Sunday 6th December 2009
Day 161
I reckon our time in Ethiopia, well Africa in general can be summed up by the events of this morning. '7.30 will be fine' said reception when asking what time we should set off in the airport shuttle to Lalibela airport en route to Addis Abba to ultimately get our evening flight to the UK.
Little did we know a quarter of the way into our journey, the arse would drop out the back of the minibus!
You could tell the minibus wasn't the best, and it wasn't as though we were staying in a crappy hotel. Nevertheless we had no choice but to pile onto this tin can shuttle. The clutch had been burnt out, the suspension was none existent and we were later to find out from a Guatamalen couple on board that this same bus had broken down twice the day before visiting some out of town churches. In fact the Guatamalen guy (a Graphic Designer) had been left to try and fix it and to the joy of everybody on board, he succeeded. However this breakdown needed more than a Guatamalen Graphic Designer. The heavy clunk and subsequent scraping sound suggested a major organ had given up the ghost and dropped out of the vehicle.
There we were stranded in the hills of Lalibela's surrounds, on the side of the road with only a couple of farmers with their hay for company alongside driver and passengers.
We were told a mechanic was on his way but we needed more than a mechanic if we were to catch our flight. We needed a new vehicle and quick. The wait seemed to take forever but eventually the mechanic arrived quite nonchently, in no particular rush and we crammed on board his vehicle and sped off at breakneck speed airport-bound.
Lalibela airport seemed ten times the distance as the way from the airport but we played it cool talkin Seatle and Melbourne with the couple who were now based in the States. Inside we were a trifle panic stricken to say the least.
At last we got to the airport, showed our passports to airport security at the gates before Layla sped in while I grabbed the bags off the roof. An argument about payment for the minibus ensued (which we'd already paid for). I held my ground got our stuff and head in to find Layla still searching for the check in officer. Passengers were well checked-in and the last passengers were boarding the plane witnessed through a thick sheet of glass that separated the terminal to departures lounge.
Still no one in sight meaning no way through Layla made a last ditch attempt running through security and the departures lounge returning with an official in tow kicking and screaming. He was angry and hardnosed and said 'No- you are too late!' He wasn't going to budge even after our sob story. 'You should have left more time,' he said. No flight meant we'd miss our connecting flight to the UK and were pretty much screwed.
There was only one thing for it.....'Pleeeaaase' Ppplllleeeeaaassse let us on the flight' we begged pathetically. Much to our surprise, it seemed to be working. We could sense a change in his expression. A chink in his armour. He actually seemed to like it. We looked at each other in astonishment and continued 'Plleeeaase'. 'GIVE ME YOUR BAGS!' he shouted. We were on.
We rushed our bags through, got onto the already boarded plane and within five minutes of taking our seats we were off. Phew!
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
Ethiopia - a land of extremes
Wednesday 26th November - Saturday 5th December 2009
Days 150 - 160
Our bodies took a pounding in Ethiopia. About halfway through the trip Layla was as ill as Ive seen her - fever, chest infection, stomach problem whilst I was eating for two in the shape of tape worm.
Ethiopia itself was fascinating. A land of extremes. We started in Addis Ababa, flying in from Kigali. Ethiopian Airways are hilarious. Like a public bus they just seem to decide to make random stop offs to pick up more people. We stopped in Entebbe, Uganda as the plane wasn't full.
Our two day introduction to Addis Ababa was certainly an eye opener - a vast, sprawling city situated at altitude with a thick smog lying above it like a sandwich spread. There was more homelessness, disease, disability and desperation than I have seen in Africa so far. In the morning we were walking knee-deep through the homelessness, people sheltering under blankets protecting them from the baking sun and by the afternoon we were sipping a macchiato in the beautiful gardens of the University. Remember what I said - Extremes!
From Adis (as his mates call him) we took a 12 hour coach journey to the historical town of Gonder - gateway to the stunning Simien Mountains. Whilst internal flights were cheap, travelling overland on our 'Young Man' branded coach complete with bullet sized hole in windscreen and the tagline 'German Technology; Chinese Price'. Add to this the sheer speed the coach driver decided to travel at and you could understand our anxiety. Especially as we had a front row seat directly behind lunatic driver.
The scenic countryside of Ethiopia soon took our attention away from sheer fear as we twisted up and around huge mountains dipping down into deep valleys with views stretching green threw to the horizon.
Back again to shear panic again as we started to see burned out vehicles at the side of the road. And then in the road. A couple that flipped on their roof followed by the inevitable. A shiny bust up 4x4 completely blocking our path.
Another thing we noticed was the sheer volume of people in this country-roaming the streets, out in the fields, watching the world go by. What was most evident was that even in the most remote location an incident or accident will draw a crowd. People seem to come out of the woodwork from absolutely nowhere.
Needless to say this road accident created a huge crowd. Some rough looking village folk. And the kids. The kids looked wild.
After a while the kids got bored with the vehicle more interested with the farangi (white folk) on the coach. Within 15 minutes we had a crowd of 20 kids staring up at us, as the only westerners on the coach, and there they stayed until eventually the vehicle was towed out of our path.
Gonder was grand containing a royal enclosure complete with castle that dominated the town. We spent a day looking around before heading to the Simien Mountains where we completed a three day trek which was fantastic apart from we both came down with an illness that knocked us sidewards. The major issue was energy levels and add to this an unpredictable backside we weren't in the best shape for a mountain climb.
The worst of it came at our camp where the toilet was a hole in the ground situated 100 metres down a steep embankment. The amount of times Layla and I made that journey was ridiculous through night and day sometimes handing the baton (toilet roll) over at the halfway point of the hill.
Once again the sheer volume of people became apparent as way up in the remote Simien Mountains we unzipped our tent to be faced with around 15 village folk sat at our entrance starring into our tent.
Next up Lalibela. Ethiopia just seemed to visually get better and better. The town's centrepiece was a series of churches carved down out of the rock dating back to the 12th century when King Lalibela returned from a 25 year stay in Jeruselum intent on creating Ethiopia's equivalent.
It was hard to get your head around how magical this place was. Aside from the churches there was a nice friendly vibe, a real community spirit, beautiful steep cobbled street, arts and crafts, great coffee, beer and honey wine. We were also lucky enough to be there on Market day which was crazy chaos but unforgetable. Do you get the feeling we liked this place?
Days 150 - 160
Our bodies took a pounding in Ethiopia. About halfway through the trip Layla was as ill as Ive seen her - fever, chest infection, stomach problem whilst I was eating for two in the shape of tape worm.
Ethiopia itself was fascinating. A land of extremes. We started in Addis Ababa, flying in from Kigali. Ethiopian Airways are hilarious. Like a public bus they just seem to decide to make random stop offs to pick up more people. We stopped in Entebbe, Uganda as the plane wasn't full.
Our two day introduction to Addis Ababa was certainly an eye opener - a vast, sprawling city situated at altitude with a thick smog lying above it like a sandwich spread. There was more homelessness, disease, disability and desperation than I have seen in Africa so far. In the morning we were walking knee-deep through the homelessness, people sheltering under blankets protecting them from the baking sun and by the afternoon we were sipping a macchiato in the beautiful gardens of the University. Remember what I said - Extremes!
From Adis (as his mates call him) we took a 12 hour coach journey to the historical town of Gonder - gateway to the stunning Simien Mountains. Whilst internal flights were cheap, travelling overland on our 'Young Man' branded coach complete with bullet sized hole in windscreen and the tagline 'German Technology; Chinese Price'. Add to this the sheer speed the coach driver decided to travel at and you could understand our anxiety. Especially as we had a front row seat directly behind lunatic driver.
The scenic countryside of Ethiopia soon took our attention away from sheer fear as we twisted up and around huge mountains dipping down into deep valleys with views stretching green threw to the horizon.
Back again to shear panic again as we started to see burned out vehicles at the side of the road. And then in the road. A couple that flipped on their roof followed by the inevitable. A shiny bust up 4x4 completely blocking our path.
Another thing we noticed was the sheer volume of people in this country-roaming the streets, out in the fields, watching the world go by. What was most evident was that even in the most remote location an incident or accident will draw a crowd. People seem to come out of the woodwork from absolutely nowhere.
Needless to say this road accident created a huge crowd. Some rough looking village folk. And the kids. The kids looked wild.
After a while the kids got bored with the vehicle more interested with the farangi (white folk) on the coach. Within 15 minutes we had a crowd of 20 kids staring up at us, as the only westerners on the coach, and there they stayed until eventually the vehicle was towed out of our path.
Gonder was grand containing a royal enclosure complete with castle that dominated the town. We spent a day looking around before heading to the Simien Mountains where we completed a three day trek which was fantastic apart from we both came down with an illness that knocked us sidewards. The major issue was energy levels and add to this an unpredictable backside we weren't in the best shape for a mountain climb.
The worst of it came at our camp where the toilet was a hole in the ground situated 100 metres down a steep embankment. The amount of times Layla and I made that journey was ridiculous through night and day sometimes handing the baton (toilet roll) over at the halfway point of the hill.
Once again the sheer volume of people became apparent as way up in the remote Simien Mountains we unzipped our tent to be faced with around 15 village folk sat at our entrance starring into our tent.
Next up Lalibela. Ethiopia just seemed to visually get better and better. The town's centrepiece was a series of churches carved down out of the rock dating back to the 12th century when King Lalibela returned from a 25 year stay in Jeruselum intent on creating Ethiopia's equivalent.
It was hard to get your head around how magical this place was. Aside from the churches there was a nice friendly vibe, a real community spirit, beautiful steep cobbled street, arts and crafts, great coffee, beer and honey wine. We were also lucky enough to be there on Market day which was crazy chaos but unforgetable. Do you get the feeling we liked this place?
Mountain gorilla'ing
Saturday 21st - Wednesday 25th November 2009
Days 146 - 150
Was mountain gorilla tracking worth the money? Don't get me wrong we saw three humungous silverback gorillas up at close quarters. Very close quarters. Starring into their eyes was something Ill never forget. It was a humbling experience to know these big beasts could snap you in two if they wanted to, yet, even though my heart was pounding, my hands trembling they were looking at us as if to say 'What's the fuss? Chill out people. I'm just going about me business.'
The national park 'Parc de Volcanos' in itself was worth the trip up north from Rwanda's capital Kigali. A series of rolling green hills (thus the nickname land of a thousand hills) then turned into more abrupt mountainous landscape followed by volcanoes which represent the border between Rwanda, Uganda and DRC.
Kigali is an interesting city and we were grateful to friends of a friend for letting us crash at their place as we explored this intriguing place.
The genocide obviously dominates the city from the Paliament building still maintaining one wall covered in bullet holes and scars from a mortar attack, through to the building where the Prime Minister was assassinated with a Belgian contingent attempting to protect her. Again the bullet holes tell the story. Then theres the Genocide Museum. A word of warning - don't attempt it with Kigali belly....it's emotional enough without a dodgy tummy.
The Genocide Museum is extremely well done and you can't help but walk out with your jaw dragging along the ground. It is thought one million people were killed in 100 days from April 1994 and the museum talks you through the history, a no-holds barred account of the massacre followed by the massacre itself followed by the aftermath. If that doesn't get you, the mass graves in the garden and the 'childrens room' will. It even got me and I'm as ard as nails me ; )
Kigali itself is full of character and looks like a modern city. However, I still felt a spooky undercurrent resonated which is completely understandable and probably will be that way for some time to come.
Days 146 - 150
Was mountain gorilla tracking worth the money? Don't get me wrong we saw three humungous silverback gorillas up at close quarters. Very close quarters. Starring into their eyes was something Ill never forget. It was a humbling experience to know these big beasts could snap you in two if they wanted to, yet, even though my heart was pounding, my hands trembling they were looking at us as if to say 'What's the fuss? Chill out people. I'm just going about me business.'
The national park 'Parc de Volcanos' in itself was worth the trip up north from Rwanda's capital Kigali. A series of rolling green hills (thus the nickname land of a thousand hills) then turned into more abrupt mountainous landscape followed by volcanoes which represent the border between Rwanda, Uganda and DRC.
Kigali is an interesting city and we were grateful to friends of a friend for letting us crash at their place as we explored this intriguing place.
The genocide obviously dominates the city from the Paliament building still maintaining one wall covered in bullet holes and scars from a mortar attack, through to the building where the Prime Minister was assassinated with a Belgian contingent attempting to protect her. Again the bullet holes tell the story. Then theres the Genocide Museum. A word of warning - don't attempt it with Kigali belly....it's emotional enough without a dodgy tummy.
The Genocide Museum is extremely well done and you can't help but walk out with your jaw dragging along the ground. It is thought one million people were killed in 100 days from April 1994 and the museum talks you through the history, a no-holds barred account of the massacre followed by the massacre itself followed by the aftermath. If that doesn't get you, the mass graves in the garden and the 'childrens room' will. It even got me and I'm as ard as nails me ; )
Kigali itself is full of character and looks like a modern city. However, I still felt a spooky undercurrent resonated which is completely understandable and probably will be that way for some time to come.
It may be time to go home
Friday 20th October 2009
Day 145
I think it may be time to go home. It's 4am and we're sprawled on some couches in a deserted airport in Kigali, Rwanda patiently waiting for first light before heading into the city. Layla is filing her toe nails and Im watching quite possible the worst program I've ever seen. It's a Rwandan drama based around a manipulative female ( Macey Gray look-a-like) who causes havoc in her relationships. I think we're going slightly mad. We're waiting for first light in a Rwandan airport lounge watching, filing and going mad.
The entire day has been a little insane setting off from El Karama around nine, we travelled for four hours to Nairobi. Layla negotiated the bullish roads expertedly and onwards to the airport where we were caught in horrendous traffic thanks to an upturned truck in the middle of the highway.
Once here we weren't sure where we were going but knew we wanted to get on a plane somewhere. We chose Rwanda with Kenyan airways. We would have flown Rwandan Air Express but all flights were suspended after a pilot crashed into the capital's VIP lounge a couple of weeks ago. On arrival we saw the plane in question with a broken nose a boxer would have been proud of. The broken plane still sat there on the runway which wasnt the best publicity in the world for the airline.
Today England had record rainfall, Melbourne had a record heatwave and I found out Roache and Ruth are having a baby. Absolutely insane day with grand news to boot.
Day 145
I think it may be time to go home. It's 4am and we're sprawled on some couches in a deserted airport in Kigali, Rwanda patiently waiting for first light before heading into the city. Layla is filing her toe nails and Im watching quite possible the worst program I've ever seen. It's a Rwandan drama based around a manipulative female ( Macey Gray look-a-like) who causes havoc in her relationships. I think we're going slightly mad. We're waiting for first light in a Rwandan airport lounge watching, filing and going mad.
The entire day has been a little insane setting off from El Karama around nine, we travelled for four hours to Nairobi. Layla negotiated the bullish roads expertedly and onwards to the airport where we were caught in horrendous traffic thanks to an upturned truck in the middle of the highway.
Once here we weren't sure where we were going but knew we wanted to get on a plane somewhere. We chose Rwanda with Kenyan airways. We would have flown Rwandan Air Express but all flights were suspended after a pilot crashed into the capital's VIP lounge a couple of weeks ago. On arrival we saw the plane in question with a broken nose a boxer would have been proud of. The broken plane still sat there on the runway which wasnt the best publicity in the world for the airline.
Today England had record rainfall, Melbourne had a record heatwave and I found out Roache and Ruth are having a baby. Absolutely insane day with grand news to boot.
A Kenyan cure for wobbly leg syndrome
Tuesday 17th - Thursday 19th November 2009
Days 142 - 144
Wibbly wobbly weary legs required rest relaxation and royal treatment. It came in the form of hidden gem El Karama in Kenya's Laikatipa region about four hours north of Nairobi in the beautiful central highlands. Here the main focal point is Mount Kenya which is huge and nearly as big as Kilimanjaro ; )
A good friend of my good friend helps run the operation there. On a working cattle ranch spread across 14,000 acres, a variety of game roams freely across its grounds. Her very clever fiancée has created a string of bandas made of natural resources from the land. They can only be described as a cross between rustic and boutique (perhaps El Karama is the first Rustique accomodation or perhaps it is best left in a genre all of it's own). Whatever the case they have done a sterling job with the accomodation and these unique cozy places of rest combined with the friendly staff's charasmatic attentiveness helps make your stay both a highly pleasurable and personable experience.
What's more the family business is also linked to sister's Nairobi-based Land Cruiser rental business. Here we picked up the ultimate African vehicle in the shape of a khaki green vintage beast of a Land Cruiser. We negotiated the 4x4 through the ruthless streets of Nairobi setting of at the crack of, witnessing the sheer volume of traffic and peoples that seemingly multiple as the sun rises. Relief was tangible as we made it, in one piece, across to the northern side of Nairobi where we set off towards the highlands.
A bank and petrol stop in closest town Nanyuki saw us coincidentally meet up with our host who joined us for the 40km remainder of the journey, off the beaten track, culminating in a drive up surely one of the greatest front drives. Here we passed curious giraffes, zebras on a mission, dancing impala, a mid air bird of prey battle over a kill amongst other quite surreal images.
And the fun had only just started.
We were absolutely spoilt - game walks and game drives were inclusive in the full board package as well as the most amazing cuisine. Layla enjoyed a morning horse ride across the ranch as an optional extra. However, even for those who just want to sit back on in the comfort of their bandas porch there is more than enough game activity right in front of you. From here we saw a family of elephants stride past, baboons up to mischief and the place is also teeming with birdlife.
Kenya. Safari. Luxuary accomodation. Expensive right? Wrong. Whether you're a traveller on a budget looking for a value-for-money splurge or have a bit of cash to flash but want a more rustic safari experience then El Karama is the place for you.
