In the early hours of the morning I awoke to re-bunch my jacket which I was using for a pillow. My ankles hung over the second seat where I was curled up in a fetal position on the bench. Nick was head to head with me on his set of two benches. My contact lenses were dry as toast and my eyes felt scratchy.
We were all "surfacing" around 0630. The airport was fairly quiet. At ten to seven, our guards had us all move upstairs to the mezzanine level where a snack bar, rest rooms, and lots of tables and chairs were. The reason was to keep us from mixing with the local traffic of passengers coming to the airport to catch flights. Ethiopian Airlines has a couple of flights a day into Gambela. The morning one arriving at 0900 was to have on it a major player in the Foreign Ministry who was coming to 'sort us out'. We really looked forward to the Caravan arriving about that time too.
When the terminal doors opened at 0730, we were situated upstairs sitting at tables having coffee and egg sandwiches which we bought at the snack bar. Those of us who leaned on the railing looking down at the terminal below were told to stay back and out of view of the locals below. We were not to be seen.
At 0800 two large World Food Organization cargo planes arrived to pick up the many pallets of food they would haul out to deprived regions in the country where tensions were high and families were suffering. These large cargo transport planes came like clockwork while we were detained. Their "prop wash" was significant so we were all happy our "babies" were safe in the hangar. At 0900, the Ethiopian Airlines flight from Addis Ababa arrived. Many people got off and a small handful were Customs and Foreign Ministry personnel. The leader wore an impressive uniform hat and dark glasses. He looked like a darker version of General Douglas MacArthur but without the pipe. From a small balcony next to the snack bar which faced the ramp, we could see him walking into the terminal with his aides. He was a thin man and when he removed his sunglasses, he had an intelligent expression on his face and animated, round dark eyes. I suspected he was also a force to be reckoned with and probably did not like being taken for granted. Max and Beatrice were downstairs to meet him. We still waited for the Caravan from Ed Damazin.
Waiting in the mezzanine for news was tedious. We channel surfed on a TV perched on a table near the snack bar, stretched out on the floor to read or snooze, and the younger set who had the presence of mind to bring playing cards in their backpacks played raucously and joyfully. Some used the bathroom sinks to hand launder socks and undies. Mastering the water hoses in the toilet stalls meant we could lean our heads over the "Head" and wash our hair. Pix had shampoo she shared with everyone.
Pixie was amazing through all this. She smiled all the time, kept her cool, enjoyed teaching Colin, Bella, and Emily card games, and was quick to see someone needing a neck and shoulder rub. We all needed that! She managed to get to everybody over hours of waiting around.
Some time after 1000 the Caravan finally arrived. We watched again from the balcony as the Caravan was marshalled (led) to a parking spot near the hanger where our aircraft were. Guards, Oscar, and the Foreign Ministry man from the capital were right there by the plane as our guys disembarked. They too had to hand over their electronics and passports. The plane was then searched. As it had a lot of gear and bags which it routinely hauled from place to place, this process took a while. Pilot Steve simply watched as the plane he was responsible for was gone over by people who didn't know a thing about airplanes in general, Cessna Grand Caravans in particular.
Inside the terminal, Sam and the others with the man from Addis Ababa and the Foreign Ministry -- who I'll call "Felix"--came upstairs where they could talk away from locals. They kept to one end of the room away from all of us who stayed at the end with food, TV, ashtrays, and card games. Sam and 'Felix' were doing a lot of talking and by afternoon and another round of egg sandwiches, we were told that one pilot from each aircraft could go to his plane and bring out anything left in it that he needed to have in the terminal. Nick brought our two small sleeping bags, a flashlight, and my journal/logbook. Later in the afternoon, Felix set up an interviewing 'station' outside the locked storage room. He wanted pilots brought to him one at a time to be interviewed about the last 36 hours. Felix wanted to narrow his search for blame over our entering his country illegally. We knew where this was going. Sam would be held accountable, and fines or "ransoms" for our release might be levied. We learned on the side from Beatrice that before arriving in Gambela, Sam had notified the embassies of nationalities represented in our rally group of our detention. Word got back to the U.S State Department that 12 U.S. citizens were being detained under a type of "house arrest". Senator Maria Cantwell from Washington state was also aware of our predicament.
What we soon realized about "Felix" was that he had a personable side to him and could be witty. Nick had his one-on-one interview. Felix wanted to be taken seriously but also wanted to break down barriers. In a situation like we were in, one had to be careful what this approach might mean or how it could be used to advantage. Felix asked Nick what sort of flying he did and Nick replied that he was a retired professional pilot having flown for different airlines. Felix assumed Nick's experience was 'domestic' flying and this would explain why Nick "may not have understood the consequences of flying around internationally and how serious it is breaking aviation laws in foreign countries." Nick assured him he had plenty of experience flying commercially abroad and knew full well that in the countries he flew to, "...aviation authorities knew how to process flights from foreign countries and how to properly interface and coordinate with all government agencies involved in the handling of foreign carriers." Nick went on to say that problems arise when agencies within the government "don't talk to one another". The Foreign Ministry's claim that they did not know we were coming so could not have given approval, and that Ethiopian Customs and Immigration weren't present for our arrival was more an indictment of a major breakdown in communications between the parties involved. The airport authority, the ECAA, and the military complex at the airport all knew we were coming. That no one within their ranks thought to inform the Foreign Ministry appeared to be more a problem within their domain as the Vintage Air Rally had covered its bases to the best of its ability. Yet, the fact remained -- we entered and landed without permission at a time when "Who's in charge here?" was being challenged on more than one front in Ethiopia at the time of our arrival. This had become abundantly clear the longer we were here. The arguing we witnessed between Oscar (whose position was answerable to the Foreign Ministry) and airport authorities the day we arrived, and then the silence and tension that we witnessed among our overseers once the foreign ministry people arrived showed us that not everyone among the Ethiopians involved in our "case" were on the same page. All we wanted at this point was to leave the country and not be in the middle of real tensions within the country's power structure.
Later in the afternoon, we all had to go downstairs one by one and retrieve our backpacks and other bags from the storage room, bring them to Felix, remove the contents and show him we did not have things "we shouldn't have" - presumably hidden electronics, drugs, weapons etc. The bags then needed to be put back in the store room. I kept thinking that all this was giving Felix - the man in charge now - time to decide whether or not we could go to the hotel that night. It was now too late to fly to our next destination. When my turn came up to bring out my bags, I looked at Felix and smiled. He smiled back and I proceeded to unload my belongings. I brought out 3 or 4 zip lock bags of toiletry/lotions items. I said, "I know what you must be thinking. 'Where in the heck does she think she's going to use all that stuff?' Well, I'm a woman. I can't help it." He chuckled and said, "I know. I'm married to one." At that point he waved me on and I didn't need to unload the rest of my bag. Any crack in the wall might mean we get to go to the hotel. A few minutes later I started to climb the stairs back to the mezzanine and saw staffer Nathalie approaching Felix's table with her bags for inspection. The poor woman was exhausted and not happy being ordered around by a strange man. She looked angry and Felix sensed it. He focused hard on her and demanded to know what her problem was. She threw a small bag down hard on the table in front of him and said firmly, "I don't like you!" Everybody within ear shot froze. It got very quiet and I hurried up the stairs.
What's another night in the terminal, I lamely asked myself.
It was difficult interpreting the facial expressions of Sam and Felix and other officials in his entourage while they conferred and discussed things across the room from us. We naturally speculated things amongst ourselves - it gave us something to do as what we were best skilled at doing -- flying our airplanes from interesting location to interesting location -- was not an option at this point. But we had to be careful what we talked about as guards now were casually mingling among us and though they appeared to not be focused on us, they had ears. Sam approached us for a 'briefing' -- an update on what was going on. Great discretion in choice of words and the use of English slang expressions that the guards would not understand were employed and we learned from bits and pieces wedged between the lines of Sam's talking the extent of the embassies' awareness of our situation, media coverage back in the UK and in Africa, and the prioritized list of what to focus on next: meeting with customs agents from Addis Ababa, explaining from our perspective what happened and why, and negotiating our release to go to the hotel. The first two were in progress. The last one, not so good.
