When I started this journey with Alicia Sornosa surprised many people. Why would a guy who's always traveling alone and over 70 countries in their luggage would go around the world with a woman with little experience motorcyclist? I tried to explain that for me that was the real challenge. I jokingly defined it as the Sherpa of the first Spanish woman to circumnavigate the world by motorcycle. "If I get her to complete the circle, then I can make it do any ", I joked in the privacy of a den of drinks.
It was a joke, course. The real reasons I explained here. I saw in it a special determination, transcendent desire to achieve something big and difficult for herself, while there was great ignorance of what we could assume such a challenge for her. So I accepted. To be privileged observer of a transformation. A wave, I called then. I predicted that a wave would come and forcing her to fight hard revolcaría to survive. And then it would be another, would
learned something and I would be there to see. Selfishness on my part ¿? Yes, I admit. I am a writer. I wanted to witness the struggle, suffering and victory. A wave would, as came to me. What I did not know then is that this wave would actually be a million rocks.
Moyale is a town divided between two countries: Ethiopia and Kenya. Popular with overlanders because here the asphalt ends and begins a horrible track
Moyale is a town divided between two countries: Ethiopia and Kenya. Popular with overlanders because here the asphalt ends and begins a horrible track, legendary for its difficulty. Even renowned as travelers passed Luis Oromí the purple. I remember his advice to make: delivers the bags to a truck driver and traveling without baggage. It is certainly a good recommendation. But I am hard pate. For me, a traveler on a motorcycle always carries his baggage.
If it can not handle, then it is not self-sufficient and better load the whole bike. Sometimes this causes me serious problems stubbornness, as when I went into the Skeleton Coast of Namibia alone and almost without water. That was one of the closest times I've been dying for my negligence.
But this time is different. I travel with Alicia. She trusts me to complete his dream of going around the world on a motorcycle and be the first Spanish woman to do. Do not be too much for her this infernal stretch African bragados scares most motorists? What if you or your bike breaks? Can not possibly be me responsible for what happens if I push it to the folly of traveling here with so much experience with little weight and off road?
We stayed in a horrible hotel where they are also a couple of Brazilians and a Dutchman traveling in a BMW 1200 Adventure and Africa Twin respectively. They have already decided to put the bikes in a truck to move the track to Isiolo Moyale. I think a hasty decision and too conservative. Why come to Africa without trying the Moyale Highway? We refuse to accept the deal. Alicia follows me in the effort. It is your decision and your responsibility as I have been very clear about the risks to. But this girl is brave, determined and perhaps also something foolish.
In Kenya the track starts immediately with a sharp decline. It is difficult to Alicia for their less experienced but mostly for your bike, much lower, rigid. The model is less suitable for the road than mine. The path down past broken due to rain. This remote region has suffered a drought of three years until the 2011 have opened the taps of the sky and floods swept through fields, homes, bridges and roads.
The track sometimes gives the impression of a solid lava; is actually hardened mud. Some trucks ahead of us covering us with dust speed. Mitsubishi are white with green canvas carrying goods to either side of the border. Always carry a heavy load and a large group of passengers clustered on the top like a chicken.
Encounter a long line of them. The went ahead and see that the cause of collapse is one of them has turned and the only way is a narrow path that runs along a long, deep pool. Just passing pedestrians. I under-examined and I think it is okay for bikes. As I sit on mine to try see it as a long line of Muzungus (suahili white) walks on the footpath loading their luggage. Are tourists who traveled by bus from Kenya to Ethiopia. They have promised an adventure on the trail of Moyale and my faith that were having. Although judging by their faces contorted do not seem to be enjoying it very much. The many Africans gathered there tell me that the road is very bad, it rains a lot.
-If Llueve, iré me to sleep-Bramo challenger.
General laugh. These guys think that Westerners are all soft and stupid. And it may be well, but not always and at all times. Today at least not going to be my day of stupidity and softness.
Alicia and I stay in touch by BMW intercom to go reporting how it goes. I usually go ahead anticipándole obstacles, but sometimes we get distracted with the conversation and I forget that she does not drive like me. At one point left to listen. Brake, I turn around and see that your bike is on the ground. No movement. It rises. It beckons me. Scares me to see, tail and sped back. I shouted his name if I can hear. Then I hear as wireless devices link again and then his voice resounds in my ears.
I'm fine, I am well-laughs-, a ditch was not you tell me. I dry braking and the front wheel is locked.
'Jesus exclaimed, and why the hell not moving?
-Because it's my first fall, says quiet-, I love films and lying on the floor.
In the vastness of the wilderness seems to have disappeared all human life, but we are calm. The immigration officer has drawn a simple map where 80 Sololo ranked kilometers and 40 after Turbi, a tiny village where we had said we would find a good hotel run by the director of the
primary school. At this rate I think we'll still day.
After passing the last gap in the background sighted several miserable huts. It turbines. At the entrance is a police check
The sun is hiding when we tackle the decline in the hills. The setting is marvelous. The rain has made greening the desert and the sparse vegetation sunset sparkles. After passing the last gap in the background sighted several miserable huts. It turbines. At the entrance is a police check. Agents stop us and ask us where we are going. We answer that to Nairobi but we're going to sleep here and they nod. Being so, come to tell us, no objection.
For his speech I have grounds for believing that we would have missed if we had tried to follow trip. The area is not entirely sure. Right now we are moving away from the border with Somalia, but in the early stages have been very close, perhaps forty miles. Among the threats of Al Shabab and local bandits, this journey is not without risks. I do not mean to be hazardous, or is much more dangerous than other African routes, but you can not dismiss these potential threats.
In recent weeks some tourists were shot in the north of the country. In any case, this is like all, a matter of probabilities. When we left home there is always a certain percentage chance of not returning. Sometimes that percentage increases or decreases, but for the general safety of Kenya I have to say that every year tens of thousands of tourists who come. I am convinced that carry less risk than in Spain. It's not news that a British tourist stolen or hit in Benidorm, however it is required to happen the same in any country in Africa. The press magnified isolated attacks.
We have appeared in what could be described as a village in the American West of the movies. Dust, unpaved street, fragile wooden buildings and a single plant. We rolled up to what looks like the hotel, because they put on a poster: “Seven Hills Hotel”. It's actually a very basic restaurant, built with adobe painted blue. The interior is trodden ground on which are stacked plastic chairs and wall decor looks bizarre mix Islam and football.
The ubiquitous flies and the smell of tea complete the picture. The owner is a young African, Chelsea fanatic Muslim. Asked by the principal. I go to a fat, dark munching a big ball of myrrh, a local variant of kat, plant rich in alkaloids that keeps them awake and not hungry. The teacher has bloodshot eyes and can barely utter a word. It should take several hours pondering the poisonous grass of legal trade
Kenya.
Two wooden beds. Concrete floor. One unglazed window protected from animals by a wire mesh and some shutters made of planks. The door closed with a padlock. No bulb, or water, or electricity. To bring you Alicia can wash a bucket of water and a basin and if I want to go to the bathroom I have to use a latrine consisting of a hole dug in the ground. However so great simplicity, the place we like. Is real, inhospitable, remote and genuine.
