Stage 1

Day 1 2nd October  Dubai to Galbaya Oman.

530Km

John O'Kelly

We finally got off I think  at around 8:00 am well off the original  target of 6:00 delayed by always last minute things to be done. the food had to be packed away on top of what we had already put into the full JESSE side boxes and top box. tuna sardines instant noodles and beans is what the diet is going to be on route as with Ramadan we didn't expect there to be too many shops or restaurants open.

The first stop was only down the road from the Arabian Ranches at the first Emerat petrol station. We met a guy there who curiously asked how many countries we had travelled through and he could hardly believe it when I told him that we had come all of two kilometres !! we also met Ivan Ingrelli there who wishes us success on the trip.

The ride to Alain was nice and easy going as we got used to the extra weight on the bikes and established a pattern of the buddy system used so necessary when riding in the desert i.e. each rider is responsible for the rider directly behind him if that rider is missing then he stops and so it goes along the line.

Al Ain was predictably confusing yet again to get through there are lots of sign posts to places nobody knows internally in the city  and nothing for onward destination like Burami or Jebel Hafeet.

The border crossing took us about 2 hours for no particular reason other that form filling formalities and general lack of personnel working as its Ramadan.

By this stage the heat had risen to 42/43C and everyone was suffering. we rode on to Ibri a distance of circa 150Km and again stopped in a petrol stantion  where we sought local information about going through an oilfield which would save us a couple of hundred Km and avoid going through Nizwa, we expected this road to not be fully tarred but were told that nowadays it is.

Deciding to go for the shorter route which was a good well surfaced road but the heat had again increased yet more and we had to stop more freqently for 10 minute rests and rehydrate.

Eventually we came out on the Muscayt to Sallalah road by this time it was dark and Peter had discovered that there was a guest house in a place called Galbaya where we headed for. we discovered that the guest house was full and the manager was persuaded to allow us to sleep on the floor in the area where food was being served.

As there was a small pakistani restaurant beside the nearby petrol station we retreated there to discuss our acommodation.

A desision was taken that the guest house was too dirty, mosquito and cock roach infested so we departed to the deseret on the other side of the road and set up our tents fro the first night in the open.

Bikes acquired to travel around the world! Firstly around Africa.

 

 

Day 2, 3rd of October,

870 km

Qarat-Al Mazanah (Oman-Yemen border)

Kmmo Pentalla

Stayed in the hotel of thousands of stars, all of us had individual rooms with en suite toilet facilities...so we were camping in the desert.

It was still 5 of us, because Peter Convery (alias Pete 1 and 2, for better known for his alter ego syndrome) had been riding along all the way from Dubai.

We had a nice breakfast at the sunrise over the Omani sand desert. Then swiftly on packed the tents and rest of the equipment, some took their time though........no names A.

Petes left back to Dubai and Sharjah on his own because he had to go to work, which was a bit sad, specially when we knew that he wanted to continue with us so much.(at least he wasn't alone, note: P 1&2)

So another hot day of 43 centigrades. Omani country side is very clean and you don't see any litter on the side of the road. Roads are in very good condition with lay bys every 10 kilometers with big rubbish bins. Lesson to be learned in the so called better off neighbour countries....

There was not much traffic either and the landscape is flat as a pancake. Riding is monotonous, but i-pod plugged in and a bit of day dreaming kilometers fly by....well at 140 kmh. That's comfortable cruising speed for this GS 1150 moped altough you tend to burn a little more petrol, which is cheap as chips.

We were stopping for a break every hour or so, you really need that in the heat. After filling up your camel bak with fresh (hot) water and exhanging insults and other compliments, it's quite nice to continue your journey through almost lunar landscape.

The first bigger town along the way was Galba. After a long stretch in the heat and seeing town in the distance, Ambrose got so exited that he decided to celebrate and ride in the sand a little.

...well what a stupid idea that was...

He managed to hit a rock...he says...and the result was a punctured tyre with 2 holes,and a bent wheel that looked like it was from subcontinental bicycle. Spokes on the wheel were now out of tune, some being loose and the whole contraption shaking like James Brown on a good day.

‪…well that momentary lapse of judgement gave us nice 2 hour break at the next petrol station (where is your yahoo now, Paddy?) Outside temperature as poorly heated sauna, we enjoyed the scenery, sweating like pigs, trying to fix the tyre. Eventually, with the help of local tyre shop we put the only spare inner tube in and managed to continue the trip.‬

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‪Omanis seem quite relaxed about the Ramadam. We could eat and drink in public during daylight hours, it was no big deal to them.‬

‪All the people we met were very helpful and friendly.‬

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‪…few more hundred sweaty kilometers later we arrived to Thamarat where road continues to Salalah and the other turns towards the Yemen border, town called Al Mazanah. More petrol and tuning of the spokes on the wonky front wheel, before the last 180km stretch to the border.‬

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‪Riding west towards the setting sun, the scenery started change a little more mountaneous. The road is new and has still few bridges under costruction, which means couple detours on gravel. As it happened, that after dark, on a detour our offroad specialist Ambrose managed drive his bike into the ravine and get stuck. With a little help from his friends, he managed to be pushed back to terra firma and the last 20 km was uneventful.‬

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‪Arriving to the small town of Mazanah was surprise. Immediately surrounded with tens of children and adults, they welcomed strange travelers to this remote border town.‬

‪After a while the local Sheikh turned up and kindly led  us to the hotel. We were well pleased about the parking arrangements. Sheikh told us that we can park the bikes in the hotel lobby, where we actually rode them straight in…not bad at all…‬

Shower was welcomed after 2 sweaty days in the saddle, quick meal and then to the bed at midnight...we were dead.

Kimmo

 

Day 3 October 4th

Oman Border crossing to Wadi Hadramawt

John O'Kelly

Awake at 5:05 and started to re-pack the bikes again. Morning prayer in the nearby mosque  was just finishing as we maneuvered the bikes out from the hotel reception and we departed for Yemen just 7 Km further along the road the cooler early morning mountain air was a pleasure from the excessive heat of the previous couple of days.

