MICHAEL PALIN | Pole to Pole | Shifting Sands | NORTH AFRICA | EPISODE - 4

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["Pomp and Circumstance"] ["Pomp and Circumstance"]
Sudan, the biggest country in Africa, is an overnight ferry ride from Egypt.
But life here is very different.
Sudan does not encourage visitors.
Now we get to Wadi Halfa.
Wadi Halfa, is there a bus?
Wadi Halfa, there's a bus.
Bus? Where's the bus?
Bus?
Yeah, we just want to know how to get to Wadi Halfa.
Halfa?
Yeah.
Okay, Halfa is near here.
Yeah, it's near here.
I thought it was here, but it's not.
How far?
How far? I don't know.
Okay.
Is it too far to walk?
Too far to walk?
Or bus, or what?
Car.
Okay, where's the car?
Okay, well, if you point me the way, I'll...
It all seems to be going swimmingly, when suddenly, my guide isn't there anymore.
I've been in unfamiliar places on this trip, but never felt quite such an outsider.
What is this country all about?
Staunch ally of Saddam Hussein, supporter of the Russian generals and their coup against Gorbachev?
Well, I'd better start finding out.
This is the car to go to Wadi Halfa?
Yes.
Okay, you go to the hotel from Wadi Halfa, the centre.
Ah.
Well, Sudan is clearly a very eccentric country.
If I'm going to get the most out of life here,
I think I'd better forget I've ever been anywhere else in the world.
This is new Wadi Halfa.
The old town disappeared under the waters of Lake Nasser 29 years ago.
Despite its name, the best hotel now only looks out over desert sands.
Hello.
Hello.
Have you got a room?
Yeah.
Welcome.
Thank you.
I've got to catch the train.
That goes tomorrow?
Yes, tomorrow.
Four and a half o'clock.
Fine.
Yes, the station in front of us.
Yes.
And that is the station.
Good, okay.
So just a short walk.
Would I just like a room, please?
Yes, welcome.
The owner has photos of the old Nile Hotel with balconies and river views.
Now it's definitely a no-frills service.
Thank you.
Thank you.
The darkness is comforting.
In the Sudan, a bit of shade is worth the price of admission alone.
But...
98.4.
That's what it should be.
In Wadi Halfa, the hottest part of the day lasts from 9 in the morning till 9 in the evening.
At sunset, I visit Abdullah Ahmed Adam, the governor who'd made our ferry trip possible.
What's the travel news?
The train is supposed to take about 48 hours.
But due to some difficulties, sometimes it takes more.
What sort of difficulties might we encounter?
Maybe the pulling force for the locomotives.
And...
any maintenance, maybe.
Do you yourself travel by train?
Yes, definitely.
My last journey from Khartoum, I came by train.
With my whole family.
Are there any problems?
No problems.
By next morning, the Nile Hotel is full to bursting.
Today is the day of the train.
The water jars are all empty, but I'm directed to the executive washroom.
Washed and brushed up,
I go in search of food for the journey ahead.
The train from Khartoum, which should run twice a week, has just arrived for the first time in a month.
The resources of Wadi Hausha are at full stretch.
There's no famine here, but no surplus either.
And no cave.
I've been there before.
I dont understand.
Why would I go inside a cave?
And where's the crowbar?
What?
Where did I take them?
To the sinkhole.
To the glassware?!
Orderly, indeed.
Where should I go?
There's no surplus either.
What fresh food there is quickly deteriorates in the heat.
Fruit seems to be the most sensible bet.
Can I have some bananas?
Can I have some bananas?
How much?
I have Egyptian money.
Is that okay?
Can I pay with Egyptian money?
Kilo?
Yeah, kilo.
Can you measure me a kilo?
How much is that?
I only have Egyptian.
No?
No Egyptian.
No Egyptian?
Where can I change the money?
Where in Wadi Hausha can I change the money?
Is there a bank?
No.
Hotel maybe?
Okay, but you won't sell me anything for Egyptian money?
No?
Armed with Sudanese pounds, I try again.
Can I buy some tins?
Can I buy some tins of food?
What have you got?
Chicken?
What is it?
Can you show me what it is?
What is this?
This?
No, tin.
That's right.
This?
Yeah, he knows.
That's right.
This?
Yes.
What's that?
What is this?
Maling?
Yes.
