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and Jason Florio, back on that blighted hillside in northern Uganda; the smell of fire and
the sound of a dialling tone, as we scrambled to get help.
Lost in those memories, I reached the wave break. Up close, it appeared as a vast pile
of concrete boulders. There was only one memory left for me now: the thought of the ma-
gical Nile, the river that had ultimately defeated me, like it had so many others. Perhaps, I
thought, the river just doesn't want to be conquered. Perhaps it never will.
Standing on top of the wave break, I could finally look out across the Mediterranean
Sea. Europe felt close - and, with it, home. Elated to have made it, I stood there for what
felt like an age, while the journalists, policemen and other assorted officials thronged be-
hind me. It wasn't until they were all shouting for attention that I realised: my elation had
given way to something else. It was real sadness that was touching me now. There was
nowhere left to walk. The sea, brooding and black and empty crashed against the pile of
concrete below me.
I turned and shook hands with Turbo. 'Well done, Lev, you made it.'
But there was something I still had to do.
'I promised myself a beach, Turbo. So I'm going to find a beach.'
With the rabble of followers trailing behind, I walked west, back along the track and
around the bay until, at last, we came across a strip of sand.
'Here's your tropical paradise, Lev,' said Turbo with a mischievous grin.
It was hardly that, I thought, looking across the dismal gravel filled with sun brollies
and loungers, but it would have to do. At once, I took off, scrambling down the stones to
reach the sand. Several hundred bewildered sunbathers turned to see what the commotion
was - but I was already off, running headlong into the gathering waves and plunging into
the foaming surf. The water was cold. It hit me like waking from a dream. I took anoth-
er step, and another, and another - until, at last, I was fully submerged. The walking was
done with. The expedition was at an end.
I was gazing into the sun-drenched north, thinking of Europe beyond, when the cheers
rang out across the coast. At first, I took them for the cheers of the rabble who'd followed
me - and indeed they were. But there was another voice, undercutting all the rest. 'Stop!'
somebody was crying. 'Stop!' Between the cries came the shrill blasts of a whistle.
I looked back, at the hundreds of bemused faces staring at me from the beach. Through
them all came one man: an Egyptian, in lifeguard's clothing.
'You're outside of the safe zone!' he screamed, waving his hands around like a madman.
'You are not permitted to be here!'
I looked up. It seems I'd been caught out by bureaucracy yet again.
It was a very strange end to a very strange journey.