The Oman exit was quick and simple and another 1km brought us to the "welcome to Yemen" signpost.

We were very apprehensive as at this point not knowing what to expect and not least because Jim had a bottle of whisky and a bottle Jagermeister hidden in his baggage entering a country where it is forbidden!!

A young soldier who had been asleep came out of the building beside the locked gate to allow us to enter. When we stopped inside the border post the first question he asks us was what age we were.

Our passports were sent into another hole in the wall to the immigration officer who was asleep and was confused as to why 3 of us had pre arranged visas from London while Kimmo didn't have one at all.

Meanwhile others began to emerge from the numerous dilapidated buildings around the compound. A new guy demanded our Carnets which we gave him and he proceeded to write down information in a big ledger book after many passing back and forth of the carnets to yet another office. he completed the process by stamping the three sections in page 1 and removing the bottom section as required. In the meantime our passports had been stamped, we were issued with a piece of paper to get through the exit gate and we were in ! The guards looked at us in total bewilderment, four Yahoos in Yemen! We were the only travelers going in   either direction

Breakfast was not an option offered at the hotel on the Oman side so within 1 kilometre  of clearing into Yemen we stopped in deserted ruins of a house for a morning feed of hot beans and coffee along prepared on our camping stoves  with Kubbus bread brought from Dubai and soon we were on the way again.

The road was good and completely empty of traffic after exactly 63km we realized that due south was not the right direction and this despite having two aeronautical Navigation trained pilots with us. After a brief discussion complimented with expletives on the mistake we rode right back to the border to find the north road.

Fueled up again we set off with 126km of distance covered and we were still in sight of the crossing. The road was again a very good surface and we rode and rode for 600 Km along a flat featureless road stopping only for a break every hour or so and petrol at circa every 250Km. at one point were almost out of fuel and came across another rundown petrol station where an worker had to be woken and we waited while he fired up the generator to pump petrol out of a leaking pump.

Along this long stretch we only say 5 vehicles in over 400km of distance, there were army checkpoints approximately every 80 km with two soldiers usually sleeping !!

The usual questions of where are you going / come from / how much did the bikes cost with a look at the passports was all they required.

We had a laminated print out of our exact route in Arabic which is one of the more clever additions that we brought along.

The sun was sizzling hot and we eventually began to climb into the mountains in the late afternoon criss crossing through huge valleys that must challenge the Grand Canyon for sheer awe.

The route then descended rapidly  into a long Wadi which we learned was Wadi Hadramawt and at the bottom of the road where the wadi floor begins straight into a much more permanent army base..

At this point we were again all exhausted and we debated the possibility of continuing on for 180 kn into Sayaun or camping right there in the army camp.

We asked for permission and they were so pleased to be of assistance to us.

An area was cleared fro our tents and bikes and we set up camp and began to prepare our supplies of dried noodles and yet again Beans. The soldiers provided us with 3 beds water and fresh grapes

Later in the evening the regional army Commander came along to visit us with an entourage of about 20 people …. We were treated like celebrities!!

After 820 km for the day, sleep came easy assisted by a few squirts of Jim's precious beverage.

 

 

Day 4 October 5th.

From Osim through Sayaun to Marib..

Distance 630km

Jim Quirke

In what could be a scene from an old John Ford western,  We awoke to day 4 on our journey. Towering on one side of us was a giant cliff   face that reached to the sky. On the other side the desert with red sand stretched way into the distance.

We had reached the large military checkpoint late on the evening before and they had readily agreed to let us spend the night camped in the shadow of their Barracks.

The night had been punctuated by an occasional gunshot way in the distance and sometimes a short burst from what Kemo reckoned was a Kalashnikov. When the military showed no concern neither did we.

Both myself and Ambrose slept fitfully on the old rusting bedframes that the military had pulled out of the Barracks the night before. John and Kemo had pitched tents. We couldn't help but wonder were some of the soldiers without a bed that night. .

The lights had been finally switched off in the Barracks at four thirty which was the start of the fast for the new day.

Everyone agreed that we were unlikely to get a more secure nights rest for some time.

Having feasted on sardines, beans and coffee we were ready to start another day on the road.

The army reluctantly waved us goodbye at seven thirty sad to have their unusual guests leave.

Within minutes of leaving the checkpoint we were passing we were passing through the town of Osim. It was quite fascinating to see the school children going off to school in the morning. The boys would leave their houses first and when they had gone some distance the girls would emerge clad in their Abyas. This is the traditional Arab women's dress which covers them from head to toe with nothing visible except their eyes. The town was largely deserted of adults because of Ramadan.

One couldn't but be amazed by the open rubbish tips on the outskirts of a lot of the towns in Yemen . Tips that mostly consisted of discarded plastic bags and containers. A blight on an otherwise beautiful landscape.

One couldn't help but wonder at the contrasts, the happy smiling children off to school and the old men squatting by the roadside staring into the distance. What lay in between for them??

There seemed for some reason to be a small lime works in almost every house. These were generally constructed from old car parts such as transmissions and back axles. In one of the few houses where there was someone working Ambrose got a complete tour.

The vegetation was slightly more plentiful now, A sign of water in the locality.

In many of the small irrigated fields rows of fully covered women, wearing a beehive type hat were weeding the crops. There seemed to be no men involved.

John gave us a talk on Al Falaj farming which consisted of the small plots of Al Alfa, Tef, and Qat.

This involves the farmers flooding tiny fields with water which was gathered in a central reservoir usually having come off the mountains. This practice would not have changed in a thousand years.

We were now heading towards Marib and the temp had climbed into the forties. The terrain had now turned to pure desert again, a vast emptiness of sand. Occasionally we would see a herd of Camels tended by Bedouin.

Mile after mile passed and the military checkpoints became more common as we neared Marib.

If as sometimes happened two bikes passed first. The soldiers would be asleep. They would hear something passing, run out and barely get out in time to stop the second. They would normally be aware of our presence in the area having been radioed about us.

Marib has a fearsome name even by Yemeni standards and they seem to possess a proud independent spirit.

