Long Way Down

by Ewan McGregor

  All of a sudden it swamped me – the heat, the traffic, the rush. We passed a horse and cart lumbering along and the pace, the contented nonchalance, just seemed to mock me. We had to get to Cairo this afternoon because tonight we were looking at a pyramid, tomorrow Luxor; incredible to be doing it and yet so madly rushed. I wanted to stop and kick back, to really absorb what we were doing. I’m not complaining, believe me: I’m only too aware that most people would give their eye-teeth to be where we were, but the pressure had been on since the get-go and I’d be lying if I tried to sanitise how I was feeling. For seventeen days we’d been on the move and, places like Leptis Magna notwithstanding, we always seemed to be racing the fucking clock.

  Finally we found the others. Time for lunch then off we’d go again. Lunch in Alexandria, Egypt, our first city and that was it: what was the point? I pulled alongside Jimmy Simak and immediately he pointed a camera at me.

  ‘How we doing?’ I mumbled.

  ‘Good, how’re you?’

  I had to think about that for a moment. ‘Good,’ I replied through my teeth.

  CHARLEY: I think the donkey episode really finished us off. I was on my bike in this heaving metropolis, hot, knackered and really fed up. I knew I couldn’t go on like this much longer.

  We sat in traffic getting hotter and hotter then slowly made our way into the city. I barely noticed the surroundings; the tower of a mosque maybe, and the sea. We headed along the shore where small boats shaded by palms were beached up by the road. Some part of my brain was telling me it was all very pretty, but I was just too tired and pissed off to care.

  I killed my engine and looked at Ewan.

  He looked briefly at me.

  Ice cold in Alex? It felt like my brain was on fire.

  12

  Pyramids & Porn

  CHARLEY: Russ and David joined us for lunch. Sitting down at the table, I think my face said it all – I was pensive and agitated and it showed. Across the table Ewan folded a piece of flat bread and dipped it in some sauce.

  He was quiet, I was quiet. Russ looked sideways at me and finally I shook my head.

  ‘Can’t do this,’ I said. ‘It’s too much. Too many miles, not enough time…’

  Russ hunched his shoulders: ‘Then let’s change it. We came here to do what you want. You tell us, you know: we’re trying to follow your lead.’

  I drew a breath, glancing at Ewan who chewed the bread in silence. For a few moments no one spoke and, hungry as I was, I barely picked at the food. My brain was numb with exhaustion.

  Ewan gestured. ‘We’ve just ridden to Alexandria and we’ve no sense of the place: it’s already three o’clock and we’ve got to get to Cairo. When we get there we probably won’t see anything because it’ll be too dark.’

  Russ sighed. ‘So we can add a couple of days if you want.’ He paused for a moment. ‘All I’m saying is there’s a ferry on Saturday and if we don’t make it we wait a week.’

  David was sitting further down the table: ‘I think we should just stay here tonight,’ he suggested. ‘I mean we talk about racing from one place to the next. The ferry actually leaves on Sunday if we want it to. We can get to Cairo whenever you want tomorrow then get to Luxor and Aswan. The rush was to get to the ferry for Saturday – if we don’t have to rush for that, now, it takes the stress out of it.’

  While we had been in Libya, David had flown down to Cairo and arranged for another ferry to leave with us on Sunday if we wanted it to. The problem was we desperately wanted to go to Nairobi to meet up with the charity Riders for Health. Because Nairobi was so far south the trip added a further three days on the bikes, and in order to alleviate that Russ thought a better idea would be to fly down now instead. It would mean that when we did get to Kenya later we could concentrate on the north of the country and take more time. But that meant catching the ferry on Saturday.

  None of us knew what to do. It was sheer exhaustion, five thousand miles on a motorbike, another ten thousand to go. The cumulative effect of having no days off compounded massively by fourteen hours in a sandstorm.

  ‘Look, it’s 520 miles to the ferry,’ David said. ‘Depending on the riding we can take two days if we want to. We’re on schedule: it’s tight but you’re doing it. Russ’s point is to get the Riders for Health visit in now, but we can do it later.’

  Russ cut in again. ‘I just want to stress that I only ever try to do the right thing by you guys.’

