Nile


Happiness is a free dinner!

Sudan is scattered with temples, pyramids and archaeological sites, and part of its charm is that there are nowhere near as many tourists, nor is it as easy to get to. Travel feels more like an adventure here, more off the beaten track, and I like it. Because Astrid and I are slight dorks, we dragged the others to Dukki Gel, an ancient Egyptian city, to explore the really interesting rounded mud brick structures that were scattered in an unassuming field. We also visited to the site of Kerma, an ancient Nubian settlement with the largest mud brick structure (western defufa) in the ancient world.

After this we had a choice; to continue on to Dongola on the main highway, or take a detour to Karima to see some pyramids. Ever since we had seen a photo of Neil (who we cycled with in China and Central Asia) camped by some Sudanese pyramids, it had been a dream of ours to do the same. Everyone else was on board too, so we stocked up on water and supplies and headed deeper into the Sahara. Until now, although at times spread out there had been enough places to get food and water along the road. Now there was only one place we had been told we could collect water until the town of Karima 150km away.


Desert fashion



Finding a small amount of shade for lunch


Something is dangerous!


Camels chilling

Heading towards Karima also meant turning into a ferocious cross wind – we rode in a fan like formation, swapping out the leader every 5km and rotating around. It was hard going, but working as a team took the pressure off somewhat. And playing music really loudly from Ewaut’s speaker. The temperature also soared – well into the 40’s and it became even more desolate and harsh. Not much survives out here; a few derelict buildings, long deserted, some mobile phone towers, and petrified bits of wood. Not much else.


Riding in formation to help with the crazy cross/headwind


Tough going out here


Riding into the wind


Love it. Nothing out here.


Astrid and the salmon


I love these buildings.

We did indeed find water and some shade after about 80km and gratefully refilled. In the evening we pulled off into the desert to make our camp. It really felt like the Sahara now, I could see sand dunes, which weirdly, although we’ve crossed many deserts, haven’t actually been that common.

The following day we reached Karima in the late afternoon, restocked and headed to the pyramids on the other side of town. There was almost no one there when we arrived – just one local who looked like he was maybe guarding the place. I think he was trying to tell us we couldn’t camp there, but as the sunset and the call to prayer reverberated through the valley, he too left. So it was just us Habibi’s and the pyramids. We found a spot not far from them and set up camp. Dream of sleeping next to pyramids realised.


Headstand happiness at Karima


Astrid and the pyramids


Pyramid posing

From Karima we rode towards Khartoum, looking forward to up coming rest days. On one particularly dark and moonless night, we decided to all get naked and dance in the desert under the stars. Ewaut, ever the DJ had a perfect mix ready, and even Martin, slightly hesitant at first, partook. There was something about being in socially conservative countries for the last two months that had gotten to our psyche. There was something so liberating, just being with other humans, dancing under the starlit African desert sky. It was somehow something my soul had really needed.

We woke one morning to a ferocious dust storm, thankfully the wind was at our backs and propelled us on to Khartoum. Our entry into the Sudanese capital coincided with the build up to the revolution. We saw a lot of security, evidence of the protests, but no violence or protests as such. None of us ever felt unsafe, either. In fact we just continued to feel welcomed, like we had everywhere else in Sudan.


Testing Ewaut’s super porridge


Ewaut and  I were delighted to find this!


Desert picnic


Washing wherever we can!


The kettle is always on in Sudan.


Astrid creates a lot of interest writing in her journal


Curious boys in a tea house


Fuul. Again.