It came to pass that we were to spend another night in the terminal. Talks had stalemated. No passports, no electronics, no hotel, but more egg sandwiches. The people working at the mezzanine snackbar were working harder than ever. We kept them busy making those toasted egg sandwiches which cost all of $3. Amazing, thick, dark coffee, tea, water, and mango juice were $1. A kind of rubbery, gray colored tortilla was also available and if the snack bar personnel were up to it, they would heat up a beef stew of sorts that could fill the tortilla for $3. We were okay.
Before retiring for the evening to our 'spot' in the boarding area room, I walked around visiting with others and seeing how they were doing. The majority of us kept our sense of humor though we were all looking haggard and scruffy. Johannes and Fabian laughed the most and got along great with the guards. Emily, Bella, Pix, Colin, Adam, Lino and a couple other young folk kept playing cards. J.B. remained very quiet. He sat straight in a chair, arms folded in front of him, feet up on a chair and looked around casually or stared off on one spot. I figured when all this was over, he would have a lot to say. Ingo, the Bucker pilot from Germany, managed to always look like he just got out of a shower and had a secret laundry service to provide him clean, pressed clothes. He kept cool and quiet. Many seemed content to just let time pass while they observed others and stayed more or less to themselves.
Our second night in the terminal was not as comfortable as the previous night. Our 'keepers' decided to cut power to the building which gave us no lights to find our way to the bathrooms during the night and no air conditioner. Not very nice.
The night was long. But the next day came on schedule and with it a change of fortune.
Travel Air
Wednesday, December 28, 2016
Tuesday, December 27, 2016
Days 11 - 13. Nov. 22 - 24. Ethiopia Part One
There are 'Morning Larks' and 'Night Owls'. I'm a 'Night Owl', but on this trip I was being turned into a 'Morning Lark' whether I liked it or not! The alarm going off at 0330 was a reminder that wake-up alarms are the most uncivilized invention of modern times. Loud noises designed to jar one awake from peaceful, restorative slumber run contrary to nature and all the health warnings we get on the news every 6 months or so about the dangers of sleep deprivation. But schedules are schedules and the beat goes on.
A lot happened over the next few days, so this post is going to be longer. Hang in there...there is an end.
On this morning we stumbled onto our buses idling outside the hotel reception area and headed for an airport still enveloped in darkness. I heard someone ask if anyone had seen Maurice. I hadn't seen Maurice on the bus, but more than one vehicle was heading to the airport. I didn't think about Maurice. I didn't think about much of anything except cleaning our cockpit windscreens, folding and putting away our cockpit covers, stowing our bags under our seats, and getting to Gambela, checking into our hotel and taking a nap! We took off at 0804 -- well after daybreak -- for our refueling spot, Ed Damazin, in southern Sudan. Our slight delay out of Khartoum was not extreme or out of the ordinary.
Maurice at Khartoum. We were happy to see he hadn't slept through his alarm, but if he had he would have had that extra hour's sleep as we were late departing anyway. More customs paperwork to deal with and airport officials were slow moving. Nobody likes waking up to alarm clocks. John, pilot of the Stearman, is in line to get forms of some kind.
The flight to Ed Damazin was about 2 hours and 50 minutes and was bumpy. Locals once again had come to the airport to welcome and greet us. A large group of men playing long didgeridoo-like instruments stood in a semi-circle in front of the terminal; very colorfully dressed women were grouped close to them dancing to the beat of the instruments in expressive fashion while standing in one place. Amazing. They may stamp their feet but they stay pretty much in one place. The main movement of their bodies is in their heads, necks, shoulders, arms, and backs.
This is what I look at during flight. My iPad is mounted on brackets on the instrument panel in front of me. My panel actually has no instruments. Rudders, throttle, and control stick are all the front cockpit has. This navigation program shows the 'magenta' line -- our route -- with way points factored in. When it's bumpy, my camera shots of the routing gets a little blurry. The numbers on the bottom show ground speed, flight altitude, heading, estimated time of arrival (changes throughout flight), and distance from destination (DME). All this info is available IF the GPS, which is a separate device in our airplane, and its signal is strong and can send data to this navigation program.
Wives of airport officials, their children, and military personnel greeted us and wanted photos taken with our airplanes. As we were the most exciting event to come to their communities in a long time, we were always happy to oblige. The military is a prominent presence at these airports. Some of these guys, armed with AK-47s, were patrolling the perimeter of the field and parking ramps. Word got out by one of the Antonov women that the ladies restroom in the VIP terminal involved a hole in the floor, a hose, large spiders, no TP, no hand soap, no paper towels, and sensory disabling odors. I thought about wandering out into the bushes near the parking ramp, but seeing these guys out there with loaded weapons, decided to take my chances in the VIP lounge. It wasn't that bad. Some Alaskan outhouses are only a notch or two better and I have been in plenty of those in my lifetime.
Musicians, singers, and dancers performing for us in front of Ed Damazin terminal. They were amused and delighted when a couple of us joined them in dance. Music and dance is important in their culture and they like sharing their enthusiasm.
I find the 'Little Wee Folk', (I am reminded all the time how redundant this is! -- but I can't help myself.) irresistible. They go along with everything -- no clue why or how. They rightfully assume - until given reason to assume otherwise - that wherever they are, they are okay. This little girl was doing just fine until she recognized her mother standing 6 feet away and began to wonder why she wasn't in HER arms.
We all refueled our aircraft which took a while as the 50 gallon drums in the back of a pick-up truck needed to be refilled after 3 aircraft were fueled. The pumping of fuel took time as well due to the hand held filters which we had to share with each other. The next leg was going to be almost 3 hours and we knew we had to depart Ed Damazin soon. It then occurred to us that Maurice hadn't even arrived yet. Word filtered out that our current delay was waiting for him to catch up. Then an update along the lines of what we all had begun to suspect: Maurice had declared another emergency due to engine problems.
It was hot on the ramp and Estelle had passed out a couple of rounds of bottled water to all of us. Finally Maurice arrived -- his engine quit short of the runway, but he managed to land safely. He was then able to restart his engine and "limp" into the parking area. Sam was not happy about this recent bit of drama and the delay it had caused for all of us. Maurice was then "kicked out" of the rally and told he needed to get his airplane properly tended to and inspected. He would have to file his own flight plans and was essentially on his own for lodgings etc. As Maurice still needed to refuel and take care of landing fee forms etc., we were told to not wait any longer and launch for Gambela. We did.
Soon into this leg of the flight, Cedric and Alexandra's radio gave them problems so we offered to relay for them any communications with Max in lead aircraft, ATC, or other pilots on the 123.45 frequency. We flew close enough to them that we could hear them where others could not. Then we found our GPS started acting up and our signal became intermittent which meant on our iPad screens the flight data would freeze, then start up again, then freeze. So staying on the magenta line became a little problematic. We then knew we had to stay in close visual contact with planes ahead of us. Numerous brush fires in the area were filling the area with obscuring smoke. We had ridges to cross so had to stay sharp in our own assessment of our surroundings and listening to the chatter among others in our fleet who were passing on FYIs. The flight was beginning to be less fun and more work. Eagle Eye Me had to keep scanning the airspace for others in our formation. Keith and Colin were ahead of us and so I focused mostly on them while keeping an eye on The Stampe.
A curious transmission from Max came over the group frequency. We had to turn to a new waypoint and avoid Ethiopian airspace for a little while. We all acknowledged this by counting off on the radio our team number. "Team 11, copy". We passed the info on to Cedric and Alexandra. The new routing added more time to our flight but just before getting to that point, we got another transmission from Max that we could now proceed directly to Gambela. We got the tower frequency and were told the active runway. We still had about 45 minutes to go before calling in to the tower.
Scenes enroute to Gambela
Max's plane was way in the lead and he got to the airport control zone ahead of us. We could hear him on the radio though it was a little garbled. One word I distinctly heard was "emergency". On the intercom, I asked Nick if he had heard that too. He said, yes. Then Pixie in the Tiger Moth could be heard declaring their intentions to land and then the controller asking her if she was declaring an "emergency". Others ahead of us entering the pattern were stating their positions for landing and the controller kept saying something or asking something that I couldn't clearly understand except it didn't sound like the usual, "Proceed, report short final", or "Proceed to enter left downwind for runway 36". What was all this talk about 'declaring an emergency"? When we called the tower to report our intention to enter the pattern for landing, we got no response. We could see some of our team aircraft on the parking ramp so continued our approach. Nick kept calling the tower, "N6263 following N8708 (Keith's plane) entering left downwind for 36.", then "...turning base." Still no response from the tower. Another plane was behind us and Keith on final in front of us. We kept going. "N6263 on final for landing." It was done. We had just landed at Gambela Airport without any acknowledgment from Gambela tower. What had just happened?