Now the checkpoints were happening every five kms. We could see huge gas fires from 15kms away. A huge Oil field loomed ahead. As we neared we were shadowed by two army Jeeps, about 5 soldiers in each and a mounted machine gun which a standing soldier manned.

We were finally halted at a military roadblock where soldiers and civilians alike were armed to the teeth. Everyone had at least one AK47 and some had two.

After what seemed like an eternity, papers being checked and rechecked. Shouting and general confusion we were assigned a heavy military escort into Marib. We couldn't help but wonder what lay ahead. What had we got ourselves into??

As we entered Marib it was quite unbelievable. Every adult man and indeed Children often as young as fifteen was well armed, both with knives and guns. In many instances we would see a father walking his son with an AK47 casually slung over his shoulder. Decommissioning mmmm I don't think so.

We finally arrived at our hotel The Belquist Hotel. Having paid our escort 10Dollars they departed leaving an armed guard to look after us for the night.

The hotel displayed a faded grandeur. It had clearly been built with Tourism in mind but it was almost empty except for a handful of Italians. When we unpacked our gear we eat alone in the hotel restaurant. Apart from the prevalence of arms everywhere we have yet to meet someone who was not friendly or just puzzled by the sight of Europeans .As usual Alcohol was not available but for luck still had a stock of Whiskey. As we retired for the night we were probably the only people in Marib who had a nightcap………..

 

 

 

 

Day 5

Marib to Saana

214 kms

Jim Quirke

This morning as usual the nine o clock starting deadline came and went with a minimum of activity except of course for Kimmo. After a light breakfast of coffee and bread we were told that the police had arrived outside to escort us for the day. The hotel receptionist who was clad in a full Abya managed to resist our every effort to get a look at her face even when we told her that it didn't seem fair that if she ever saw us again she would know us whereas we wouldn't know her. The hotel cost 100 dollars per room but it was almost empty.

Three police jeeps arrived to escort us with sirens blaring.This macho display came to a sudden stop when we had to give them a loan of our jump leads off the bike to start one of the jeeps that had stopped.

The police outnumbered us by five to one and they in turn had at least two AK47s each and enough ammunition to keep a gun battle going for a week. Having said that they were unfailingly polite. As we sped through the streets with an escort fore and aft you couldn't help but wonder what sort of thoughts were going through the local populations heads at this interruption to an otherwise peaceful morning.

As we sped out into the countryside round Marib towards The Queen of Shebas country house.We saw farmers grinding corn by means of driving   a camel round in a ring pulling a giant wheel stone sometimes with lots of children sitting on both the camel and on the driving arm of the device.

When we arrived at the first site we were greeted by an old man who reluctantly opened the gate for us   and proceeded to try and sell us some of the artefact's. There were old cut stones lying at random in the sand ; many with Sabean carvings on them.

To judge by the demeanour of the guards we faced imminent attack   However our only attackers remained the ever present flies.

After leaving here we journey to another site which consisted of more pillars which were said to represent the pillars of wisdom. However we were unable to get access to this site as no one seemed to have a key. In the fields surrounding us here many farmers hardly gave us a passing glance as they sought to guide the scarce water to their small paddocks.

During this high speed mayhem between the various sites we had reason to be thankful that it was a Friday during Ramadan and so the roads were semi deserted.

Next on the list to visit was the Marib Dam. This was a hugely impressive place which saw an entire valley   of perhaps a kilometre wide dammed to a height of fifty meters. This source of water provided a badly needed resource for the entire province and was an impressive sight.

From what we had heard about the lawless district around Marib we had hoped that once here we could get some chance to fire some of the many guns .However little did we think that it would be the police themselves that would afford us that chance.

Having got to a position over looking the dam  and the water stretched out before us we suddenly realised what the police had in store for us. The situation didn't dawn on us for a few seconds as we observed the police one by one knock the safety catches off their weapons. As we watched bemused the entire valley was filled with the sound of automatic weapons being fired. As empty shells began to litter the ground around us  the water below us splashed with gun fire . Having emptied as many as thirty rounds from each gun the police then handed each of us a weapon. . As thoughts of Pretty Boy Floyd and Bonny And Clyde came flooding into our heads we opened up on the water below and some hapless birds.

Ambrose having got considerable hardship during the previous days with faulty lights and dodgy electronics tried to persuade the police that to vent his frustrations he badly needed to shoot his bike. For some strange reason he couldn't get this across to the police and they finally persuaded him that what he really needed was his own AK47. We then set out at high speed again in the direction of the arms souk only to be told that it had just closed about an hour before. It wasn't our day. In this particular Souk   it was possible to buy everything from a tank to an anti aircraft gun and everything in between. Having failed in our objective there clearly wasn't much more in this town to hold us and we decided to move on.

The police now handed us over to a local army unit which was assigned to escort us towards Saana. The army unit assigned to guard us assumed that look of an expected imminent attack once more. maybe they knew something that we didn't .

For perhaps thirty kms ahead of us

we could see mountains towering in the distance. As we drew closer we could see a snakelike road winding its way upwards with an occasional truck full of cement or stones making its way up or downwards.

At a crossroads in the shadow of the looming mountains our army guardians left us and we were on our own once more except for the milling crowds.

In the general mayhem that is many rural villages in Yemen we generally encountered nothing but kindness and curiosity. At times too numerous to mention we were approached and offered fruit and water. Several times we were also approached and asked about our perceptions of Yemen ;its people and why we had decided to visit.

As we approached Saana several times we saw old Soviet T74 tanks parked by the roadside with their barrels pointing towards the mountains. There were also several areas where there were artillery pieces pointing towards the mountains. We couldn't help but wonder why.

Almost immediately after the army departed we entered the mountains. The views were spectacular with terraced farms everywhere . At one point we were travelling at a height of 9300 feet and there were still people every where. What a contrast to eastern Yemen. The ride through the mountains was absolutely wonderful, what with hilltop villages ,terraced farms and steep valleys.

During our journey through the mountains we encountered a number of strange characters. Once when we were in a filling station two Yemenis with American accents pulled in. They were very chatty, told us they were living in Arizona but were unwilling to tell us much more.