Ewaut has the best sense of style




Typical desert shelter


Dust storm


Wind break out of bikes and panniers

Our short break in Khartoum was relatively busy. We needed to apply for our Ethiopian visa, wash clothes and meet up with other cyclists. Ethiopia is the most difficult country to cycle in (rock throwing kids for starters) and has a horrible reputation. Arthur, another Cairo to Cape cyclist had started a WhatsApp group for those of us who were going to be in Ethiopia around the same time. Most of us were in Khartoum at the same time and we all met up one afternoon to discuss plans. I’d actually been chatting to Craig – a British cyclist – since Cairo on WhatsApp, so it was cool to finally meet him. Craig was on a similar route to us – London to Cape Town. There was also Clo who’d cycled all the way from France through Iran and Oman, Dimitri who was on an epic human powered mission, and Arthur from Belgium who is a insulin dependent diabetic and is interviewing diabetics as he travels. It’s always great to meet up with fellow cyclists and we had a lot to talk about. We weren’t sure if we would all pedal together as such, but it was certainly good to meet and talk, especially as we all had different bits of information about Ethiopia.


tea on the street, Khartoum


Khartoum at night


Washing our bikes at the Blue Nile Yacht Club


Exploring Tuti island which sits in the middle of the Nile in Khartoum


Tuti Island


Can’t really tell, but the white and the blue Nile meet just behind us


Bike gang – the habibi’s plus Craig and Clo


Riding around Khartoum


We can still cannulate! Using our paramedic skills on a sick Dimitri.


Heading out of Khartoum

Aside from route planning and generalised chores, Martin had a contact in Sudan who soon became a friend. He and his wife took us for coffee on the banks of the Nile and for a party BBQ at their home (complete with home brewed alcohol!). It was brilliant to spend time with them and it saddens my heart greatly that none of us have heard from them post revolution. The Internet in Sudan is currently shutdown and the situation appears to have deteriorated with the security forces attacking peaceful protesters.

After several days resting, acquiring our Ethiopian visa, socialising, route planning and running errands, it was time to head south and into sub Saharan Africa. As Clo and Dimitri, and then Craig had all fallen ill, it was only going to be us leaving Khartoum. We felt pretty sure our paths with the others would cross again somewhere in Ethiopia.

The desert gave way to Savannah as we rode south and then east towards Ethiopia. Due to ethnic conflict in the region and reports of cyclists needing armed escorts, we had decided to forgo the normal border of Metema and head towards the more remote border of Lug Di, near Eritrea. This meant more kilometres, both in Sudan and Ethiopia. Not that we minded. We’d heard some positive reports from other cyclists about the Tigray region of Ethiopia (where we’d be crossing into) and were keen to have whatever positive experiences that we could. Our days towards Ethiopia were not without drama however. One day, while minding my own business, riding along the road, I heard an almighty scrapping behind me. I was just about to turn to see what it was, when I was hit from behind. Hard. The greenfairy and I were sent flying. Luckily I only sustained superficial injuries, and the greenfairy was also okay, although the force had been hard enough to bend my steel rear rack. I looked around to see what had hit me. Turns out 4 metal beds had fallen off a Sudanese army truck and slid down the road at speed. Astrid, who had been behind me said it was absolutely terrifying. Out of all the things that I thought might nearly kill me in Africa, a bunch Sudanese army beds was not one of them.


Nile at sunset, we had a quick dip!


Last camp by the Nile


Slight damage…the extent to be revealed much later on in Ethiopia…


Could have been a lot worse! The offending beds are in the background.

Later that day it was poor Martin who needed the medical attention. He became quite ill and could barely stand up. We sat with him under a tree for a while, but he seemed to not improve at all. Possibly heat exhaustion combined with a dodgy stomach. We decided to hail down a lift. This being Sudan it took all of about 10 mins, the first suitable car pulled over and a bunch of friendly guys came to our aid. There wasn’t enough room for us all, so Martin and Ewaut’s bikes were loaded in the tray and they piled into the back. Astrid and I agreed to meet them the following day in town where they would take a rest.


Martin and Ewaut’s transport

Martin soon recovered and we continued on the unpleasant narrow and busy road south, before turning off to wind our way passed Chinese mining interests and a relatively new dam (also Chinese made). In a village that definitely had an edgy vibe (a man we bought soda’s off said it was a mix of locals and refugees, displaced by conflict)  we also ran into our first problem with the police. We were detained (after much loud objection from Martin and I) and questioned why we were there. After a lot of explaining (and apologising for my somewhat irate behaviour) we were escorted across the village to yet another official. This one spoke French, and luckily so did Ewaut. He basically explained that they just wanted to know why we were there and that because we were in a border area, things could sometimes get tense. Once reassured that we were in fact just a bunch of dirty tourists, not spies, we were free to go and find the ferry across the dam.