Others landed behind us. At the parking ramp, there were no greeters, musicians, dancers, flag waving school children, or trays of cold beverages. I was still in the cockpit filling out my flight log with 'down' and 'shut-down' times when Nick said to me, "Lita, climb down now." I looked over my shoulder and saw a ramp agent asking for my passport. I gave it to him. I began gathering my belongings and Nick said again but more emphatically, "Lita, get out of the airplane NOW." I said in irritated fashion after a trying leg of flying, "Don't rush me!" I then started to say something to Nick like, "Always telling me what to do!" but saw the other men gathering around our airplane and the look on their faces. They were as serious as startled cobras. I followed Nick and them, and other pilots being similarly escorted into the terminal.
Once inside the terminal, a story of what was going on began to unfold. We all entered Ethiopian airspace and landed at a non-port of entry airport without permission. When Max called the tower for landing instructions for the whole rally, he was told we did not have permission to land and that we had to turn around and return to Ed Damazin. None of us had the fuel to do such a thing, so Max informed the tower of this. We were still denied permission. So Max declared an emergency on behalf of all of us due to fuel shortage.
This was serious. We were surrounded by about 15 men in different uniforms - some green, some blue. Two or three seemed to be in charge in some way and they barked at us and each other in broken English and in their own language. One short, thin, balding man seemed particularly agitated and he was having a discussion with Max who was being our spokesman and who looked wary, weary, but calm and serious. He towered over the short man, (not knowing his name, I'll refer to him as "Oscar") and tried to listen carefully to what Oscar was telling him. At one moment Max shook his head and said, "No..." which was all I could hear. After more agitated speech from Oscar, Max announced to the rest of us who now gathered closer together that we had to surrender to the authorities there in the terminal all our electronic devices - mobile phones, iPads, laptops -- everything. We all had A LOT to say about that and lots of questions but it became readily apparent that continuing on that path of righteous indignation was not in our best interests. Our devices were gathered up by a soldier, placed in a big bag and taken to a room with one entry. Max demanded that the door be locked and that he be in possession of the key. This was arranged. We all then were subject to having the rest of our belongings screened and ourselves body-searched for hidden devices. This screening process repeated itself two more times. What we did not know and what Oscar and his team did not know was that Beatrice, Sam's wife who flew with us to Gambela in one of the Cessna's instead of the Caravan, had sneaked into a women's bathroom with her iPhone and texted Sam back in Ed Damazin to alert him to what was going on. Because of dealing with Maurice back at our refueling stop, and because the Caravan flies so much faster than the rest of us, and because re-fueling paperwork needed to be completed, Sam, pilot Steve, Jeremy, Nathalie and David were still there after we had been off Ed Damazin 45 minutes. What Beatrice was informed of during that quick texting back and forth was that Maurice took off on his own shortly after we all left and was headed our way. Also, when the Caravan taxied out for take-off, the Ed Damazin tower called them back to the ramp because it had gotten word from Gambela that our aircraft were heading illegally towards Ethiopian airspace. The Caravan people were now stuck in Ed Damazin. Sam was calling the Ethiopian Civil Aviation Authority to straighten out what to him was a huge mistake in that the ECAA had weeks before issued email and verbal clearances for us to land at Gambela . They knew we were coming on this date and that fuel for our aircraft had been delivered to the airport with "our name on it". The ECAA said something to the effect that it wasn't that simple. Indeed it was not. An Ethiopian military officer in Ed Damazin at the time got into it by assuring Sam that the military was expecting us and that we were clear to go to Gambela. Two entities said they were expecting us. The problem, as it turned out, was a third entity - The Ethiopian Ministry of Foreign Affairs. They demanded our landing permit numbers which we did not have as the arrangement had been issued for all of us as a group and in this case no permit number - only a verbal and e-mail agreement made in advance.
The MFA claimed they knew nothing about us. Ethiopia was in a state of emergency in certain parts of the country and house to house searches had been done the morning of our arrival. This turn of events and the fact that two pilots in our group were Egyptian (Yasser and Timur) whom the Ethiopian government were highly suspicious of due to a disputed Nile dam construction project, conditions were ripe for us being detained which is exactly what happened. Beatrice learned that the Caravan would be arriving at Gambela at 0900 the next morning and with landing permission.
From our point of view, we had gotten into a mess and the rally organizers would have to deal with getting the matter cleared up. A couple of guards in military uniforms were standing near the security screening set-up near the entrance and they had AK-47s on their shoulders. I wasn't very comfortable with this and for a second or two felt really uneasy. "Get a grip!" -- my new mantra -- and I quickly realized that no such stupid thing like a shooting was going to happen. Maurice soon arrived and was escorted into the terminal to take his place with all of us. He looked none the worse for wear but was wearing a large, vintage London Bobby hat! What bad thing could possibly happen now?! He surveyed the terminal room and slouched into a chair weary like all of us. We settled into seats in the terminal while Estelle and Beatrice worked with airport staff to get word to our hotel in the city that we could not board their bus which had been waiting outside for us. They also got the airport staff to call the hotel and see if hot food and cold beverages could be delivered to us.
We waited for some time to find out if Oscar and his 'team' would be able to make the necessary calls to clear us so we could go on to the hotel. A vain hope. We were then asked to hand over all our flight bags, backpacks etc to be placed in the locked room. We were allowed to keep out toothbrushes, shampoo, and one change of clothing. We clearly were not going anywhere.
I have no photos of any of this as my camera and iPhone were locked up. Just picture 40 of us wilting in the humid heat of a fairly modern but dirty airport terminal with no activity going on except for a bunch of unwanted foreigners milling around and murmuring amongst themselves. The bathrooms did not have TP so we complained about that and soon a cleaning lady arrived with half used up rolls of TP. Food did arrive from the hotel -- aluminum foil wrapped hot rice with beef and some grilled veggies. Bottles of water and fruit juice came also. After eating, we started looking for sleeping sites. Our guards were in seats by the terminal entrance and some sat outside to catch a breeze. Fabian approached them to see if he could step outside for a smoke and some air. They weren't happy to oblige - at first. We soon saw resourceful, diplomatic Fabian enjoying a smoke sitting in a chair on the threshold of the double wide sliding doors. He smiled and chatted up the guards. They watched him carefully.
A thunderstorm was building. We had been having quick little brown-outs with the lights flickering. During our third security screening --after we had surrendered our bags -- the lights went completely out and everybody cheered. Some auxiliary system kicked in and the power came back on. The wind suddenly grew strong and blew down the security screening frame near the front entrance. The pilots all went into alert mode and urgently asked our guards for permission to go out on the ramp to secure our aircraft. It took a little pleading but they were willing to allow this under supervision. They ran out and in the darkness managed to not just secure the aircraft but actually move them into a large hangar with the help of the guards. Very nice.
Max appointed Olivier, one of the video film crew, to sleep on the floor in front of the locked storage room with all our belongings and electronics. The rest of us scoped out our sleeping spots. Some picked the luggage belts that were reasonably clean. Most ended up on the dirty tiled floor or the dirty area carpets. The many benches had permanent armrests so the resourceful among us turned benches around to face each other so one could recline in a seat with feet up on the opposing seat. In an adjacent boarding area there were more benches set up in rows facing large windows that looked out on the ramp. In this room, Nick and I found a set of benches with no armrests and they were slightly padded. They were also positioned under what seemed to be the only working AC in the main terminal. A large flat screened TV was on the end wall tuned to BBC World and two reasonably clean bathrooms were to the left down a short hallway. The bathrooms in the airport, by the way, had regular toilets. They also all had nozzled hoses mounted on the walls right next to the toilet seats. These would come in handy for "showers" and hair washing.