Days 142 - 144
Wibbly wobbly weary legs required rest relaxation and royal treatment. It came in the form of hidden gem El Karama in Kenya's Laikatipa region about four hours north of Nairobi in the beautiful central highlands. Here the main focal point is Mount Kenya which is huge and nearly as big as Kilimanjaro ; )
A good friend of my good friend helps run the operation there. On a working cattle ranch spread across 14,000 acres, a variety of game roams freely across its grounds. Her very clever fiancée has created a string of bandas made of natural resources from the land. They can only be described as a cross between rustic and boutique (perhaps El Karama is the first Rustique accomodation or perhaps it is best left in a genre all of it's own). Whatever the case they have done a sterling job with the accomodation and these unique cozy places of rest combined with the friendly staff's charasmatic attentiveness helps make your stay both a highly pleasurable and personable experience.
What's more the family business is also linked to sister's Nairobi-based Land Cruiser rental business. Here we picked up the ultimate African vehicle in the shape of a khaki green vintage beast of a Land Cruiser. We negotiated the 4x4 through the ruthless streets of Nairobi setting of at the crack of, witnessing the sheer volume of traffic and peoples that seemingly multiple as the sun rises. Relief was tangible as we made it, in one piece, across to the northern side of Nairobi where we set off towards the highlands.
A bank and petrol stop in closest town Nanyuki saw us coincidentally meet up with our host who joined us for the 40km remainder of the journey, off the beaten track, culminating in a drive up surely one of the greatest front drives. Here we passed curious giraffes, zebras on a mission, dancing impala, a mid air bird of prey battle over a kill amongst other quite surreal images.
And the fun had only just started.
We were absolutely spoilt - game walks and game drives were inclusive in the full board package as well as the most amazing cuisine. Layla enjoyed a morning horse ride across the ranch as an optional extra. However, even for those who just want to sit back on in the comfort of their bandas porch there is more than enough game activity right in front of you. From here we saw a family of elephants stride past, baboons up to mischief and the place is also teeming with birdlife.
Kenya. Safari. Luxuary accomodation. Expensive right? Wrong. Whether you're a traveller on a budget looking for a value-for-money splurge or have a bit of cash to flash but want a more rustic safari experience then El Karama is the place for you.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
Clambering to the roof of Africa
Day 5
Saturday 14th November 2009
Richard our guide was worried about me at 5,895 metres above sea level - legs all over the shop and face a strange shade of grey. My words were slurred and I decided to try and curl up to sleep on a nearby rock in the snow. Meanwhile Layla felt she needed some energy so took a bite out of a chocolate bar and promptly threw it up. It was at this point that Richard wanted us descending Kilimanjaro as quickly as possible.
Altitude can do strange things to you. As well as feeling completely light-headed our hands swelled, lips ballooned Jagger-esque, our bodies were itchy, pins and needles set in, very little feeling was in the legs, blurred vision, shallow breathing, hysteria, nausea and a banging headache. And we hadn't even set off yet ; )
Our day started yesterday actually waking up after 3 hours sleep at 11pm to get our stuff ready for the climb at midnight. Wearing pretty much everything we owned with trusty headtorch strapped to forehead we started our climb to the summit.
We'd packed loads of snacks and water as well as waterproofs so given the conditions my backpack felt like I was giving Barry Austin a piggyback. The idea was to scale the 1,295 metres we had remaining to reach the 5,895m Uhuru Peak summit for sunrise. And believe it or not it was looking extremely promising - a really clear night with Kilimanjaro in all it's glory on one side and views all the way down the valley to the nightlight of Moshi on the other side.
The first part of the summit climb was tricky scaling a bouldered cliff that required the use of all fours at times. We then started a gradual ascent until we reached the foothills. The climb then turned into a relentless zig zag path up the mountain continuing on for many hours in the dark taking the occasional break for water. A lady we'd met at Toubkal's words were ringing in my ears 'just don't look up.' Of course we did and the job in hand looked impossible - the slope steeper than anything I have seen covered in snow and disappearing into the distance. Slowly we'd scale it only to be met with a similar size slope where we'd start the process all over again. The one plus was the conditions. The night sky was full of stars and the lights of aeroplanes and the excitement of getting to the top for sunrise was a huge incentive.
With every step it got tougher, the air cooler, oxygen thinner, limbs more sore and we were still a long way from the summit.
The frozen ground would crack as though treading on snow even though there wasn't any on the ground. But this didn't last long as soon we were walking in the thick of it.
The mountain seemed an endless path upwards into the heavens and it was so steep. Steeper than any previous day by a country mile but still we trudged on in the dark focused on the path and each step, trying to maintain some kind of rhythm. One step at a time.
The further we got the steeper it became before being faced with the final 100 metres to Stella Point. Fortunately somebody had told me that once you reach Stella Point you're pretty much there. What they didn't tell me was how horrendous the final 100 metres was. If we were going to break, it was here and a couple of times it felt like we couldn't go on. The state of our legs, the quizziness, the difficulty of walking in the snow meant that our steps were miniscule. So small it felt like we were travelling backwards. However mid way up we turned around to see a thick orange line on the horizon signify what promised to be a sunrise from the Gods.
We made it to Stella Point but were a litle worried about our pace. At this rate we'd be lucky to reach the summit by a week on Tuesday let alone for this mornings sunrise. However the walk from Stella Point was worth all of the previous hard work. The sun was rising and we took the gentle ascent to the summit with glaciers reither side of us and Mount Meru peering up at us in the distance.
We made it to the summit albeit in a delirious state. We were all over the shop and absolutely exhausted. We got some photographs before Richard noticed we were both behaving quite worryingly (as explained earlier) so signalled we start our descent asap. We were so relieved but were worried our legs wouldn't carry us down.
The sun was out and so close you could smell it so we smacked on suncream like paint and started our descent. Once we got going it was fine using different leg muscles to the ones we had ascended with. Each step seemed to get that bit easier as well. And psychologically we knew we had done it. We had climbed Kilimanjaro.
We got back to camp at 9am where we had a short rest and some food before pushing on to the final camp at 3100 metres. We spoke to a few of the 7 day climbers who had it all to do that night and wished them well.
The final descent of the day seemed to take a lifetime but we got there and worked out that today we'd walked for approximately 12 hours, a distance of around 40km up 1295 metres to the 5895 metres summit and down 2795 metres to our nights accomodation.
We'd done it. We'd climbed the tallest mountain in Africa. And whilst our minds were buzzing our bodies were completely battered.
Saturday 14th November 2009
Richard our guide was worried about me at 5,895 metres above sea level - legs all over the shop and face a strange shade of grey. My words were slurred and I decided to try and curl up to sleep on a nearby rock in the snow. Meanwhile Layla felt she needed some energy so took a bite out of a chocolate bar and promptly threw it up. It was at this point that Richard wanted us descending Kilimanjaro as quickly as possible.
Altitude can do strange things to you. As well as feeling completely light-headed our hands swelled, lips ballooned Jagger-esque, our bodies were itchy, pins and needles set in, very little feeling was in the legs, blurred vision, shallow breathing, hysteria, nausea and a banging headache. And we hadn't even set off yet ; )
Our day started yesterday actually waking up after 3 hours sleep at 11pm to get our stuff ready for the climb at midnight. Wearing pretty much everything we owned with trusty headtorch strapped to forehead we started our climb to the summit.
We'd packed loads of snacks and water as well as waterproofs so given the conditions my backpack felt like I was giving Barry Austin a piggyback. The idea was to scale the 1,295 metres we had remaining to reach the 5,895m Uhuru Peak summit for sunrise. And believe it or not it was looking extremely promising - a really clear night with Kilimanjaro in all it's glory on one side and views all the way down the valley to the nightlight of Moshi on the other side.
The first part of the summit climb was tricky scaling a bouldered cliff that required the use of all fours at times. We then started a gradual ascent until we reached the foothills. The climb then turned into a relentless zig zag path up the mountain continuing on for many hours in the dark taking the occasional break for water. A lady we'd met at Toubkal's words were ringing in my ears 'just don't look up.' Of course we did and the job in hand looked impossible - the slope steeper than anything I have seen covered in snow and disappearing into the distance. Slowly we'd scale it only to be met with a similar size slope where we'd start the process all over again. The one plus was the conditions. The night sky was full of stars and the lights of aeroplanes and the excitement of getting to the top for sunrise was a huge incentive.
With every step it got tougher, the air cooler, oxygen thinner, limbs more sore and we were still a long way from the summit.
The frozen ground would crack as though treading on snow even though there wasn't any on the ground. But this didn't last long as soon we were walking in the thick of it.
The mountain seemed an endless path upwards into the heavens and it was so steep. Steeper than any previous day by a country mile but still we trudged on in the dark focused on the path and each step, trying to maintain some kind of rhythm. One step at a time.
The further we got the steeper it became before being faced with the final 100 metres to Stella Point. Fortunately somebody had told me that once you reach Stella Point you're pretty much there. What they didn't tell me was how horrendous the final 100 metres was. If we were going to break, it was here and a couple of times it felt like we couldn't go on. The state of our legs, the quizziness, the difficulty of walking in the snow meant that our steps were miniscule. So small it felt like we were travelling backwards. However mid way up we turned around to see a thick orange line on the horizon signify what promised to be a sunrise from the Gods.
We made it to Stella Point but were a litle worried about our pace. At this rate we'd be lucky to reach the summit by a week on Tuesday let alone for this mornings sunrise. However the walk from Stella Point was worth all of the previous hard work. The sun was rising and we took the gentle ascent to the summit with glaciers reither side of us and Mount Meru peering up at us in the distance.
We made it to the summit albeit in a delirious state. We were all over the shop and absolutely exhausted. We got some photographs before Richard noticed we were both behaving quite worryingly (as explained earlier) so signalled we start our descent asap. We were so relieved but were worried our legs wouldn't carry us down.
The sun was out and so close you could smell it so we smacked on suncream like paint and started our descent. Once we got going it was fine using different leg muscles to the ones we had ascended with. Each step seemed to get that bit easier as well. And psychologically we knew we had done it. We had climbed Kilimanjaro.
We got back to camp at 9am where we had a short rest and some food before pushing on to the final camp at 3100 metres. We spoke to a few of the 7 day climbers who had it all to do that night and wished them well.
The final descent of the day seemed to take a lifetime but we got there and worked out that today we'd walked for approximately 12 hours, a distance of around 40km up 1295 metres to the 5895 metres summit and down 2795 metres to our nights accomodation.
We'd done it. We'd climbed the tallest mountain in Africa. And whilst our minds were buzzing our bodies were completely battered.
Why?
Day Four
Friday 13th November 2009
Why? was the question we were asking ourselves at around 2pm today as we were walking up what seemed like a vertical rock face in a cloud of hail falling on our heads, unable to see anything around us only a huge peak we had to climb followed by the shadows of further peaks that raised higher and higher and more faint into the distance.
As well as the big question Why? there were lots of little Whys? underneath that helped take my mind off the overwhelming task in hand. Why is it hailing? Why is it snowing? Why did we not add an extra day to the climb? Why is an iron man taking 7 days to climb and us 6? Why are we jinxed when it comes to mountain climbs? Why are my shoes leaking? Why don't I have gaters? Why do I have a banging headache? Why do I feel sick? Why cant I breathe? And why are we climbing this bloody mountain anyway? Why? Why? Why? Why?
We went to sleep last night at the embaraasingly early time of 7.30pm. After waking at 3 I didn't go back to sleep until getting out the tent around 6ish. It was another glorious morning with magic views and perfect conditions for our morning walk. This morning we would climb only 300 metres but the walk was up down some huge, near-vertical valleys hundreds of metres in size which made for some hairaising descents and stiff climbs where rock-climbing skills were needed in places. It was also picturesque with the ridges of the valleys stretching as far as the eye could see.
We walked some of the way with not only our guide but a couple of other chaps from our group talking about all sorts from Abramovich's failed attempt at climbing the mountain to our cooks munchies from the amount of dope he smoked 'It helps me fly up the mountain,' he explained.
On arrival at Karanga Valley where we were treated to a hot lunch our dilemma became apparent. The majority of the poeple in our group were doing the seven day climb meaning they were to crash here for the night whereas a few of us doing the six day climb pressed on straight up the mountain to 4600 metres where we would have little time to rest before setting off on our summit climb at midnight. To make matters worse the conditions had changed dramatically with rain pouring. As we walked slowly up the steep section of the mountain the rain turned to hail and the hail to snow.
Whilst being a miserable part of the climb you couldn't help but laugh at our state. We were tired, a little bit delirious with the inital stages of altitude sickness certainly taking a stranglehold. It was around 4 when we arrived at the camp leaving us a couple of hours relax before dinner. We would then get some shuteye before waking at 11pm for our summit climb.
Friday 13th November 2009
Why? was the question we were asking ourselves at around 2pm today as we were walking up what seemed like a vertical rock face in a cloud of hail falling on our heads, unable to see anything around us only a huge peak we had to climb followed by the shadows of further peaks that raised higher and higher and more faint into the distance.
As well as the big question Why? there were lots of little Whys? underneath that helped take my mind off the overwhelming task in hand. Why is it hailing? Why is it snowing? Why did we not add an extra day to the climb? Why is an iron man taking 7 days to climb and us 6? Why are we jinxed when it comes to mountain climbs? Why are my shoes leaking? Why don't I have gaters? Why do I have a banging headache? Why do I feel sick? Why cant I breathe? And why are we climbing this bloody mountain anyway? Why? Why? Why? Why?
We went to sleep last night at the embaraasingly early time of 7.30pm. After waking at 3 I didn't go back to sleep until getting out the tent around 6ish. It was another glorious morning with magic views and perfect conditions for our morning walk. This morning we would climb only 300 metres but the walk was up down some huge, near-vertical valleys hundreds of metres in size which made for some hairaising descents and stiff climbs where rock-climbing skills were needed in places. It was also picturesque with the ridges of the valleys stretching as far as the eye could see.
We walked some of the way with not only our guide but a couple of other chaps from our group talking about all sorts from Abramovich's failed attempt at climbing the mountain to our cooks munchies from the amount of dope he smoked 'It helps me fly up the mountain,' he explained.
On arrival at Karanga Valley where we were treated to a hot lunch our dilemma became apparent. The majority of the poeple in our group were doing the seven day climb meaning they were to crash here for the night whereas a few of us doing the six day climb pressed on straight up the mountain to 4600 metres where we would have little time to rest before setting off on our summit climb at midnight. To make matters worse the conditions had changed dramatically with rain pouring. As we walked slowly up the steep section of the mountain the rain turned to hail and the hail to snow.
Whilst being a miserable part of the climb you couldn't help but laugh at our state. We were tired, a little bit delirious with the inital stages of altitude sickness certainly taking a stranglehold. It was around 4 when we arrived at the camp leaving us a couple of hours relax before dinner. We would then get some shuteye before waking at 11pm for our summit climb.
Rollercoaster ride
Day Three
Thursday 12th November 2009
There's no worse feeling than waking up in a freezing cold tent, 3800 metres above sea level, wearing every item of clothing you possess, needing a pee. Fortunately I found a technique that could relieve the bladder without having to leave the tent. Unfortunately for Layla this was a male only sport and she had to witness it.
I didn't really get back to sleep mulling over how the weather would fair on this big day. Today we would climb up to a whopping 4690 metres for lunch ( the heighest either of us have ever been) before descending back down to 3,900 metres. The idea being to help with acclimatising but quite a difficult thing to comprehend psychologically as you're ending up where you started altitude wise. However, we would certainly be a lot closer to the mountain.
The sun came out for us in the morning giving great views over neighbouring Mount Meru on one side and Kili on the other. This made the morning climb so much more enjoyable as we climbed up and up until we reached snow for the first time. However the cloud rolled in and lunch was quick in the freezing cold before descending a further 700 metres in quick fashion getting to camp in the nick of time before the rain came down.
Legs were sore and a few niggles here and there but nothing that we were too concerned with.
Thursday 12th November 2009
There's no worse feeling than waking up in a freezing cold tent, 3800 metres above sea level, wearing every item of clothing you possess, needing a pee. Fortunately I found a technique that could relieve the bladder without having to leave the tent. Unfortunately for Layla this was a male only sport and she had to witness it.
I didn't really get back to sleep mulling over how the weather would fair on this big day. Today we would climb up to a whopping 4690 metres for lunch ( the heighest either of us have ever been) before descending back down to 3,900 metres. The idea being to help with acclimatising but quite a difficult thing to comprehend psychologically as you're ending up where you started altitude wise. However, we would certainly be a lot closer to the mountain.
The sun came out for us in the morning giving great views over neighbouring Mount Meru on one side and Kili on the other. This made the morning climb so much more enjoyable as we climbed up and up until we reached snow for the first time. However the cloud rolled in and lunch was quick in the freezing cold before descending a further 700 metres in quick fashion getting to camp in the nick of time before the rain came down.
Legs were sore and a few niggles here and there but nothing that we were too concerned with.
A game of two halves
Day Two
Wednesday 11th November 2009
Shortly after 7.45am we set off. Today we would climb 800 metres at quite a steep gradient with cloud cover overhead indicating rain was on its way. The question was when it would catch up with us or us with it.
The morning was beautiful walking at a slow steady pace by our guide who ticked us off for going too quick yesterday. This was partdown to adrenalin and the other part to stupidity as it is widely acknowledged that ascending too quick will screw you in the long run. If the fatigue doesn't get you, altitude sickness sure will.
This moorland section of the route was beautiful with what seemed a million shades of green. Richard's favourite section on this his favourite route in fact. We were loving the walk and banter with fellow climbers when the inevitable occured. The rain came and it came hard.
Because of Layla's jacket seepage problem she had mine and I got our guides camoflauged poncho. This combined with my MC Hammer hired waterproof trousers made me look pretty idiotic but they were doing their job well.
Today's climb was steep and involved a lot of clambering made all the harder in the wet conditions. After some edge of rockface manouveing, pulling ourselves up jagged bits of stone and walking upstream of rivers trickling down the mountain, we eventually made it to the stunning Shira camp overlooking the Shira mountains at 3850 metres.
After a lovely morning the afternoon had been miserable so it was nice to get out of our ringing wet clothes, drink some hot sweet tea, warm up and get our energy levels back up.
Wednesday 11th November 2009
Shortly after 7.45am we set off. Today we would climb 800 metres at quite a steep gradient with cloud cover overhead indicating rain was on its way. The question was when it would catch up with us or us with it.