Donkeys sheltering from the heat


On the ferry

Once across we took a quick dip and collected water before heading off on a bumpy dirt road towards the border. Until now Sudan had been so friendly and quite relaxed. The vibe had changed slightly now, and for the first time we felt a bit wary finding somewhere to camp. We’d tried at a teahouse, but the people seemed suspicious of us and the police indicated that we should move on. And when we did the police came by and told us not to take photos of the moon.


Last wild camp in Sudan

That was our last night in the Sudan, and it was a particularly beautiful. What an incredible country this has been. In a place where the environment is often harsh and quite stark, I cannot over emphasise how warm the people have been. They make Sudan the amazing country it is. There is such a beautiful soul here. We, as the international community cannot forget them. The Sudanese people, like all people, deserve free and fair elections and a civilian government. I hope one day to return, and until then I will never forget the hospitality and kindness we received.

Thank you.


The illegal photo of the full moon rising.

Egypt, and the beginning of Africa

From Cairo to Aswan along the Nile Valley


The iconic image of Egypt

Egypt. There are so many things I want to say about this complex and complicated country. It has certainly left a lasting impression, in both good and bad ways. It is not somewhere I would necessarily have chosen to cycle, but I am glad I did, because I don’t think I would have otherwise had anywhere near as immersive an experience of this country on the edge of Africa.


Pyramid dorks

Our Egyptian experience started off in the best possible way. After negotiating a taxi for us and our bikes (straight into hardcore haggling) and then being whisked through crazy Cairo traffic, we were deposited at Mohamed’s house, an oasis of calm in this hectic city of 70 million. We immediately felt at home and were humbled by Mohamed and his families’ kindness. Not only did his wife Shaheera cook us a vegan meal, Mohamed was also full of information about cycle routes and what to do in Cairo.


Cairo Metro


On the hunt for Koshari




Delicious bread


Cairo at night


Exploring the old parts of Cairo


Beautiful Mosque and moon


This covering up of european number plates is apparently a status symbol..


Cairo Museum


More night time exploring


Loving the chaotic streets


Smoggy Cairo streets


Of course there is a giant shopping trolley!


Catching a local mini bus



For the next few days we eased into Egyptian culture. Of course this involved exploring the pyramids of Giza as well as the Egyptian museum (literally crammed full of antiquities!), but also how to take micro buses and the metro like locals, what to eat and generally how to negotiate this new country. I had a wonderful feeling of excitement, the one you get when you arrive in a totally different culture, where everything is a bit hectic, confusing and new. I always feel so positive and excited in a new country, everything sparks my curiosity. After a time this naturally fades, as the realities of a place set in and you become more immersed and familiar with the culture.

From Cairo we caught an 11 hour night bus to Dahab on the Sinai peninsula. We had decided to take a break over Christmas to join our friend Loiuza who was running a retreat, as well as to do some scuba diving in the Red Sea. Getting to Sinai itself is a bit of a mission; the north of Sinai is considered unsafe as it is infiltrated by several Islamic terrorist groups, this means getting off the bus several times in the middle of the night at army checkpoints and having your stuff searched. Understandable, except don’t try and apply logic. After having our bags searched and no one getting on or off, we drove 5 minutes, only to have the whole thing happen again. A taste of what was to come on our cycle later on…


Tea and waiting for the bus to Dahab


Dahab sheep


Dahab toilets!


Our home in Dahab

By the time we arrived in Dahab we were both exhausted but so happy to have arrived. Dahab is a hippy oasis, in what can at times feel like quite an oppressive country. It is completely different to the rest of Egypt and so far the only place I’d want to return to. It is relaxed and low key, a mix of divers, expats, locals on holidays, Bedouins, and Egyptians looking to escape the craziness of the capital. This being Egypt and the nature of the current political situation, I am not going to say much more about our retreat. What I will say is that we had an amazing time. We met such wonderful people over those 5 days and by the time we left we felt like we had made real friends.


