The Aswan Ferry

Mr. Saleh had told us to be at the ferry docks by 9:30 to start the laborious exit process. Of course, we turned up late. An hour late, to be precise. Immediately, we were latched onto by a fixer - this guy was a legend. A former member of the Egyptian army and a previous employee of the Nile River Ferry Company, he knew everyone, and everyone knew him. We sailed through the process about as smoothly as could be expected in this chaotic, red-tape ridden country.

Finally, it was time to load the barge - a rather clunky old bit of barely sea-worthy steel that ferried everything from cars to refrigerators, clothes to office furniture from across lake Nasser and into Sudan. Apparently, there were to be 8 motorcycles in total ? our 3 KLRs, a KTM 990 and a Honda Africa Twin, an ancient Tenere (the classic bike for this kind of trip), and 2 other KLRs ? all of them making the trip to Cape Town as well. The KTM 990 and the Honda Africa Twin belonged to 2 Italians, Maurizio and Tomasso, who were travelling from Venice to Cape Town with 2 other gentlemen who accompanying them in a support vehicle. They were seasoned travelers, having ridden from Venice to Beijing, and toured South America on motorcycles previously. We had actually met these stalwart adventurers back at the Nile Hotel in Aswan. At the time, Tyson and I discussed what they might have in the back of their support vehicle in addition to the spare motorcycles - an espresso machine, perhaps? Maybe a sparkling, porcelain toilet, complete with velvety bathroom tissue? Almost certainly a pasta maker and a tomato press? The Tenere belonged to Steffen, a flip-flop clad German who had essentially re-traced our path through the Middle East on his own, and who had exchanged e-mails with Tyson in the past. As for the 2 other KLRs, they belonged to Sam Miller and Peter Loewen, two other Canadians who planned on making the ride from Cairo to Cape Town at a frantic pace. They had to be back in Canada by August 19th ? a schedule that makes ours seem positively lethargic.

All of these bikes had to fit just aft of the pilot house, on a narrow strip of deck. Getting the motorcycles on board was quite a feat in and of itself - we walked Tyson's on, while Tom gunned it, hit his skid plate on the gunwale, and skidded to a stop inches away from Tyson's beloved Rossa. We walked mine on as well, seeing as how the deckhands were none too pleased with Tom's boarding method. The Italians, on the other hand, made the whole thing look easy, riding up the narrow plank and over the gunwale like they did it every morning before breakfast. Bah.

In addition to all the bikes, there was a land-rover waiting in to board the ferry as well - Andrew and Debbie, a South African couple going home from a seven-year stint in London, were the drivers of this fine vehicle.

At 3:00 or so we finally boarded to ferry. It was scheduled to leave at 5:00, but nearly everyone we spoke to derided that figure - more like 7:00 or 8:00, we were told. Sorry, try again. How about 10:30? Yep - the ship finally left port at 10:30 at night - a full 5 and a half hours later than the scheduled departure time. And what a ride it was. The ship was absolutely packed - not only were the small number of staterooms completely booked (these were considered first class tickets), but every square meter of deck was packed as well (second class tickets meant spending the night on the deck). As the sun set and the ship set sail, people stretched out across the deck in a jumble of limbs and luggage which was almost impossible to navigate without stepping on some appendage or other. The night air was quite still and warm, and it was some time before I finally drifted off, but once I did, it was one of the best sleeps I have had on this trip. A breeze picked up soon thereafter, and the gentle rocking of the ship, together with the rhythmic slap of the ship's bow against the waves, was remarkably soothing.

The sun rose the following morning like a great red disk from beyond the hills and dunes abutting Lake Nasser. I leaned against the railing with camera in hand, savoring the moment, and wondering at my good fortune to witness such a rare spectacle. 3 hours later, I was back at the same spot - we were passing Abu Simbel, not 200 meters away... the famous temple was a spectacular sight. I could just make out the monolithic statues of Ramses III flanking the entranceway - the tourists looked like ants in comparison. Alas, the ship was moving quite fast, and soon the temple faded from view. All told, it was 17 hours before we pulled into Wadi Halfa in Sudan, and embarked on the next phase of our epic adventure.