Fried young chicken.
Chinese.
That's good?
Yes, okay.
For the train, yes.
I'll have one of those.
Have you anything else?
Oh, that's it.
Stewed chicken with bone.
Good.
Okay.
How much?
40.
Is that enough?
130.
130?
Oh, dear.
Just two chicken.
Thank you.
The hardest thing of all to find is fresh bread.
Do you have a bag?
Oh, I've got to put them in there.
Banana sandwich.
There we go.
Yep.
How much?
150.
150?
Yes.
Okay.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you.
What a nice shelter, isn't it?
Yep.
How much?
How much?
That's 75, eh?
Any change?
Change?
Okay.
That's 75.
All right.
Thank you very much.
The train standing at platform one is the Nile Valley Express, once the pride of the British Empire.
Now, as Sudan's problems increase and the economy crumbles, it's an erratic and declining service.
But there's an air of festivity here that you'd never find at Waterloo or Grand Central.
On the day of the train, Wadi Halfa station is one big party.
How nice to see you.
Come to make sure we go.
Come to make sure we go.
The train's here, we're here, so thank you very much.
Thank you.
Fine.
You know, I've been here for...
For us?
Yes.
Oh, thank you.
Dates!
I was trying to buy these this morning with no success.
These look wonderful.
How do you like it?
We all have one.
We all like it.
How is it?
Very nice indeed.
Thank you.
Thank you very, very much.
There's a heightened sense of drama to life in the Sudan.
A simple thing like departure isn't just the start of a journey, it's the start of an adventure.
And like all good adventures, none of us knows quite how it's going to end.
Bye.
Thank you.
Bye.
This long straight line runs 230 miles across the Nubian desert, avoiding the impassable rapids of the Nile and connecting Wadi Halfa with the cities of Atbara and Khartoum.
It's a single-track railway through the middle of nowhere.
All we can do is pray that the train keeps going.
Well, this is the third time we've stopped in about...
Well, we've been going about... It's half past 12, about seven hours.
The previous two times have both been breakdowns.
One was just a vacuum pipe onto the cafeteria and the next was rather more ominous.
It was a one-hour breakdown of the locomotive.
And once that goes, we could be here for days or even a week.
I mean, if the locomotive breaks, there's nothing much they can do but wait around till it's fixed.
So I just don't know what's going on.
We're moving very, very slowly.
That's the superintendent.
That's what's happened.
Let's see if I can see him.
I never do find anyone to tell me what's happening, but next morning we're still moving.
These identical desert stations have no names, only numbers.
This man could be the stationmaster of number 5, 6, 7 or 8.
The line was built by General Kitchener's army to retake Khartoum and avenge the death of General Gordon.
Working in one of the hottest places on earth, engineers laid a mile of this track every two days.
How do they look after it now?
When I looked out last night, we seemed to be always surrounded by sand.
There was a wind blowing the sand.
Is that a big problem for the engine?
Yeah. Sand's coming over the line, covering the line sometimes.
Yeah.
So the labourers come and take it away from the track.
Do you bring labourers with you on the train to do that?
Yeah. Two or three labourers.
How often?
By their materials, which...
Yeah.
Taking off the sand.
The good news about the Nile Valley Express, it does have a restaurant car.
The bad news, this is it.
Tea? Tea? Chang?
Thank you.
Cucumber sandwiches.
And a dessert menu.
No, a desert menu.
Mind you, this isn't the only restaurant.
Roof class have their own catering.
Everyone up here travels free, and there are plenty of punters willing to risk sun, sand and sliding off into the desert.
Some I spoke to were surprised we didn't travel like this in England.
I explained to them about bridges.
Sleep well? Sleep well?
It's a great view.
It's a great view.
It's better than first class.
You know, you've got a better view.
It's not so hot.
It's not hot.
It's just very fine.
Very fine.
Better than society.
Hmm?
Better than society, yes.
Yeah.
They're all crammed together down there in first class.
One cup of tea amongst ten of them.
Where are you going to?
Khartoum.
Khartoum.
Do you always travel on the...
Hmm?
Do you always travel like this on top of the train?
Yes, sometimes.
Sometimes.
But when the day is too hot, or in the middle of the day, you have to get inside the bus.
What happens in the middle of the day today?
It's going to be very hot.
It was 110 in the sun yesterday.