We hunkered down for the night having found a way to turn off the TV and dim the room lights. Mark found his bench behind us, Pix found a spot at the end of our row and her dad Brett lay on a piece of carpet near the wall with the AC. Julia and Martyn were at the back of the room - she on a bench and he on the floor. Helicopter pilots Boris and wife Yulia had their spot between rows on the floor near Pix. I actually slept for a while waking during the night to a gentle symphony of snoring from every corner of the room. There was a definite string section, brass section, and percussion section. It was amazing. An intake of air in B flat to my far right was melodiously linked to an exhale of staccato E sharp tones to my left. Somewhere was the putt-putt-putting of a metronome which I couldn't be sure was Norman on the floor near the door or water pipes behind the wall where the TV was mounted. It was all okay. A guard came in the room and quietly surveyed the area and walked out into the main lobby where lights were still on as that was where the main band of guards and insomniacs from our group were congregated. I nodded off again after making sure Nick was still asleep near me. The wind outside had died down.
A lot happened over the next few days, so this post is going to be longer. Hang in there...there is an end.
On this morning we stumbled onto our buses idling outside the hotel reception area and headed for an airport still enveloped in darkness. I heard someone ask if anyone had seen Maurice. I hadn't seen Maurice on the bus, but more than one vehicle was heading to the airport. I didn't think about Maurice. I didn't think about much of anything except cleaning our cockpit windscreens, folding and putting away our cockpit covers, stowing our bags under our seats, and getting to Gambela, checking into our hotel and taking a nap! We took off at 0804 -- well after daybreak -- for our refueling spot, Ed Damazin, in southern Sudan. Our slight delay out of Khartoum was not extreme or out of the ordinary.
Maurice at Khartoum. We were happy to see he hadn't slept through his alarm, but if he had he would have had that extra hour's sleep as we were late departing anyway. More customs paperwork to deal with and airport officials were slow moving. Nobody likes waking up to alarm clocks. John, pilot of the Stearman, is in line to get forms of some kind.
The flight to Ed Damazin was about 2 hours and 50 minutes and was bumpy. Locals once again had come to the airport to welcome and greet us. A large group of men playing long didgeridoo-like instruments stood in a semi-circle in front of the terminal; very colorfully dressed women were grouped close to them dancing to the beat of the instruments in expressive fashion while standing in one place. Amazing. They may stamp their feet but they stay pretty much in one place. The main movement of their bodies is in their heads, necks, shoulders, arms, and backs.
Musicians, singers, and dancers performing for us in front of Ed Damazin terminal. They were amused and delighted when a couple of us joined them in dance. Music and dance is important in their culture and they like sharing their enthusiasm.
I find the 'Little Wee Folk', (I am reminded all the time how redundant this is! -- but I can't help myself.) irresistible. They go along with everything -- no clue why or how. They rightfully assume - until given reason to assume otherwise - that wherever they are, they are okay. This little girl was doing just fine until she recognized her mother standing 6 feet away and began to wonder why she wasn't in HER arms.
We all refueled our aircraft which took a while as the 50 gallon drums in the back of a pick-up truck needed to be refilled after 3 aircraft were fueled. The pumping of fuel took time as well due to the hand held filters which we had to share with each other. The next leg was going to be almost 3 hours and we knew we had to depart Ed Damazin soon. It then occurred to us that Maurice hadn't even arrived yet. Word filtered out that our current delay was waiting for him to catch up. Then an update along the lines of what we all had begun to suspect: Maurice had declared another emergency due to engine problems.
It was hot on the ramp and Estelle had passed out a couple of rounds of bottled water to all of us. Finally Maurice arrived -- his engine quit short of the runway, but he managed to land safely. He was then able to restart his engine and "limp" into the parking area. Sam was not happy about this recent bit of drama and the delay it had caused for all of us. Maurice was then "kicked out" of the rally and told he needed to get his airplane properly tended to and inspected. He would have to file his own flight plans and was essentially on his own for lodgings etc. As Maurice still needed to refuel and take care of landing fee forms etc., we were told to not wait any longer and launch for Gambela. We did.
Soon into this leg of the flight, Cedric and Alexandra's radio gave them problems so we offered to relay for them any communications with Max in lead aircraft, ATC, or other pilots on the 123.45 frequency. We flew close enough to them that we could hear them where others could not. Then we found our GPS started acting up and our signal became intermittent which meant on our iPad screens the flight data would freeze, then start up again, then freeze. So staying on the magenta line became a little problematic. We then knew we had to stay in close visual contact with planes ahead of us. Numerous brush fires in the area were filling the area with obscuring smoke. We had ridges to cross so had to stay sharp in our own assessment of our surroundings and listening to the chatter among others in our fleet who were passing on FYIs. The flight was beginning to be less fun and more work. Eagle Eye Me had to keep scanning the airspace for others in our formation. Keith and Colin were ahead of us and so I focused mostly on them while keeping an eye on The Stampe.
A curious transmission from Max came over the group frequency. We had to turn to a new waypoint and avoid Ethiopian airspace for a little while. We all acknowledged this by counting off on the radio our team number. "Team 11, copy". We passed the info on to Cedric and Alexandra. The new routing added more time to our flight but just before getting to that point, we got another transmission from Max that we could now proceed directly to Gambela. We got the tower frequency and were told the active runway. We still had about 45 minutes to go before calling in to the tower.
Max's plane was way in the lead and he got to the airport control zone ahead of us. We could hear him on the radio though it was a little garbled. One word I distinctly heard was "emergency". On the intercom, I asked Nick if he had heard that too. He said, yes. Then Pixie in the Tiger Moth could be heard declaring their intentions to land and then the controller asking her if she was declaring an "emergency". Others ahead of us entering the pattern were stating their positions for landing and the controller kept saying something or asking something that I couldn't clearly understand except it didn't sound like the usual, "Proceed, report short final", or "Proceed to enter left downwind for runway 36". What was all this talk about 'declaring an emergency"? When we called the tower to report our intention to enter the pattern for landing, we got no response. We could see some of our team aircraft on the parking ramp so continued our approach. Nick kept calling the tower, "N6263 following N8708 (Keith's plane) entering left downwind for 36.", then "...turning base." Still no response from the tower. Another plane was behind us and Keith on final in front of us. We kept going. "N6263 on final for landing." It was done. We had just landed at Gambela Airport without any acknowledgment from Gambela tower. What had just happened?
Others landed behind us. At the parking ramp, there were no greeters, musicians, dancers, flag waving school children, or trays of cold beverages. I was still in the cockpit filling out my flight log with 'down' and 'shut-down' times when Nick said to me, "Lita, climb down now." I looked over my shoulder and saw a ramp agent asking for my passport. I gave it to him. I began gathering my belongings and Nick said again but more emphatically, "Lita, get out of the airplane NOW." I said in irritated fashion after a trying leg of flying, "Don't rush me!" I then started to say something to Nick like, "Always telling me what to do!" but saw the other men gathering around our airplane and the look on their faces. They were as serious as startled cobras. I followed Nick and them, and other pilots being similarly escorted into the terminal.
Once inside the terminal, a story of what was going on began to unfold. We all entered Ethiopian airspace and landed at a non-port of entry airport without permission. When Max called the tower for landing instructions for the whole rally, he was told we did not have permission to land and that we had to turn around and return to Ed Damazin. None of us had the fuel to do such a thing, so Max informed the tower of this. We were still denied permission. So Max declared an emergency on behalf of all of us due to fuel shortage.