We had to ask them if they were flying on 9/11 . They denied doing so and laughed hilariously. They were driving a banger of a jeep but had Rolex watches ,blackberry phones and designer shoes. CIA ???? We would like to think so . One thing that I do know is that they were very interested to know what rout we had come and where we were going.

Once When Ambrose was pulled in Three guys in a truck pulled up offered to sell him some Khat which is the local drug. When he declined they then wanted to sell him two hand grenades which he also declined or so he told us.

The remainder of the journey was uneventful and after much mayhem in Saana we found the Sheraton just before dark. Its the only place in Yemen where you can legally buy beer and at 8 dollars a can it was still good value. The supplies of alcohol from Ireland wouldn't have to be totally relied on tonight .

 

 

 

 

DAY 6 October 7th

In Sanna

John

It was a sense of achievement to arrive in Sanna after so many days, this is the capital of Yemen and  we are now two thirds across the country and largely out of the restive tribal  areas of the North Yemen.

The availability of Amstel was welcome, as the Sheraton is the only hotel in the entire country that is authorised to sell alcohol and even then it has to be served directly to the room during Ramadan in the desert although the cost of 8 USD a can was sobering when it came to check out !

we had a late start to the day as weary bones needed to be rested seeing as that we were on target and a rest day had been planned in Sanna. We wanted to see the ancient city of Manhattan skyscrapers of the middle East.

we decided to see this fantastic city by taxi as this is the  quickest way to get around and one was provided by the hotel receptionist for a 12:00 departure. Tafeeq arrived in a Brand new Hiace minibus and his good English was a pleasant surprise as up to now we had met very few people with dual language and I would think that without some basic Arabic it is  a struggle to traverse Yemen.

Out first stop was a supermarket to replenish our supply of long life food for the onward Journey. Then we went on to the old city that makes Sanna so special. the two things that stand out are the old walled centre of the city and second is the architecture of Sanna that is distinctively different from that found anywhere else in the world.

Sanna houses are built of stone for the first few floors and then several more floors are constructed from brick made from sun dried mud. These tower houses are considered to be the worlds first and oldest skyscrapers and are three thousand years old in some examples.

The ground floor is typically used for housing animals and bulk storage. there is also an excrement room a small chamber that collects waste from the upper rooms to be used as fuel and fertilizer in the vegetable gardens alongside the buildings. the second floor is used as the Diwan or guest room.

The tower houses are used by several generations of family with the top floor being reserved  for the most senior members of the family

There is one building in particular that was an old Bank of 6 floors high and the rooms and stairway is large enough for a camel loaded with coins to go to the top floor, this is thought to be one of the oldest buildings in the world and is a recognised world  heritage centre.

we moved onto the souk area within the city and it was here that Jim and Ambrose were finally persuaded to forgo the purchase of a Kalashnikov to settle instead for a Jambiya. This is a ceremonial dagger worn by Yemenies as part of their traditional dress.

Tafeeq had friends all over the city and he steered us in that direction whenever he could for purchases. There were many treasures from an old world on display, old coins of morgan silver dollars and ancient British crowns were purchased for a fraction of their Euro collector value. Entrepreneur Tafeeq opened the the post office in the area as he is the proprietor and wanted to show us his his business acumen.

for the first time we Actually saw a few other tourists in the ancient city and they seemed as surprised to see us as we were of them.

Back at hotel the manager had arranged for the local press to interview us, they were particulqrly interested in how we had found the outer areas of yemen.  During the photo session I drove the Beemer through the door of the hotel and into the hotel reception for effect much to their amusement.

the fun was over and tomorrow back on the trail

 

 

 

Day 7,

8th October 2006

Distance 404Km

Yemen

Sana - Al Mukha

Bright and cool morning, wake up 0800 for a breakfast and skuttering around…hence 1030 departure from Sana.

We asked the police to escort us out of Sana. That was more for practicality than safety, due to non-existent roadsigns in town. Police was keen to help us and carried the task enthusiastically, occasionally blasting the siren and tooting the horn.

Terrain is beautiful and mountainous south from Sana. Lots of idyllic looking villages on hill-

sides and the road rises almost to 3000 meters above sea level. The high altitude makes air nice and cool, even in the heat of the mid day, around +24 Celsius, which is just perfect for riding.

We stopped for petrol and to buy some water. Just when we were about to leave, a pickup truck arrived and armed men got out moving about in aggressive manner. It seemed like they had some unfinished business with the manager of the station. Lots of shouting, arms waving, pointing into different directions, so we decided to depart in rapid fashion and not to look back.

Road is nice and twisty, scenery breathtaking up at high altitude. Farmers are using donkeys to pull ploughs on these terraced fields, which are on steep mountain slopes.

There is more traffic now, compared to what we have seen before. Also more trucks and taxis with black clouds of diesel exhaust trailing behind.

We stopped for lunch overlooking the green valley below. That beautiful view had attracted also a group of German tourists on a package holiday. They had hired 3 Land Cruisers and Yemeni guides, who were making picnic and we were invited to share their lunch with them, how convenient....

The further down south you progress, the more traffic will be on the road, which leads to riding in the diesel fumes quite a lot. The small villages turned into towns and there were also fewer checkpoints. Seems like, there is a lot less unrest, or trouble south from Sana, than the east.

We went through a town called Al Qaidah, just before Iftar. The town was just a mayhem, all people trying to get home before sunset and to eat after all days fasting.

Just before arriving to Taizz we got greeted by a huge thunderstorm. Electrical storm was a spectacular display, lighting the dark skies into long lasting lightning discharges and we did not have to wait the down pour for long. 3 of us put the rain gear on, except Jim, because his dirty and stinking trousers needed wash anyway.

Now the excitement was just beginning. Sun had just set and it was pitch black night. Heavy rain at night and no streetlights, visibilities as low as 5 meters, we arrived to Taizz.

Streets were flooded with stinking substance up to half way of the wheels…not nice…

Trying to peer through misted goggles and find our way through the town was a nightmare. No traffic signs and everything black as ace of spades, occasionally sinking in to a huge pothole was challenging. Actually up to the point that we were considering to spend the night in this inviting hellhole. Our boots and gloves were soaking wet, thanks to the German engineering, the grip heaters dried gloves nicely, but Damiens kindly lended i-pod did not survive.