Dahab. Such bliss.


An amazing mix of beach and desert


Morning swim


Sunset looking out towards Saudi

Aside from taking part in the retreat, we went swimming, did yoga, meditated and laughed a lot. We also learnt lot about Egyptian politics and culture. Some of the Egyptians we met had been active during the revolution, and it was awful to hear about the trauma they had been through, only to have everything they had fought for hijacked and turned into something that is perhaps worse than before. There is a collective depression amongst progressive Egyptians (Mohammed had said this also), a loss of hope that is palpable. It was sobering to be reminded of our own privilege. Here were these amazing humans who had literally put their bodies on the line to try and achieve the things we take for granted. Not to say our societies are perfect, or that there isn’t corruption or censorship on some levels too, but a lot of things (like civilian government, being able to put on a play without government involvement, journalistic freedom – to name a few) we take for granted. Not to mention our ease of travel, or the fact that the Egyptian economy (heavily reliant on tourism) has slumped significantly since 2011. Life is difficult in Egypt if you have an education and a job, let alone those who are stuck in poverty. In saying that I don’t want to just write about doom and gloom, our new friends were some of the kindest and most wonderful humans we have met. Their spirit really touched our souls and we were buoyed by their openness, despite all that stood against them. It is telling that I am not including any photos of them here. Perhaps I am being paranoid, but with people disappearing, and some in jail for something as simple as a facebook post, I am not taking any risks.


Relaxing by the beach after snorkling


Another perfect sunset


Dahab goats


More goat


View from the rooftop of the house we were staying in


Dog love


Diving happiness

From Dahab we travelled to Saint Catherine, one of the oldest Coptic monasteries in the world. It is quite a magical place, with a long history of Muslims and Christians living and working together. There is mosque inside the monastery, and many of the Muslim Bedouins’ are employed in the monastery. We stayed at a desert camp and also hiked in the mountains, before heading back to Cairo.


Looking out of the mountains around Saint Catherine




Sweeping views across Sinai


Walking up into the mountains


Around Saint Catherine


The Monastary






More awesome views


We hiked up to this ruin which was built by a Turkish Sulatan


So much beauty

Once back in Cairo we stayed with one of our new friends and attended the necessary admin, which mainly involved applying for out Sudanese visa. At the embassy we met 4 other foreigners, three of them cycle tourists like us. We were all leaving within a few days of each other, and one of them gave us the link to a WhatsApp group of nearly 200 cyclists currently pedaling between Cairo and Cape Town (see, we aren’t the only crazy ones!). A super way to stay up to date with information, especially in an ever changing continent like Africa.


“Lining up” at the embassy of Sudan


Random cyclist meeting at the Sudanese embassy

After spending time with our Dahab friends in Cairo (they mostly all live in Cairo) and with Mohamed, it was finally time to leave the comfort of sedentary existence. Mohamed kind as ever, led us out of the city, before wishing us well and saying goodbye. Now it was just us and around 12,000km of Africa in front of us.


Saying goodbye to Mohammed and Cairo


Sweet potato seller


Bread on the road out of Cairo

Our first day was the slight cultural shock I knew that it would be. We’ve been living in comfort, in Cairo and Dahab where many foreigners reside. The Egyptians who we’d befriended were open minded and while not rich, they’d travelled and lived lives not so different from ours. The truth is, the rest of Egypt is very different. At least what we experienced anyway. Once passed Giza and out in the countryside, our mere presence evoked a lot of attention. Boys driving tuk tuks and on motor bikes followed us, people waved and shouted ‘welcome to Egypt’, and at one point we had car loads of people following us, shouting and waving, and in each village we seemed to collect more and more and the whole thing was fun, but slightly overwhelming. We were certainly now in a different Egypt; the rhythms of rural life dominated here, and the modern world seemed partly suspended. People wore traditional dress, women became less visible, there were animals everywhere; goats, donkeys, chickens, as well as groups of boys who were usually mildly annoying. On the road side there were chai tents, where we could stop for refreshing tea, and many places to buy falafel or fuul.