The morning was beautiful walking at a slow steady pace by our guide who ticked us off for going too quick yesterday. This was partdown to adrenalin and the other part to stupidity as it is widely acknowledged that ascending too quick will screw you in the long run. If the fatigue doesn't get you, altitude sickness sure will.
This moorland section of the route was beautiful with what seemed a million shades of green. Richard's favourite section on this his favourite route in fact. We were loving the walk and banter with fellow climbers when the inevitable occured. The rain came and it came hard.
Because of Layla's jacket seepage problem she had mine and I got our guides camoflauged poncho. This combined with my MC Hammer hired waterproof trousers made me look pretty idiotic but they were doing their job well.
Today's climb was steep and involved a lot of clambering made all the harder in the wet conditions. After some edge of rockface manouveing, pulling ourselves up jagged bits of stone and walking upstream of rivers trickling down the mountain, we eventually made it to the stunning Shira camp overlooking the Shira mountains at 3850 metres.
After a lovely morning the afternoon had been miserable so it was nice to get out of our ringing wet clothes, drink some hot sweet tea, warm up and get our energy levels back up.
It's Kili time
Tuesday 10th November 2009
Day One
A few nervous wees and we were frantically packing up ready to depart at 8.30am. We'd just spent a couple of relaxing days on a Zanzibar beach before flying to Arusha. The journey from Arusha airport to Moshi (the closest town to Kili) yesterday brought about our first glimpse of Mount Kilimanjaro. For a while we just thought it was darker that side of town but soon saw the outline of a colossal mountain that filled the sky.
In the shuttlebus there was nervous conversation between fellow climbers including a guy in an iron man Tshirt, a couple of female doctors and two London bankers. A real mix of personalities and age.
Once at Machame Gate ( the starting point of our 6 day climb nicknamed the Whiskey Route) it was chaos with building work going on, hoards of street sellers as well as the climbers and crew registering. This was low season as well with very few climbers, but still all was extremely chaotic.
After a bit of hanging around we were given our lunch for the day by guide Richard and started walking at a slow steady pace. After around 30 minutes the wide road turned into a narrow track surrounded by dense rainforest. It was lovely and green and the temperature perfect.
However, after praising the climate, the rainforest suddenly lived up to its name and dumped a heap of water onto us.
Unfortunately Layla's jacket had seemed to have lost it's wateproofness and my Gortex cross trainers had appeared to have sprung a leak. Not the best start but the canopy seemed to save us somewhat and the sun came out for the last hour drying us nicely
We arrived at camp after 12 km at an altitude of 2900 metres, the time around 3.30pm where we were able to witness the snowcapped mountain in all its glory as the sun came down and the sky cleared. The thing looked ridiculously high, stupidly cold and savagely daunting.
Day One
A few nervous wees and we were frantically packing up ready to depart at 8.30am. We'd just spent a couple of relaxing days on a Zanzibar beach before flying to Arusha. The journey from Arusha airport to Moshi (the closest town to Kili) yesterday brought about our first glimpse of Mount Kilimanjaro. For a while we just thought it was darker that side of town but soon saw the outline of a colossal mountain that filled the sky.
In the shuttlebus there was nervous conversation between fellow climbers including a guy in an iron man Tshirt, a couple of female doctors and two London bankers. A real mix of personalities and age.
Once at Machame Gate ( the starting point of our 6 day climb nicknamed the Whiskey Route) it was chaos with building work going on, hoards of street sellers as well as the climbers and crew registering. This was low season as well with very few climbers, but still all was extremely chaotic.
After a bit of hanging around we were given our lunch for the day by guide Richard and started walking at a slow steady pace. After around 30 minutes the wide road turned into a narrow track surrounded by dense rainforest. It was lovely and green and the temperature perfect.
However, after praising the climate, the rainforest suddenly lived up to its name and dumped a heap of water onto us.
Unfortunately Layla's jacket had seemed to have lost it's wateproofness and my Gortex cross trainers had appeared to have sprung a leak. Not the best start but the canopy seemed to save us somewhat and the sun came out for the last hour drying us nicely
We arrived at camp after 12 km at an altitude of 2900 metres, the time around 3.30pm where we were able to witness the snowcapped mountain in all its glory as the sun came down and the sky cleared. The thing looked ridiculously high, stupidly cold and savagely daunting.
All aboard the Tazara Express
Wednesday 4th November - Friday 6th November 2009
Days 129 - 131
We'd read about the problems associated with the Tazara Express the famous train that runs from Zambia to Dar Es Salaam on the east coast of Tanzania. Funnily enough in the book Dark Star Safari by Paul Theroux, which Id incidently just finished, he had given up hope of the train restarting after a serious breakdown, so opted for an alternative mode of travel halfway through the trip. This and other warnings fell on deaf ears. We wanted to experience the Tazara even though we could have caught a luxuary coach to Dar Es Salaam from our current location in Mbeya (in south west Tanzania) which would have taken half the time. Approximately 12 hours.
We were in fact on a Dar Es Salaam bound coach from the Malawi-Tanzania border but opted to get off and spend a couple of nights on a coffee farm before leaving on the Wednesday departure.
As we rolled into Dar es Salaam a full 24 hours late, the train taking double the time to get to it's destination we were hot, sticky, tired but with an adventure we'd remember for some time to come.
The journey had started like a dream, stocking up on supplies in Mbeya, we got a lift to the Tazara train station from a Namimbian family we'd befriended on the coffee farm. The station was a huge Chinese-made block design station which was a whole lot busier than when we'd picked up our tickets two days ago. Once here we boarded first class which was a cabin made up of two sleeper bunk beds. Layla managed to wing our own cabin which we sat in watching the boarding with interest waiting for the train to depart.
The station was full of street-sellers. Bags lined the departures lounge in an orderly queue. People were everywhere. Luggage was everywhere. We then got the ok to enter the platform. The problem was we'd board the train from the other side of the rails. This meant everybody and their luggage clambering down the giant ledge onto the rails, over the rails and back up the ledge on the other side. This was a difficult enough task for the young and fit with little baggage. This category of person was certainly in the minority.
We then experienced our first of many delays with the train departing Mbeya three hours late due to a problem with the wheel bearings and a new carriage needing to be fitted.
Another battle then commenced with a ticket inspector that looked like a fat Forest Whitaker whose nipples were exposed either side of his wife beater as he tried to persuade us to move cabin. We were having none of it. Correction - Layla was having none of it.
Next door we befriended a two year old girl named Precious, a gorgeous girl with braided hair who greeted us both with a hug. A BBC film crew were also on board made up of Sean Langham - an ex front-line diary documentary maker who'd been captured by the Taliban during filming in Afganistan and won awards for his documentaries in areas of conflict and war. He was accompanied by cameraman Claudio who shot to fame in the series staring Ewen McGregor Long Way Around. They were filming for a BBC season on Africa to be aired early next year and had already done one unscathed return journey the entire length of the Tazara.
Once the train got going I'd put this up there with one of my favourite travel experiences. Train travel seemed to make sense to us on this first day. Despite the delay we were chugging along nicely on this vintage train, being overtaken by cars but that didn't matter. We were going where cars couldn't and exploring Africa's backgarden silently and subtely calving in a relaxed, comfortable and peaceful manner.
Through tunnels we passed and autumnul-coloured vegetation we continued passed mountains and tree-filled craters, waving to excited villagers as we passed delighted to get a return wave particulary from a Merzoungo.
We ordered soup followed by a beef and chicken meal accompanied by a Kilimanjaro beer brought to our cabin by friendly waitstaff as the sun set. To open the window, stick your head out, read, write, listen to the radio, chat to fellow passengers, enjoy the cabin. This really was too good to be true. The ultimate luxuary.
However in any walk of life there are people like our Forest Whitaker friend. Our first night was interupted by Whitaker throwing his considerable weight around our carriage demanding we split into male female cabins. The only way around this was to purchase the entire cabin. It was midnight so many people would have paid up which could well have gone into his back pocket. He certainly seemed put out when we decided to go into seperate male female cabins for the night.
Layla slept alone in her female cabin so I just joined her in the morning where the train was at a standstill. It had stopped here in the early hours and got moving again around 9am. You could hear the strain of the old trains limbs as it was awoken into action.
Over breakfast Layla got chatting to the BBC crew and was filmed by Claudio. However as we spoke the train grinder to a halt. A theif had got on board and had climbed onto the roof when spotted. He was now being chased into the nearby village by security guards. As the train pulled off the theif was being bashed around by the villagers. We didn't fancy his chances much.
Around one hour later (12:30 approximately) the train stopped once again and here we stayed. Word filtered through that a cargo train had derailed in front of us which would mean a long delay. An African long delay was like comparing years with dog years.
It was piping hot so we pottered around the carriage a little playing with Precious, chatting tongue BBC boys and fellow passengers.
A little later we went for a walk to the front of this colossal train with us located at the backside. We walked through the markets of the local village and back onto the track to see the maintenance vehicle which looked, to be honest, a little inadequate for the job of moving the derailed cargo train.
Back at the cabin we were entertained by local children singing, dancing and making fart noises with their armpits. Kids will be kids. We left the train again and chatted to a local teacher who spoke about the education system here in the village. It wasn't long before BBC Sean tagged along and asked to film in the village. After getting the all clear from the chief the three of us went for a walk through the village chatting to other teachers and children bringing their English excercise books out for us to look at. However the light was fading which wasn't any good for the filming sonar said our goodbyes and got on the train.
Over dinner rumours spread that we'd get going again at 9pm. It was now 8 so we were obviously extremely sceptical. We would eventually get going at 5:30am.
The night' sleep was pretty dreadful. The air was so hot, stil and sticky. We were awoken by the Call of Prayer from the nearby mosque at first light followed by the sweet sweet sound ofnthe train's horn indicating it was about to get going. And much to our relief it did.
Despite the train running out of food, water to drink and shower in, the remaining journey was extremely pleasant. Outside as we drove through a national park we spotted giraffe and zebra which was nice to see from the window ofna slow moving train.
A number of station stops were relatively brief but extremely interesting as we witnessed a variety of different townships before entering the sandy slums of Dar es Salaam. We rolled into the station at around midday. Not quite 24 hours late but close enough.
This had been some journey. Our clothes were glued to our skin, we were knackered, we stank. thirsty, hungry and beat. Would I have got the 12 hour luxuary coach in retrospect? Not a chance in hell!
Days 129 - 131
We'd read about the problems associated with the Tazara Express the famous train that runs from Zambia to Dar Es Salaam on the east coast of Tanzania. Funnily enough in the book Dark Star Safari by Paul Theroux, which Id incidently just finished, he had given up hope of the train restarting after a serious breakdown, so opted for an alternative mode of travel halfway through the trip. This and other warnings fell on deaf ears. We wanted to experience the Tazara even though we could have caught a luxuary coach to Dar Es Salaam from our current location in Mbeya (in south west Tanzania) which would have taken half the time. Approximately 12 hours.
We were in fact on a Dar Es Salaam bound coach from the Malawi-Tanzania border but opted to get off and spend a couple of nights on a coffee farm before leaving on the Wednesday departure.
As we rolled into Dar es Salaam a full 24 hours late, the train taking double the time to get to it's destination we were hot, sticky, tired but with an adventure we'd remember for some time to come.
The journey had started like a dream, stocking up on supplies in Mbeya, we got a lift to the Tazara train station from a Namimbian family we'd befriended on the coffee farm. The station was a huge Chinese-made block design station which was a whole lot busier than when we'd picked up our tickets two days ago. Once here we boarded first class which was a cabin made up of two sleeper bunk beds. Layla managed to wing our own cabin which we sat in watching the boarding with interest waiting for the train to depart.
The station was full of street-sellers. Bags lined the departures lounge in an orderly queue. People were everywhere. Luggage was everywhere. We then got the ok to enter the platform. The problem was we'd board the train from the other side of the rails. This meant everybody and their luggage clambering down the giant ledge onto the rails, over the rails and back up the ledge on the other side. This was a difficult enough task for the young and fit with little baggage. This category of person was certainly in the minority.
We then experienced our first of many delays with the train departing Mbeya three hours late due to a problem with the wheel bearings and a new carriage needing to be fitted.
Another battle then commenced with a ticket inspector that looked like a fat Forest Whitaker whose nipples were exposed either side of his wife beater as he tried to persuade us to move cabin. We were having none of it. Correction - Layla was having none of it.
Next door we befriended a two year old girl named Precious, a gorgeous girl with braided hair who greeted us both with a hug. A BBC film crew were also on board made up of Sean Langham - an ex front-line diary documentary maker who'd been captured by the Taliban during filming in Afganistan and won awards for his documentaries in areas of conflict and war. He was accompanied by cameraman Claudio who shot to fame in the series staring Ewen McGregor Long Way Around. They were filming for a BBC season on Africa to be aired early next year and had already done one unscathed return journey the entire length of the Tazara.
Once the train got going I'd put this up there with one of my favourite travel experiences. Train travel seemed to make sense to us on this first day. Despite the delay we were chugging along nicely on this vintage train, being overtaken by cars but that didn't matter. We were going where cars couldn't and exploring Africa's backgarden silently and subtely calving in a relaxed, comfortable and peaceful manner.
Through tunnels we passed and autumnul-coloured vegetation we continued passed mountains and tree-filled craters, waving to excited villagers as we passed delighted to get a return wave particulary from a Merzoungo.
We ordered soup followed by a beef and chicken meal accompanied by a Kilimanjaro beer brought to our cabin by friendly waitstaff as the sun set. To open the window, stick your head out, read, write, listen to the radio, chat to fellow passengers, enjoy the cabin. This really was too good to be true. The ultimate luxuary.
However in any walk of life there are people like our Forest Whitaker friend. Our first night was interupted by Whitaker throwing his considerable weight around our carriage demanding we split into male female cabins. The only way around this was to purchase the entire cabin. It was midnight so many people would have paid up which could well have gone into his back pocket. He certainly seemed put out when we decided to go into seperate male female cabins for the night.
Layla slept alone in her female cabin so I just joined her in the morning where the train was at a standstill. It had stopped here in the early hours and got moving again around 9am. You could hear the strain of the old trains limbs as it was awoken into action.
Over breakfast Layla got chatting to the BBC crew and was filmed by Claudio. However as we spoke the train grinder to a halt. A theif had got on board and had climbed onto the roof when spotted. He was now being chased into the nearby village by security guards. As the train pulled off the theif was being bashed around by the villagers. We didn't fancy his chances much.
Around one hour later (12:30 approximately) the train stopped once again and here we stayed. Word filtered through that a cargo train had derailed in front of us which would mean a long delay. An African long delay was like comparing years with dog years.
It was piping hot so we pottered around the carriage a little playing with Precious, chatting tongue BBC boys and fellow passengers.
A little later we went for a walk to the front of this colossal train with us located at the backside. We walked through the markets of the local village and back onto the track to see the maintenance vehicle which looked, to be honest, a little inadequate for the job of moving the derailed cargo train.
Back at the cabin we were entertained by local children singing, dancing and making fart noises with their armpits. Kids will be kids. We left the train again and chatted to a local teacher who spoke about the education system here in the village. It wasn't long before BBC Sean tagged along and asked to film in the village. After getting the all clear from the chief the three of us went for a walk through the village chatting to other teachers and children bringing their English excercise books out for us to look at. However the light was fading which wasn't any good for the filming sonar said our goodbyes and got on the train.
Over dinner rumours spread that we'd get going again at 9pm. It was now 8 so we were obviously extremely sceptical. We would eventually get going at 5:30am.
The night' sleep was pretty dreadful. The air was so hot, stil and sticky. We were awoken by the Call of Prayer from the nearby mosque at first light followed by the sweet sweet sound ofnthe train's horn indicating it was about to get going. And much to our relief it did.
Despite the train running out of food, water to drink and shower in, the remaining journey was extremely pleasant. Outside as we drove through a national park we spotted giraffe and zebra which was nice to see from the window ofna slow moving train.
A number of station stops were relatively brief but extremely interesting as we witnessed a variety of different townships before entering the sandy slums of Dar es Salaam. We rolled into the station at around midday. Not quite 24 hours late but close enough.
This had been some journey. Our clothes were glued to our skin, we were knackered, we stank. thirsty, hungry and beat. Would I have got the 12 hour luxuary coach in retrospect? Not a chance in hell!
Sunday, November 8, 2009
The many faces of the Ilala Ferry
Friday 30th October-Sunday 1st November 2009
Days 124-126
As the sun set on the first day on board the Ilala all was well and peaceful as we toasted the red ball in the sky with a Carlsberg sundowner. This was, however, quite literally the calm before the storm. No sooner had the final rays of light disappeared the wind picked up an almighty force knocking a German chap's cap clean off his head and forcing us all into the shelter of the bar area on the top deck of the boat.
The wind continued to grow stronger and didn't let up as we descended below deck to the restaurant. Here over some gristle and fries the storm outside was symbolized by a map of Malawi swaying frantically in tune to the colossal waves outside.
Sleeping on a matress on deck would certainly be interesting tonight as rain kicked in to add insult to injury.
The Ilala Ferry is a 60 year old beast of a boat originally built to transport cargo up and down Lake Malawi. These days it takes passengers up the majority of the 300 km long 50 km wide 600 metre deep lake stopping at 12 ports over the course of its three day journey which it takes once a week northbound and southbound.
The boat is considered by the sentimental to be an engineering marvel, a talisman of Malawi, an African icon, a gift from the Gods. By others it's considered an illfated, unsafe, unreliable dinasaur roaming the lake if stars and guzzling a ridiculous amount of fuel in the process.
What is safe to say is it's a great way to experience the lake and is, rightly so, becoming an integral part of the well trodden traveller's trail up or down southern Africa. But word has it you better be quick as younger, fitter, economic ferries are being lined up to take the place of this Lake Malawi legend.
On board the first day was Layla and I, a group of three Germans, an eccentric 62 year old French lady called Jocelyn and Till, a Swiss freelance journalist on board to cover the Ilala in a pre-commissioned newspaper article whose proceeds would help fund a friend's aid project to build schools in Malawi. We certainly were an unlikely bunch thrown together.