  ‘We know that,’ I told him.

  ‘We’ve talked about it.’ Ewan sounded a little agitated. ‘We’re trying to now work out what we do so somebody doesn’t end up having an accident because he’s fucking tired and fallen asleep on a motorcycle.’

  For a few moments Russ was quiet. ‘Well, looking at the mood in the camp you’re knackered and need a day off.’

  Sensing the atmosphere, David tried to put a positive spin on things. ‘Look, we’re at the north-east corner of Africa now and we’re going south all the way from here. What do you think of that? We made the north-east tip of Africa.’

  Neither of us said anything.

  ‘Listen Russ,’ Ewan said, after we’d spent some more time exploring our options, and basically going round in circles. ‘We totally appreciate you were only trying to work out our plan. We totally get that. I think we were tired and upset to be riding into Alexandria for just five minutes and not see it.’ He grinned a little sheepishly. ‘I suppose I wanted some sympathy for being on the bike all the time.’

  I was mulling over everything that had been said. ‘I think…’ I started. ‘See how you feel, Ewan, but I’d like to try and get to Cairo tonight.’

  Russ glanced from me to Ewan and back again. ‘If you do get there tonight and you see those pyramids, that’ll pick you up, I bet; that piece of energy. I do feel sorry for you guys,’ he added, ‘getting caned on the bikes all the time.’

  Ewan made a face. ‘Yeah, but endurance is as big a part of this as anything else. I just want us to be careful, that’s all. That sandstorm, it really knocked us on our arses.’

  EWAN: We left after we’d eaten. Given the Riders for Health situation it was the best course of action, though I was tired and I’d really wanted to see the city John Mills made famous in that old war film. On the way out of Alex we passed donkey carts and tractors, the obligatory trucks loaded to the gunwales. We hit serious tarmac and really put the hammer down; four lanes of high speed traffic. I couldn’t believe my eyes when a truck crammed with people rumbled up the hard shoulder going in completely the wrong direction. It just cruised by, the driver taking it as normal and heading towards Alexandria.

  Charley was on my outside and I rode with one hand on the bars and one in my lap; the asphalt true and grippy. For a while it seemed the land was greener, farming country perhaps, but before we knew it there was the sand again – the rubble, piles of rock littered across the horizon.

  I’d been in a very bad mood and it was only just beginning to ease. There’s no doubt when I arrived in Alex I just wanted to blame someone and I suppose I blamed Russ and David. But it wasn’t their fault; it’s not them but me and Charley who’re ultimately calling the shots. We’d chosen the route. I wasn’t quite sure how our planning had gone so awry; it hadn’t been like this when we rode round the world. I don’t remember this level of tension either; we’d had our moments but this time we seemed to go from one petty squabble to another. I knew Charley was thinking we could maybe cut out some of what we had planned in the future, like northern Ethiopia, for example. It was a thought, and the four of us would have to sit down and try to work out what we needed to do because, despite some amazing experiences, none of us was enjoying it as we should be.

  Giza came up quicker than I expected, so preoccupied was I with my thoughts. All at once the driving worsened, the cars came thick and fast and we were on the outskirts of the town. Cars were hooting, kids yelling from donkey carts and bicycles.

  And then there they were. Just a glimpse to begin with, t
hey seemed to grow up from the middle of the town itself. It took a moment to dawn: the pyramids. My God, I’d ridden my motorbike all the way to the great pyramids of Egypt.

  Excitement gripped me. We funnelled into traffic; the buildings stained a dirty yellow; apartments, stalls; people everywhere peering at us and waving. We came to a checkpoint and stopped. It was early evening, the sun just beginning to set.

  People wandered over to look at the bikes; mine was hot and sounded pretty gnarly. I switched the engine off.

  ‘Hey, Ewan,’ Charley said, ‘there’s a golf course over there. Imagine having a round of golf with the pyramids as your backdrop.’ I could hear the enthusiasm in his voice. Suddenly all the tension seemed to lift. There’s nothing like witnessing one of the great wonders of the world if you want to put your troubles into perspective.