Pedalling out of Cairo


We start to get a lot of attention


Everyone comes to check out the crazy foreigners on bikes

By evening of the first day we were exhausted from the constant stimulation, the traffic and attention. As the sun set, the call of the mosque could be heard reverberating around the Nile Valley and people passed us by on their way home from the fields. There had been nowhere visible to camp – Egypt is known to be tricky for wild camping – discovery leading no doubt to a lot of attention, or the police. We were however in luck. In fact, it’s quite funny how in tune we are. I’d spotted a place and slowed down, Astrid had seen the same spot and was looking at it, rather than the road and almost ran into me. It was in fact perfect, hidden completely from view of the road, in the yard of a ruined and deserted house. Wild camp win for Egypt.


Riding along the canal




Meidun pyramid


Wild camp win

Unfortunately, our freedom in Egypt drew to a close that morning. We’d been expecting it. Egypt is notorious amongst cyclists for the annoying police escorts that are forced upon you. In fact, it’s so bad now, barely any of the country is completely rideable. The Nile Valley is about the only route where they won’t at some point force you on to a bus or van (in our experience). We had an escort from about 100km outside of Cairo to at least Luxor. We’d asked our Egyptian hosts whether it was necessary for security and their answer was a resounding no. Plus they surmised, if there was an attack on us the kind of police sent to escort us would be pretty useless. Of course there have been terrorist attacks in Egypt targeting tourists, but they are random and infrequent, targeting big groups on buses rather than lone cyclists. There are also terrorist attacks in London and many other places in Europe. And surely, what better way to advertise that a foreigner is in the area, than a great big police escort?! They made our presence completely unsubtle throughout Upper Egypt.


Beautiful misty sunrise


Riding towards the pyramid


Mist over the canal


canal sunrise



IMG-20190112-WA0003.jpgAnyway, a police escort picked us up as we went to look at the nearby Meidum pyramid a little after sunrise. The individual officers are nice enough, but completely don’t get what we are doing. They basically want to hand us over as quickly as possible to the next area, to be rid of us. Stopping to eat, or rest is a hassle for them, and we actively had to fight to stay off the main roads. More about that later. Our first day with an escort was uneventful but annoying, as they made us stop and wait at check points for the next escort and lied about where we could eat (resulting in us both getting irate). Luckily, one officer spoke good English (although he asked us how our husbands could allow us to be traveling like this) and we arranged with him to meet up with two other cyclists, one we’d met at the Sudanese embassy, and one I’d been chatting to on WhatsApp. Ewaut and Martin were only a bit ahead of us, and had already found somewhere to stay that night. I felt that joining them would be the easiest option, and potentially we could ride together, at least for a bit to ease the frustration of being followed constantly.


This lady was so kind and gave us free breakfast


Our freedom is over. The police escort hover nearby while we eat.


Our constant shadow for the next two weeks or so


Chocolate Haliwa while waiting for our next escort

Although the police were initially concerned that we’d be with two men, we assured them we could handle it. We pushed on for 130km, finally arriving at a ballroom by the Nile a bit after dark. Ewaut and Martin had gone rogue, deserting their escort they had pedalled to this weird theme park kind of complex. The people there had kindly allowed them (and now us) to sleep in their ballroom and the police appeared to have agreed. After a frustrating day, it was a relief to see Martin and Ewaut, even though we didn’t know them at all really. An experienced shared is somehow easier. We debriefed about our equally frustrating times with the police and settled down for the night. The police were so paranoid, they even followed us to the toilet.


Happy to be riding together, the awesome habibi team is born.


Our ballroom/bedroom


Outside the ballroom

We didn’t know it then, but that night was the beginning of our awesome ‘habibi’ cycling family that would last all the way to Ethiopia. The more I travel by bike, the more I realise these chance meetings on the road often make the best teams. While happy to share the road, we are all quite independent and that somehow changes the dynamic in a subtle but important way.


The Nile!