What happens today in the heat of the day?
Do you go and find some shade?
Shade?
Yeah.
Do you get out of the sun on a day like today?
Yes.
Get inside the bus.
There are 3,000 to 4,000 passengers on the Nile Valley Express.
It's like a small town on the moon.
The rate of progress is governed less by timetables than by the needs of the townsfolk.
Bye.
See you.
It may look chaotic, but it's one of the most user-friendly trains
I've ever been on.
But you do have to know how to use it.
Oh, and this was good old days.
This was the Nile Express or something.
You could get food, a five-course meal,
God knows what, and then probably have a liqueur at the end of it.
But nowadays it's self-catering on this line.
This is what I got yesterday.
I'm going to try the stewed chicken with bone.
What will I get first?
A bit of industrial, but not bad.
And the bread, which is now about a day old.
A bit of Dunkin'.
It's not the brand hotel, but it's quite tasty.
Water, very essential.
It's very, very hot out there.
About 120 degrees.
The water is probably...
almost boiling.
About as refreshing as it can get.
So there we are.
I recommend Marling's stewed chicken with bone, followed by hot Sahara Desert water, followed by a quick trip to the toilet.
It also leaves something to be desired.
Hot, with bone.
Maybe this isn't ecologically unsound, but there are a lot of other bones in the desert, so that goes out there.
Well, this is quite a moment.
It looks as if one of the most hazardous and fraught parts of the journey through Africa is safely over.
I did get a ferry to take me from Egypt to the Sudan.
The highly unpredictable train did run from Wedi Halper on time, and now, 29 hours and about three hours' sleep later, we are actually here, safely across one of the most inhospitable bits of desert.
Although most of that desert is up my nose, in my hair and in my ears, it's a small price to pay for being here in deepest Sudan and well on the way to more problems, really.
So let's go.
We opt to go on to Khartoum by bus, for extra reliability.
A daily service covers the 200 miles from Atbara to the capital.
The technology is tried and tested.
This bus has already been a Bedford truck, and that was 40 years ago.
We're lucky to get a bus almost to ourselves.
They're actually licensed to carry 170 people.
At least the roads are empty, if this is a road.
How do you know which route to take?
I mean, it all looks exactly the same.
You do the route... You drive this way every day, right?
Well, I suppose you know.
When it... When the... Is there ever rain?
Does it ever rain here?
It rains, I suppose. It just stops, you see.
The driver and I chatter on.
I think he just wants someone to talk to.
Make your own at once.
When at last we do find the road, things only get worse.
It doesn't seem to have been finished, assuming it was ever started.
2,000 years ago, the road was the only road in the world.
The only road in the world.
The only road in the world.
The only road in the world.
The only road in the world.
2,000 years ago, this was the kingdom of Meroe.
Out in the desert, a cluster of pyramids can still be seen, broken and leaning like a row of bad teeth.
How could a civilisation apparently rich in iron and agriculture be so completely out of history?
I thought of asking the driver, but there's no guarantee of stopping him once he'd started.
I thought of stopping for a nice cold beer, but alcohol's illegal in the Sudan.
There's not much to do but get hot and dusty and, like those Victorian generals, think of all the things I'm going to relieve in Khartoum.
BELL RINGS
Here in the capital are the first signs of trouble ahead.
For the last eight years, the mainly Christian south has been at war with the hardline Muslim government in Khartoum.
Unfortunately for us, the war zone lies straight across our path.
Well, I've just come from a meeting here in the Ministry of Information, which is responsible for all the permits and the passes to go through Sudan, and they've dealt us a bit of a crushing blow because we've not been given permission to travel south through Sudan, which is the route we need to take if we're going to stay anywhere near 30 degrees.
They've said it's not safe, they won't guarantee our safety, and we just can't go.
We could fly into Juba, which is the southern city, but we can't get out of it because it's surrounded, so we're absolutely stuck in that direction.
We've got to find another way out of Sudan, which won't be easy, but we'll look.
This is not a country renowned for its sense of urgency.
Things happen slowly, if at all.
To get into the country requires the patience of Job.
God knows what we need to get out.
It's so easy to get discouraged, to let helplessness descend like the blanket of hot, sticky air that covers the city.
How does a foreigner survive in the Sudan?
To find out, I'm directed to the one place left in Khartoum where foreigners regularly meet.