Looking west towards Al Mukha skies were clear and we decided to press on. That proofed to be sensible decision, because rain ceased and soon we were cruising on nice sweeping and dry roads.

Temperatures went up, +36, as we approached the port, so we stopped to remove our rain clothes and to fuel for the last time in Yemen.

Al Mukha is a small town, with a port and few shops. Everyone seem to own an old beaten-up moped, or small motorbike. Arriving to the customs all officers were high on Qat-drug, but we managed to organize ourselves a passage to Djibouti. It took 10 hours of grievance an frustrating bureaucracy to finally get ourselves on board an old Dhow to Africa.

Kimmo

 

Day 8 & 9 -

9th & 10th October 2006

Ambrose Blaine

 

Arriving at the port town of Al Mukha shortly before eight in the evening, stopping at the only petrol station in town was where the scene was set for the epic adventure that lay ahead, getting out of Dodge! The attendant; a local lad clad in the bottom half of a well worn abaya (ladies long black dress), with an abscess of Qat (semi excepted caffeine drug similar in sight to mint) in his jaw similar in size to Mt Arrad, did his best in his drug induced state to fleece us on the price of petrol for our bikes. Luckily John,  familiar with this method of operating, spotted his plan and skillfully reversed the situation in our favour.

On to the formalities of leaving this beautiful land behind where dealing with immigration and customs was a much more drawn out procedure than our speedy entrance. Possibly as a result of the large quantities of Qat been regurgitated, expedience was confined to the rapid movement of the jaw muscles. Little chat and lots of Qat!

With no filming or photography allowed we decided to wear the helmet camera into the immigration hut, here three officials elegantly hugged the floor in a semi horizontal position beside a pile of weed. An agent appeared from nowhere to begin negotiation on our behalf with an immigration official whose jaw resembled Jebel Hafeet (a rugged brown mountain in the UAE desert) where a fee of $200 for the passage of four bikes and riders from Al Mukha to Djbouti was negotiated with a further $70 bribe to crane the bikes on board this gastly cattle flotilla know as a dhow. Meanwhile an elderly man also horizontal, a jaw like Everest, rose his head to grunt a fistful of Qat forcefully in my direction, fear prevented refusal, followed by a smile that I accepted his hospitality. A further grunt from his co-government official had us threading a stairs covered with rubble in another building occupied by customs, here piles more Qat and even lower enthusiasm awaited us.

A boy of 14 shuttled us between the buildings, brokered by the Hafeet official  for the traditional baksheesh, Arabic for bribe, on his custom modified Chinese 100cc motorbike, full stereo system complete with speakers blared Arabic dance music at breakneck speeds from his makeshift carrier.

Finally at 11.30pm we pulled up alongside our Dhow for the 14 hour midnight sailing or so we thought! The owner of this 600 head cattle boat greeted us in a very bovine fashion, disputing our passage on his luxury liner until we paid in full $1,000. John recognising the trait, extortion, went into action to rectify the now nasty situation.

Fortunately the prior greasing of our now new friend Mr Hafeet's paw, he was now summoned into action.on his Chinese 250cc bike. He took John straight to the top floor at the House of Influence where gentle pressure was rained down upon the owner, who Hafeet described as "A DOG". He made our passage on this 100 year old Dhow for a more reasonable fee of $400 ++ ( grease and crane) possible. The filthy world of commerce.

Mean while Jim and I decided to cook up a midnight feast on the pier, we had missed the first sailing, the next due to depart at six am and the last for another four days. It was here I met my first real life Imam, Islamic preacher/holy man, brokered by Jim, who's interest in blending cultures with a rather large wooden spoon never ceases to amuse. After a failed attempted religious conversion on his behalf, this fine gentleman accepted my offer of cashew nuts while we discussed the country wide varying AK-47 prices.

It was also on this very pier that I witnessed my first execution by hanging, the crane driver in his rushed state to off load 600 head of cattle began to slew his yoke before loading was secured resulting in a poor humpy black bull been hung by his horns. Sure death I was convinced until a cattle hand mercilessly beat the animal back into life. Up he hopped and staggered like Jim after a flagon of Jagermister to join the others.

Eventually the bikes were slung by crane onto the 100 year old odour full cattle dhow, whose only safety equipment was  a life boat which Kimmo remarked had not been moved in 25 years, hence the dhow must be safe having survived this far.With our Indian Hindi Captain and radio officer commanding a very friendly Somali crew where communication  with us was confined to smiles and sign language we set off south along the Yemeni coast where we swung west abeam Aden for Djibouti over relatively calm waters, the only cargo been our bikes and passengers ourselves. The Yahoos had finally departed the Yemen.

We rested well on board upon a carpet placed in the shade by the Somalis, here again after observing Kimmo expel excessive numbers of Z's, we decided to check his pulse and then turn him to prevent bed sores, and thus delay our progress on the road. The crew then provided us with freshly baked paratha (Indian leavened bread) with an east meets west potato curry, cooked on board by a dishevelled looking, however brilliant chef, delicious!

After many hours of digging the beat of our unsilenced and out of sync diesel engine, an approaching swarm of Somali punnets resulted in the captain throtltling to idle while the intruders attempted to sell us fish in full view of their AK-47 assault rifles, John recalled a news item recently where some Australian sailors taking a boat to Europe were abducted by pirates in the Red Sea in similar fashion. We decided to opt for more spud curry and pass on the fish, we did bid for the AK's, however, to no avail!

Later to celebrate Iftar, the Islamic drawn out ritual of breaking ones fast at sunset during Ramadan, our crew prepared another feast of paratha and this time pea curry followed by fresh fruit and chai, creamy sweetened  tea. This was followed by a video interview with the captain Abdullah Zafar, revealing through sign language proudly one wife, six children and two girl friends while spending several months at sea each time. Later as several other dhows passed we watched with amazement how these seamen communicated with each other casually using lights.