As the Ilala pulled into each port the excitment was tangible for those locals who had come out especially to see the boat. As though the boat were here once a year rather than twice a week. As soon as the boat stopped absolute chaos commenced with people scrambling to get off the boat, people scrambling to get on, tradesman selling goods on port, visitors coming to tour the ferry while it was docked, those on board hanging over the edge to observe what was going on, those off the boat peering from the dock, off the edge of dugout canoes or by simply swimming out towards the boat to see what was going on. Utter chaos but somewhat organised chaos with the boat sounding its piercing horn before pulling off with everything seemingly sorted.
A pleasant day followed by the storm meant waking up on day two with not too many winks and a bit of a sore head from a Danish friend called Carlsberg. The waves were still choppy which caused a quizziness Id never experienced before. However, nothing a tea and a shower couldn't fix.
Things started to quiten down and all sorts of goods started being loaded onto the boat at its first stop of the day. A choir boarded the ferry along with some other interesting people , mostly locals, who we had s good chat to before the choir started belting out tunes.
The majority of passengers got off at the popular Limkome Island where a new contingent got on board pacing the boat to the rafters. Travellers, locals and drunk army guys filled the top deck drinking, chatting whilst we tried to find a spot to sleep.
We awoke the next day to the sounds of everybody leaving and hustlers on board trying to entice travellers to their lodge through their means of transport. When we finally awoke the deck was back to normal with Layla, me and Till the only originals left. We set off with a set of new passengers including some US students who were on a University excursion. They were all on the African Studies course.
It was a beautiful day and the students were hitting the beer pretty hard. What a course! They ended up departing at a tiny bay which had apparently been voted in the top 10 most remote places to get a beer. Tempted as we were we stayed on board and made do with a cheeky Carlsberg before the night drew in and the waves became not too unlike the first nights.
We managed to get a small bit of shut eye before being awoken to the lights of the final port Chilumba.
It was 1am on Sunday when we got off the Ilala ferry where we were greeted by Harold, the port security warden who amused us no end in our delirious state whilst also showing us a lump of concrete where we could lie until the first minibuses arrived at 4.30am.
We said our goodbyes to Ilala as Harold claimed to be my long lost son. 'My father was named Matthew. Maybe you are my father. I have met my father off the Ilala today. I have found my father. Hello Matthew I am your son Harold.' Harold was 60 years old. Harold was completely bonkers.
We'll never forget our time on the Ilala and we certainly will never forget Harold.
Days 124-126
As the sun set on the first day on board the Ilala all was well and peaceful as we toasted the red ball in the sky with a Carlsberg sundowner. This was, however, quite literally the calm before the storm. No sooner had the final rays of light disappeared the wind picked up an almighty force knocking a German chap's cap clean off his head and forcing us all into the shelter of the bar area on the top deck of the boat.
The wind continued to grow stronger and didn't let up as we descended below deck to the restaurant. Here over some gristle and fries the storm outside was symbolized by a map of Malawi swaying frantically in tune to the colossal waves outside.
Sleeping on a matress on deck would certainly be interesting tonight as rain kicked in to add insult to injury.
The Ilala Ferry is a 60 year old beast of a boat originally built to transport cargo up and down Lake Malawi. These days it takes passengers up the majority of the 300 km long 50 km wide 600 metre deep lake stopping at 12 ports over the course of its three day journey which it takes once a week northbound and southbound.
The boat is considered by the sentimental to be an engineering marvel, a talisman of Malawi, an African icon, a gift from the Gods. By others it's considered an illfated, unsafe, unreliable dinasaur roaming the lake if stars and guzzling a ridiculous amount of fuel in the process.
What is safe to say is it's a great way to experience the lake and is, rightly so, becoming an integral part of the well trodden traveller's trail up or down southern Africa. But word has it you better be quick as younger, fitter, economic ferries are being lined up to take the place of this Lake Malawi legend.
On board the first day was Layla and I, a group of three Germans, an eccentric 62 year old French lady called Jocelyn and Till, a Swiss freelance journalist on board to cover the Ilala in a pre-commissioned newspaper article whose proceeds would help fund a friend's aid project to build schools in Malawi. We certainly were an unlikely bunch thrown together.
As the Ilala pulled into each port the excitment was tangible for those locals who had come out especially to see the boat. As though the boat were here once a year rather than twice a week. As soon as the boat stopped absolute chaos commenced with people scrambling to get off the boat, people scrambling to get on, tradesman selling goods on port, visitors coming to tour the ferry while it was docked, those on board hanging over the edge to observe what was going on, those off the boat peering from the dock, off the edge of dugout canoes or by simply swimming out towards the boat to see what was going on. Utter chaos but somewhat organised chaos with the boat sounding its piercing horn before pulling off with everything seemingly sorted.
A pleasant day followed by the storm meant waking up on day two with not too many winks and a bit of a sore head from a Danish friend called Carlsberg. The waves were still choppy which caused a quizziness Id never experienced before. However, nothing a tea and a shower couldn't fix.
Things started to quiten down and all sorts of goods started being loaded onto the boat at its first stop of the day. A choir boarded the ferry along with some other interesting people , mostly locals, who we had s good chat to before the choir started belting out tunes.
The majority of passengers got off at the popular Limkome Island where a new contingent got on board pacing the boat to the rafters. Travellers, locals and drunk army guys filled the top deck drinking, chatting whilst we tried to find a spot to sleep.
We awoke the next day to the sounds of everybody leaving and hustlers on board trying to entice travellers to their lodge through their means of transport. When we finally awoke the deck was back to normal with Layla, me and Till the only originals left. We set off with a set of new passengers including some US students who were on a University excursion. They were all on the African Studies course.
It was a beautiful day and the students were hitting the beer pretty hard. What a course! They ended up departing at a tiny bay which had apparently been voted in the top 10 most remote places to get a beer. Tempted as we were we stayed on board and made do with a cheeky Carlsberg before the night drew in and the waves became not too unlike the first nights.
We managed to get a small bit of shut eye before being awoken to the lights of the final port Chilumba.
It was 1am on Sunday when we got off the Ilala ferry where we were greeted by Harold, the port security warden who amused us no end in our delirious state whilst also showing us a lump of concrete where we could lie until the first minibuses arrived at 4.30am.
We said our goodbyes to Ilala as Harold claimed to be my long lost son. 'My father was named Matthew. Maybe you are my father. I have met my father off the Ilala today. I have found my father. Hello Matthew I am your son Harold.' Harold was 60 years old. Harold was completely bonkers.
We'll never forget our time on the Ilala and we certainly will never forget Harold.
The race for the boat
Wednesday 28th October - Thursday 29th October 2009
Days 122 - 123
The Ilala Ferry is legendary in Malawi. This colossal cargo ship travels northbound once a week up Lake Malawi taking three days. We wanted a piece of Ilala action but the problem was it left on Friday and today was Wednesday. We were a long way from the Malawi border let alone Monkey Bay at the southern tip of the lake where the boat departed.
The plan was to travel by chapas to Beira 450km north of Vilankulo. From here we would take an afternoon internal flight to Tete, the closest city to the Malawian border where we'd somehow get to the border, hopefully get through ok and travel the remaining 400km north to Monkey Bay. This was a big ask.
We woke at 3.30am and took the 4.30am chapas to Beira. We actually set off in daylight with ridiculously early sunrises the norm in Mozambique at this time of year. Whilst we had the leg room thanks to the luxuary of a trailer on this chapas we were sat directly above the engine so were utterly sweltering in the heat. Our mind was taken off this thankfully by the buzz of activity in all the villages with today election day. There was also the other distraction of the chickens making an appearance shortly into the trip.
The roads were appalling with chapas-sized potholes causing the driver to via off the road at times. On one occasion he hit a pot hole with an almighty bang. He stopped the vehicle with our hearts pounding as we'd left very little room to manouvre between arriving in Beira and catching our flight. We then heard a hammer clinking and feared the worst. However, on getting out of the vehicle we were relieved to see it was actually the vehicle behind us that had the problem. Our driver had just kindly stopped to help.
Onwards we pressed with bum in the numb stage of travel and sleep simply not possible on this bumpy ride.
We arrived in Beira, retreived our bags and got a taxi to the derelict airport. Here we boarded our plane with the four other passengers from Beira to Tete.
On arrival in Tete we haggled down a cab driver to take us to some accomodation. He offered us a good price to get us to the border the next day. With the sun setting over the Zambesi river en route to our hotel we felt we were on track but were still unsure of transport in Malawi.
Our hotel was frankly disgusting. It was the hotel equivalent of Trainspotting's toilet scene. We longed for our tent. Tete itself was full of drunk locals maybe celebrating or drowning their sorrows over the election result. We found a bar where we humoured some hammered blokes called Mario and Moses. 'The question iz diz....The question iz diz.......What iz the question?' Moses slurred. This was about the most sense we got from them. Nice chaps though.
The next morning we were picked up by Ibrihim who picked up his dolled up wife for the trip. We crawled back over the bridge crossing the Zambesi which opened at 7am having been closed overnight. We then pushed on through secluded villages on sparse roads potholed in places but mainly tidily tarmaced which pleased our all too anxious driver careful not to damage his modified Mitsibushi.
On border arrival we battled through the swarm of black market money exchangers and got stamped out of the country into no mans land which covered 5km between Mozambique and Malawi. We picked up a reduced rate cab with passenger door loosely hanging by its hinges and were dropped at Malawian immigration.
Once through we were put into the sticky paws of two young drivers Oscar and Godfrey. Over the course of the journey our relationship with these lads turned into a rollercoaster ride. It started well before spiralling as they became all too greedy en route attempting to scam more money out of us. We weren't best pleased but over the course of this ride managed to compromise and get them to drive us further than the closest town to a major junction town two hours away which benefitted their pockets and our travel comfort to Lake Malawi.
They felt we'd haggled them down too much but couldn't refuse the extra cash so were a little moody. However a coke apiece and long football conversation got them back onside allowing an insight into their real personalities and not just the opportunistic taxi drivers. We left them with smiles, shakes off the hand and a tip as we clambered on board a 30 seater bus which would take us the remainder of the journey. We had timed it perfectly arriving at the junction just as the bus was setting off. The boys had done us proud.
After many stops we arrived in Monkey Bay around 4pm where we enquired about the ferry the next day (all ok) and found a quaint half finished accomodation in an idyllic setting offering camping at a cheap rate. We spent the night in this quaint little cove releived to be back in the tent and a beautiful setting. A far cry from last night. Here we listened to the owner talk about his big plans for the site. Next door was the presidents holiday home which gives you some idea of the goldmine he was sitting on. A lot of work and red tape involved though.
We'd made it and tomorrow would set off on the Ilala ferry up Lake Malawi at 10.30am.
Days 122 - 123
The Ilala Ferry is legendary in Malawi. This colossal cargo ship travels northbound once a week up Lake Malawi taking three days. We wanted a piece of Ilala action but the problem was it left on Friday and today was Wednesday. We were a long way from the Malawi border let alone Monkey Bay at the southern tip of the lake where the boat departed.
The plan was to travel by chapas to Beira 450km north of Vilankulo. From here we would take an afternoon internal flight to Tete, the closest city to the Malawian border where we'd somehow get to the border, hopefully get through ok and travel the remaining 400km north to Monkey Bay. This was a big ask.
We woke at 3.30am and took the 4.30am chapas to Beira. We actually set off in daylight with ridiculously early sunrises the norm in Mozambique at this time of year. Whilst we had the leg room thanks to the luxuary of a trailer on this chapas we were sat directly above the engine so were utterly sweltering in the heat. Our mind was taken off this thankfully by the buzz of activity in all the villages with today election day. There was also the other distraction of the chickens making an appearance shortly into the trip.
The roads were appalling with chapas-sized potholes causing the driver to via off the road at times. On one occasion he hit a pot hole with an almighty bang. He stopped the vehicle with our hearts pounding as we'd left very little room to manouvre between arriving in Beira and catching our flight. We then heard a hammer clinking and feared the worst. However, on getting out of the vehicle we were relieved to see it was actually the vehicle behind us that had the problem. Our driver had just kindly stopped to help.
Onwards we pressed with bum in the numb stage of travel and sleep simply not possible on this bumpy ride.
We arrived in Beira, retreived our bags and got a taxi to the derelict airport. Here we boarded our plane with the four other passengers from Beira to Tete.
On arrival in Tete we haggled down a cab driver to take us to some accomodation. He offered us a good price to get us to the border the next day. With the sun setting over the Zambesi river en route to our hotel we felt we were on track but were still unsure of transport in Malawi.
Our hotel was frankly disgusting. It was the hotel equivalent of Trainspotting's toilet scene. We longed for our tent. Tete itself was full of drunk locals maybe celebrating or drowning their sorrows over the election result. We found a bar where we humoured some hammered blokes called Mario and Moses. 'The question iz diz....The question iz diz.......What iz the question?' Moses slurred. This was about the most sense we got from them. Nice chaps though.
The next morning we were picked up by Ibrihim who picked up his dolled up wife for the trip. We crawled back over the bridge crossing the Zambesi which opened at 7am having been closed overnight. We then pushed on through secluded villages on sparse roads potholed in places but mainly tidily tarmaced which pleased our all too anxious driver careful not to damage his modified Mitsibushi.
On border arrival we battled through the swarm of black market money exchangers and got stamped out of the country into no mans land which covered 5km between Mozambique and Malawi. We picked up a reduced rate cab with passenger door loosely hanging by its hinges and were dropped at Malawian immigration.
Once through we were put into the sticky paws of two young drivers Oscar and Godfrey. Over the course of the journey our relationship with these lads turned into a rollercoaster ride. It started well before spiralling as they became all too greedy en route attempting to scam more money out of us. We weren't best pleased but over the course of this ride managed to compromise and get them to drive us further than the closest town to a major junction town two hours away which benefitted their pockets and our travel comfort to Lake Malawi.
They felt we'd haggled them down too much but couldn't refuse the extra cash so were a little moody. However a coke apiece and long football conversation got them back onside allowing an insight into their real personalities and not just the opportunistic taxi drivers. We left them with smiles, shakes off the hand and a tip as we clambered on board a 30 seater bus which would take us the remainder of the journey. We had timed it perfectly arriving at the junction just as the bus was setting off. The boys had done us proud.
After many stops we arrived in Monkey Bay around 4pm where we enquired about the ferry the next day (all ok) and found a quaint half finished accomodation in an idyllic setting offering camping at a cheap rate. We spent the night in this quaint little cove releived to be back in the tent and a beautiful setting. A far cry from last night. Here we listened to the owner talk about his big plans for the site. Next door was the presidents holiday home which gives you some idea of the goldmine he was sitting on. A lot of work and red tape involved though.
We'd made it and tomorrow would set off on the Ilala ferry up Lake Malawi at 10.30am.
A mozy around Mozambique
Friday 23rd October 2009 - Tuesday 27th October 2009
Days 117 - 121
Mozambique was over all too quickly as we sped up the coast in a tin can public chapas - or minibus to you and I. The luxuary coach from Johannesburg to Mozambique's capital Maputo was the last bit of comfortable transport we would experience for quite a while. Unlike the coach you don't get ample leg room in a chapas. In fact the only way of achieving comfort is to have your kneecaps surgically removed. You don't get cute kids playing peekyboo from the seat in front of you like we did on the coach. The only interaction is with the live chickens being dangled by their feet by the large Mozambiquan ladies squished either side of you as a beak brushes your foot. And you certainly don't get a Hollywood blockbuster like Bulletproof Monk being shown on TV as we did on the coach. Try UB40 on dodgy cassette.
But in saying all this the chapas were good fun and it felt somewhat liberating to be back on public transport with our belongings firmly strapped to our backs meeting fellow travellers and locals alike.
In fact we ended up travelling up the south east coast of Mozambique with the travellers equivelent of a supergroup. This was made up of Belgian Franek (prennounced Frank) a seasoned traveller who had been there and done it in some of the most crazy no-go destinations and was now cycling up Africa alone; and a New York couple who had every gizmo and gadget under the sun. Nicky an English girl with Polish heritage and Mike from DC but with Equadorian ancestory. In fact the last Equadorian I met was Villa's Ulisses De La Cruz in a white muscle vest on Birmingham's Broad Street.
Mozambique truly was a different kettle of fish. The women curvacious and the blokes stacked with ear to ear grins. The country itself 20 million in population stretching thinly up the south east corner of southern Africa had strong Portugese influence speaking the lingo as their first language, loving their footy and most importantly piri piri being their condament of choice. What's more the country oozes natural talent in the beach department.
Not sticking around the capital Maputo we set off at 5.30am the following morning to Tofo, eight hours north in a chapas to a huge beach home to surfers, divers and anybody else that enjoys a bloody good beach. We camped on grounds located literally on the beach, we swam in the sea, ate seafood, we watched Wolves Villa (ok not as glamarous as the previous) but our time here was pathetically short as we reluctantly continued up north.
This next leg pretty much summed up travel in Africa.
We started our journey at 7am where we waited for a chapas to be loaded before getting to the nearest big town Inhambane 15km away where we walked 500 metres to the port to wait an hour or two for a ferry to take us across a 2km stretch of water to Maxixe. Here after lunch we boarded chapas number two which slowly filled up with people to breaking point before travelling at a painstakingly slow speed north, bones chattering over the corrugated roads from plugged potholes, chickens crying with pain largegly down to the awful 80s music blarring through the stereo until five hours later with 250km covered we arrived in Vilankulo.
Vilankulo itself was a bit rough especially with lots of boozed up blokes around celebrating some kind of election party gathering. However, the next day we arranged an overnight trip to the Bazaruto Archepolagio. A series of islands where the fish-filled turquoise sea was asking to be snorkelled and fished in. We travelled around in a dhow camping out not altogether legitimately on a tiny island with one lonely tree.
The next day we were back in Vilankulo where we had a lot of the day to organize our onward travel which involved a journey up Lake Malawi on the Ilala ferry which was primarily a cargo boat which took passengers too. The problem was we'd left ourselves little time to get to the ferry which left weekly. It would prove to be an interesting and adventurous race for the boat.
