?stay for dinner, This home in vuestra.
?Thank you very much, but te a long trip.
?But don't be in a hurry, quedaos to sleep and continued her route for the morning.
?we would love, but are impossible, real.
Y then on we gave clusters of dates for him in the road and dismissed with one smile. It was one family to the Sudan to simply ask how it dirigirnos Northbound country. Instead one of them opened in response to sus puertas homes.
Had lost the cuenta of invitations to accept in pudimos. He walked fast travel for reasons of logistics hoy that seem so absurd that I want to give back and Llamar every puerta in cross apologize for the aquellos Nubians.
We left behind the pyramids of Meroe, as solitary pitied her look haughty, as noble temple in the middle of the desert.
We left behind the pyramids of Meroe, as solitary pitied her look haughty, as noble temple in the middle of the desert. The wind and sand to go conjured covering the history of the Nubians, stone from its origin, in a lost corner of Nubia that no transits, in a country that is divided into two.
We crossed Sudan with a car without suspensions or air conditioning during August punished us approaching the thermometer at 50 ° C. The nights were just as warm, never below 40 ° C. We had to keep track of other vehicles as the roads disappeared confused in the sand or stones grounds that they were not anywhere. But the Nile accompanied us with its row of palm trees applauding the miracle of water which crosses the eastern part of the Sahara. But, sometimes, the tracks of other cars inland adentraban lost sight of the Great River. Exhausted, at nightfall, constellations we located, ate some dates and slept in the open.
But the day we unveiled the first light and the way people presented themselves with discretion, without raising his voice.
But the day we unveiled the first light and the way people presented themselves with discretion, without raising his voice. No noises in the Nubian villages because there is no traffic and only the barking of dogs or the cry of a child breaks the silence of the desert.
I like to discover the dignity of the humble, the taste in painting the walls of adobe. I see the joy overwhelms these people, his quiet smile, as if there is always someone sleeping in the next room. The men did not alter. Women cover their faces and walk as if on tiptoe, to avoid attention.
The Nubian people are works of art. Beyond the charm of simplicity, there are villages of undeniable beauty and that kind of beauty, if you enjoy inaccessible because the mere finding more gratifying. All homes have a low wall, walls that surround the private world of each. Addition, the doors are decorated with filigree, sometimes concentrating all the color of a facade.
A man named Ahmed invited us to visit the island of Sai and this time not all the world watches could force us to spend long. A boat crossed the river to a land inhabited by the Nubians always. Sai Island is sacred to them. It is a land not conquered, where longer resemble temples mosques and Muslim faiths are entangled with older, that inspired the first pyramids.
Five yards away one could reach calcining step, but there, there the temperature was perfect, like a game of juggling thermal.
Ahmed offered us tea and gave us a room to shower. In her backyard, sunshine crashing on the sand, I went pouring warm water, cleaning the hours behind the wheel. About twenty seconds after the shower was completely dry and fled into the shadows. But Nubian architecture puzzling. In a kind of porch with thick adobe walls not hot. Five yards away one could reach calcining step, but there, there the temperature was perfect, like a game of juggling thermal. The shadow is shadow in these constructions.
Ahmed told us about the friendly nature of its people, while sitting on the porch of his house seemed unnecessary to convince us of it. He also talked about his history of resistance, of his love for the land that burns in summer, the veneration of the Nile. Moreover Nubian Muslim and talked freely about religious imposition of his people, a startling revelation coming from someone who leans toward Mecca several times a day. We realized that in northern Sudan are a people without a definite time, barely sneaks into the destinations of travelers, whose history seems destined to be buried as his temples.
But Ahmed opened the doors of his house, forever, no strings attached. "It's one of those places that is worth returning", I thought as I walked away giving a good account of another cluster of dates.