On the agricultural road


Our police milling about, always a little impatient with us to get going.

Martin and Ewaut are both exceptional humans and we slowly got to know each other over the next few days and weeks. Martin is British and in his 60’s, (we’ve actually met him before at the cycle touring festival in the UK!) and we bonded over our shared appreciation of tea and Radio 4 (amongst other things). He has a wealth of experience cycling all over the world and is full of the best stories. Ewaut is 25, has already built his own gypsy wagon, hitch hiked all over the US, cycled Spain to Senegal and plans to build his own sailboat. Plus he’s a podcast and techno guru! The four of us got along so well, and our banter and humor helped us all deal with what was at times a frustrating cycle through Egypt with our ever present police escort.


Probably arguing with the police about what road to take


Often the cycling was quite pleasant in the small roads.


Donkey traffic is better than car traffic!


Smooth tarmac


Typical road side chay stop

Every morning we had to fight to stay on the small roads that ran along side the canals in the Nile Valley. This sometimes involved pedalling passed yelling police officers with guns, and even locals who were trying to stop us. Even if we took the time to talk to the officers and explain and show them the map of our route, they would always try and force us on to the main, heavily traffic routes anyway (which was obviously more of a threat to our safety than terrorism). Or they’d lie and tell us the road stopped, despite the obvious through traffic. Once we’d forced ourselves onto the small roads, they’d eventually calm down and follow us from a distance. Part of me felt bad for being so disobedient, it wasn’t their fault, they probably didn’t want to follow a bunch of tourists on bikes. We tried to be as kind to the officers as our patience allowed, remembering it was their superiors that ordered this ludicrous escort. Occasionally, when cutting through villages, we’d lose them in the hectic traffic and could hear their desperate sirens as they tried to catch their rogue ferangi.


Donkey traffic


Curiosity wherever we go


Staying off the main roads, possibly one of the times we escaped the police for an hour (:


Such a lovely time of day to be on the bikes


Normal traffic in Egyptian roads


Always searching for the small roads

For breaks we stopped at road side tea stalls and snacked on delicious fuul, tamia (falafel) and koshary (amazing carb fest of rice, pasta, chickpeas, sauce, fried onion and garlic). The Egyptians we met were kind and welcoming, although we often even felt hindered in even speaking with them as the police would hover around and try and interfere. One officer told us that the reason they follow us is because we cannot speak Arabic and the traffic is so dangerous, while I really don’t think this is true, but it does go some way to explaining the overbearing attitude of the police. They cannot, it seems conceive of what our lives are like, because it is so far from their reality. To tell them we’ve all cycled in many parts of the world with equally (if not worse) crazy traffic, where we also don’t share a culture, or language, falls on deaf ears. Perhaps because they themselves have never been outside of Egypt, or perhaps they just lack imagination. Either way, the prevailing attitude is that we need to be protected and helped, especially Astrid and I. The sexism was fucking infuriating.


Typical breakfast place for us


Tea and breakfast


More chay and snacks


And more


Delicious Tamia sandwich was a favourite


Loved these sandwiches


Koshari, our standard dinner.

In the evenings we were always made to stay in hotels, and it some places they even tried to stop us from going out to dinner (we actively disobeyed this). We either had an armed escort, or on one occasion the extremely nervous man from the hotel following us, trying to prevent us from crossing the road and generally hovering right by us wherever we went. The whole thing starts of as kind of funny, but after days on end having armed escorts follow us to the toilet and sometimes driving directly behind us with sirens, my patience was waning.


Negotiating hotel rooms with police and then getting all our gear inside is always fun at the end of the day..


Some of the hotel rooms we stayed in a re a bit eccentric!


We are a curiosity wherever we go

A few days before Luxor, the intensity of our escort thankfully waned. In Abydos we were allowed to explore the temple of Seti I and Rameses II unhindered. These temples completely wowed me. In fact, even after exploring Luxor, the temple of Abydos (Seti I) is my favourite. The carved and coloured hieroglyphs and paintings were absolutely stunning, and like nothing I’d seen before.


