What's the fuss about? at 29, I'm just starting my traveling career. first trip: Sudan

By the last leg of my flight to Khartoum the plane had only 20 passengers, and each of those had a very specific reason for being there—except me! I must admit I got quite a bit of pleasure telling those who asked that I was traveling purely for vacation. Why? I don’t know, but it was worth it for the reactions I got. I Arrived in Khartoum 2am, and after a fairly painless entry process consisting of one paper form and a passport check, I was let go into a cavernous, if slightly dilapidated, terminal. A skinny cat hid behind a trashcan, and in a few minutes our bags swung into view. It was all too easy until I tried to leave the terminal—through one small set of doors. Everyone must greet their loved ones right in front of the door, so even at 2am, it took a good 15 minutes to squeeze myself the final 30 feet, seeing as I was just learning the art of squeezing and pushing and generally insisting on getting where I wanted to go! 2am on a beautiful day in January is a wonderful time to arrive. Cool, not too crazy yet, and empty streets. A warm greeting by my good friend and his cousin made it perfect. Over the next few days I was swept up in a whirlwind of wedding preparations, celebrations, explorations and half-literate conversations. Some moments stand out to me in particular. The first is a quick sprint from during a demonstration downtown. We were winding our way through the dusty streets and cracked sidewalks to get our money changed, when a small group of demonstrators carrying signs with Bush and Sadam Hussein on them came chanting down the street. Within seconds the police were there providing severe beatings for free to anyone with a sign. About then my friend and I looked at each other and decided to run. We couldn’t decide what would be worse. The demonstrators, the police, or angry beaten demonstrators. So as the shopkeepers pulled down shutters on storefronts faster than I could think, and everyone in the vicinity began running, we ran too. That was the worst of it. Besides that and a few strange looks, my reception was extremely warm. One night, after late preparations for the wedding the next day, we found ourselves slightly baffled on how to get home. Three beautiful young ladies took us under their wing, and our hands firmly in theirs, led us through the dark streets of Khartoum to a place we could easily find our way home from. Beautiful. Souk Sita is a sprawling market on the edge of Khartoum, and I had a great time exploring the recesses of it. Carpenter’s shops, open air barber shops, vegetables, young boys on donkey carts with boom boxes affixed—I had never seen a pimped donkey cart before, nor the sheer variety of customized Bajaj rickshaws and Chinese bicycles. The human spirit bubbles up everywhere. I was careful with the camera because of what I had heard about past restrictions, but everywhere I turned it, people smiled and/or posed. Traveling with locals did help. The highlight was a fantastic watermelon well-haggled for, and completely devoured on our dusty walk home. Every trace was gone before we reached the family compound to avoid scoldings by the women of the house who, I was assured, would not understand why we didn’t let them prepare it for us. So be it. I ate dutifully and it was one of those food memories you don’t forget.