Not suitable for parents
Unfortunately a sour taste was left in the mouth that evening as two lads hassled the girls for money as they walked out of a materials shop close to the beach. Fortunately Mike had advised we stick around so were able to use the five of us to outnumber the two crims. Still they persisted following us with lines like 'I am a gangster,' 'Don't make me shoot you' and my favourite 'I will show you what we can do.' Fortunately for us they were all mouth and didn't show us what they could do which I sense was not all that much.
Days 117 - 121
Mozambique was over all too quickly as we sped up the coast in a tin can public chapas - or minibus to you and I. The luxuary coach from Johannesburg to Mozambique's capital Maputo was the last bit of comfortable transport we would experience for quite a while. Unlike the coach you don't get ample leg room in a chapas. In fact the only way of achieving comfort is to have your kneecaps surgically removed. You don't get cute kids playing peekyboo from the seat in front of you like we did on the coach. The only interaction is with the live chickens being dangled by their feet by the large Mozambiquan ladies squished either side of you as a beak brushes your foot. And you certainly don't get a Hollywood blockbuster like Bulletproof Monk being shown on TV as we did on the coach. Try UB40 on dodgy cassette.
But in saying all this the chapas were good fun and it felt somewhat liberating to be back on public transport with our belongings firmly strapped to our backs meeting fellow travellers and locals alike.
In fact we ended up travelling up the south east coast of Mozambique with the travellers equivelent of a supergroup. This was made up of Belgian Franek (prennounced Frank) a seasoned traveller who had been there and done it in some of the most crazy no-go destinations and was now cycling up Africa alone; and a New York couple who had every gizmo and gadget under the sun. Nicky an English girl with Polish heritage and Mike from DC but with Equadorian ancestory. In fact the last Equadorian I met was Villa's Ulisses De La Cruz in a white muscle vest on Birmingham's Broad Street.
Mozambique truly was a different kettle of fish. The women curvacious and the blokes stacked with ear to ear grins. The country itself 20 million in population stretching thinly up the south east corner of southern Africa had strong Portugese influence speaking the lingo as their first language, loving their footy and most importantly piri piri being their condament of choice. What's more the country oozes natural talent in the beach department.
Not sticking around the capital Maputo we set off at 5.30am the following morning to Tofo, eight hours north in a chapas to a huge beach home to surfers, divers and anybody else that enjoys a bloody good beach. We camped on grounds located literally on the beach, we swam in the sea, ate seafood, we watched Wolves Villa (ok not as glamarous as the previous) but our time here was pathetically short as we reluctantly continued up north.
This next leg pretty much summed up travel in Africa.
We started our journey at 7am where we waited for a chapas to be loaded before getting to the nearest big town Inhambane 15km away where we walked 500 metres to the port to wait an hour or two for a ferry to take us across a 2km stretch of water to Maxixe. Here after lunch we boarded chapas number two which slowly filled up with people to breaking point before travelling at a painstakingly slow speed north, bones chattering over the corrugated roads from plugged potholes, chickens crying with pain largegly down to the awful 80s music blarring through the stereo until five hours later with 250km covered we arrived in Vilankulo.
Vilankulo itself was a bit rough especially with lots of boozed up blokes around celebrating some kind of election party gathering. However, the next day we arranged an overnight trip to the Bazaruto Archepolagio. A series of islands where the fish-filled turquoise sea was asking to be snorkelled and fished in. We travelled around in a dhow camping out not altogether legitimately on a tiny island with one lonely tree.
The next day we were back in Vilankulo where we had a lot of the day to organize our onward travel which involved a journey up Lake Malawi on the Ilala ferry which was primarily a cargo boat which took passengers too. The problem was we'd left ourselves little time to get to the ferry which left weekly. It would prove to be an interesting and adventurous race for the boat.
Not suitable for parents
Unfortunately a sour taste was left in the mouth that evening as two lads hassled the girls for money as they walked out of a materials shop close to the beach. Fortunately Mike had advised we stick around so were able to use the five of us to outnumber the two crims. Still they persisted following us with lines like 'I am a gangster,' 'Don't make me shoot you' and my favourite 'I will show you what we can do.' Fortunately for us they were all mouth and didn't show us what they could do which I sense was not all that much.
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Kruger Park - a glorified West Midlands Safari Park?
Saturday 17th October - Thursday 22nd October 2009
Day 111 - 116
Why go to Kruger Park I hear you ask when you've got Twycross Zoo, Drayton Manor Park & Zoo and West Midlands Safari Park on your doorstep in Birmingham?
The difference is in Kruger the animals were there first with the park set up as a huge conservation effort to protect the area and its wildlife. Oh yeah - Kruger Park is also the size of Wales.
Kruger was good fun. As well as seeing elephants and buffalo up close(a little too close for my liking actually) we still hadn't seen any lions or leopards. In fact the only cat we'd seen so far was Pushka, Roni and Ivor's Siamese. However, we got to see lions at Kruger which was an honour.
Out of the park we drove up into the mountains with a quick stop off at Blyde River Canyon (the third largest canyon in the world) before finding a delightful little campspot set on the Sabie River which flows into the park. It was so delightful we ended up staying for two nights.
We're currently back at our friends Roni and Ivor's place in Johannesburg getting spoilt rotten with their fantastic hospitality. We've managed to get loads sorted for our onwards travel and also said a sad farewell to the Yaris who we handed back 9,973 kilometres worse off than when we picked it up. Solid as a rock she was!
Tomorrow morning we strap our backpacks firmly on and set off to pastures new. Maputo, the capital of Mozambique is our next destination with the plan to travel north up the coast before cutting inland towards Malawi. That's the plan anyway....
Without a car this feels like a new chapter in our travels and we're both really looking forward to this next step into the unknown. Speak soon.
Day 111 - 116
Why go to Kruger Park I hear you ask when you've got Twycross Zoo, Drayton Manor Park & Zoo and West Midlands Safari Park on your doorstep in Birmingham?
The difference is in Kruger the animals were there first with the park set up as a huge conservation effort to protect the area and its wildlife. Oh yeah - Kruger Park is also the size of Wales.
Kruger was good fun. As well as seeing elephants and buffalo up close(a little too close for my liking actually) we still hadn't seen any lions or leopards. In fact the only cat we'd seen so far was Pushka, Roni and Ivor's Siamese. However, we got to see lions at Kruger which was an honour.
Out of the park we drove up into the mountains with a quick stop off at Blyde River Canyon (the third largest canyon in the world) before finding a delightful little campspot set on the Sabie River which flows into the park. It was so delightful we ended up staying for two nights.
We're currently back at our friends Roni and Ivor's place in Johannesburg getting spoilt rotten with their fantastic hospitality. We've managed to get loads sorted for our onwards travel and also said a sad farewell to the Yaris who we handed back 9,973 kilometres worse off than when we picked it up. Solid as a rock she was!
Tomorrow morning we strap our backpacks firmly on and set off to pastures new. Maputo, the capital of Mozambique is our next destination with the plan to travel north up the coast before cutting inland towards Malawi. That's the plan anyway....
Without a car this feels like a new chapter in our travels and we're both really looking forward to this next step into the unknown. Speak soon.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Country Off - Namibia vs Botswana
Sunday 11th October - Friday 16th October 2009
Day 105 - 110
It seems unfair to pitch two countries off against each other but for some reason Layla and I found ourselves comparing and contrasting the two even though they were extremely different.
Whilst I preferred Namibia, Layla sided with Botswana. I loved the arid feel of Namibia, the desert, the rock and the peacefulness. Then heading up north things started to go insane. Birds the size of light aircrafts with nests we'd be quite comfortable for size in, ant hills the size of mountains and all this before we'd even reached Etosha National Park.
However, Layla has a good point in that we've definitely had a better rapport with the Botswanan people. They like a bit of banter and we found them far less serious than the Namibians. This was even evident at the border crossing where we were stamped out of Namibia by a grumpy chap who we disturbed reading his newspaper. It was a twitchy time actually as he wasn't impressed we didn't have a stamp into his country (fair enough) but he stamped and threw us back our passports and back to his crossword. On the contrary we got to the Botswanan office to be stamped in and were greeted by a giggly group who wished us well and happily stamped us on our way.
30 minutes into our drive and we'd seen an elephant cross the road and Layla had an officer in hysterics at a foot and mouth dipping station. 'What are you checking for?' Layla asked the lady who asked us to remove our baggage from the car to be checked. 'Meat, shoes and drugs' she replied. 'What a crazy combination' Layla said. 'I know!' said the lady and burst out laughing.
There was also a lot more order to Botswana. Evidence of this could again be seen at the border crossing. We arrived at the Namibian side on dirt road and left the other side on freshly laid Tarmac. There were designated dumping grounds and bus stations in each town. Something Namibia lacked. But what got Layla more than anything was the greenery. With the major national parks based around natural water systems the size of small countries (the Ovokango Delta, the Chobe river, the Zambesi and Victoria Falls) this place was illuminous green, dayglow green, Bermuda short green. Botswana was green.
The Ovokango Delta was a nice lazy experience travelling through the giant reeds of the delta guided by Tombo, our poler. What the man lacked in words he made up for with arm muscles. He negotiated us through the complex passageways of these shallow waters in our dugout canoe knowing the area like the back of his hand (which was also pretty big).
The drive from Ovokango Delta to Chobe National Park took us east for around 300km then north for around 300km on roads the worst we'd experienced in Africa so far. Yaris sized potholes lined the roads waiting for its victim. Construction was taking place but it looked like slow progress. The problem became clear when we saw a roadwork sign. The one we're all familiar with. One guy sillouette digging a mound. Well behind the sign was literally one guy with a shovel with 300km of road behind him.
It certainly made us appreciate the Dunlop SP10 passenger tyres that have done a sterling job so far. Did I mention I used to be in the tyre game?
A couple of Windhoek beers and some Tbone on the braii was just the tonic after a treacherous drive. If the Tbone was the tonic the accomodation was the gin as we pitched our tent on the grounds of a luxurious lodge paying a few dollars for the priviledge of using all of their facilities.
The next day we decided to do three countries in one day. We took a tour of the border to Victoria Falls. Unaware of which side of the falls we would visit (Zambia or Zimbabwe) the welcome to Zimbabwe sign on arrival at the border gave it away. Here I was penalised for being a Brit charged 50 bucks as opposed to the thirty everybody else paid. When Layla remonstrated the tour guide responded with 'Britain make Zimbabweans pay 80!' Only the Canadians and Angolans had to pay more. Lord only knows what they've done to rub Mugabe up the wrong way.
It was a great day. The falls were colossal but there was a great rainforest walk you could do to view the falls from all different angles. We also decided to cross the suspension bridge passed the bungee jump rope and into Zambia. Here we were pounced on by touts selling bungee jumps, wooden carvings and other things to earn a swift dollar. It was hot. We felt a little harrassed so retreated to the comforts of the Victoria Falls Hotel where we were picked up and taken back to Botswana.
It's funny when travelling how a day can turn on its head. Disaster start to the day spilling coffee all over my front before driving to Chobe National Park where they took one look at the Yaris and shook their head. You needed a 4x4. Back at the lodge things didn't get any better as the river cruise into the park was full. We were at a loose end before Layla persisted and managed to get us a sunset cruise with a small operator.
I had visions of a dingy/canoe. However, while everbody queued for their cruise we skipped past the line on to a small tinny with a powerful motor and a friendly guide who proceeded to show and tell everything he knew about the Chobe river and the animals in and around. From why crocodiles bake to the hunting techniques of the sea eagle right through to the resiliance of the buffalo and as he explained with a straight face 'the hippo is the most dangerous animal in the river. It can knock you out the boat then cut you into pieces with teeth like scissors' But on the brighter side he explained 'hippo only use teeth for battle. They eat grass with their lips' and pointed to a freshly lip mowed stretch of grass.
The boat journey itself would have given us our money's worth but the animals we saw up at close quarters was almost surreal in this setting. Hippos bobbing up out the water to get a breather. Crocs baking in the setting sun. Elephants and buffalo coming down to the riverbank to get their drink at dusk. Giraffe in the distance Our first sight of the warthog and plenty of zebra coming out to say hi to the three people in the tinny. Hands down highlight of the trip so far.
The day was topped off with a meat buffet from the heavens at the lodge.
The following day we set off at 6am driving past some of the iconic images we'll remember Botswana for. These included elephants chewing trees on the side of the highway, impala crossing the road and election campaigners preaching through megaphones down the streets (nationwide voting would take place the next day.)
Onwards we would drive clocking up the kilometres through the buzz of Francistown where election fever had definitely took hold. Lots of activity, people dressed in their party's colours as well as dancing. Layla asked a guy at the petrol station whether he would be voting 'Of course' he said. 'I vote for the ruling party. The democrats. The reds.' He would be one of only 20% of Botswanans who vote. We would certainly have to read up on the outcome at a later date.
Over the border back to South Africa we travelled into amazing boulder landscape, through the small city of Polkane, surely the smallest city to host World Cup group games but a whole lot of chaotic atmosphere to boot. And up into the hills where we fell upon a lovely town called Haenertsburg with a lodge down a small gravel track. Arriving after dark and insisting we would be ok putting up our tent the owners would have nothing of the sorts giving us a log cabin that overlooked the mountains for the price of the campspot. Lovely lovely people and only our second night outside the tent since starting our African journey.
Day 105 - 110
It seems unfair to pitch two countries off against each other but for some reason Layla and I found ourselves comparing and contrasting the two even though they were extremely different.
Whilst I preferred Namibia, Layla sided with Botswana. I loved the arid feel of Namibia, the desert, the rock and the peacefulness. Then heading up north things started to go insane. Birds the size of light aircrafts with nests we'd be quite comfortable for size in, ant hills the size of mountains and all this before we'd even reached Etosha National Park.
However, Layla has a good point in that we've definitely had a better rapport with the Botswanan people. They like a bit of banter and we found them far less serious than the Namibians. This was even evident at the border crossing where we were stamped out of Namibia by a grumpy chap who we disturbed reading his newspaper. It was a twitchy time actually as he wasn't impressed we didn't have a stamp into his country (fair enough) but he stamped and threw us back our passports and back to his crossword. On the contrary we got to the Botswanan office to be stamped in and were greeted by a giggly group who wished us well and happily stamped us on our way.
30 minutes into our drive and we'd seen an elephant cross the road and Layla had an officer in hysterics at a foot and mouth dipping station. 'What are you checking for?' Layla asked the lady who asked us to remove our baggage from the car to be checked. 'Meat, shoes and drugs' she replied. 'What a crazy combination' Layla said. 'I know!' said the lady and burst out laughing.
There was also a lot more order to Botswana. Evidence of this could again be seen at the border crossing. We arrived at the Namibian side on dirt road and left the other side on freshly laid Tarmac. There were designated dumping grounds and bus stations in each town. Something Namibia lacked. But what got Layla more than anything was the greenery. With the major national parks based around natural water systems the size of small countries (the Ovokango Delta, the Chobe river, the Zambesi and Victoria Falls) this place was illuminous green, dayglow green, Bermuda short green. Botswana was green.
The Ovokango Delta was a nice lazy experience travelling through the giant reeds of the delta guided by Tombo, our poler. What the man lacked in words he made up for with arm muscles. He negotiated us through the complex passageways of these shallow waters in our dugout canoe knowing the area like the back of his hand (which was also pretty big).
The drive from Ovokango Delta to Chobe National Park took us east for around 300km then north for around 300km on roads the worst we'd experienced in Africa so far. Yaris sized potholes lined the roads waiting for its victim. Construction was taking place but it looked like slow progress. The problem became clear when we saw a roadwork sign. The one we're all familiar with. One guy sillouette digging a mound. Well behind the sign was literally one guy with a shovel with 300km of road behind him.
It certainly made us appreciate the Dunlop SP10 passenger tyres that have done a sterling job so far. Did I mention I used to be in the tyre game?
A couple of Windhoek beers and some Tbone on the braii was just the tonic after a treacherous drive. If the Tbone was the tonic the accomodation was the gin as we pitched our tent on the grounds of a luxurious lodge paying a few dollars for the priviledge of using all of their facilities.
The next day we decided to do three countries in one day. We took a tour of the border to Victoria Falls. Unaware of which side of the falls we would visit (Zambia or Zimbabwe) the welcome to Zimbabwe sign on arrival at the border gave it away. Here I was penalised for being a Brit charged 50 bucks as opposed to the thirty everybody else paid. When Layla remonstrated the tour guide responded with 'Britain make Zimbabweans pay 80!' Only the Canadians and Angolans had to pay more. Lord only knows what they've done to rub Mugabe up the wrong way.
It was a great day. The falls were colossal but there was a great rainforest walk you could do to view the falls from all different angles. We also decided to cross the suspension bridge passed the bungee jump rope and into Zambia. Here we were pounced on by touts selling bungee jumps, wooden carvings and other things to earn a swift dollar. It was hot. We felt a little harrassed so retreated to the comforts of the Victoria Falls Hotel where we were picked up and taken back to Botswana.
It's funny when travelling how a day can turn on its head. Disaster start to the day spilling coffee all over my front before driving to Chobe National Park where they took one look at the Yaris and shook their head. You needed a 4x4. Back at the lodge things didn't get any better as the river cruise into the park was full. We were at a loose end before Layla persisted and managed to get us a sunset cruise with a small operator.
I had visions of a dingy/canoe. However, while everbody queued for their cruise we skipped past the line on to a small tinny with a powerful motor and a friendly guide who proceeded to show and tell everything he knew about the Chobe river and the animals in and around. From why crocodiles bake to the hunting techniques of the sea eagle right through to the resiliance of the buffalo and as he explained with a straight face 'the hippo is the most dangerous animal in the river. It can knock you out the boat then cut you into pieces with teeth like scissors' But on the brighter side he explained 'hippo only use teeth for battle. They eat grass with their lips' and pointed to a freshly lip mowed stretch of grass.