The temple at Abydos. Probably my favourite.


First beers in a long time post temple fun!


Chay with the people from the hotel


Hazy view of the Nile valley at dawn

The escort completely left us just outside of Luxor and we were free to choose where to stay. We chose Al Salam camp on the west side of the Nile and it proved to be a lot less hectic than the east bank. I think we were all grateful for the days off and the chance to drink a beer and just relax. Of course we explored the Valley of the Kings, riding out there one day and marveling at the tombs. They really are other worldly, the long and amazingly decorated corridors taking you deep (or so it seemed) underground to where the mummies once lay.


Made it to Luxor!


Beers on the Nile


Luxor market


Valley of the Kings


Valley of the Kings


Too expensive to visit, but here’s the photo from the outside


Amazing remnants of ancient world are everywhere around Luxor


Valley of the Kings (again)


Riding into the valley of the Kings 

We did also head to the east bank to explore Karnak temple, which is also phenomenal. Such exquisite work. I tried hard to imagine how it would have been when complete; its grandeur was something I couldn’t quite comprehend. It would have been so beautiful, softly lit with torches, the faded colours that we see today bright…Amazing.


The amazing Karnak temple, Luxor


Admiring the huge columns


Such a massive scale



So amazing some of the colours have lasted



From Luxor we headed south towards Aswan without a police escort! It felt amazing. On the evening of our first day out of Aswan we asked if we could sleep at an ambulance station. They readily agreed, and one of the paramedics actually spoke perfect English. We were treated with such kindness, given cups of tea and brought dinner, which we all shared together. Astrid and I even got to check out the inside of the ambulance, which was similar to the ones we work in. Although we were told Egyptian women don’t work as paramedics as they are too delicate. Sigh. We all bunked down in the same room to sleep, and I must say, their overnight work load is a lot less than Hackney. Not once did they go out on a job overnight! In the morning we were given tea and breakfast and sent on our way. I was so humbled by their kindness and struggled to imagine some dirty cycle tourist turning up at Homerton Ambulance Station and being treated the same way. What different worlds we come from. If only we could take a little bit of theirs and they could take a little bit of ours.


We took it in turns to ride in front as we often had a headwind


Resting on the side of the road


Checking out the inside of an Egyptian ambulance


The paramedic’s and their friends


Relaxing at the ambulance station

After exploring Horus’s temple in Efu the landscape began to change. We were closer now to the Nile, there was more agriculture, smaller villages, less people, palm trees. Almost on a whim we followed a track through some fields to the banks of the Nile. What we found was an idyllic place to camp, we didn’t care that it had only been about 40km. You can’t really go anywhere in Egypt without people noticing and we soon had a small crowd watching us brew tea and generally relax. The adults came down later and assured us that it was fine to camp there. What bliss. We built a fire, cooked a delicious meal and watched the light fade over the Nile. Sometimes fantasies of countries do come true.


Looking for the perfect spot


Our idyllic spot on the Nile, with locals coming to watch the weirdos


An early finish means time for bike maintenence


We even built a fire


Filtering water


Sunset from our camp spot on the Nile

The next day we rode through some of the most picturesque scenery of Egypt so far. It was slightly hilly, with small villages, palm groves, fruit trees and views of the Nile. Unfortunately I was also creeped quite badly. I’d dropped behind to look for a place to pee and noticed a guy had seen me and turned around in his tuk tuk. At first I thought nothing of it and just kept going, but it became clear he was watching me, as every time I stopped, so would he and go to turn around to follow me. So I decided to just keep riding. Unfortunately he decided to follow me and get his penis out, while casually saying hello. I slammed on my breaks and just started yelling every profanity at him I could muster. He sped off. I picked up a rock and hurled it at his head as he came back passed. Sadly, it missed. I knew I was kind of in trouble, the road was deserted and I had an inkling he’d be back. I pedaled as fast as I could, finally feeling fear instead of anger. He did come back and ran me off the road while I hurled abuse at him. He did manage to grab me but I think I swore so much and so loudly, he left. What an utter arsehole. I shakily rode to where the others had stopped to wait for me and told them what had happened. After that we all went and sat quietly by the Nile for a bit. Then Ewaut and I collected a bag of trash, it felt somehow right to combat something so negative with something positive. Ewaut carried that bag the remaining 50km to Aswan and deposited it in a bin.