At the rear of the boat the site of an overhanging loo which Jim  later narrowly escaped a shark attack but for the blinding reflection in the water of a generally covered part of his anatomy, we caught sight of some dolphins playfully chasing our boat; what a wonder full sight.

Late in the evening after dark, on first sighting the lights of Djibouti little did we know our romantic notion was to be shattered  and that the Horn of Africa could so mercilessly screw the unsuspecting naive  traveller. A very unfriendly customs officer boarded our boat to inspect our documents, flanked by incognito US Navy Seals hiding unsuccessfully away from our boat, luckily the War on Terror finishes at tea time and they did not hassle us further.

On docking the doors to the office of "The Services of Exploitation" so aptly named greeted the arrival of more lambs to the slaughter, even the casually passing dockside worker demanded a fistfull of dollars. Why should he not join the ever growing number of circling vultures. On eventually understanding an expletive  word and recognising the similarity between John and his cousin Ned Kelly did he finally move off.

Some six hours were spent listening to the sounds of a Bollywood movie blaring in the Captains cabin from a portable terrestial tv while waiting for a crane loading cattle beside us to complete the ten minute job of lifting off our bikes. Eventually this towering crane hauling our bikes off the boat and leaving them swinging over the water left us with several tender and anxious moments.

The current hostile bureaucratic environment that is the khat chewing staff of Djibouti port had us spend an unpleasant and totally unnecessary further five hours at the port until the arrival of the port officials at eight am. The arrival of the Dubai Ports Authority staff who manage the port in the morning turned a 36 hour journey eclipsed by 11 hours hanging around Djibouti into a more humane ending of this epic adventure of crossing the Red Sea. Next time we would travel through Aden on a rho-rho ferry to avoid this hassle. Give me Marib's turbine clad AK yielding, freshly returned from Kandahar gentlefolk any day to the hostile bureaucrats of Djibouti. Eight am seen us ride into the sunrise of Djibouti and the Shearton hotel. The end!

 

Day 10&11,  11th&12th Oct 2006

Escape from Djibouti via the Sheraton Hotel to Millie in Ethiopia by

Ambrose Blaine

A finer sight than the falling exit barrier of Djibouti port in your

rear view mirror as one itches the accelerator hand with more petrol

in the direction of the luxury Sheraton Djibouti can only be a tumbler

brimming with hops sweet juice perched on a wooden bar, waiting to do

battle with the thirst of thirsts. It seems natural to expect small

luxuries like a set room rate, bike security, a reasonable Internet

rate and hotel supplied taxis operated by law abiding citizens.......

not in Djibouti.

On check in at the hotel,  the rate fluctuated like the receptionists

eyebrow as battle commenced over the extortionist rate of US$ 320 he

first demanded, finally settling for $180. A kind taxi driver

organised by the hotel offered us a scenic tour of Djibouti  at a fee

of 100 euro per hour, refusing to bargain, he remains sitting in the

lobby.

In spite of several assurances our bikes would remain safe, John's

patience tried to its limits by the early morning dossing of some,

finally found air. Bungees removed earlier quickly found their way

back, however it would take many more such attacks before our bikes

finally rested in peace.

John met his friend Merdad from Dubai whilst at breakfast who pointed

out the business center for us to update our travels on the Internet.

It was here he met Roger Nightingale a most kind hearted British

business man who offered us a guided tour around town. Having four

years real life experience on the ground we found our perfect guide, a

Shaikh of sorts.

Djibouti with its old French quarter, military installations and

embassy residences looks better on photo paper than to the naked eye.

The weather was extremely hot and humid adding to its unpleasantness.

There are evidences. of some improvement with the investment of Dubai

Ports Authority and Nakeel the Dubai based property investor in the

area, but still  it may take some time to steal the tourism from

Mauritius and Seychelles.

We had a very pleasant Italian meal in the Mask on Menelik Square

washed down by a bucket of fine French Vin De Table, rouge! Some hours

were the spent in the local Internet cafe updating trip information on

line in the local Internet cafe at an amount some sixty times cheaper

than the Sheraton, thank you Roger.

The following day, Wednesday, the day of Losses seen us rise at six am

packed and in the Internet cafe again by seven thirty where to my

great surprise sat my laptop perched where I left it the night before.

John arriving phone less showed his first signs of humanity, late! A

search locating the grail found reward in a coffee from John our

banker at the historical Menelik hotel from where we departed on

another days adventure at exactly 11.11am some four hours late, again

falling behind schedule.

Djibouti means discomfort.

On  the highway south then turning north west towards the Ethiopian

border town of Galifi I cant help wanting to see another country by

nightfall. wishing a more friendlier culture, a higher and more cooler

environment.

Arrival at the Djibouti side of the border brought more troubles, our

Carnets De Passages not stamped at the port of entry by customs

encouraged the officiating official to conjure more ways to delay us,

until the Banker greased away the problem with some  green backs.

Baksheesh my beautiful African medicine, makes most headaches

disappear.

Crossing the border into Ethiopia can only arouse a sense of

excitement that our adventure through Africa was about to begin, all

we had read about, all we had dreamt about lay ahead.

What probably amazes more than the vast openness of the African plains

or the extent of an African sky is the ability of a Carlow man to

bring a small border town in Ethiopia to a grinding halt. James Quirke

arriving in Galifi without a visa liked to the Lone Ranger arriving at

a bank without Tonto could not have had a more devastating effect for

the perpetrator.

On contacting the Ethiopian embassy in London prior to departure Jim

was informed that visas were issued at the borders, clearly misleading

information. The immigration official operating out of a barasti hut

explained the gravity of his inability to issue such visas. He also

declined to accept the other three remaining visas as the Ethiopian

embassy in Dubai had omitted to insert issue and expiry dates where

required.

I sat in his official hut with my helmet camera rolling disguised as a

GPS, smiling, settling in to what ever adventure this little hiccup

was about to deliver.

John remarking on how Peter would have had a proper visa remembered

the Satellite phone Peter had stashed away for situations such as we

now faced. The possibility of returning to Dodgy Djibouti to the

Ethiopian embassy there was been seriously considered. After some

sharing of our nuts and much sweet talking the immigration official

very helpfully offered to contact his Superior in Addis by way of our

satellite phone.