Before Sudan won her independence from Britain in 1956, the club had a membership of over 1,000.
Now it's barely 200.
But the menu remains reassuringly Western, as do the diners.
Alan Woodroffe is a professor of tropical medicine, which makes him far from the ideal dining companion.
Oh, Majoub, it's full of salad.
You know, I never eat salad.
Salad is one of the worst ways of contracting dysentery.
And also, in this part of the world, Hydative's disease.
Bring me one without salad.
Right. That might be possibly the same.
I'm not keen to get dysentery, so I'll put mine on the side here.
Is it really that bad?
Well, it's one of the first principles, you know, of keeping fit in the tropics, that you avoid salads.
I've been eating salad all week, because the tomatoes look rather good here.
Yes, yes, of course they do.
So far, no problems.
That's one of the troubles.
The things that look good are usually those which are most likely to transmit the dysentery.
You do frighten me now. I'll keep it on one side, anyway.
I know that the books say you should make sure everything's peeled and all that, and they obviously have been peeled.
Yes, yes.
Is it more serious than that?
Well, yes, it's...
Is it how they're grown?
No, it's difficult to know who's peeled them.
That's the trouble.
And because they're not heated up like any of the rest.
That's right.
So all this has been, the Scotch eggs have all been done...
In your trip.
Hygienically.
In your trip...
Hygienically.
I think that the best advice you could have about keeping fit would be to eat only those things which are served hot.
Right.
Come from the kitchen and are served hot.
Oh, dear, yes.
The Scotch egg seems a very traditional dish.
What other things do they have here?
Well, the food is mostly traditional.
Steak and kidney pie, you know, and roast beef.
We had roast beef yesterday with Yorkshire pudding.
There was no cabbage.
Some sort of greens that grow by the river had to serve for cabbage.
But it was very tasty.
Very good.
Is the chef English?
No, no, Sudanese.
Very good chap too.
After lunch, determined to make amends for all the salads I've eaten,
I foolhardily accept a sporting challenge.
My opponent, Nosheer Antia, couldn't have been more accommodating.
But it's 100 Fahrenheit on court, and after several gruelling seconds, I've passed my peak.
He kindly agrees to an adjournment in the garden.
It's nice out here.
You don't have a drug problem.
You don't have mindless violence in this place.
And the family gets together.
Is it tricky language?
Once you learn the language, you find the people here are extremely nice.
Although they may laugh at your attempts to mangle their tongue, they take you to their hearts.
When did you learn?
I learned the hard way because when I came out here,
I could only speak English.
I could only speak Arabic, so I had to communicate very fast, and I learned through the school of hard knocks.
Well, I'm hopeless. I mean, I don't know anything.
You can learn malish. That should be your first one.
What?
Malish.
Malish. What's that?
Malish means sorry, never mind.
That's a good one.
Yes, I could use that when I'm playing squash.
You could.
I could use that a lot.
Malish.
Malish.
Malish.
You probably want to go and have another game, so...
I can only meditate in your heart.
I'll stand here.
It's only lemonade.
What was it?
OK.
Thank you very much.
Thanks very much indeed.
I'll see you again.
Bye-bye.
I'll let him win, of course. I'll let him win.
Let him walk away with it.
Give him a little shot, but you have to, don't you?
OK.
Bye.
This is Omdoman, across the River Nile from Khartoum.
Ask anyone here the best way to get around their country and there'll be only one answer.
This is a camel mart.
Herds and dealers come here from all over the eastern Sahara.
What does a second-hand ship of the desert, one owner, only a few thousand miles on the hoof, go for these days?
Is this yours?
25,000.
How much?
25,000.
For one camel?
25,000.
That's a lot of money. That's...
25,000.
I'll have to see.
I've got 25,000. That's about 1,000 quid.
I've got...
25,000.
I've got about, oh, maybe 100 here.
25,000.
OK. I'll buy a bit of a camel.
25,000.
A hump?
I'll tell you what.
25,000.
A bulk order. We need seven of them.
A bulk discount.
25,000.
Ah, you're a hard man.
Anyway, thanks.
25,000 for that?
Ayusha Travel, a transport company run by Eritreans from northern Ethiopia, could solve our problem of leaving the Sudan.
They have unparalleled experience of border crossing gained from their 30-year war with the central government.