  Moments later we were moving up to a chequered barrier and the pyramids were right ahead of us and not quite as deep in the town as I’d thought. The road was wide and dusty; it snaked a few hundred yards to where the massive stone structures dominated the skyline. As I passed his truck, Ramy, our fixer, was standing there in his Indiana Jones hat.

  ‘All yours,’ he called.

  Initially I didn’t understand what he meant. Then I realised – the area was closed off for the evening, and we were the only visitors. I couldn’t believe it. Not only had I ridden my bike to the pyramids, now we had them to ourselves. Two colossal structures, they lifted from the desert with Cairo on one side and an ancient expanse of nothingness on the other. I was speechless, standing on the foot-pegs as if in homage.

  As I rode further the third one came into view. It was breathtaking. I still couldn’t believe we were there on our own and as Charley pulled up I just thought how inordinately lucky we were. I looked down at the tiny video screen on my bike which tells me what I’m filming and there was Charley Boorman and behind him a fucking pyramid.

  CHARLEY: The petty irritations just faded away. I couldn’t get my head round the fact that we were actually here. With the pyramids ahead I pulled a monumental wheelie.

  ‘Can you believe it, Ewan?’ I called. ‘It’s just incredible.’

  The desert was huge and empty, the sun sinking, the sky hazy; it was a fantastic time of day to be there and I knew I’d have to come back soon with Ollie and the kids. We could see the lights of Cairo, a massive sprawl and such a contrast with what stood before us.

  We moved into the desert so we could see this wonder from a vantage point where there was no road or city to compare it with. The light was fading quickly now and the desert had an eerie chill to it. The pyramids were shadowy, almost spooky, and the sun seemed to bury itself, throwing up a dusty glow like a sandstorm across the horizon. It was an experience I’ll never forget, standing with Ewan at the great pyramids of ancient Egypt, five camels being led nose to tail not a hundred yards in front of us.

  Of course the bikes got stuck. Well, they would, wouldn’t they? I spun the back wheel, burying it in deep sand and we had to haul the bike to one side then fill the hole and drag it out. Jesus, it was heavy.

  Riding in sand is a bit like water-skiing – you have to give it your all to get upright and then really go for it. Same on a bike: you dump the clutch and pin the throttle and let the bike do the rest. We finally made it back to the car park and it was fully dark now. Once we’d taken off our helmets and jackets, Ramy took us inside.

  I mean inside the pyramid.

  No one was allowed in at night and yet here we were. Ramy asked us if we were afraid of spirits. We climbed to the entrance and stepped into a dimly lit tunnel, walking on metal runners and holding hand rails. Floor lamps cast shadows across the stone and Ramy took us up ladders into the grand gallery. He told us there were three burial chambers. One was actually underground and carved into the bedrock; the second was referred to as the Queen’s chamber but was never intended for any of Khufu’s wives – it had actually contained a statue of Khufu himself. His burial chamber was in the very centre of the pyramid and the only way to get to it was from the grand gallery.

  Ramy told us the pyramid took about thirty-five years to build and I told him it had been built by aliens. I was joking of course, but it is a theory because to this day no one knows how the pyramids were constructed or how the builders could so accurately get them facing magnetic north. So it had to be aliens, didn’t it?

  Ramy told us it wasn’t aliens and it wasn’t slaves either. It was a group of very skilled men, such as stonemasons and architects, who worked directly for the king and lived together in construction villages.

  EWAN: The kings of Egypt cared more about the afterlife than they did this one: the pyramid would be their house for eternity and it was their life’s work to build it. According to Ramy, the king would oversee the project personally, visiting many times during the period of construction. They used two different types of limestone; one for the main blocks and another finer stone for the topmost decorative skin, what Ramy termed the crust. He explained that much of that stone was missing from this pyramid but you could see it in other buildings around different parts of Cairo. He pointed out that over the centuries, particularly after Islam came to Eygpt, people just viewed the pyramids as old buildings and reclaimed some of the stone for new construction.

  The limestone was local but the red granite inside Khufu’s burial chamber wasn’t found any closer than a thousand kilometres away. We saw holes in the walls where logs had been placed as runners and the massive blocks of granite hauled across. There was a theory that as the pyramid ascended so did a sort of mud ramp, and it was on that ramp that all the materials were transported.