The boat journey itself would have given us our money's worth but the animals we saw up at close quarters was almost surreal in this setting. Hippos bobbing up out the water to get a breather. Crocs baking in the setting sun. Elephants and buffalo coming down to the riverbank to get their drink at dusk. Giraffe in the distance Our first sight of the warthog and plenty of zebra coming out to say hi to the three people in the tinny. Hands down highlight of the trip so far.
The day was topped off with a meat buffet from the heavens at the lodge.
The following day we set off at 6am driving past some of the iconic images we'll remember Botswana for. These included elephants chewing trees on the side of the highway, impala crossing the road and election campaigners preaching through megaphones down the streets (nationwide voting would take place the next day.)
Onwards we would drive clocking up the kilometres through the buzz of Francistown where election fever had definitely took hold. Lots of activity, people dressed in their party's colours as well as dancing. Layla asked a guy at the petrol station whether he would be voting 'Of course' he said. 'I vote for the ruling party. The democrats. The reds.' He would be one of only 20% of Botswanans who vote. We would certainly have to read up on the outcome at a later date.
Over the border back to South Africa we travelled into amazing boulder landscape, through the small city of Polkane, surely the smallest city to host World Cup group games but a whole lot of chaotic atmosphere to boot. And up into the hills where we fell upon a lovely town called Haenertsburg with a lodge down a small gravel track. Arriving after dark and insisting we would be ok putting up our tent the owners would have nothing of the sorts giving us a log cabin that overlooked the mountains for the price of the campspot. Lovely lovely people and only our second night outside the tent since starting our African journey.
Sunday, October 11, 2009
Cape Town, South Africa to Okavango Delta, Botswana
Tuesday 29th September 2009 - Sunday 11th October 2009
Day 93 - 104
Yes a lot of water under the bridge since we last spoke.
Highlight of the trip so far came yesterday when we crossed the border from Namibia to Botswana and were happily driving along the road when an enormous elephant crossed the road in front of us. Normal road, no other cars around just a big fat (nb:I wouldn't call him that to his face) elephant stopping across the bitumen. 'Cor Blimey' you could hear us cry from our car...or words to that effect.
So last time we were able to get onto a decent internet system we were staying in an Eco Village in Cape Town. It was a nice little spot in the burbs where a lot of students seemed to hang and we were able to pitch our tent and explore the city. All I can say is Cape Town will do SA proud as the hosts of the World Cup 2010. Beautiful looking city and surrounds and the Green Point Stadium is coming along a treat.
I don't know why we persist with mountains though. It was too windy to climb Table Mountain which we were gutted about. The Cape Doctor, as it's referred to was too strong blowing away the smog from Cape Town's skyline. You couldn't even access Robben Island, where Nelson Mandela was held for many years which we were again disappointed about, especially because we've been listening to the Walk to Freedom audiobook narrated by Lethal Weapon's Danny Glover in the car.
We loved Cape Town but it was good to get out of city and into the African wilderness as we head into the Northern Cape which was a stunning driving through orange tree plantations and wineries heading into scenery not too unlike Australia's Red Centre. No people, no cars just us and stunning scenery. We had one stopover at Springbok before crossing the border into Namimbia. Here we felt we had the country to ourselves with only 1.8 million inhabitants compared to South Africa's comparitively colossal 47 million.
Our first day in Namibia was quite eventful. We crossed the border, visited the second largest canyon in the world, saw an ostrich running full pelt alongside us as we drove, spent most of the day on dirt road, drank shots with some locals at a German bar in a random little town, stayed overnight at one of the most peaceful campspots I've ever stayed at and saw one of the most dramatic sunsets.
The following day after the Chelsea Liverpool game I sat at a bar drinking alongside the locals who were talking footy before heading to a local eatery that was blasting out Richard Ashcroft and where we had an amazing steak dinner. Where else could we possibly be but Windhoek, Namimbia's capital. OK, points I missed here were the steak was cooked in bamboo shoot sauce, the locals were talking footy in their local dialect..I could only understand the odd word like Gerrard and Droggy and the beer was Hansa, the local tipple. I still can't explain Richard Ashcroft though!
Next up was Swakopmund, billed as Namibia's extreme sport capital...only set in sand dunes. I don't know whether we were missing a trick or something but the place was like a ghost town. However, unique setting where the dunes of the Namib desert met the Atlantic Ocean and a friendly guy we got to know running the campsite based on the beach.
Our next night was the highlight of Namimbia for us camped out in a small community campsite well off the beaten track underneath the stunning Spitzkoppe Mountain Range. The rock formations were a lot like Uluru, that burnt orange colour and soft smooth rock in curvacious shapes all around us. Needless to say we got another mindblowing sunset.
It was then onwards to a sort of DIY safari at Etosha National Park in northern Namibia which allowed independent travellers to choose their tracks for the day, pick a campsite and go and seek out wildlife at the various watering holes. We saw animals by the bucketload - giraffe, zebra, elephant and rhino. We also saw a lot of other creatures I had only seen on TV, safari tours made up of people in more khaki than is safe with stupidly huge binoculars the 'must have' accessary. We stayed here for three days but could have stayed much much longer. But it was onwards to Botswana where we are currently into our second day and have just completed a trip down the Okavango Delta in a sort of poor man's Gondola. It was a wooden canoe to be frank but did the job and we got a frog's eye view of this massive delta which is utterly fascinating.
Yaris Report - She's taken a pounding clocking up the kms and driving on more dirt than tarmac of late but doing us proud nonetheless.
Sign of the week - Warning Road Experiment!
Day 93 - 104
Yes a lot of water under the bridge since we last spoke.
Highlight of the trip so far came yesterday when we crossed the border from Namibia to Botswana and were happily driving along the road when an enormous elephant crossed the road in front of us. Normal road, no other cars around just a big fat (nb:I wouldn't call him that to his face) elephant stopping across the bitumen. 'Cor Blimey' you could hear us cry from our car...or words to that effect.
So last time we were able to get onto a decent internet system we were staying in an Eco Village in Cape Town. It was a nice little spot in the burbs where a lot of students seemed to hang and we were able to pitch our tent and explore the city. All I can say is Cape Town will do SA proud as the hosts of the World Cup 2010. Beautiful looking city and surrounds and the Green Point Stadium is coming along a treat.
I don't know why we persist with mountains though. It was too windy to climb Table Mountain which we were gutted about. The Cape Doctor, as it's referred to was too strong blowing away the smog from Cape Town's skyline. You couldn't even access Robben Island, where Nelson Mandela was held for many years which we were again disappointed about, especially because we've been listening to the Walk to Freedom audiobook narrated by Lethal Weapon's Danny Glover in the car.
We loved Cape Town but it was good to get out of city and into the African wilderness as we head into the Northern Cape which was a stunning driving through orange tree plantations and wineries heading into scenery not too unlike Australia's Red Centre. No people, no cars just us and stunning scenery. We had one stopover at Springbok before crossing the border into Namimbia. Here we felt we had the country to ourselves with only 1.8 million inhabitants compared to South Africa's comparitively colossal 47 million.
Our first day in Namibia was quite eventful. We crossed the border, visited the second largest canyon in the world, saw an ostrich running full pelt alongside us as we drove, spent most of the day on dirt road, drank shots with some locals at a German bar in a random little town, stayed overnight at one of the most peaceful campspots I've ever stayed at and saw one of the most dramatic sunsets.
The following day after the Chelsea Liverpool game I sat at a bar drinking alongside the locals who were talking footy before heading to a local eatery that was blasting out Richard Ashcroft and where we had an amazing steak dinner. Where else could we possibly be but Windhoek, Namimbia's capital. OK, points I missed here were the steak was cooked in bamboo shoot sauce, the locals were talking footy in their local dialect..I could only understand the odd word like Gerrard and Droggy and the beer was Hansa, the local tipple. I still can't explain Richard Ashcroft though!
Next up was Swakopmund, billed as Namibia's extreme sport capital...only set in sand dunes. I don't know whether we were missing a trick or something but the place was like a ghost town. However, unique setting where the dunes of the Namib desert met the Atlantic Ocean and a friendly guy we got to know running the campsite based on the beach.
Our next night was the highlight of Namimbia for us camped out in a small community campsite well off the beaten track underneath the stunning Spitzkoppe Mountain Range. The rock formations were a lot like Uluru, that burnt orange colour and soft smooth rock in curvacious shapes all around us. Needless to say we got another mindblowing sunset.
It was then onwards to a sort of DIY safari at Etosha National Park in northern Namibia which allowed independent travellers to choose their tracks for the day, pick a campsite and go and seek out wildlife at the various watering holes. We saw animals by the bucketload - giraffe, zebra, elephant and rhino. We also saw a lot of other creatures I had only seen on TV, safari tours made up of people in more khaki than is safe with stupidly huge binoculars the 'must have' accessary. We stayed here for three days but could have stayed much much longer. But it was onwards to Botswana where we are currently into our second day and have just completed a trip down the Okavango Delta in a sort of poor man's Gondola. It was a wooden canoe to be frank but did the job and we got a frog's eye view of this massive delta which is utterly fascinating.
Yaris Report - She's taken a pounding clocking up the kms and driving on more dirt than tarmac of late but doing us proud nonetheless.
Sign of the week - Warning Road Experiment!
Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Johannesburg to Cape Town
For a long time now I've had dreams of travelling across Africa camping out, exploring distant lands and unique cultures and communities in a modified 4x4. Those dreams are now a reality only not in a 4x4 but a Toyota Yaris!
Dubai was like being on another planet. Even our heat conditioned bodies fresh from Morocco couldn't take life outside air conditioning in this almighty desert city. However, we did get to see a lot in the one day we had there and what we saw went from the sublime to the ridiculous to the what the to the why?
We landed in Johannesburg and was kindly put up for two nights by our good friends Craig and Paula's parents who live in the northern suburbs. We were treated to some warm hospitality and top tips for our trip from Roni and Ivor before it was onwards in the Yaris down south to the Drakensberg Mountains.
On our first day on the road we did what we said we'd never do. As the sun started setting we still hadn't found our accomodation, had driven through some small rural townships and were heading, a little clueless, into the Dranksensberg unknown. Then out of nowhere we passed a huge festival. After a bit of banter with the organiser on the gate he let us stay for one night which was kind of him seeing as it was day one of the four day White Mountain Folk Festival. It was a cracker first night and went on late after hours in the resident bar of the White Mountain game lodge.
Day two feeling a little jaded we set off to the south Dranksberg hoping to cross the border to Lesotho across Sani Pass. However on arrival into the foothills of the pass we were told that most 4x4s couldn't pass it so a Yaris would, how shall we phrase this, struggle : )
However, where we were was amazing with the Lesotho mountains clearly visible and this town in the foothills extremely green with some cracking walks to be had. We set up our tent in a cracker of a campsite off the beaten track and were content with this fall back plan.
Day three and we made it to the south coast and camped once again in the small coastal village of Morgan's Bay. It's great to be under canvas and with our own wheels. We're just realising how much flexibility it can give you when travelling. The campsites are superb and the roads are fine. In fact too fine. Freeway speeds are indicated at 120km/h but nobody sticks to this speed. The signs kindly warn you to slow down to 100km/h on tight corners and also spring 'Warning Pedestrian' signs on you last minute as you race through rural townships. Oh, not to mention random animals on the road at various points - cows, sheep, baboons....you definitely have to have your wits about you.
Day four and we did a monster drive to a place called Wilderness which is exactly what it says on the tin. It is a coastal town but feels like you're out in the bush.
Day five and we decided to come off the Garden Route which was, to be frank, a little boring. Straight as an arrow and not much to see. Excuse me if I turn all Clarkson on you but the roads then turned into some of the best driving roads I've ever driven. Shame we were in the Ya.....leave it Matthew. Green mountains and a multi-coloured patchwork landscape that was a photographers heaven. We landed in a place called Hermanus, billed as the best place in the world for whale watching. So much so we decided to stay and pitch our tent here instead of cracking on to Cape Town 120km away.
Day six and we landed in Cape Town and found probably the only inner city camp spot available. An eco village had recently been developed out of town with an organic farm and a hostel. They let us pop our tent down with minimum fuss. The only catch being we are sharing the facilities with 46 Lesotho schoolchildren. I don't know how we do it.... It was also salt in the wound at not getting to Lesotho over Sani Pass. I'm sure I've seen a few of them sniggering at our wheels as well. Maybe they know!
Dubai was like being on another planet. Even our heat conditioned bodies fresh from Morocco couldn't take life outside air conditioning in this almighty desert city. However, we did get to see a lot in the one day we had there and what we saw went from the sublime to the ridiculous to the what the to the why?
We landed in Johannesburg and was kindly put up for two nights by our good friends Craig and Paula's parents who live in the northern suburbs. We were treated to some warm hospitality and top tips for our trip from Roni and Ivor before it was onwards in the Yaris down south to the Drakensberg Mountains.
On our first day on the road we did what we said we'd never do. As the sun started setting we still hadn't found our accomodation, had driven through some small rural townships and were heading, a little clueless, into the Dranksensberg unknown. Then out of nowhere we passed a huge festival. After a bit of banter with the organiser on the gate he let us stay for one night which was kind of him seeing as it was day one of the four day White Mountain Folk Festival. It was a cracker first night and went on late after hours in the resident bar of the White Mountain game lodge.
Day two feeling a little jaded we set off to the south Dranksberg hoping to cross the border to Lesotho across Sani Pass. However on arrival into the foothills of the pass we were told that most 4x4s couldn't pass it so a Yaris would, how shall we phrase this, struggle : )
However, where we were was amazing with the Lesotho mountains clearly visible and this town in the foothills extremely green with some cracking walks to be had. We set up our tent in a cracker of a campsite off the beaten track and were content with this fall back plan.
Day three and we made it to the south coast and camped once again in the small coastal village of Morgan's Bay. It's great to be under canvas and with our own wheels. We're just realising how much flexibility it can give you when travelling. The campsites are superb and the roads are fine. In fact too fine. Freeway speeds are indicated at 120km/h but nobody sticks to this speed. The signs kindly warn you to slow down to 100km/h on tight corners and also spring 'Warning Pedestrian' signs on you last minute as you race through rural townships. Oh, not to mention random animals on the road at various points - cows, sheep, baboons....you definitely have to have your wits about you.
Day four and we did a monster drive to a place called Wilderness which is exactly what it says on the tin. It is a coastal town but feels like you're out in the bush.
Day five and we decided to come off the Garden Route which was, to be frank, a little boring. Straight as an arrow and not much to see. Excuse me if I turn all Clarkson on you but the roads then turned into some of the best driving roads I've ever driven. Shame we were in the Ya.....leave it Matthew. Green mountains and a multi-coloured patchwork landscape that was a photographers heaven. We landed in a place called Hermanus, billed as the best place in the world for whale watching. So much so we decided to stay and pitch our tent here instead of cracking on to Cape Town 120km away.
Day six and we landed in Cape Town and found probably the only inner city camp spot available. An eco village had recently been developed out of town with an organic farm and a hostel. They let us pop our tent down with minimum fuss. The only catch being we are sharing the facilities with 46 Lesotho schoolchildren. I don't know how we do it.... It was also salt in the wound at not getting to Lesotho over Sani Pass. I'm sure I've seen a few of them sniggering at our wheels as well. Maybe they know!
Fast Forward
Fast forward 20 days and we are now under the shadow of Table Mountain in Cape Town.
I'd like to say we overlanded it from Morocco down the west coast of Africa. Alas, we did not but we had a great time during our ten days back in England with the highlight being a road trip across South Wales over on the ferry to Ireland for Bert and Jenny's wedding in Kenmare on Ireland's west coast.
Had some cracking nights out, caught a Villa game and lots of Africa prep work before it was onwards to Johannesberg via Dubai.
Having provided a tip on Day One in the shape of 'The Secret to Upgrade Success', I have another pearl. Don't fly long haul with a king kong hangover. It makes you do silly things like forget your hand luggage and spill orange juice over your crotch just five minutes into the journey.
I'd like to say we overlanded it from Morocco down the west coast of Africa. Alas, we did not but we had a great time during our ten days back in England with the highlight being a road trip across South Wales over on the ferry to Ireland for Bert and Jenny's wedding in Kenmare on Ireland's west coast.
Had some cracking nights out, caught a Villa game and lots of Africa prep work before it was onwards to Johannesberg via Dubai.
Having provided a tip on Day One in the shape of 'The Secret to Upgrade Success', I have another pearl. Don't fly long haul with a king kong hangover. It makes you do silly things like forget your hand luggage and spill orange juice over your crotch just five minutes into the journey.
Thursday, September 10, 2009
Toubkal Refuge - Toubkal Summit - Toubkal Refuge - Ilmil
Day 71
Sunday 6th September 2009
The all time low point of the 4167 summit climb would come around halfway up where we discovered we'd forgotten our bag of food, we were walking in a cloud unable to see anything ten yards in front or ten yards behind and our legs felt like alien objects.
What is it with us and summits? Both our Kinabalu and Toubkal ascents were clear blue skies on Day One but just when we needed a clear day to be rewarded with views from the summit....clouds.
Back on Day 19 and 20 of our trip we climbed the 4085 metre summit of Mount Kinabalu in Borneo. Both this and Jebel Toubkal were two day hikes, both were over 4,000 metres in altitude but this is where the similarities ended quite abrubtly.
Whilst Kinabalu offered a walk with unforgetable moments and sights completely unique to that part of the world and that mountain, Toubkal did feel a more natural experience. It was quite simply a mountain in a range that you could climb - no guide, no signage (other than that of towers of boulders left by previous climbers), no steps and no frills.
We started at 5.15am down at breakfast. Many had already taken off but we waited for a slither of light which came through around 5.45am. The first part of the climb was scrambling up big boulders before hitting a more caring path but no less caring in gradient. To put this into perspective yestrday we walked 10km climbing 1467 metres. Today whilst only walking 2-3km we were climbing a whopping 960 metres.