A deal was brokered where we would go directly to Addis in the morning

to the immigration department to have the relevant visas issued in

return for more tasty pistachios.

A fond fair well was bid to Galifi and it's kind and  friendly

Ethiopian people as we set off into the falling sun and the now

beautiful plains where desert meets ever increasing vegetation.

Kimmo forever the optimist and now very much in control of route

navigation assured us at each stop we still had only a further thirty

kilometers remaining to Mille.

Using our  GPS now fondly known as the Crow, All measurements been in

a straight line made us wonder if we were indeed been led around in

circles by Finland's answer to Christopher Columbus.

While stopped for petrol at one of the many filling stations where

only diesel and kerosene were been sold at the pumps did some

gentlemen making conversation with us recommend the Green Hotel at

Mille. This road been the main truck road from Djibouti port to Addis

handles five hundred trucks from the port each day and a further two

hundred tankers from a fuel farm located adjacent to the container

terminal also situated similarly.

Some thirty kilometers later we passed through what should have been

Mille, on now turning to the locals for navigation information we

learned that indeed we passed through Mille, Lower Mille. and the

bright lights up ahead were that of the Green Hotel in Upper Mille.

What treasures lay ahead in Ethiopia  we could only now imagine!

The end.

 

Day 12  Millie to Debrebirkan.( The longest day) Jim Quirke

Another Ethiopian day dawned in upper Millie with clear blue skies and the local taxis plying their trade up and down the badly surfaced road. A horse or pony pulling a wobbly seat mounted on two car wheels, and usually covered with a piece of material or umbrella , that is a taxi in Millie or indeed in most of rural Ethiopia.

We had seen the Green Hotel sign posted for some miles previously to arriving in Millie the previous evening. Amid some confusion and the usual crowd of curious onlookers we had been directed to a green galvanized door, which was speedily opened for us. We were welcomed in typical Ethiopian fashion.

John was just about to ask the proprietor about the availability of rooms when Ambrose and myself got between the two of them and asked instead if he sold beer. Kimmo despite a week of exposure to the Irish mindset seemed surprised at our priorities. When we explained to him that if the second answer was negative, and the first answer being positive it would be much easier to deal with. Puzzled once again by Irish logic he at once realized that it was going to take time.

The proprietor was only too happy to reassure us that he had both rooms and beer. The entire hotel consisted of a gravel and stone yard surrounded on two sides by a small single storey building with a corrugated iron roof.

This building housed the rooms, each of which opened into the yard. The room, each of which was about ten feet square contained a bed, a mosquito net, a chamber pot, and a bottle of water.

Having inspected the rooms, four milk crates were produced to sit on and four cool bottles of St. George arrived.

The proprietor after each round retreated to the shadows in the corner of the yard to await our next summons. One can only wonder what he thought as our renditions of Kevin Barry and Galway Bay drifted out into the desert.

Six o clock arrived quickly. John and Kimmo as usual were the first to surface. After giving them every chance to get familiar with the area Ambrose and myself cautiously peered out.

The view from one side of the yard was absolutely spectacular. The desert stretched into the distance full of boulders and little or no vegetation.

Way down under us ran a small river meandering lazily. Along its banks we could see many people washing clothes and indeed themselves.

After getting a cold shower in a cubicle in one corner of the yard we had a breakfast of warm beans and injira bread, which had been baked for us. We were also treated to a pot of Ethiopian Coffee, which as usual was prepared in front of us.

Kimmo and John as usual were sitting on the bikes first and ready to go.

Ambrose meanwhile put on and took off his helmet several times in a practice that Kimmo had come to accept as skuttering about.

Having settled the bill, which came to a total of twenty-four dollars for the four rooms and twenty-two bottles of beer and packed the bikes we set out on our journey for another day.

After traveling for about ten kms. we came to a crossroads. Here we had a choice of traveling down to Addis two ways. One would have brought us on a direct rout through the desert to Addis. The other was through the mountains and close to the legendary Lalibela and the twelve rock churches.

Through the Abyssinian highlands and over some of the most spectacular scenery in Ethiopia. It was agreed that we would chose the latter rout.

After four or five kms. the road disappeared to be replaced by a dirt track of stones and gravel and sand. Having had little or no experience of off road riding I braced myself for what was to come. Occasionally groups of people would run to the track from some unseen place when they would see us approaching. The temp had now approached forty deg. For me it was taking a huge effort to keep up the pace as the surface was treacherous. From time to time a youth, perhaps of sixteen or seventeen would appear with an AK47 casually slung over their shoulder, but they seemed oblivious to their western travelers.

It was particularly difficult to pass the many trucks and buses that were

going our direction. One could see in the distance a dust cloud and then had to make a decision as to whether it was coming our way or going with us. If it was coming towards us when it approached it was much better to try and get off the track as they would inevitably not stop and anyway when they passed the world disappeared for a few minutes in a swirl of dust.

When passing a lorry or bus it was vital to establish if there was another in the area because visibility totally disappeared until you were past.

Having established a routine for passing and meeting, I was starting to enjoy this new challenge.

At one point on the road the other three had gone ahead and there were a few children gathered to stare at us as we passed. I stopped to greet them. One youngster of perhaps ten who had four or five copybooks shoved one towards me. Looking perhaps for my autograph. Delighted I produced a pen and opened a page. He took his copy back and then directed me to a particular page.

Still undeterred I proceeded to sign my name. On closer examination of what I had assumed was an Amharic Script I read. …Hello my name is Ambrose Blaine .I am from Ireland and I am going to Addis Abba. Oh well, I wasn't going to be his first Irish entry.

After perhaps two hours of battling with the harsh terrain, the stifling dust and the unstoppable buses and trucks a very basic restaurant was spotted on our right. It consisted of four poles and a straw roof. Coca Cola was available as was tea and coffee. We ordered four Colas and four Coffees. An occasional truck or bus driver parked on the track and came and drank tea in the shade.

