No need for this kind of heat ( from Simon)

It's hot. Really, really hot. It's so hot that if you only drink 6 litres in a day then you don't pee. It's so hot that at daybreak it's still 20 degrees even after it's been cooling all night. It's so hot that if you don't drink anything for half an hour then do, you get drink sweats, when your body suddenly releases all the precious, precious moisture you were saving up to stop you desiccating. It's so hot the glue in my books is melting and the pages are falling out. It's so hot that the sun becomes unbearable after half 9 in the morning, and I skulk the shadows like a wraith. It's so hot that ice cold water becomes hot like a bath within an hour of purchase, and everything in the world becomes hotter than your body, so everything you touch makes you warmer - this makes lying in bed like trying to go to sleep on a radiator. It's so hot that yesterday when it was only 43 degrees it felt like a welcome break.

I should never have tempted fate like I did last time - I know so how meteorological systems like to peruse my missives and take action forthwith. Yet twasn't always like this. After I left you last I travelled to Karima where a band of rocky hills crosses the Very Flat and meets the Nile. Here was the flourishing of the Nubian Pharaohs, at the foot of Jebel Barkal which definitely doesn't look like a penis. The Victorian discoverer said he believed it may "be a huge statue of a fairly featureless Pharaoh standing ere... very straight with a peculiar conical hat." The fact that the Nubian queens used to crawl into a cave at the base of it to get impregnated by the God in no way shows what they felt.

But it's not all 90 metre cocks, there's a few (ruined) temples and (ruined) sphinxes, and loads of (small) pyramids in remarkably good shape. I spent a few days running around them being wowed by these secret monuments, and hanging out at my hotel next to a pimp my tuk-tuk garage where they played Sudanese rock and roll and stuck spinning Mad Max blades of death onto the wheels. I went there to see if they sold batteries and they decided to treat me to a series of videos proving why Bashir was the best president in the world:

"See, this is after the ICC announcement. He goes out into street in motorcade and says that if anyone wants to kill him, do it now. No-one kills him!"

"Golly."

"Could any other President do this and not die? I think not!"

"Ummmm..."

"Look, this is next day, he goes to South Sudan to ask them to kill him if they want to. But they love him there!"

The footage that accompanies this one deserves some description. Bashir is standing on a platform, wearing a gigantic feather 'tribal' hat, shaking a spear, and dancing enthusiastically to some African tunes. Around him sit the Government of South Sudan (GoSS for short) dignitaries in suits and ashen faces. It looks like Prince Phillip unleashed.

"And now he is in Darfur - no-one is killing him!"

As I watch the Janjaweed ride past, saluting him. Granted this is for an internal audience, but surely this isn't the best way to prove that you have nothing to do with the problems that are ongoing there?

He then shows me footage of the big dam they've built just near Karima which will provide electricity to the whole of Northern Sudan, and allow agriculture to continue growing despite (a certain amount of) global warming and petrol running out. It's pretty essential for the continuing existence of Karima, and most of Nubia as well. So that's a good thing, though it was built with oil money, the oil coming from the South. To ensure there was peace, Bashir hired some militias to look after the area where the oil was found, but they accidentally killed all the Southerners who lived there. Whoops! How does Bashir keep getting in these pickles? I decided not to bring this up with Tuk-Tuk mechanic man.

Khartoum is the ultimate oil town. A wonderfully ramshackle African city set around the confluence of the White & Blue Niles, with lots of new 'event' skyscrapers, some of which seem to have paused half-way through construction due to the fall in prices. I really love the vibe of it, and I'm hoping that Addis Ababa has a similar feel. There's a spilling of life onto every space on the street; African music blares from every shop & juice stand; you have streets which are lined with people working sowing machines, and suqs which are lined with computers and speakers, blaring out a cacophony of music and films as people queue round them to get photo-copies.

There's also a smattering of decaying colonial buildings, and the city itself is laid out like a Union Jack ("Kill General Gordon, will you? Well now your capital city's shaped like our flag. See how YOU like it."). The Nile is lovely here, lazy and wide, but given it's Sudan, where 90% of the country is desert, there's a wide swath of farmland right through the heart of the city on either side of it. Even when you the road gets close to the water, you're not allowed to photograph it. I was caught and was pulled into an army post:

"Why were you photographing the Nile?"