Legs we weary just an hour into the climb which wasn't a good sign. And things got worse as the caring path turned evil with small stones zapping the energy from your legs like sand and causing a few slip sliding issues. The only motivation was having sight of people resembling ants in the distance marching up the final ascent after negotiating the quick sand track we were horrified to discover but not all together surprised to learn that the ants were climbing just one part of the final ascent. This was ridiculously steep and where moral was at an all time low - we discovered we'd forgotten our bag of food, we were walking in a cloud unable to see anything ten yards in front or ten yards behind and our legs felt like alien objects.
But we soldiered on hungry, hammered and halfway. It was here that things started turning for us. We pushed through the tough ascent and the pain barrier and were told by the first 'descenter' that we had only thirty minutes to go. Even though we had much longer to go the climb started feeling easier psycologically but the track was starting to level out comparitively. Eventually we saw the Majorca couple who slapped our hands and congratulated us. Slightly delerious from pain, hunger and the altitude we looked up to see the pyramid that represented the summit just 10 seconds from our grasp. It felt like a great achievement and everbody was feeling it shaking hands and slapping backs. The weather had even momentarily cleared for us rewarding us with clear blue skies and fantastic views of the high atlas mountain range. We were given some nuts and dried fruit and the energy started coming back to body and legs.
We waited around and had the summit to ourselves until we were ready for the descent. This was really tricky in patches. You'd lose concentration for a second and you were on you arse. The slippery small stones and the large boulders we'd encontered on the way up offered their own different challenges going down whilst all the time the steepness perplexed us on how we'd managed to get up the bloody thing.
We were accompanied by a dog for much of the descent who we whistled over when we spotted her scaring mountain goats into a huddle on the edge of a cliff. This dog was phenomenal tackling the ascent and descent everday. However, we were later to find out that this was nothing compared to the guides who took the trek five to six time a week during Ramadam meaning no food or water during the day.
Back at the refuge at 11am and we were greeted with a lunch which was more than the doctor had ordered. Layla had 40 winks and we were back at it on the 10km descent from the refuge to Ilmil. Body already beaten this was another four hour walk.
The walk would prove extremely tiring and tough especially when Layla' knee started playing up. 'Nothing a couple of painkillers can't help' she said striding on, big grin and eyes the size of dustbin lids.
We also had rain and thunder and lightening to contend with and when we though that was bad it started hailing huge pieces of ice. The hail hitting you felt like being the stag at a paintball activity centre.
But we made it back to Ilmil and YES the shower was good and YES the tangine was better and YES the 7.40pm to bed felt like heaven.
Sunday 6th September 2009
The all time low point of the 4167 summit climb would come around halfway up where we discovered we'd forgotten our bag of food, we were walking in a cloud unable to see anything ten yards in front or ten yards behind and our legs felt like alien objects.
What is it with us and summits? Both our Kinabalu and Toubkal ascents were clear blue skies on Day One but just when we needed a clear day to be rewarded with views from the summit....clouds.
Back on Day 19 and 20 of our trip we climbed the 4085 metre summit of Mount Kinabalu in Borneo. Both this and Jebel Toubkal were two day hikes, both were over 4,000 metres in altitude but this is where the similarities ended quite abrubtly.
Whilst Kinabalu offered a walk with unforgetable moments and sights completely unique to that part of the world and that mountain, Toubkal did feel a more natural experience. It was quite simply a mountain in a range that you could climb - no guide, no signage (other than that of towers of boulders left by previous climbers), no steps and no frills.
We started at 5.15am down at breakfast. Many had already taken off but we waited for a slither of light which came through around 5.45am. The first part of the climb was scrambling up big boulders before hitting a more caring path but no less caring in gradient. To put this into perspective yestrday we walked 10km climbing 1467 metres. Today whilst only walking 2-3km we were climbing a whopping 960 metres.
Legs we weary just an hour into the climb which wasn't a good sign. And things got worse as the caring path turned evil with small stones zapping the energy from your legs like sand and causing a few slip sliding issues. The only motivation was having sight of people resembling ants in the distance marching up the final ascent after negotiating the quick sand track we were horrified to discover but not all together surprised to learn that the ants were climbing just one part of the final ascent. This was ridiculously steep and where moral was at an all time low - we discovered we'd forgotten our bag of food, we were walking in a cloud unable to see anything ten yards in front or ten yards behind and our legs felt like alien objects.
But we soldiered on hungry, hammered and halfway. It was here that things started turning for us. We pushed through the tough ascent and the pain barrier and were told by the first 'descenter' that we had only thirty minutes to go. Even though we had much longer to go the climb started feeling easier psycologically but the track was starting to level out comparitively. Eventually we saw the Majorca couple who slapped our hands and congratulated us. Slightly delerious from pain, hunger and the altitude we looked up to see the pyramid that represented the summit just 10 seconds from our grasp. It felt like a great achievement and everbody was feeling it shaking hands and slapping backs. The weather had even momentarily cleared for us rewarding us with clear blue skies and fantastic views of the high atlas mountain range. We were given some nuts and dried fruit and the energy started coming back to body and legs.
We waited around and had the summit to ourselves until we were ready for the descent. This was really tricky in patches. You'd lose concentration for a second and you were on you arse. The slippery small stones and the large boulders we'd encontered on the way up offered their own different challenges going down whilst all the time the steepness perplexed us on how we'd managed to get up the bloody thing.
We were accompanied by a dog for much of the descent who we whistled over when we spotted her scaring mountain goats into a huddle on the edge of a cliff. This dog was phenomenal tackling the ascent and descent everday. However, we were later to find out that this was nothing compared to the guides who took the trek five to six time a week during Ramadam meaning no food or water during the day.
Back at the refuge at 11am and we were greeted with a lunch which was more than the doctor had ordered. Layla had 40 winks and we were back at it on the 10km descent from the refuge to Ilmil. Body already beaten this was another four hour walk.
The walk would prove extremely tiring and tough especially when Layla' knee started playing up. 'Nothing a couple of painkillers can't help' she said striding on, big grin and eyes the size of dustbin lids.
We also had rain and thunder and lightening to contend with and when we though that was bad it started hailing huge pieces of ice. The hail hitting you felt like being the stag at a paintball activity centre.
But we made it back to Ilmil and YES the shower was good and YES the tangine was better and YES the 7.40pm to bed felt like heaven.
Tuesday, September 8, 2009
Imlil to Toubkal Refuge
Day 70
Saturday 5th September 2009
In Marrakesh we had been quoted 2400 Dirham to do a package tour to Jebel Toubkal. We opted out of that and were extremely glad when arriving in Imlil we realised we could do things a whole lot cheaper. We didn't need to stay in the riad, we didn't need a guide, and we certainly didn't need a mule.
So off we went early doors guideless and muleless on our lonesome with Toubkal refuge our destination at the foot of the summit climb and 10km in distance and 1467km in altitude away from where we currently were.
A couple of hesitant turns and directions from locals (Toubkal then point usually got the desired response) and we were on the right track to the refuge.
We past the town of Amound walking across a huge rocky riverbed before traversing steadily up into the high atlas and stunning scenery with Toubkal continuously our backdrop.
We pushed past the temptation of snacks in the last chance village and found salvation from the sun in the shape of an overhanging rock where we tucked on some fine Laylamade sandwiches.
This provided the energy to crack on and negotiate the toughest and steepest part of the day. After here the valley opened out and from this point on it was only distance rather than gradient that was going to kill us.
Highlight of fellow climbers had to be a group of oldies who persuaded us to stop and share some fresh orange juice with them. Brits, they'd met at a mountaineering club in the 70s and had become good friends visiting amazing places ever since.
Eventually after five hours of walking, legs getting tired and body getting weary we caught a glimpse of the refuge. This was enough incentive to push on and reach our first day destination with the hard work still to come.
The refuge was buzzing with excitement and full of nationalities and ages which was quite strange as we'd hardly seen a sole on the walk. Everybody was happy to chat.
We shared dinner with a couple from Majorca and agreed to start the climb with them the following morning at 5.30am.
Saturday 5th September 2009
In Marrakesh we had been quoted 2400 Dirham to do a package tour to Jebel Toubkal. We opted out of that and were extremely glad when arriving in Imlil we realised we could do things a whole lot cheaper. We didn't need to stay in the riad, we didn't need a guide, and we certainly didn't need a mule.
So off we went early doors guideless and muleless on our lonesome with Toubkal refuge our destination at the foot of the summit climb and 10km in distance and 1467km in altitude away from where we currently were.
A couple of hesitant turns and directions from locals (Toubkal then point usually got the desired response) and we were on the right track to the refuge.
We past the town of Amound walking across a huge rocky riverbed before traversing steadily up into the high atlas and stunning scenery with Toubkal continuously our backdrop.
We pushed past the temptation of snacks in the last chance village and found salvation from the sun in the shape of an overhanging rock where we tucked on some fine Laylamade sandwiches.
This provided the energy to crack on and negotiate the toughest and steepest part of the day. After here the valley opened out and from this point on it was only distance rather than gradient that was going to kill us.
Highlight of fellow climbers had to be a group of oldies who persuaded us to stop and share some fresh orange juice with them. Brits, they'd met at a mountaineering club in the 70s and had become good friends visiting amazing places ever since.
Eventually after five hours of walking, legs getting tired and body getting weary we caught a glimpse of the refuge. This was enough incentive to push on and reach our first day destination with the hard work still to come.
The refuge was buzzing with excitement and full of nationalities and ages which was quite strange as we'd hardly seen a sole on the walk. Everybody was happy to chat.
We shared dinner with a couple from Majorca and agreed to start the climb with them the following morning at 5.30am.
The High Atlas Mountains
Day 69
Friday 4th September 2009
Armed with a whole load of information we set off today to Imlil, set in the High Atlas Mountains of Morocco and the base of many treks including the two day Jebel Toubkal summit trek that we would start tomorrow.
Jebel Toubkal at 4167 metres is the highest mountain in North Africa so this wasn't going to be easy.
Ilmil was a beautiful alpine village with a sprinkling of restaurants and accomodation. We opted for a budget option that still had views of the range from the courtyard cafe and our room. Alternatives were the riad of Ilmil which was a beautiful old building with roof terrace looking out to the mountains. Next grade up and king of Ilmil accomodation was the kasbah which was a grand building perched on a cliff above the village.
We met a nice English chap staying at our accomodation who had just got back down. He had some great tips for the climb and also gave us his map. Bloody nice bloke.
We wandered the town and I bought a ridiculous hat as protection from the sun. I looked like Hugh Jackman. Not because of the hat, more the build ; )
We had an early night with a big day of walking ahead of us tomorrow.
Friday 4th September 2009
Armed with a whole load of information we set off today to Imlil, set in the High Atlas Mountains of Morocco and the base of many treks including the two day Jebel Toubkal summit trek that we would start tomorrow.
Jebel Toubkal at 4167 metres is the highest mountain in North Africa so this wasn't going to be easy.
Ilmil was a beautiful alpine village with a sprinkling of restaurants and accomodation. We opted for a budget option that still had views of the range from the courtyard cafe and our room. Alternatives were the riad of Ilmil which was a beautiful old building with roof terrace looking out to the mountains. Next grade up and king of Ilmil accomodation was the kasbah which was a grand building perched on a cliff above the village.
We met a nice English chap staying at our accomodation who had just got back down. He had some great tips for the climb and also gave us his map. Bloody nice bloke.
We wandered the town and I bought a ridiculous hat as protection from the sun. I looked like Hugh Jackman. Not because of the hat, more the build ; )
We had an early night with a big day of walking ahead of us tomorrow.
Monday, September 7, 2009
The Road to Marrakesh
Day 68
Thursday 3rd September 2009
We had decisions to make this morning - stay in this amazing place with this lovely family or hop in with Simo to Marrakesh. After going round in circles we opted for the Simo option. We said our goodbyes and gave a promise we'd return.
Simo arrived at Balmagne with a Japanese girl in tow who I think was more than a travel partner. He wasn't as bubbly as yesterday but explained he'd only had 15 minutes sleep. This didn't hamper his ability to drive the difficult mountainous roads with the drive full of windy lanes wrapped around monster mountains with deep deep valleys a couple of thousand metres down below.
We had one stop off which was a bit obscure. Simo pulled up outside a cafe showing a horse race from France. He appeared to have a wager on it and got back in the car after the race a lot more sober than when he had left.
Layla had previously offered to drive if needed and with 60 km to go she took over the reigns taking our deadlocked friend by surprise with her driving on these difficult roads. He took the wheel back as we entered Marrakesh having banter with any motorist or pedestrian who caught his eye. He was what you would call 'a character'.
He dropped us at the bus station and we head off to the Medina checking out a number of guesthouses before deciding on a bit of a bargain. Already we felt this city had the edge on Fes. The place had a buzz about it although we had probably seen more westerners in the taxi ride into the city than we had seen in our entire Morocco trip so far.
Thursday 3rd September 2009
We had decisions to make this morning - stay in this amazing place with this lovely family or hop in with Simo to Marrakesh. After going round in circles we opted for the Simo option. We said our goodbyes and gave a promise we'd return.
Simo arrived at Balmagne with a Japanese girl in tow who I think was more than a travel partner. He wasn't as bubbly as yesterday but explained he'd only had 15 minutes sleep. This didn't hamper his ability to drive the difficult mountainous roads with the drive full of windy lanes wrapped around monster mountains with deep deep valleys a couple of thousand metres down below.
We had one stop off which was a bit obscure. Simo pulled up outside a cafe showing a horse race from France. He appeared to have a wager on it and got back in the car after the race a lot more sober than when he had left.
Layla had previously offered to drive if needed and with 60 km to go she took over the reigns taking our deadlocked friend by surprise with her driving on these difficult roads. He took the wheel back as we entered Marrakesh having banter with any motorist or pedestrian who caught his eye. He was what you would call 'a character'.
He dropped us at the bus station and we head off to the Medina checking out a number of guesthouses before deciding on a bit of a bargain. Already we felt this city had the edge on Fes. The place had a buzz about it although we had probably seen more westerners in the taxi ride into the city than we had seen in our entire Morocco trip so far.
Bad Decisions Make Good Stories
Day 67
Wednesday 2nd September 2009
A stunning then quite strange start to the day today. Layla was up for sunrise on the roof terrace and came back to the room very excited. Before I knew it we were up to our eyeballs in gorge. An extremely narrow, rugged gorge used by climbers and base jumpers as well as mere mortals like us. Layla befriended two dogs en route and we the appeared to befriend an old chap on the stroll back who invited us to his place for a brew. Although a bit sceptical we thought what the hell and he led us, quite literally, down a garden path into the grounds of a kasbah and up into a large, old homestay where we were led up into a small room...wait for it...was full of carpets. We got the tea but also got a long speil on the making of the carpets from hand from a man who got angry whe Layla interupted with questions and even angrier when he learned that we didn't have a home or jobs and certainly didn't want his carpets. Things could have got a hell of a lot worse when Layla elbowed over her tea onto one of the carpets but fortunately he didn't flinch. We did however think it was time to leave when he shouted 'you not want to help nomadic people'. Before you could say Allied we were out of their.
We thought it best to leave the gorge where we hadn't made too many friends and tried hitching at the side of the road. It was a quiet stretch but we eventually got a bite when a Moroccon rasta pulled over and said we could hop in to Tinerhir. His name was Simo and although driving to the desert today said he was going through Dades Gorge, where we were headed tomorrow onwards to Marrakesh tomorrow if we wanted to go with him. He also gave us a good tip for accomodation in Dades.
For the second day in a row a taxi boss with no teeth rubbed us up the wrong way so we made the local bus west to Balmagne De Gorge by the skin of our teeth. All the locals were extremely friendly chatting and smiling to us the alien race on this 46km journey.
In Balmagne we had a bite to eat and were latched onto by a bloke with a weather beaten face and dark brown teeth who showed us to a minivan to the gorge. He tipped the minivan driver off as to where to drop us which wad his mate's accomodation but we stood firm and stayed where Simo had recommend which turned out to be gold.
An absolute delight of a family made up of three brothers, their father, one of the brother, wife and son welcomed us openarmed into their amazing guesthouse with views over the spectacular gorge.
Wednesday 2nd September 2009
A stunning then quite strange start to the day today. Layla was up for sunrise on the roof terrace and came back to the room very excited. Before I knew it we were up to our eyeballs in gorge. An extremely narrow, rugged gorge used by climbers and base jumpers as well as mere mortals like us. Layla befriended two dogs en route and we the appeared to befriend an old chap on the stroll back who invited us to his place for a brew. Although a bit sceptical we thought what the hell and he led us, quite literally, down a garden path into the grounds of a kasbah and up into a large, old homestay where we were led up into a small room...wait for it...was full of carpets. We got the tea but also got a long speil on the making of the carpets from hand from a man who got angry whe Layla interupted with questions and even angrier when he learned that we didn't have a home or jobs and certainly didn't want his carpets. Things could have got a hell of a lot worse when Layla elbowed over her tea onto one of the carpets but fortunately he didn't flinch. We did however think it was time to leave when he shouted 'you not want to help nomadic people'. Before you could say Allied we were out of their.
We thought it best to leave the gorge where we hadn't made too many friends and tried hitching at the side of the road. It was a quiet stretch but we eventually got a bite when a Moroccon rasta pulled over and said we could hop in to Tinerhir. His name was Simo and although driving to the desert today said he was going through Dades Gorge, where we were headed tomorrow onwards to Marrakesh tomorrow if we wanted to go with him. He also gave us a good tip for accomodation in Dades.
For the second day in a row a taxi boss with no teeth rubbed us up the wrong way so we made the local bus west to Balmagne De Gorge by the skin of our teeth. All the locals were extremely friendly chatting and smiling to us the alien race on this 46km journey.
In Balmagne we had a bite to eat and were latched onto by a bloke with a weather beaten face and dark brown teeth who showed us to a minivan to the gorge. He tipped the minivan driver off as to where to drop us which wad his mate's accomodation but we stood firm and stayed where Simo had recommend which turned out to be gold.
An absolute delight of a family made up of three brothers, their father, one of the brother, wife and son welcomed us openarmed into their amazing guesthouse with views over the spectacular gorge.