This was serious. We were surrounded by about 15 men in different uniforms - some green, some blue. Two or three seemed to be in charge in some way and they barked at us and each other in broken English and in their own language. One short, thin, balding man seemed particularly agitated and he was having a discussion with Max who was being our spokesman and who looked wary, weary, but calm and serious. He towered over the short man, (not knowing his name, I'll refer to him as "Oscar") and tried to listen carefully to what Oscar was telling him. At one moment Max shook his head and said, "No..." which was all I could hear. After more agitated speech from Oscar, Max announced to the rest of us who now gathered closer together that we had to surrender to the authorities there in the terminal all our electronic devices - mobile phones, iPads, laptops -- everything. We all had A LOT to say about that and lots of questions but it became readily apparent that continuing on that path of righteous indignation was not in our best interests. Our devices were gathered up by a soldier, placed in a big bag and taken to a room with one entry. Max demanded that the door be locked and that he be in possession of the key. This was arranged. We all then were subject to having the rest of our belongings screened and ourselves body-searched for hidden devices. This screening process repeated itself two more times. What we did not know and what Oscar and his team did not know was that Beatrice, Sam's wife who flew with us to Gambela in one of the Cessna's instead of the Caravan, had sneaked into a women's bathroom with her iPhone and texted Sam back in Ed Damazin to alert him to what was going on. Because of dealing with Maurice back at our refueling stop, and because the Caravan flies so much faster than the rest of us, and because re-fueling paperwork needed to be completed, Sam, pilot Steve, Jeremy, Nathalie and David were still there after we had been off Ed Damazin 45 minutes. What Beatrice was informed of during that quick texting back and forth was that Maurice took off on his own shortly after we all left and was headed our way. Also, when the Caravan taxied out for take-off, the Ed Damazin tower called them back to the ramp because it had gotten word from Gambela that our aircraft were heading illegally towards Ethiopian airspace. The Caravan people were now stuck in Ed Damazin. Sam was calling the Ethiopian Civil Aviation Authority to straighten out what to him was a huge mistake in that the ECAA had weeks before issued email and verbal clearances for us to land at Gambela . They knew we were coming on this date and that fuel for our aircraft had been delivered to the airport with "our name on it". The ECAA said something to the effect that it wasn't that simple. Indeed it was not. An Ethiopian military officer in Ed Damazin at the time got into it by assuring Sam that the military was expecting us and that we were clear to go to Gambela. Two entities said they were expecting us. The problem, as it turned out, was a third entity - The Ethiopian Ministry of Foreign Affairs. They demanded our landing permit numbers which we did not have as the arrangement had been issued for all of us as a group and in this case no permit number - only a verbal and e-mail agreement made in advance.
The MFA claimed they knew nothing about us. Ethiopia was in a state of emergency in certain parts of the country and house to house searches had been done the morning of our arrival. This turn of events and the fact that two pilots in our group were Egyptian (Yasser and Timur) whom the Ethiopian government were highly suspicious of due to a disputed Nile dam construction project, conditions were ripe for us being detained which is exactly what happened. Beatrice learned that the Caravan would be arriving at Gambela at 0900 the next morning and with landing permission.
From our point of view, we had gotten into a mess and the rally organizers would have to deal with getting the matter cleared up. A couple of guards in military uniforms were standing near the security screening set-up near the entrance and they had AK-47s on their shoulders. I wasn't very comfortable with this and for a second or two felt really uneasy. "Get a grip!" -- my new mantra -- and I quickly realized that no such stupid thing like a shooting was going to happen. Maurice soon arrived and was escorted into the terminal to take his place with all of us. He looked none the worse for wear but was wearing a large, vintage London Bobby hat! What bad thing could possibly happen now?! He surveyed the terminal room and slouched into a chair weary like all of us. We settled into seats in the terminal while Estelle and Beatrice worked with airport staff to get word to our hotel in the city that we could not board their bus which had been waiting outside for us. They also got the airport staff to call the hotel and see if hot food and cold beverages could be delivered to us.
We waited for some time to find out if Oscar and his 'team' would be able to make the necessary calls to clear us so we could go on to the hotel. A vain hope. We were then asked to hand over all our flight bags, backpacks etc to be placed in the locked room. We were allowed to keep out toothbrushes, shampoo, and one change of clothing. We clearly were not going anywhere.
I have no photos of any of this as my camera and iPhone were locked up. Just picture 40 of us wilting in the humid heat of a fairly modern but dirty airport terminal with no activity going on except for a bunch of unwanted foreigners milling around and murmuring amongst themselves. The bathrooms did not have TP so we complained about that and soon a cleaning lady arrived with half used up rolls of TP. Food did arrive from the hotel -- aluminum foil wrapped hot rice with beef and some grilled veggies. Bottles of water and fruit juice came also. After eating, we started looking for sleeping sites. Our guards were in seats by the terminal entrance and some sat outside to catch a breeze. Fabian approached them to see if he could step outside for a smoke and some air. They weren't happy to oblige - at first. We soon saw resourceful, diplomatic Fabian enjoying a smoke sitting in a chair on the threshold of the double wide sliding doors. He smiled and chatted up the guards. They watched him carefully.
A thunderstorm was building. We had been having quick little brown-outs with the lights flickering. During our third security screening --after we had surrendered our bags -- the lights went completely out and everybody cheered. Some auxiliary system kicked in and the power came back on. The wind suddenly grew strong and blew down the security screening frame near the front entrance. The pilots all went into alert mode and urgently asked our guards for permission to go out on the ramp to secure our aircraft. It took a little pleading but they were willing to allow this under supervision. They ran out and in the darkness managed to not just secure the aircraft but actually move them into a large hangar with the help of the guards. Very nice.
Max appointed Olivier, one of the video film crew, to sleep on the floor in front of the locked storage room with all our belongings and electronics. The rest of us scoped out our sleeping spots. Some picked the luggage belts that were reasonably clean. Most ended up on the dirty tiled floor or the dirty area carpets. The many benches had permanent armrests so the resourceful among us turned benches around to face each other so one could recline in a seat with feet up on the opposing seat. In an adjacent boarding area there were more benches set up in rows facing large windows that looked out on the ramp. In this room, Nick and I found a set of benches with no armrests and they were slightly padded. They were also positioned under what seemed to be the only working AC in the main terminal. A large flat screened TV was on the end wall tuned to BBC World and two reasonably clean bathrooms were to the left down a short hallway. The bathrooms in the airport, by the way, had regular toilets. They also all had nozzled hoses mounted on the walls right next to the toilet seats. These would come in handy for "showers" and hair washing.
We hunkered down for the night having found a way to turn off the TV and dim the room lights. Mark found his bench behind us, Pix found a spot at the end of our row and her dad Brett lay on a piece of carpet near the wall with the AC. Julia and Martyn were at the back of the room - she on a bench and he on the floor. Helicopter pilots Boris and wife Yulia had their spot between rows on the floor near Pix. I actually slept for a while waking during the night to a gentle symphony of snoring from every corner of the room. There was a definite string section, brass section, and percussion section. It was amazing. An intake of air in B flat to my far right was melodiously linked to an exhale of staccato E sharp tones to my left. Somewhere was the putt-putt-putting of a metronome which I couldn't be sure was Norman on the floor near the door or water pipes behind the wall where the TV was mounted. It was all okay. A guard came in the room and quietly surveyed the area and walked out into the main lobby where lights were still on as that was where the main band of guards and insomniacs from our group were congregated. I nodded off again after making sure Nick was still asleep near me. The wind outside had died down.
Sunday, December 25, 2016
Days 9 -10. November 20/21 - Khartoum
Our continued flight over the deserts of Sudan was beautiful and fun. Khartoum wasn't far off so we were able to 'play' a little on the way. We flew in close formation with each other and had fun photographing our buddies. We also found camels doing what camels do in the desert - walking around trying to look busy. They didn't seem to mind us swooping down low to get closer looks at them.
Team Barnstormers came past us and we waved and yelled at them to slow down so we could get some photos.
"Hey, Keith! Can you pass the bag of Cheetos?"
On our approach to Khartoum, (we were about 15 miles north), we heard Maurice on the radio! We had been told that he was close to catching up with us, but as he rather enjoys being a man of mystery, he did not communicate his whereabouts until we heard him now telling Khartoum approach that he was having engine power difficulties about 30 miles out. We continued to monitor and then heard him a short while later inform Khartoum that he was down to 40% of power and things "weren't looking good." Khartoum wanted to know more. Long pause in conversation as Maurice had to be thinking carefully about his next move. As we called in our new position of 5 miles out, we heard Maurice broadcast a mayday. The tower informed him of an alternate airport closer to him where he could attempt to land. Maurice's response was not clear.
We and others landed in reasonable formation and taxied to a parking area set aside for all of us. Big crowds had once again gathered to greet us. It was a beautiful day in Khartoum and we were happy to be there. After shutting down our engine, we learned from Max who had landed ahead of us that Maurice actually landed at Khartoum. He apparently realized he was actually closer to the airport than he had reported and didn't need to head to an alternate. He still landed under an emergency declaration as his engine "had quit". His plane was towed to a hangar near where we had all parked our aircraft. We were told by Max who witnessed his landing that neither he nor his aircraft were injured during his "emergency" landing. I had never met Maurice before -- only heard many stories about him. Now I was seeing him for the first time. He was shuffling with a limp across the ramp. His tall frame stooped slightly at the waist and he looked weary. He wore a white pilot's uniform shirt with epaulets, somewhat baggy trousers, was toting a flight bag, and his long white hair was sticking out in all directions as if each strand was trying to flee the scene of a calamity. I felt a little sorry for him but sensed he would be in fine form shortly. I looked forward to meeting him.