A young girl got green coffee beans, roasted them on a piece of tin over some charcoal. She then put the roasted beans into a pestle which she vigouresly hammered with the half shaft from a small truck.

Having drunk the tiny cups of coffee we encountered another problem. They were unwilling to accept dollars, or for that matter any money other than Ethiopian. A passing bus had to be stopped, the dollars verified and the rate of exchange clarified, all for less than a euro.

Shortly after we commenced our journey again the track started to corkscrew steadily upwards. Within a short time we were at a height of five thousand feet. Here we bought petrol from some people who were primarily selling Diesel but filled our bikes from the contents of drums that they were willing to sell us.

The name of this town was Kembolcha and was full of hustle and bustle. We met a German tourist here who was touring Ethiopia on a bus and was on his way to Lalibella having left Addis two days previously.

Ambrose and myself when we got Johns and Kimmos back turned slipped into a small cake shop where we had seen nice cakes in the window. No sooner had we been seated and given an order for cakes but our two friends arrived and reluctantly agreed to waste time drinking more coffee and eating some sticky buns with us. Little did we know the ordeal that lay ahead of us before we would finally put another day behind us? Little did we know also how difficult the terrain was shortly to become.

After leaving Kanavlacha we gradually began to climb again. Through fertile valleys, lush fields, prosperous villages, well dressed kids and adults.

Sheep, camels, cattle, goats and horses. People walking, talking, staring, waving, trying to stop us to talk.

Someone once said you can judge a country by its children. If that is true then Ethiopia is a reasonable happy country.

Yes there is poverty but its not overwhelming.

A saying in Ireland sometimes goes like this,,, "Would you like to wake up with a crowd around you?"

Well that's exactly what happened. Ambrose and myself possibly as a result of consuming too many cakes or possibly as a result of too many St. Georges the previous night were feeling very tired. On a straight stretch of road we pulled in and got off the bikes. We then lay down side-by-side on the grass and proceeded to fall asleep. After what was probably only ten minutes I awoke to find a ring of people around talking and pointing at us.

On sitting up they moved back a little. Unfortunately not understanding Amharic we could only guess what they were saying about their European visitors. After being invited into a local house to see bread being made we once again were on our way.

Shortly down the road we met John and Kemmo who had come back to look for us. Once again the foursome were on their way.

Despite the fact that we were now at six thousand feet the mountains rose steadily in front of us and the trail got narrower. The sky had also assumed a black mantle and the rain now began to fall. We put rain gear on and continued. Darkness had also fallen. As we pressed on through the blackness the road had become a mud bath and the lights barely showed the way. We were now meeting the occasional truck and bus but they were in the middle of the track, as the drivers didn't want to risk slipping off.

Progress was now slow and the rain was beating down. The precarious track gave way on one side to a sheer drop, of how far we had no idea. There were no barriers or signs.

As we reached a height of ten thousand feet, tired and exhausted and cold we came upon a dark village with black figures darting too and fro.

Half way up through this village a faint light shone through an open door.

The bikes were parked and we entered. In what could be a scene from Dante's Inferno we found ourselves in the middle of what was obviously an Inn of sorts.

There was hay on the floor. Charcoal burned in a bucket. There were shelves of unlabeled bottles, both brown and white. Toothless grinning faces peered at us, many well under the influence. A glass the size of an eggcup was trust into my hand filled with a clear liquid. It smelt foul. Closing my eyes and with a sharp intake of breath I swallowed it,whew!!! Paint stripper would have been better.

John and Kemmo had beaten a hasty retreat towards the door. At once it became clear to Ambrose and myself why they were leadership material and we weren`t. Meanwhile Ambrose was doing his "roving reporter" role.

Interviewing all and sundry. The fact that the locals spoke Amharic and he didn't didn't seem to matter.

The others meanwhile were sitting on the bikes ready to go. Even though we were at an altitude of close to ten thousand feet in the darkness way up above us we could see the faint glimmer of lights sneaking along the precarious track. It was now raining heavily and the air was very  cold and damp. The rain was turning to sleet as we left on the upward path.

We continued onwards and upwards. It had now been dark for almost four hours but the trundle of trucks and busses continued. The lights of the bikes barely showed the way. The trail was now strewn with rocks sand and boulders. We also passed through an occasional tunnel hewn out of solid rock. There was one tunnel of about half a kilometer long, which was littered with loose gravel and rocks. It was also full of foul smelling diesel fumes and no means of extraction. As we continued onwards our speed was down to a few kms. per hour. Careful to avoid going too near the edge on the hairpin bends.

After what seemed like an eternity the climb had ceased and we were at a height of ten thousand seven hundred feet. Lights appeared in the distance.

A sign said that we were coming into Debhar Birhan. As we entered the small highland town we clearly saw two hyenas off to our right from the road. The town was badly light but finally after calling to one small hotel, which was full, we managed to locate another small hotel that had free rooms. The gate was opened and we were admitted into a small yard. After having inspected the spartan rooms we decided to spend the night there. To be truthful the accommodation would want to have been truly awful before we would have declined it. Kimmo after dumping his gear in the room decided to have a shower. Running from the shower wearing nothing but a towel he announced to all that there was blue flashes and sparks coming from the electrics right inside the shower and he had been  almost electrocuted.

After enquiring if food was available we were told that it was. On entering the kitchen a foul smelling blob of meat was produced from a freezer.

Instead we decided to cook some beans and noodles in the yard on the stoves that we carried. We sat outside in the cold wrapped up and the only demand that we made on the kitchen was that they supply us with some St. George beers. And so another day on our journey was coming to an end.

As we sat around eating Beans and noodles and drinking Ethiopian beer it was hard to imagine as we sat in this freezing mountain top village that two days previously the temp. had been up in the forties and the land had been pure desert.

Ethiopia so far had been a land of great contrasts, from deserts to lush valleys and from arid mountains to lush valleys.

One other enduring image of Northern Ethiopia is also the sight of Muslims and Christians peacefully coexisting together. Many times as we traveled through the towns and villages Muslims could be seen both coming to and going to prayer undisturbed by their Christian neighbors.

Perhaps there are lessons to be learned there.

 

 

 

 

 

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