9/30/2011

Wadi Halfa



I waited three days in Wadi Halfa, the last stop on the route north to Egypt. It was just long enough to pick up a routine. I stopped off each morning to visit my favorite shay lady, shared jugs of juice with fellow travelers and ate fuul three times a day at the town's top restaurant, where fuul was only one of the menu's three choices. My lokanda's wide courtyard was stacked with cots and bodies the night before the weekly ferry to Aswan. Deathly afraid of missing the boat and having to spend another week in Wadi Halfa, I arrived a few hours early as the port. By the early evening I'd claimed a sleeping spot along with Pierre, a French Canadian, on deck beneath the suspended life boats, and had made plenty of Sudanese and Egyptian friends onboard. Egyptian police boarded the ferry soon after, taking care of customs in the grimy cafeteria. That night we chugged past Abu Simbel, and by early the next afternoon we'd docked beside the High Dam in Aswan.









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