A family of airplane enthusiasts wanted their picture taken with us. This happened a lot everywhere we landed. Ramp personnel, airport managers, security officers, their family members, school children -- all wanted to be photographed in front of our planes and next to the pilots. Their enthusiasm was wonderful but we had to be alert to keep them from innocently climbing up on the fabric-covered wings to look inside the cockpits or trying to sit on the wings for photo ops leaving dents on our flying surfaces.
Our 5 star, egg-shaped hotel, The Corinthian, rises like a blue "carbuncle" (a term Prince Charles used to describe ultra-modern high rises in London) along the skyline of Khartoum. It was the most amazing example of, in my critical opinion, a long night of debauchery out on the town a few hours before a 7 A.M. deadline for a design blueprint at the city planning office. To be fair, though, on the inside it was very nice. The lobby was airy and inviting, our room had a terrific view of the Nile River, and the staff were helpful and welcoming. The internet here as in most places we stayed in Africa was inconsistent and slow. We would have to wander around the hotel with our iPads and laptops to scope out the best hot spot.
The Corinthian. It appears to be perched on top of a river barge but is actually about a half mile away. I think I can tell my grandchildren that I was abducted by aliens and temporarily held captive in their space ship and they would believe me.
The view of the Blue Nile from our hotel room. The two tributaries of the Nile River - the Blue Nile and the White Nile - converge a few miles downstream.
Our first night in Khartoum, we were invited to an outdoor banquet buffet by the vice-president of Sudan. He chose the grounds of the city's police headquarters. Sounds sketchy, but it was very nice. The headquarters is centered in a lovely park-like, nicely landscaped area. The building itself was bathed in tinted flood lights and the surrounding palm trees made it look more like a palace. The vice-president did not attend the dinner, but the head of Sudan's Civil Aviation Authority, and the Mayor of Khartoum were present. They were very hospitable and enjoyed hosting us with good food, music, dancers, drummers, and song.
The next day was a free day and some of us went to the National Museum of Sudan and then a boat ride on the Nile to the convergence of the White and Blue Nile rivers. The White Nile is the longer of the two and originates in central Africa flowing northward from southern Rwanda through Tanzania, Uganda and into Sudan. The Blue Nile originates in the mountains of Ethiopia at Lake Tana which is located 1800 meters above sea level. These tributaries of the Nile River differ in other ways than origin -- the Blue Nile is the main source of water for the Nile River and is the source of more fertile silt and other soil deposits that have nourished the region for thousands of years. Their convergence joins their many qualities and power as the Nile River we all think of continues its journey through Egypt and out into the Mediterranean Sea.
At the museum. This is how one of the Caesars might have reacted to a time traveler's first sight of The Corinthian Hotel.
Brett and Pixie boarding our boat. The Tiger Moth gang showed the most interest in getting out on the Nile. I was happy to join them.
Tiger Moth co-pilot from the UK, Stewart, and I properly attired in life vests for our ride on the Blue Nile.
At the convergence of the two tributaries. Though one is not white and the other blue, you can see a slight difference in shade between the two rivers. The 'muddier' looking one is the Blue Nile and carries much silt from its high elevation source in Ethiopia.
For thousands of years, this river has nourished an entire region with life-giving nutrients and sustenance. Today its shores are a dumping ground for modern mankind's most abundant waste product -- plastic. Not a very nice way to thank a mighty river.
After the river boat trip we browsed aboard a derelict 19th century British gunboat that was at dry dock just 80 or so yards from the river. Gunboats like this one were highly used by the British during various military campaigns to assert authority in Sudan. The particular one we visited had been captained by the famous Major General Horatio Kitchener who is 1898 fought and defeated the French to gain control of this part of the Nile which was a vital artery for all sorts of British, expansionist enterprises.
On our last evening in Khartoum, we had a very nice sit-down garden dinner at the embassy residence of British Ambassador Michael Aron. As some of us were without formal dinner attire due to a screw up with our A boxes (containers carrying our personal goods such as clothing that could not fit in our biplanes but were to be transported in the support aircraft like the Antonov and Grand Caravan), we all went to the dinner in various attire. Alexandra, Cedric, Nick and I went "local" and had fun anyway.
Our new 'look' for dinner at the Embassy. There's a knack to knowing how to tie these scarves. Alexandra got hers right; I fumbled with mine.
Ambassador Aron showed up in casual attire that made us feel more comfortable. He's a very charming and friendly ambassador which is the point of good diplomacy. He was also a delightful host making all of us (about a hundred people including other invited guests to meet the rally teams) very much at ease.
The infamous Maurice having fun spinning yarns with Jeremy -- one of the rally staff members.
Fairly new arrivals to the Rally, John and his daughter Bella. They came in as a replacement crew for the Israeli-owned Stearman. They were to fly the rally as far as Nairobi when the Israeli owner and pilot would re-join the group and take on the Stearman flying from there. John and Bella had plans to return to the U.S. in any case. A very delightful father/daughter team.
Pixie and TeamWolf co-pilot Emily enjoying the dinner with other invited guests I did not know. There were three father/daughter teams on this rally and that made all this so much more fun for the rest of us. Team Alaska and Team Frog and Kiwi were the two husband and wife teams.
Emily's cheerful father, Wolf. This delightful gentleman always had a smile on his face and enjoyed funny stories as well as telling them. To his far right are the newlywed helicopter crew Sarah and Paddy from the UK.
Our Egyptian rally team, Yasser and Timur from Cairo. They are members of the Aero Club of Egypt and joined the rally at Mersa Matrouh. Yasser is a heart surgeon and for him flying is a great respite from the grind of cutting open people's chests. He especially enjoyed low fly-bys over crowds of enthusiasts at various airfields. The two pilots flew a Cessna 172.
Rally staffers Nathalie, Maxime (Max), and Estelle who have been friends since childhood. Nathalie and Estelle were the events coordinators selecting and booking our lodgings, tours, and handling our passports to make the customs/immigration process run more smoothly. They are from Belgium and I learned some French listening to them chatter. Nathalie loved learning English slang expressions from me. It was fun explaining, "getting down to brass tacks". This trio was amazing in their ability to smile through some of the complaining a few of us did when fatigue got the best of us.
Colin entertaining the crowd at the ambasssador's piano. I can't recall all the pianos in Africa Colin had fun playing.
We got back to the hotel late but still had our night-before briefing in which we were told our breakfast time and "wheels" time (the time we had to board our transportation to the airport). 0400 breakfast, "wheels" at 0430; take-off time 0600. Take-off times were rarely achieved. We were always dealing with fueling delays, paperwork for immigration/visas delays, and on occasion 'Maurice delays' which were to end soon. If our crystal balls were working, we could have anticipated these delays and slept in another hour!
Once at the airfield, we would always be summoned for an updated briefing. Sam, wherever he was on the ramp, would yell, "Briefing!", and we all would gather under the wing of the Caravan or Antonov if it was a hot, sunny morning to get our routing info, frequencies, weather updates etc. On this morning we knew our destination: a refueling stop in Ed Damazin in southern Sudan and then a longer leg to our destination for the night....Gambela, Ethiopia. And now an adventure of a different kind was about to begin.
Team Barnstormers came past us and we waved and yelled at them to slow down so we could get some photos.
"Hey, Keith! Can you pass the bag of Cheetos?"
On our approach to Khartoum, (we were about 15 miles north), we heard Maurice on the radio! We had been told that he was close to catching up with us, but as he rather enjoys being a man of mystery, he did not communicate his whereabouts until we heard him now telling Khartoum approach that he was having engine power difficulties about 30 miles out. We continued to monitor and then heard him a short while later inform Khartoum that he was down to 40% of power and things "weren't looking good." Khartoum wanted to know more. Long pause in conversation as Maurice had to be thinking carefully about his next move. As we called in our new position of 5 miles out, we heard Maurice broadcast a mayday. The tower informed him of an alternate airport closer to him where he could attempt to land. Maurice's response was not clear.