Moon behind our camp spot


A beautiful morning’s cycle


In the Nile, about to start our trash collection

In the afternoon, things didn’t really improve. We were constantly harassed by what looked like 10 year olds in tuk tuks and one of them grabbed Astrid’s arse. I picked up a rock and chased them, but sadly was unable to catch the little arseholes. I mean being assaulted by a grown man is one thing, but by a barely teenager, it’s almost worse. Somewhere, they are being told on some level that it’s okay to grab and harass women when they are just kids. I mean what the fuck is that even about?!


The landscape is changing…


Feeling closer to the Sahara..


cycling fashion icon


Love these mud buildings

Luckily Ewuat had arranged for us to be hosted by Yeha in Aswan and it was such a relief to be around a normal Egyptian man. Mostly people are kind and respectful and it was important to be reminded of that. We had a lovely evening talking and I was super impressed about Yeha’s commitment and enthusiasm for Couchsurfing. I thought we hosted a lot in London but Yeha is a super host!


Beer on the Nile


All the flip flops


All the dates


Relaxing at Yeha’s

Our days in Aswan were fairly relaxed. We booked our tickets for the ferry to Sudan as we had decided to take the boat across Lake Nasser to Wadi Halfa. There was some shopping at the market, eating, drinking beer on the Nile, a felucca ride, meeting lots of other couch surfers, dropping by Yeha’s mechanic to encourage him to finish the much delayed service (as you do) and a movie night. One day we barely left the house, (only once to buy food) as we all just needed a break. Egypt relies heavily on tourism, and since the huge reduction in foreigners visiting the country after 2011, people are desperate for your business. Of course this is totally understandable, but it does get tiring being seen as a wallet on legs and hassled for taxis, felucca rides, clothes and any number of things. And then if you do happen to actually want something being asked to pay 5 times of what you know the normal price is.


Exited sunset beers, Aswan.


Sunset, Aswan.


The idyllic Nile and Felucca boats


Ewaut practicing for when he builds his boat


Astrid sailing the Felucca 


Relaxing on the Nile

By the time Sunday morning came around and we were getting ready to ride the 16km to the ferry, I was ready to leave Egypt. It has of course been overwhelmingly a positive experience. However, I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t at times a difficult country to cycle in. I will leave you now with some of my happier impressions of this country; laughing with friends around bowls of fuul and cups of tea in Dahab; snorkeling in the Red Sea; Mohamed’s hospitality; sitting by the fire on the banks of the Nile, watching the sunrise; hazy, smoggy, sunsets; old men riding small donkeys; 3 camels in a pick up truck looking suave; cups of steaming shay; delighted waves from friendly kids; the smiles of old men; palm trees and the shimmering blue of the Nile; giggling girls wanting selfies with us; shouts of ‘welcome to Egypt!’.

The ferry from Aswan to Wadi Halfa is a pretty authentic way to travel between two police states. There is a lot of paperwork, x-raying of bags and pointless procedures (poor Ewaut had to get an ancient computer to try and print out his online visa, as despite it being completely legal, the immigration officer freaked out about the stamp in his passport). Once we boarded, around 12 noon, we found a place on deck to call home. Then it was several hours of watching mainly washing machines and tuk tuk’s being loaded onto the boat. Finally, as a dust storm was blowing, we motored slowly out onto lake Nasser. We drank cups of tea, chatted to people, snacked and listened to podcasts and music, a perfect way to leave a country and head towards the unknown.


Heading to the ferry that will take us to Sudan


All the tuk tuk’s


Settling in for the journey


Relaxing on deck


Life is better without drugs according to the Sudanese government (;


Tea on the ferry

So, the first thousand kilometres or so of Africa are behind us. The Sahara awaits.


Goodbye Egypt