The ending of that war, four months ago, could be the piece of luck we need.
We can't follow the White Nile south.
West leads through Zaire, as difficult as Sudan, but east is Ethiopia.
It's now freshly liberated and, in theory, open for business.
We want to get to Khartoum.
We want to get down to sort of, well, down to Addis, really, eventually.
So which route would you take us?
From Khartoum, direct to Medeni, through Medeni to Gadarif.
Yeah.
It is Medeni.
And we have to reach Gadarif.
And this looks all quite good road.
Yeah, it's an asphalted road.
It's a good road.
And after Gadarif, where do we go then?
From Gadarif to Matamma.
Matamma.
I see, that's on the border.
Yeah, it's border.
Yes.
And then from Matamma to Gondar.
Yeah.
Lake Tana.
From Gadarif to Matamma, it's rough roads.
Rocky road.
Yeah.
And due to rainy season, the soil is washed out, so it's somewhat rough.
With the land produce, all right.
But with other cars, small cars, it's impossible.
Do you have land cruisers sufficient to take yourself, six others?
We are in this business of transporting people.
How long have you been in the business?
Almost for two years now.
There's one of your cars starting up now.
Yeah.
It does work.
Well, this may look just like a lot of water, but it is actually the point where the two Niles, the blue Nile, or the brown Nile, as it is here, and the white Nile, or the grey Nile, as it is over there, actually meet.
Now, if things had gone right for us, we would have gone down there, followed the white Nile, which flows right down into Central Africa, thousands of miles, but we can't do that, as we know, so we're going to follow the blue, or brown, as it is at the moment, Nile, which takes us on a zigzag course to its very source in Ethiopia, which is going to be much more exciting.
I'll leave you now to have a look at the brownness of the blue Nile and the greyness of the white Nile while we look at the source of the turquoise Nile.
Over in Omdurman, every Friday evening, an hour before dusk, followers of the 19th-century sheikh Hamad el-Niel gather to celebrate his mystical teachings and to literally dance themselves closer to Allah.
They're better known as the Whirling Dervishes, and if this is religion, I'd like to join.
ALL CHANT
If I get close enough to Allah,
I think I'll ask him to make this happy night my last memory of Khartoum.
We've been stuck here almost a week, and it's time we can no longer afford.
ALL CHANT
Well, we are now about to leave Khartoum.
We have our transport, courtesy of the Eritreans, and after quite a wait, we've finally got our last piece of paper, which is a permit to go to Gadara from the Sudan police headquarters.
Without this, we can't move at all.
So we now have this, we can go to Gadara, and from there, across the border into Ethiopia.
It'll be a rough ride, but a second sandstorm hit Khartoum last night.
I think it's an omen. I think we should go.
ALL CHANT
After a day's travelling, we're clear of the desert.
It's marvellous to see greenery again, but it's only there because the rains have ended unusually late.
ALL CHANT
ALL CHANT
Most people we pass are on foot.
I can soon understand why.
The thick black soil has not yet had time to dry out.
But this is the road to the border, and we can only hope it gets better.
We're on the border, and we can only hope it gets better.
ALL CHANT
ALL CHANT
Vehicles much heavier than ours have passed this way and ground deep ruts into the soft earth.
For the first time, my faith in the Eritrean drivers is a little shaken.
Once stuck, they seem to lose heart easily.
On the move, riding the ridges with consummate skill, they're in their element.
They even act as a bus service.
What is your name?
Abdul Rahim Mohamed Ahmed Abdul Latif.
Abdul Rahim. Mine is Michael, not Michael.
Where are you going to?
Douka.
Douka? Is that a village?
No. I have a field on that side.
What do you grow in your field?
Sesame.
Sesame?
How long does it take you to get to Gadara?
Two days.
How do you travel? Do you travel on a bus?
Lorry.
Lorry. How many people are there on the lorry?
Many people?
More than 20.
Tough ride. They all bump around.
Oh.
Some lorries don't make it.
We pick our way around them, knowing it could so easily be us.
And very soon, it is.
I lend a hand, wherever possible.
At this rate, I can see real trouble ahead.
Well, we've just reached Douka, which is the halfway point to Gadara.
Well, we've just reached Douka, which is the halfway point between here and the border at Galabat.
We've asked for vehicles to meet us at Galabat, to take us across into Ethiopia tonight.