We and others landed in reasonable formation and taxied to a parking area set aside for all of us. Big crowds had once again gathered to greet us. It was a beautiful day in Khartoum and we were happy to be there. After shutting down our engine, we learned from Max who had landed ahead of us that Maurice actually landed at Khartoum. He apparently realized he was actually closer to the airport than he had reported and didn't need to head to an alternate. He still landed under an emergency declaration as his engine "had quit". His plane was towed to a hangar near where we had all parked our aircraft. We were told by Max who witnessed his landing that neither he nor his aircraft were injured during his "emergency" landing. I had never met Maurice before -- only heard many stories about him. Now I was seeing him for the first time. He was shuffling with a limp across the ramp. His tall frame stooped slightly at the waist and he looked weary. He wore a white pilot's uniform shirt with epaulets, somewhat baggy trousers, was toting a flight bag, and his long white hair was sticking out in all directions as if each strand was trying to flee the scene of a calamity. I felt a little sorry for him but sensed he would be in fine form shortly. I looked forward to meeting him.
Our 5 star, egg-shaped hotel, The Corinthian, rises like a blue "carbuncle" (a term Prince Charles used to describe ultra-modern high rises in London) along the skyline of Khartoum. It was the most amazing example of, in my critical opinion, a long night of debauchery out on the town a few hours before a 7 A.M. deadline for a design blueprint at the city planning office. To be fair, though, on the inside it was very nice. The lobby was airy and inviting, our room had a terrific view of the Nile River, and the staff were helpful and welcoming. The internet here as in most places we stayed in Africa was inconsistent and slow. We would have to wander around the hotel with our iPads and laptops to scope out the best hot spot.
The view of the Blue Nile from our hotel room. The two tributaries of the Nile River - the Blue Nile and the White Nile - converge a few miles downstream.
Our first night in Khartoum, we were invited to an outdoor banquet buffet by the vice-president of Sudan. He chose the grounds of the city's police headquarters. Sounds sketchy, but it was very nice. The headquarters is centered in a lovely park-like, nicely landscaped area. The building itself was bathed in tinted flood lights and the surrounding palm trees made it look more like a palace. The vice-president did not attend the dinner, but the head of Sudan's Civil Aviation Authority, and the Mayor of Khartoum were present. They were very hospitable and enjoyed hosting us with good food, music, dancers, drummers, and song.
 | |||||||
| Our banquet and hosts. |
 | |
| Our hosts who graciously signed our rally flight book. |
Dancing the night away.
Learning the moves. Colleen and Mike, -- crew of the Antonov, on the left--and I were picking up steam as the night wore on. The music was SO much fun!
The next day was a free day and some of us went to the National Museum of Sudan and then a boat ride on the Nile to the convergence of the White and Blue Nile rivers. The White Nile is the longer of the two and originates in central Africa flowing northward from southern Rwanda through Tanzania, Uganda and into Sudan. The Blue Nile originates in the mountains of Ethiopia at Lake Tana which is located 1800 meters above sea level. These tributaries of the Nile River differ in other ways than origin -- the Blue Nile is the main source of water for the Nile River and is the source of more fertile silt and other soil deposits that have nourished the region for thousands of years. Their convergence joins their many qualities and power as the Nile River we all think of continues its journey through Egypt and out into the Mediterranean Sea.
At the museum. This is how one of the Caesars might have reacted to a time traveler's first sight of The Corinthian Hotel.
Brett and Pixie boarding our boat. The Tiger Moth gang showed the most interest in getting out on the Nile. I was happy to join them.
Tiger Moth co-pilot from the UK, Stewart, and I properly attired in life vests for our ride on the Blue Nile.
At the convergence of the two tributaries. Though one is not white and the other blue, you can see a slight difference in shade between the two rivers. The 'muddier' looking one is the Blue Nile and carries much silt from its high elevation source in Ethiopia.
For thousands of years, this river has nourished an entire region with life-giving nutrients and sustenance. Today its shores are a dumping ground for modern mankind's most abundant waste product -- plastic. Not a very nice way to thank a mighty river.
After the river boat trip we browsed aboard a derelict 19th century British gunboat that was at dry dock just 80 or so yards from the river. Gunboats like this one were highly used by the British during various military campaigns to assert authority in Sudan. The particular one we visited had been captained by the famous Major General Horatio Kitchener who is 1898 fought and defeated the French to gain control of this part of the Nile which was a vital artery for all sorts of British, expansionist enterprises.
 |
| Brett and Pixie braving the weak floor boards to look around the gun boat. Old relics like this have embedded in their rotting wood and rusty hardware echoing tales of exploit and adventure. Too bad they can't talk. |
On our last evening in Khartoum, we had a very nice sit-down garden dinner at the embassy residence of British Ambassador Michael Aron. As some of us were without formal dinner attire due to a screw up with our A boxes (containers carrying our personal goods such as clothing that could not fit in our biplanes but were to be transported in the support aircraft like the Antonov and Grand Caravan), we all went to the dinner in various attire. Alexandra, Cedric, Nick and I went "local" and had fun anyway.
Our new 'look' for dinner at the Embassy. There's a knack to knowing how to tie these scarves. Alexandra got hers right; I fumbled with mine.
Ambassador Aron showed up in casual attire that made us feel more comfortable. He's a very charming and friendly ambassador which is the point of good diplomacy. He was also a delightful host making all of us (about a hundred people including other invited guests to meet the rally teams) very much at ease.
The infamous Maurice having fun spinning yarns with Jeremy -- one of the rally staff members.
Fairly new arrivals to the Rally, John and his daughter Bella. They came in as a replacement crew for the Israeli-owned Stearman. They were to fly the rally as far as Nairobi when the Israeli owner and pilot would re-join the group and take on the Stearman flying from there. John and Bella had plans to return to the U.S. in any case. A very delightful father/daughter team.
Pixie and TeamWolf co-pilot Emily enjoying the dinner with other invited guests I did not know. There were three father/daughter teams on this rally and that made all this so much more fun for the rest of us. Team Alaska and Team Frog and Kiwi were the two husband and wife teams.
Emily's cheerful father, Wolf. This delightful gentleman always had a smile on his face and enjoyed funny stories as well as telling them. To his far right are the newlywed helicopter crew Sarah and Paddy from the UK.
Our Egyptian rally team, Yasser and Timur from Cairo. They are members of the Aero Club of Egypt and joined the rally at Mersa Matrouh. Yasser is a heart surgeon and for him flying is a great respite from the grind of cutting open people's chests. He especially enjoyed low fly-bys over crowds of enthusiasts at various airfields. The two pilots flew a Cessna 172.
Rally staffers Nathalie, Maxime (Max), and Estelle who have been friends since childhood. Nathalie and Estelle were the events coordinators selecting and booking our lodgings, tours, and handling our passports to make the customs/immigration process run more smoothly. They are from Belgium and I learned some French listening to them chatter. Nathalie loved learning English slang expressions from me. It was fun explaining, "getting down to brass tacks". This trio was amazing in their ability to smile through some of the complaining a few of us did when fatigue got the best of us.
Colin entertaining the crowd at the ambasssador's piano. I can't recall all the pianos in Africa Colin had fun playing.
We got back to the hotel late but still had our night-before briefing in which we were told our breakfast time and "wheels" time (the time we had to board our transportation to the airport). 0400 breakfast, "wheels" at 0430; take-off time 0600. Take-off times were rarely achieved. We were always dealing with fueling delays, paperwork for immigration/visas delays, and on occasion 'Maurice delays' which were to end soon. If our crystal balls were working, we could have anticipated these delays and slept in another hour!
Once at the airfield, we would always be summoned for an updated briefing. Sam, wherever he was on the ramp, would yell, "Briefing!", and we all would gather under the wing of the Caravan or Antonov if it was a hot, sunny morning to get our routing info, frequencies, weather updates etc. On this morning we knew our destination: a refueling stop in Ed Damazin in southern Sudan and then a longer leg to our destination for the night....Gambela, Ethiopia. And now an adventure of a different kind was about to begin.
Friday, December 23, 2016
Day 8. Saturday, November 19 Free day in Merowe.