  ‘But how would you know you were on the right line?’ I wondered. ‘In the construction, I mean, if the whole thing was covered with mud and sand?’

  ‘No one knows how it was done for sure,’ Ramy told me.

  ‘We’ll try to figure it out then, before we get to Cape Town.’ I nodded firmly. ‘Charley, what do you think? You reckon we’ll come up with an answer?’

  ‘I probably will.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘It’s in the Charley book of everything, page seventeen.’

  Before we left I stood before the great Sphinx, carved from bedrock in front of the second pyramid, Khafre’s. It was like greeting an old friend I’d never met and yet known all my life; I’d been aware of the pyramids and the Sphinx for as long as I’d been aware of anything. I had to pinch myself so I’d know that after everything we’d been through in the last few days I really was there, standing in front of them at last, and this wasn’t some kind of dream.

  The evening had been spectacular and all my worries and gripes had been washed away. But stupidly, they were back the next morning. I got my bike gear on and went down to breakfast. The others were all lounging at the table and Russ asked me why I was kitted out so early.

  ‘We’re not leaving till twelve,’ he said.

  ‘Well nobody told me!’ I snapped at him. I bit his head off for no reason then laid into him about the schedule all over again. I spat the dummy, I don’t know why and I was out of order. None of this was Russ’s fault; I knew that, but I couldn’t help myself, I lashed out and off we went again.

  CHARLEY: It seemed Jim Foster and Jimmy Simak were at loggerheads at the moment, and I got the feeling that Jim and Dai were frustrated generally by David and Jimmy, and equally the reverse was true. And poor old Russ was caught in the middle. We were riding beside the longest river in the world and last night we’d been inside the pyramids, yet still there was this kind of unrest in the camp: it was fucking stupid.

  This really was a scabby river; worse for litter than anything in Libya. Up ahead I was amazed to see not only some kids swimming in it but a couple of horses too.

  We left the city and hit the bigger roads. With my jacket open it was nice to have some air rushing over me. We were following the Nile now with the city on our left and the gloriously lush delta to my right, palm trees and green
meadows and beyond them sloping hills. The Gulf of Suez was behind us, the Red Sea on our left where hundreds of massive ships lay at anchor. Across the Gulf was the Sinai Desert, Israel and Jordan.

  We followed the river south and the world opened up again with scrub and sand and a horizon marked with electricity pylons. We passed wind farms and the desert grew rockier and much less sandy. I couldn’t believe how much building was going on; blocks of apartments going up all over the desert. We hit a dual carriageway where the opposing lanes were located a hundred yards across the open scrub. I was rattling along at 80 mph when a car came beetling towards me in what was our outside lane. I had to pull across sharply to avoid hitting it head on. I waved and shouted but the driver just waved back, grinning away as if everything was normal. Which for driving in this country, I suppose it was.

  EWAN: We took photographs en route and then, leaving one beautiful spot, we really stepped through the gears. I watched the speedometer rising: eighty, ninety, a hundred, a hundred and five, ten; a hundred and fifteen. All at once the bike went into a weave. For a few seconds (that felt like hours) I was convinced I was coming off. Jesus, it was scary. I held my nerve though and didn’t shut the throttle. I knew if I did that I would crash; the slap would get so bad I’d be off before I knew it. I tried to accelerate out of it but that only made it worse. So very gradually I eased back and oh-so-slowly the bike settled. It was one of those adrenalin-sickening moments when your heart is in your mouth, and all you see are images of bones breaking as you bounce across the tarmac.

  We stopped on the Red Sea, a sort of lay-by where rocks overhung the road. Charley and I discussed the driving, one bus in particular that had been hammering along faster than either of us and had a habit of overtaking on blind corners. Crossing the road we found what looked like a private beach. There was a reed and palm lean-to and another smaller structure like a grassy sun canopy. Charley whipped off his clothes and raced down the beach, Jimmy catching his ‘ass’ on camera. I stripped off and followed him, the water cool and relaxing; I could see ships dotted on the horizon. It was great – just what we needed after the perils of the road.