But we started at 6.30 this morning.
It's now just after 12.
It looks very unlikely that we're going to get there on time.
Whether the vehicles will wait for us, whether they'll even be there, we don't know.
But with the roads the way they are at the moment, it's going to be very tight to actually get there and rendezvous with them.
After Douka, our drivers lose the road completely, and we plunge on through the fields with increasing desperation.
There's not much left to do but pray.
Another truck stuck, another tow.
There's no sense in rushing.
These people have got the right idea.
I've got a feeling we're not going to win our race against time to get to Galabat by dusk, because we're now...
I mean, this is the road, and it's virtually impassable.
It's so deeply grooved and pitted, we keep having to stop to pull vehicles out.
Even then, nobody seems quite sure where the border actually is.
So the combination of these two things in the last half hour, we've probably covered about five kilometres.
And we've been going nine hours or so.
It's quarter to four, quarter to five.
We have about another hour and a half of daylight.
Unless things get very much better, I think time's run out for us.
We'll be... we'll be picnicking in the bush.
Well, the adventure continues.
We never actually did reach Galabat last night.
After one of many halts, after 13 hours of driving, we just stopped dead almost in the middle of nowhere.
Turned out to be a small village called Kanina.
We asked the police whether we could get to Galabat.
They said it's a bit dangerous. Better stay here.
And so we ended up spending a night in the police station at Kanina.
And this is actually the compound of the police station.
Didn't sleep awfully well, but I never do in police stations.
But we're here, we're fresh, and we're on to try and find the border.
Any answers on a postcard, please, to pole to pole lost somewhere on the Sudan-Ethiopia border.
Monday morning.
BIRDS CHIRP
Being by nature an optimist, I don't really think things can get any worse.
Wrong again.
Before you can say, Nigel Mansell, we're in the pits.
ENGINE ROARS
Not a grip on here at all.
Strange people appear from all over the bush to see what we're doing.
I have the heart to tell them we're going to the South Pole.
ENGINE ROARS
Things are now so bad, even the director has to push.
This time it really does seem like the end of the road.
The vehicles ahead of us are also stuck.
But then, just as I'm thinking of taking Sudanese nationality, hope backs towards us.
ENGINE ROARS
It's a last-minute reprieve.
We pull ourselves out of the rough only to find that we are closer to the road than we ever thought.
Mind you, some people are even closer.
GUNSHOT
I think someone's trying to tell us something about this particular journey.
We've been going now about seven hours since we left the police station this morning.
We've covered about 20 kilometres, but Galabat is just over the hill there, they keep saying.
And just as we arrive here, we find this lorry carrying sacks of salt has overturned, blocked the... has blocked the road, so we're held up again.
I'm also told this is not a good place to stop because in these hills here on the border with Ethiopia, there are Ethiopian... ex-Ethiopian troops who are sort of living almost as mercenaries in the area.
We have to have an armed guard with machine guns with us and they're sort of fanning out, making sure we're protected.
In fact, way back there where we tried to film, we were told not to.
So I shouldn't film now, if I were you.
The only trouble with railroads is that people use them.
And having seen nothing for 24 hours, we run slap-bang into a convoy of trucks coming from Ethiopia.
Once they're past, we speed on for at least 100 yards.
This is becoming like one of those never-ending board games where you have to throw the exact number to finish.
Stop here under the tree?
Yeah, we're waiting for him.
Mm.
Trauma fright.
So I suppose if we continue like this, we can avoid the game from continuing?
Well, until...
Okay, until the next busybody.
You see, I'm trying to see what we can do.
Galabat.
What?
Galabat.
Galabat, here?
No.
Let's have a sign.
Why do they have no road signs in the Sudan?
You think it's round here?
No.
Why not?
Then just when I ceased to believe in the existence of Galabat, there it is below us.
We've taken well over 24 hours to cover the distance between London and Oxford.
Galabat may seem like the promised land, but as we know to our cost, it's one of the least accessible places in the whole of Africa.
We've made it.
The question now is, will anyone be there to meet us?
Will anyone be there to meet us?
A crisis that could be worse than climate change, extinction, the facts, with David Attenborough on BBC One tomorrow at eight.
And his thrilling journey to the wildest places in the world,
Planet Earth, A Celebration, is streaming now on BBC iPlayer.