Being able to sleep anywhere is often cited as a desirable characteristic, or as a comment on the ease at which someone is able to nod off. It is rarely taken literally.
However, as sleeping in weird places is a bit of a pastime of mine, when I found myself in the middle of the Sudanese desert, the sun beginning to set on the incredible Meroe pyramids we had spent the day exploring, I was willing to put this adage to the test.
We had been given a direction to walk in by a group of old men we had met at the entrance to the pyramids, and assuming that they knew what they were talking about, we grabbed our bags, and headed in the rough direction they had pointed, seemingly into the middle of nowhere.
Looking back towards the incredible pyramids…
The wind was starting to pick up, and the ominous orange hue of the sky certainly added a sense of foreboding to proceedings. We really needed to find some protection from the wind, but looking at the vacant expanse of desert in front of us, we struggled to see any obvious signs of natural shelter. We briefly considered the possibility of sneaking back towards the pyramids and sleeping inside one of the sheltered entrances, but having seen one too many Indian Jones movies, and having been cursed by evil spirits once before (with some very unpleasant consequences!), I didn’t really want to risk it a second time.
Instead we continued past the imposing monuments, rounding a few more grainy hills before finally settling on an area of soft sand which appeared not to have been disturbed by the wind – it was the best we could do considering how exposed this part of the desert was, and with the airborne dust blocking out what was left of the rapidly setting sun, we knew we didn’t have long before things got really dark, so we set about trying to pitch our tents – a task which was to turn out to be anything but straightforward!
As well as trying to maintain a vice like grip on our tents to stop them being blown into the depths of the desert, it rapidly became apparent that the hefty tent pegs which I had relied on time and again to fix my tent securely to the ground, were essentially useless in the loose, unconsolidated sand. Not to be outdone, a quick scan of the surrounding area identified a couple of hefty looking rocks which might do the job, and with a couple of hastily tied knots, I had at the very least created an anchor for my tent, which I hoped would do the trick.
Pleased with my rock appropriation efforts…
Pleased with our efforts and ingenuity, Nick and I watched the final glow of the sun succumb to the approaching storm, and took shelter in the porch of Nick’s tent to eat a gritty dinner of cream cheese and cucumber sandwiches, washed down with our preciously rationed water supply, before I braved a battering by the storm and relocated back to my tent.
I leapt inside as quickly as I could hastily zipping the door up behind to try and avoid a tent full of sand, only to realise that I had been beaten to it - the inside of my tent now resembled a child’s sandpit. I did my best to sweep all the sand into the bottom corner, only to discover it returning quicker than I could get rid of it. It was everywhere!
Despite the sun having set, the temperature inside my tent was still high enough to bring on quite a sweat, and my efforts to try and get rid of the ever present sand just made things worse; before long my sweat began to mix with the fine orange dust creating a paste which in a bid to get rid of, I ended up smearing everywhere, all whilst the sand continued to pile up – things were not going well!
Tiny Tents - Giant Desert - Imminent Sandstorm…
The atmosphere inside became increasingly unbearable, so I decided to cut my losses and leave the tent, if only to try and cool down a little in the wind. Outside, the cooling effect worked wonderfully, and in an attempt to de-grit myself as best as I could, I took all my clothes off and let the wind dry the sweaty-orange paste I had smeared everywhere, until it turned back into sand, and I was able to simply brush it off. In fact, as long as you turned your back to the wind, the exfoliating effect of the sand being blasted against your skin was actually quite pleasant, and something I’m sure would cost a fortune in a spa!
Whilst outside my tent I did my best to try and improve the sandpit situation going on inside: I tried utilising some nearby rocks to build a wall to stop the sand getting in, I tried to rig up a spare t-shirt to cover the vents of the tent, and I tried to orientate my bed roll to ensure that only my feet got covered in sand. Of course, all of these attempts proved woefully ineffective, and so accepting my sandy fate, I waited outside my tent, naked, in the middle of the desert, with some of the world’s oldest structures behind me, questioning my life choices, and waited for the temperature to drop sufficiently enough so I could brush myself off one final time, and leap into the gritty embrace of my tent, pulling my trusty buff up over my eyes and mouth and acknowledging that tonight probably wasn’t going to win any best night’s sleep awards.
I was right, it wasn’t the best night’s sleep, however I did manage to get a few hours in, and although I woke up half buried in sand, opening up that tent door, seeing the shadowy outline of those pyramids and remembering where I had camped, was definitely worth it! We got up just before the sunrise, and climbed the small hill we had sheltered behind to watch the golden orb begin to illuminate the desert, with the pyramids casting long dark shadows across the timeless desert scene before us.
Every morning should start with a camel… (Photo Credit: N.Colwill)
As if to prove just how timeless this scene was, we were soon approached by a traditionally dressed man on a camel who had wandered over simply because he wanted a chat and to find out how our night was! He thought we were a little strange, and looked at our sandy tents whilst stifling a polite laugh. We asked him where we could get some food, and he quickly broke the illusion by pointing across the sandy expanse to the abandoned petrol station on the horizon where we had started this adventure.
After deciding not to take the kind offer of a camel ride back to petrol station on account of the dromedary to human ratio, we headed back to the road and within minutes had been offered a lift in the back of a passing Toyota Hilux, undoubtedly the modern camel equivalent. The car ride back to the petrol station considerably sped up our breakfast quest, and no sooner had we jumped off the Toyota, than we were being ushered towards some plastic furniture on the forecourt where we were immediately offered tea by a small group of men who were breaking up their lengthy journey from the north of Sudan.
Our new breakfast companions were excited to hear about our adventures sleeping in the desert, and not only refused to let us pay for our breakfast, but also offered us a lift all the way back to Khartoum, an offer which would make our journey back to the capital much quicker than the farcical outward journey.
It would also allow us to make arrangements for the next part of our adventure – following the River Nile North towards Wadi Halfa and hopefully onward by ferry into Egypt.
Turns out desert sand makes an excellent hair styling product - who knew!
© Andy Browning 2020