Our lodgings were at the Nubian Rest House in Karima. The complex is a lovely "oasis" of tranquility and simple beauty. I highly recommend it if you come to Merowe. It does not have a lot of luxury frills, (wi-fi only in the lounge/diningroom and often sketchy), but it is very restful and is walking distance from Jebel Barkal - a holy Unesco site. It is an amazing mountain and has quite a history. The rooms are airy, spacious, clean, African "minimalist" decor with smooth, cool clay floors. A long dark wood bench spans the width of the room against one wall. A beautifully balanced brick dome is the centerpiece of the ceiling. Each room has its own porch with a view of the oasis of palms around a large green lawn framed by flower beds filled with colorful shrubs. Our room had two double beds with a top sheet and thin woven cotton coverlet for cover which is so nice in this dry, hot heat of Sudan. A rotary fan and air conditioner kept the room in a temperature of our choosing. Our bathroom had a large walk-in shower with a wooden bench to sit on if one wanted to sit for a while under a spray of water that smelled slightly of sage. Don't know why, but it did.
We visited Sudan's black pyramids some of which in a region we didn't get to are older than the pyramids at Giza, Egypt. They are not as big, but impressive nonetheless. Our tour guide was very knowledgeable, but spoke in a very soft, accented voice and after 10 years working in a noisy Saab 340 I don't hear "soft" very well. So, missed about half of what he had to say. I hope to read up more on this area as there is more significant history here than most people realize. When people think African antiquities, most of the glory goes to Egypt. The ancient art work and wall paintings with hieroglyphics in this part of Sudan are very similar to what one sees in Egypt with subtle differences. Some of it is older and so it is known that a significant cultural influence moved north as well as south.
We also visited the temple to Amun (Amon, Amen) Re (Ra) near Gebel Barkal. Amun Re was an Egyptian god from the Old Kingdom who was also shared by the Kush of northern Sudan. They believed he originated at this holy site. The temple is in part of the mountain and winds back into corridors and chambers with low ceilings and brilliant art work on the walls. The ancient Kush of the Nubian empire were masters of story telling and the artwork reveals their take on the activities of the gods, and the tributes paid to them most notably Amun Re. Walking distance from this temple was an active archeological dig site supervised by one of the team members who back in the 1960s worked on the engineering scheme to save Abu Simbel from "drowning" as a result of the Aswan Dam which created what is today Lake Nasser on the Upper Nile in Egypt. We got to visit with him and meet some of his team of young archeologists busy at uncovering more ruins near Gebel Barkal.
An unfortunate reality that takes over much of this part of the world is plastic pollution. Throughout Cairo and its surroundings and here in Sudan near villages and towns there are literally countless mounds of plastic trash wherever there are walking paths, fences where the wind blows plastic bags and foam take-out food containers onto the chainlink for permanent display, and shallow puddles where wrappers, yogurt containers and pop bottles get stuck in the mud. It's demoralizing that in an area with strong links to a past that paid homage to ancestors, communal responsibility, and rituals of artistic adornment and religion, that ubiquitous plastic trash is now part of the Sudanese landscape and taken for granted.
From the patio of the dining hall. The large lawn area is at the center of the Nubian Rest House rooms, each with a domed ceiling and private porch. The entire complex is walled and surrounded by desert.
This is the large deck/patio in front of the main lounge/dining room. It was a beautiful place to hang out in after dinner, looking up at the stars, and having coffee with our rally mates. The staff was wonderful. The women wore beautiful robes and head scarves. The men wore bright white tunic-type shirts and dark trousers. A laundry service was provided but we were told that for cultural sensitivity reasons to not include socks and undergarment items in our laundry bags.
Inside the compound with a partial view of Gebel Barkal beyond the wall.
Gebel Barkal stands about 98 meters high and is near a bend in the Nile River. The ruins of the ancient city of Napata lies all around its base. In 2003 UNESCO designated it a World Heritage Site. There are three palace ruins and several temple ruins that surround the mountain, some which are under current excavation.
Not everything is sand colored here. Passed this house which had to belong to a wealthy man in Karima. That it is gated means there is a level of status associated with this home.
These small pyramids are known as the Black Pyramids. These ones are not as old as the ones located at the site of the Kushites first capital of Kerma. These pyramids are associated with the site Napata and share some characteristics with ones in Egypt. Both had burial chambers for pharaohs and smaller adjacent pyramids for queens and children.
A couple of 'ancients' in front of a ruin.
Life in rural Sudan still centers around donkey-driven delivery systems. It's a slower pace to be sure, but this man must have lots of time to think about life without the annoyance of traffic jams.
After dinner, we were entertained by local musicians out on the large patio under a star-lit sky that seemed to go on forever.
A view of our lodgings after taking off the next morning. The consensus among us weary-at-day's-end aviators: A very pleasant and tranquil oasis.
Gebel Barkal. Colin and others in the group climbed to the top of it before dinner the night before. I would have, but I didn't want to embarrass all the young set by beating them to the top.
On to Khartoum...
We visited Sudan's black pyramids some of which in a region we didn't get to are older than the pyramids at Giza, Egypt. They are not as big, but impressive nonetheless. Our tour guide was very knowledgeable, but spoke in a very soft, accented voice and after 10 years working in a noisy Saab 340 I don't hear "soft" very well. So, missed about half of what he had to say. I hope to read up more on this area as there is more significant history here than most people realize. When people think African antiquities, most of the glory goes to Egypt. The ancient art work and wall paintings with hieroglyphics in this part of Sudan are very similar to what one sees in Egypt with subtle differences. Some of it is older and so it is known that a significant cultural influence moved north as well as south.
We also visited the temple to Amun (Amon, Amen) Re (Ra) near Gebel Barkal. Amun Re was an Egyptian god from the Old Kingdom who was also shared by the Kush of northern Sudan. They believed he originated at this holy site. The temple is in part of the mountain and winds back into corridors and chambers with low ceilings and brilliant art work on the walls. The ancient Kush of the Nubian empire were masters of story telling and the artwork reveals their take on the activities of the gods, and the tributes paid to them most notably Amun Re. Walking distance from this temple was an active archeological dig site supervised by one of the team members who back in the 1960s worked on the engineering scheme to save Abu Simbel from "drowning" as a result of the Aswan Dam which created what is today Lake Nasser on the Upper Nile in Egypt. We got to visit with him and meet some of his team of young archeologists busy at uncovering more ruins near Gebel Barkal.
An unfortunate reality that takes over much of this part of the world is plastic pollution. Throughout Cairo and its surroundings and here in Sudan near villages and towns there are literally countless mounds of plastic trash wherever there are walking paths, fences where the wind blows plastic bags and foam take-out food containers onto the chainlink for permanent display, and shallow puddles where wrappers, yogurt containers and pop bottles get stuck in the mud. It's demoralizing that in an area with strong links to a past that paid homage to ancestors, communal responsibility, and rituals of artistic adornment and religion, that ubiquitous plastic trash is now part of the Sudanese landscape and taken for granted.
From the patio of the dining hall. The large lawn area is at the center of the Nubian Rest House rooms, each with a domed ceiling and private porch. The entire complex is walled and surrounded by desert.
Inside the compound with a partial view of Gebel Barkal beyond the wall.
Not everything is sand colored here. Passed this house which had to belong to a wealthy man in Karima. That it is gated means there is a level of status associated with this home.
These small pyramids are known as the Black Pyramids. These ones are not as old as the ones located at the site of the Kushites first capital of Kerma. These pyramids are associated with the site Napata and share some characteristics with ones in Egypt. Both had burial chambers for pharaohs and smaller adjacent pyramids for queens and children.
A couple of 'ancients' in front of a ruin.
Life in rural Sudan still centers around donkey-driven delivery systems. It's a slower pace to be sure, but this man must have lots of time to think about life without the annoyance of traffic jams.
 |
| A history of a different kind in the making. |
After dinner, we were entertained by local musicians out on the large patio under a star-lit sky that seemed to go on forever.
A view of our lodgings after taking off the next morning. The consensus among us weary-at-day's-end aviators: A very pleasant and tranquil oasis.
Gebel Barkal. Colin and others in the group climbed to the top of it before dinner the night before. I would have, but I didn't want to embarrass all the young set by beating them to the top.
On to Khartoum...
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