"Because I'm a tourist."

"But why?"

"Because it's beautiful, and the confluence of the Nile is one of the most important geographical features on our planet." (Not sure got the whole of this across)

He then started going through all 2,500 pictures I had going "Is this in Sudan?" for each one. After 10 minutes, with me still in Jordan, I took my camera and excused myself. I had to delete the picture I'd just taken, but I got away with one picture they didn't see, which exclusively shows that the reason they're so edgy is that SADDAM'S WMDs ARE ALL HIDDEN UNDERWATER IN THE NILE IN KHARTOUM. That's why they were never found. Army guy had the last laugh though - as I walked away, he shouted "You can't walk down the street next to the Nile!", and made me head away inland. The army here are as obnoxious as the police are nice.

In fact, Khartoum has thrown up a number of frustrations, but it hasn't made me love it less. There's the fact that people won't tell you directions unless they know why you want to go there, which can be hard to explain in Arabic. Then there's the Sun. Luckily most streets have covered walkways, and there's juice stands every hundred metres or so. I'm beginning to find myself not trusting my standards though. I'd found one place that did mango juices that I thought weren't too sweet compared to what I was used to here - when I saw it made they put in the same amount of sugar as they did mango. I haven't been able to go back, or indeed have another mango juice since, but I'm just fooling myself that the guava juices are any less sweetened. Even the wonderfully tart lemon juices are probably loaded with it. I've had to give up tea because I can't get them to put less than an inch of sugar in the bottom of a 3 inch glass. I keep think I'm exaggerating here but this really is no lie. They don't have tea spoons, just really deep scoops. My blood feels really sticky and thick in my veins - I don't know how they're not all diabetics out here. I'm hoping the juice in Ethiopia is more natural.

I learnt to deal with the Sun though. At first I fought it, and the Sun won. By half past 1 I'd collapse in a heap in someones shop and have to wait there for an hour or two until it was safe to go out. They didn't mind; they understood. But soon I learnt why people got up at the crack of dawn here - I'd get up at half past 6 and walk around in British summer weather. Of course, at this time in the morning they only sell doughnuts to eat, fried up in front of you by the ubiquitous tea ladies who set up braziers and ankle high stools along every pavement. To combat any smells, they burn incense - though all the shops take it in turn to do this as well. Having said that, Sudan is remarkable in that there is a garbage disposal service which runs regularly round the towns and cities, and there's always someone sweeping up wherever you look. It's still a complete shit tip, but you can imagine what it's be like if it didn't happen.

After a sugary breakfast you can wander round in the relative cool and enjoy 'the best part of the day' (becoming Dad alert...). By lunch you can retire for a nap or an internet session in the slightly air conditioned internet cafes. Considering how packed in you are, cheek by jowl, it's amazing how many people look at porn. Khartoum starts winding down by 9 o'clock, and nothing's happening by 10. It's quite weird to be in such a big city and have totally blank evenings - there's not even the caffeine and sheesh experience you get in Egypt. I've only had 3 sheeshas since coming to Sudan, and most times I've been dragged to some dodgy back street sheesh hole - it all feels a bit sordid, though the mint sheeshas are lovely. I'm getting a bit sick of it though, won't mind swapping it for Beer & Qat in Ethiopia. Spanish Photographer fellow said that Qat was very good for writing on, which is what I'd heard, so that should be interesting.

So what have I actually been up to in Khartoum? Well, I actually had one of the best experiences of my life on Friday. I headed out to a cemetery out west where some Sammaniya Sufis gather for a dance every week. The Sammaniya brotherhood are known as the Whirling Dervishes, but whilst I'd seen some in Turkey who were pretty sedate, things are pretty crazy here. These guys are all dreadlocked and dressed in outlandish costumes, some going as far as wearing wizard's hats. There's some drumming and chanting of the usual 'La illaha illallah' (noGod but God) as they all gather in a big circle outside the tomb of their founders. They walk around ecstatically greeting each other and hugging, getting a groove on as the rhythm picks up, wandering around with braziers of incense to smell, and just smiling as if their life depended on it.

