Here’s what you need to do to get a visa for Sudan:

• Have two hours sleep
• Taxi to Sudanese Embassy
• Queue up at the window
• Be told to get a letter from own embassy
• Go to British Embassy
• Pay $50 for a photocopy of a letter explaining why the British Embassy will not write a letter
• Back to Sudanese Embassy
• Queue up again
• Give them letter explaining why the British Embassy will not write a letter
• Take application form
• Fill out application form
• Panic that you’ve given your Africa Lonely Planet to Mandy and consequently don’t know what to put down on the form for where you’re going to stay.
• Queue up again
• Be told that you have to photocopy the filled out application form
• Go down the road and get application form photocopied
• Queue up again
• Be given slip to take to Window 2
• Queue up again, this time at Window 2
• Be told that you can’t pay in Egyptian pounds – must be in US dollars
• Go find a bank
• Queue up in the bank
• Change your Egyptian pounds into US dollars
• Back to Sudanese Embassy
• Queue up again at Window 2
• Hand over the extortionate $105 visa fee
• Be given receipt
• Queue up again at Window 1
• Hand over passport, application form, photocopy of application form, 4 photocopies of passport and 4 photographs, letter from British Embassy explaining why they will not write a letter and receipt for payment
• Be told to come back tomorrow
• Say you need it today
• Hold your breath
• Be told to come back at 3pm
• Breathe a sigh of relief.

That was my morning, but there was still much stuff to do. You see, I needed my visa today because the only way to get into Sudan from Egypt is on the ferry across Lake Nasser from Aswan to Wadi Halfa and the ferry only goes once a week – and it leaves on Monday, which is tomorrow. I needed to get the night-train to Aswan, so I headed over to Ramses train station and MORE BUREAUCRACY!

• So I go to the Information Desk
• Walk all the way to the far platform of the station
• Queue up in the wrong queue
• Queue up in the right queue
• Be told that the train is fully booked
• Asked for a ticket for the train which leaves from Giza station instead
• Be told can only buy that ticket from Giza station
• Head back to the information desk
• They suggest I take the expensive sleeper train
• I visit the sleeper train office
• That will be $60 please
• Attempt to pay with Egyptian pounds
• No, you have to pay in dollars
• Walk half an hour to the nearest bank in the blazing noontime sun
• Queue up in bank
• Change more Egyptian pounds into US dollars
• Back to station
• Be told that the sleeper train is now sold out
• Threaten to kill everyone in the room with a staple gun
• Be told that they have one ticket left
• Buy ticket

The whole process took about two hours.

Then I (foolishly) took a cab back to the Sudanese Embassy (I should have taken the subway). We got caught in traffic more jammed than Bob Marley jamming in a jar of jam. I got back to the Sudanese embassy at 3.10pm, worried that I was ten minutes late. An hour and a half later, they gave me my passport back. I was glad I rushed.

So… back to the Sara Inn to pick up my bags and to eat some kushari. Said my goodbyes and headed off to the station for my train. Despite all the hoops that I had to jump through, today went rather well, I thought. The train was less hilarious than I thought it would be, there was no booze and the fresh-faced young Kontiki tour groups were happy to crash out at 11pm, what with kids these days? Bunch of wusses.

I shared a cabin with a guy from New York named John, who (let’s not beat around the bush here) was Forrest Gump – how anyone let him go to Egypt on his own is beyond me. Perhaps his mum was in the next room. I mean, he was a nice enough guy, but give an Egyptian an inch and they’ll take a mile – this time tomorrow, I’d be surprised if he had any money left. I did my best to answer his questions about whether the train conductors were nice in the UK (the answer is no), whether they had trains in Australia and why the Giza touts were so mean.

Our train conductor, Aladdin, not being one to miss a trick (yes, they did the old ‘would you like a cup of tea with your dinner?’ lark without telling you it wasn’t complimentary) offered me a different cabin for a few Egyptian pounds, but I turned the offer down – John was harmless; I got the impression they don’t quite understand mental illness in Egypt. Then again, the way people with mental illnesses are treated in the US (and the UK for that matter) is still pretty damn awful. Funny that, isn’t it? If somebody has a dodgy heart or breaks their arm, they get sympathy and all the help they need, if someone’s brain isn’t functioning at 100%, we tend to shun them lest they turn around in the night and go postal on our asses.

With nowt much else to do, I clambered up onto my bunk bed, tied my GPS logger to my leg and fell asleep.