There was so much love in the air it was unreal. It was like a proper night out - it was as hot as a sweaty basement despite being in the open air at sunset, everyone was smiling, hugging and dancing, and there was great music. Because the Sufis are really tolerant there were lots of women there dancing too, and because the Sufis distinguish between mad and 'touched' there's quite a lot of people there with mental problems who are welcomed in as well. A wee dwarf of love came up and gave me a MASSIVE hug - best hug since Tom. In fact, Khartoum is total Tommy land, all sugar and loved up hugs. I actually started rushing my tits off, getting really into the music and dancing and just all the happiness around. It was very intense. People were really welcoming, shaking my hand and welcoming me in. Maybe they were just glad I wasn't like the other tourists (both western & Sudani) who were pushing their way to the centre of the circle, and shoving their cameras in the faces of the people who were spinning or shaking and reaching transcendental union with God. Strangely enough this seemed to bring them out of it, so naturally the tourist would have to find someone else to shove his camera in the face of so he could get that perfect shot. The whole thing was amazing though - the vibe was incredible and I made some friends who I've been bumping into since then.

In fact, Khartoum's really friendly like that. I was wondering how the Sudanese openness would translate to the big city, as it seems to fit towns and villages perfectly, but it works really well. I feel more part of the city after 5 days than in Cairo in 5 weeks. It's been fun trying to work out the bus system, which relies totally on a series of hand signals, pops and clicks. If you want to get off, you click your fingers, and the conductor hisses to the driver, everyone then re-arranges where they're sitting so that they are as far back in the bus as possible. To tell which bus you want you see what hand shapes the conductor is throwing as he leans out the window. There's also whistles, which are a bit beyond me, and a mixture of the Victory sign being switched into the Vs whilst a pound note was thrust in my face, which meant he wanted two 50s in change.

Flushed with the success of the Sufi love-in, I decided to get my hair cut. It had got past my shoulders, was hot, and blew in my face whenever the blessed wind appeared. Sometimes I found myself chewing on it. It was time. In Khartoum, hairdressers are denoted by a picture of either Will Smith or Craig David. The one I went to had both, thus denoting excellence, I thought. I should have been warned when after I asked for him to take a little off the bottom, he whipped out his clippers. Off came both sides pretty quick. A little bit off the top and he was done.

After a bit of a discussion, a little irate on my end, he went off and found some scissors (this took some time), and cut (hacked) off a lot more at the back. But I still had a mullet. No London trendy Nu-Mu, this was a full-on bouffon-&-flaring-back-early-

80s-day-time-soap-doctor's-suave-but-dastardly-brother-mullet. He even gave me designer stubble to match. I could have got it all shaved off, but I've run with it. Who am I trying to impress? I haven't washed it since and it's kind of gone a bit better (read messy), and I think it might grow out okay. Don't worry, you'll get to see the photos eventually.

One thing which has been weird given the preponderance of excellent music around, is how many people have trance ringtones. I keep expecting Dave Pearce to jump out and intone "Utter Euphoria 267 - bang some wrong down your drug hole and it won't sound like the exquisite ear toss it really is." Perhaps his gap toothed gypsy persona is what's popularizing it.

But it's time for me to head on, go and check out some more Pyramids, and hopefully get to Port Sudan, which is apparently only in the 30s at the moment! I don't have a permit, which may or may not be needed - different travellers report different results. If I'm allowed through I'm hoping to go snorkelling or diving there, then head round via the hills and Kassala before going down to Ethiopia; if I get turned back then I'll head down quicker. Basically I should be in Ethiopia in 1 or 2 weeks. Quite exciting to be this close to the place I've been planning to visit for so, so long. I'll probably hate it!

Anyway, I should head off now, as it's just gone 10 and I'm virtually the last person in the cafe. It's past my bed time.

All my love,

Simon