Fear and Loathing in Merzouga
Day 66
Tuesday 1st September 2009
Apparently nine years ago Hilary Clinton did a similar tour to the one we took this morning which was through the oasis which acts like a front lawn to the dunes. Funnily enough it's a fresh water source underneath the dunes that maintains the oasis and there is a very organised irrigation system which feeds water into the residents alocments on a rotation basis so they can grow their dates, chillis, almonds, mint, cummin, figs, apricots, aubergines and tomatoes amongst other crops for consuming and for sale at the markets.
Our guide was Ilhan who was a nephew and a university student studying French Lit. The only person at uni from the village. After the oasis we learned how village homes were constructed. A change in attitude was needed in the construction of homes after a flood wiped out many residence in May 2006. Stone instead mud was the main difference I could work out. Over the years there has also been a change in attitude to families. 'My grandparents didn't know how many children they have. They have many. If one dies no problem we have others,' Ilhan said. Ilhan himself had eight uncles alone and only three siblings.
We were to later to learn that households still exist that hold 40, 50, 60 family members. One famous house in Zeragona holds 120 of the buggers.
After the tour it was onwards to Todra Gorge and a completely different Morocco to the desert. We managed to haggle a guy down in Rissani who was heading in that direction. He picked up his mate and two kids and we set off on the 200km trip west to the gorge. The driver was a laid back kind of a chap with big aviators and a foot out of the window approach to driving. His mate in the passenger seat was bubbly and obviously adored his kids, a boy and a girl who were lovely.
You could practically feel the temperature drop a degree for every 20km we drove and the landscape changed beyond recognition into baron scrub with the Middle Atlas mountains as the backdrop.
Our driver was a real character who didn't think much to the Moroccon police. 'Scumbags' he shouted when they came into site which sounded very un Moroccon. Then as we passed them he saluted at a surprised looking officer and shouted 'To the King' out the window at him. The rest of the car were in stiches.
We said our goodbyes at Tinerhir the closest town to Todra Gorge and waited for a taxi we had organised to take us to our preaaranged accomodation. It never came and,as the sun set, it looked less and less likely of arriving as everyone geared up for their Ramadam meals and the square which was previously packed to the rafters turned into a ghost town. We decided to roll with it and sat down at the nearest cafe and ordered some Ramadam soup which was absolutely delicious and cost five Dirham (around 38p) for both.
In the meantime Mohammad our taxi driver turned up and took us the final 14km into the gorge and to our accomodation. Here we got locked into a price war as the quoted cost of our room was increased on arrival to double. We got them down and they changed it once again. The place was run by a shifty mob and, had it not been for the amazing decor in the riad and the roof terrace which looked over the gorge we would have walked. They weren't going to get a penny more out of us though.
Tuesday 1st September 2009
Apparently nine years ago Hilary Clinton did a similar tour to the one we took this morning which was through the oasis which acts like a front lawn to the dunes. Funnily enough it's a fresh water source underneath the dunes that maintains the oasis and there is a very organised irrigation system which feeds water into the residents alocments on a rotation basis so they can grow their dates, chillis, almonds, mint, cummin, figs, apricots, aubergines and tomatoes amongst other crops for consuming and for sale at the markets.
Our guide was Ilhan who was a nephew and a university student studying French Lit. The only person at uni from the village. After the oasis we learned how village homes were constructed. A change in attitude was needed in the construction of homes after a flood wiped out many residence in May 2006. Stone instead mud was the main difference I could work out. Over the years there has also been a change in attitude to families. 'My grandparents didn't know how many children they have. They have many. If one dies no problem we have others,' Ilhan said. Ilhan himself had eight uncles alone and only three siblings.
We were to later to learn that households still exist that hold 40, 50, 60 family members. One famous house in Zeragona holds 120 of the buggers.
After the tour it was onwards to Todra Gorge and a completely different Morocco to the desert. We managed to haggle a guy down in Rissani who was heading in that direction. He picked up his mate and two kids and we set off on the 200km trip west to the gorge. The driver was a laid back kind of a chap with big aviators and a foot out of the window approach to driving. His mate in the passenger seat was bubbly and obviously adored his kids, a boy and a girl who were lovely.
You could practically feel the temperature drop a degree for every 20km we drove and the landscape changed beyond recognition into baron scrub with the Middle Atlas mountains as the backdrop.
Our driver was a real character who didn't think much to the Moroccon police. 'Scumbags' he shouted when they came into site which sounded very un Moroccon. Then as we passed them he saluted at a surprised looking officer and shouted 'To the King' out the window at him. The rest of the car were in stiches.
We said our goodbyes at Tinerhir the closest town to Todra Gorge and waited for a taxi we had organised to take us to our preaaranged accomodation. It never came and,as the sun set, it looked less and less likely of arriving as everyone geared up for their Ramadam meals and the square which was previously packed to the rafters turned into a ghost town. We decided to roll with it and sat down at the nearest cafe and ordered some Ramadam soup which was absolutely delicious and cost five Dirham (around 38p) for both.
In the meantime Mohammad our taxi driver turned up and took us the final 14km into the gorge and to our accomodation. Here we got locked into a price war as the quoted cost of our room was increased on arrival to double. We got them down and they changed it once again. The place was run by a shifty mob and, had it not been for the amazing decor in the riad and the roof terrace which looked over the gorge we would have walked. They weren't going to get a penny more out of us though.
Dune Champion
Day 65
Monday 31st August 2009
As the sun rose at around 5.30am we were well and truly approaching the desert. But for an oasis deep down in a huge gorge which caught us off guard everything else was dry dry dry.
On arrival into Rissani we were bullied into boarding a 4x4 with the only other passenger a Japanese chap with a handlebar moustache and aviators who was off his trolley. Earlier we had seen him fall of the coach on one of our toilet stops jump up and proceed to ask a prostitue where the toilet was. The 4x4 would take us to an accomodation on the proviso that if we didn't like it we would be taken to view others in Merzouga right on the edge of the desert with views of the sand dunes. At the accomodation after a white knuckle ride into the desert we weren't happy with what was an offer. This went down like a lead ballooon and they refused to take us onwards to other places. A row commenced which wasn't the best idea as they had us by the balls on their territory in the middle of the desert. We compromised with being taken back to Rissani and starting from square one.
We made the right decision as we landed some plush accomodation staying with a lovely family spitting distance from the dunes. The father Ali was nice and was obviously a pivotal figure in the village but the highlight was his wife's extraordinarily good cooking and his adorable kids of which he had four-three boys and one girl. As he himself put it 'Many people change wife but why would I? She cleans, she cooks good, she makes four beautiful babies. Why would I change wife? I happy.'
Before you knew it Ali had pulled a few desert strings and we were on the back of camels complete with turbans off into the dunes. It can only be described as another world out there. The colours continuously shifting as the sun set and the feel of the fresh Saharan sand are two things i'll always remember. I'll also remember the fact that our guide probably had the worst job in the world during Ramadam out in the middle of the desert as the sunsets while everbody else tucks into some grub. Let's just put it this way our journey back to the village after sunset was a lot quicker than that out.
Monday 31st August 2009
As the sun rose at around 5.30am we were well and truly approaching the desert. But for an oasis deep down in a huge gorge which caught us off guard everything else was dry dry dry.
On arrival into Rissani we were bullied into boarding a 4x4 with the only other passenger a Japanese chap with a handlebar moustache and aviators who was off his trolley. Earlier we had seen him fall of the coach on one of our toilet stops jump up and proceed to ask a prostitue where the toilet was. The 4x4 would take us to an accomodation on the proviso that if we didn't like it we would be taken to view others in Merzouga right on the edge of the desert with views of the sand dunes. At the accomodation after a white knuckle ride into the desert we weren't happy with what was an offer. This went down like a lead ballooon and they refused to take us onwards to other places. A row commenced which wasn't the best idea as they had us by the balls on their territory in the middle of the desert. We compromised with being taken back to Rissani and starting from square one.
We made the right decision as we landed some plush accomodation staying with a lovely family spitting distance from the dunes. The father Ali was nice and was obviously a pivotal figure in the village but the highlight was his wife's extraordinarily good cooking and his adorable kids of which he had four-three boys and one girl. As he himself put it 'Many people change wife but why would I? She cleans, she cooks good, she makes four beautiful babies. Why would I change wife? I happy.'
Before you knew it Ali had pulled a few desert strings and we were on the back of camels complete with turbans off into the dunes. It can only be described as another world out there. The colours continuously shifting as the sun set and the feel of the fresh Saharan sand are two things i'll always remember. I'll also remember the fact that our guide probably had the worst job in the world during Ramadam out in the middle of the desert as the sunsets while everbody else tucks into some grub. Let's just put it this way our journey back to the village after sunset was a lot quicker than that out.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Ramadam
Day 64
Sunday 30th August 2009
We decided to take the foot of the gas a little todayand explore our surrounds. Different readings suggest that while the Fes Medina is it's history dating back 1500 years the Ville Nouvelle is very much modern Fes.
The problem we were having was that it was slap bang in the middle of Ramadam. Meaning the 99 percent of Moroccons who are Muslim wereimpacted by the month long fast. The knock on impact was the opening and closing of shops and cafes were different from the norm. It was very difficult to get a bite to eat at a cafe in the day fore ample as people would rest during the day having been up in the night eating. You actually felt strangely guilty eating in the open during daylight hours in the knowledge that the people around you couldn't eat, drink or consume anything until sunset.
For our evening meal we somehow managed to sit down at a cafe just as the sun was about to set. There is a standard Meal that Muslims eat at sunset made up of dates, soup and milk. Everbody else in the cafe had this set meal in front of them untouched willing the sun to set so they could devour it. However, of the people we'd spoken to so far many explained it wasn't the eating that bothered them so much but more the thirst. This would be a whole new proposition down in the desert though.
We proceeded to order and fortunately for us our meals arrived after everbody else had started to eat. There was no way we would have started anyway.
Our hotel broke the bad news that we couldn't use their showers before our overnight coach journey. It was over 40 degrees today so we weren't in the best shape. They did however recommend a hotel down the road that had a private shower block. Bizarre as it seemed we were led into this secret room behind reception where we had showers before heading for the coach station for our 9.30pm nine hour journey to the desert.
Sunday 30th August 2009
We decided to take the foot of the gas a little todayand explore our surrounds. Different readings suggest that while the Fes Medina is it's history dating back 1500 years the Ville Nouvelle is very much modern Fes.
The problem we were having was that it was slap bang in the middle of Ramadam. Meaning the 99 percent of Moroccons who are Muslim wereimpacted by the month long fast. The knock on impact was the opening and closing of shops and cafes were different from the norm. It was very difficult to get a bite to eat at a cafe in the day fore ample as people would rest during the day having been up in the night eating. You actually felt strangely guilty eating in the open during daylight hours in the knowledge that the people around you couldn't eat, drink or consume anything until sunset.
For our evening meal we somehow managed to sit down at a cafe just as the sun was about to set. There is a standard Meal that Muslims eat at sunset made up of dates, soup and milk. Everbody else in the cafe had this set meal in front of them untouched willing the sun to set so they could devour it. However, of the people we'd spoken to so far many explained it wasn't the eating that bothered them so much but more the thirst. This would be a whole new proposition down in the desert though.
We proceeded to order and fortunately for us our meals arrived after everbody else had started to eat. There was no way we would have started anyway.
Our hotel broke the bad news that we couldn't use their showers before our overnight coach journey. It was over 40 degrees today so we weren't in the best shape. They did however recommend a hotel down the road that had a private shower block. Bizarre as it seemed we were led into this secret room behind reception where we had showers before heading for the coach station for our 9.30pm nine hour journey to the desert.
Fes is Nuts
Day 63
Saturday 29th August 2009
It always worries me when reading about a place being 'an assult on the senses.' In any other context ASSULT is bad but when phrased like this rather appeals to travellers. I'm still not sold on this though. Anyway, just to clear this up Fes is an assult on the senses or to put this another way Fes' Medina is an assult on the senses.
After beating off our third over-friendly tour guide for the morning, this one incidently butting in mid-breakfast, mid-conversation 'Lespagna?Francais? English?' we head to the Medina with a visit to the tanneries top of the list.
Picture a maze of narrow alleyways that stretch out as far as the eye can see. Add enough locals in these alleyways to over capacity touting for business. Oh and a few hundred donkey karts for good measure. Then throw a few clueless tourists into the middle of it all and let battle commence.
We were onto out third map and we still weren't close to any idea of where on earth anything was in this place. We eventually asked somebody for help who passed us on to a smaller less important person who in turn passed onto a smaller even more less important person until we were being led to the tanneries by a small child with a suprisingly good grasp of English and even more surprisingly good grasp of the Aussie accent.
We were led up above a leather shop which is, of course, where we'll end up and had a cracking view of all the action as blokes soaked leather in big pots of different coloured dye. It was fascinating.
The idea was to pretty much get in the medina and out pretty sharpish but we were enjoying ourselves so took another vantage point to see the tanneries before embarking on a walking tour through the medina following particular coloured signs. It was only when we attempted a second walk we realised we'd bitten off more than we could chew Tired, exhausted, hopelessly lost, hassled, hot, thirsty in the middle of the medina maze we were on a one wsy journey to sweatsville and just wanted out.
We eventually found an exit and before you knew it we were in a petit taxi back to our prison cell room for a cold shower soaking.
The afternoon was a little more relaxed buying our tickets for an overnight bus to the desert for the next day and wondering the Ville Nouvelle. Dinner was a rather lavish afair at a recommended joint that served up some unique Moroccon cuisine.
Fes is nuts but we like it.
Saturday 29th August 2009
It always worries me when reading about a place being 'an assult on the senses.' In any other context ASSULT is bad but when phrased like this rather appeals to travellers. I'm still not sold on this though. Anyway, just to clear this up Fes is an assult on the senses or to put this another way Fes' Medina is an assult on the senses.
After beating off our third over-friendly tour guide for the morning, this one incidently butting in mid-breakfast, mid-conversation 'Lespagna?Francais? English?' we head to the Medina with a visit to the tanneries top of the list.
Picture a maze of narrow alleyways that stretch out as far as the eye can see. Add enough locals in these alleyways to over capacity touting for business. Oh and a few hundred donkey karts for good measure. Then throw a few clueless tourists into the middle of it all and let battle commence.
We were onto out third map and we still weren't close to any idea of where on earth anything was in this place. We eventually asked somebody for help who passed us on to a smaller less important person who in turn passed onto a smaller even more less important person until we were being led to the tanneries by a small child with a suprisingly good grasp of English and even more surprisingly good grasp of the Aussie accent.
We were led up above a leather shop which is, of course, where we'll end up and had a cracking view of all the action as blokes soaked leather in big pots of different coloured dye. It was fascinating.
The idea was to pretty much get in the medina and out pretty sharpish but we were enjoying ourselves so took another vantage point to see the tanneries before embarking on a walking tour through the medina following particular coloured signs. It was only when we attempted a second walk we realised we'd bitten off more than we could chew Tired, exhausted, hopelessly lost, hassled, hot, thirsty in the middle of the medina maze we were on a one wsy journey to sweatsville and just wanted out.
We eventually found an exit and before you knew it we were in a petit taxi back to our prison cell room for a cold shower soaking.
The afternoon was a little more relaxed buying our tickets for an overnight bus to the desert for the next day and wondering the Ville Nouvelle. Dinner was a rather lavish afair at a recommended joint that served up some unique Moroccon cuisine.
Fes is nuts but we like it.
Kif Kount
Friday 28th August 2009
Day 62
Wow this had to be up there with Bukittinggi. Not only were we awoken by the pre-dawn call to prayer but there was a trumpeter who liked the sound of his own trumpet a little too much throughout the night. As aresult this sleepy town really didn't get going til the pms. The only guys out and about were the local drug dealers who were distinct by their awful teeth and retro football shirt attire. This morning it was Ajax Jari Litminan looking for some buyers. Whilst hashish is now illegal to produce here it was only recently the case with kif, an ancient form of the drug, smoked here for centuries.
I had a kif kount in operation meaning I was counting the amount of times I was offered it. Layla thought the count was sky high because of the dodgy beard I had grown but I stand by the dodgy beard being an essential travel accessory in the same way Laylas zip off trousers are for her.
Taxi to the bus station in the afternoon was amusing with our taxi overheating but our driver taking it in his stride with grin etched on face as his friend saturated the car bonnet with a hose and gave Layla some afters as well.
To sum up our journey fr chefchaouen to fes it was alittle more spacious more baron landscape and a few more kms than our previous journey.
On arrival in fes we opted for the the quieter ville nouvelle to stay in rather than the more popular medina finding a nice prison-like one starer which sufficed.
Day 62
Wow this had to be up there with Bukittinggi. Not only were we awoken by the pre-dawn call to prayer but there was a trumpeter who liked the sound of his own trumpet a little too much throughout the night. As aresult this sleepy town really didn't get going til the pms. The only guys out and about were the local drug dealers who were distinct by their awful teeth and retro football shirt attire. This morning it was Ajax Jari Litminan looking for some buyers. Whilst hashish is now illegal to produce here it was only recently the case with kif, an ancient form of the drug, smoked here for centuries.
I had a kif kount in operation meaning I was counting the amount of times I was offered it. Layla thought the count was sky high because of the dodgy beard I had grown but I stand by the dodgy beard being an essential travel accessory in the same way Laylas zip off trousers are for her.
Taxi to the bus station in the afternoon was amusing with our taxi overheating but our driver taking it in his stride with grin etched on face as his friend saturated the car bonnet with a hose and gave Layla some afters as well.
To sum up our journey fr chefchaouen to fes it was alittle more spacious more baron landscape and a few more kms than our previous journey.
On arrival in fes we opted for the the quieter ville nouvelle to stay in rather than the more popular medina finding a nice prison-like one starer which sufficed.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Africa Here We Come Part Two
Thursday 27th August 2009
Day 61
I can highly recommend a little hop over the Med to Morocco from Spain. OK, we were using the trip to spend a couple of weeks travelling around Morocco but it was an absolute doddle switching continents.
We were definitely not going to miss the ferry today and get to the port in time for the 9am (they run every two hours and take 35 minutes). The ferry ride was quick and painless and on the other side you are off the ferry and in Tangier before you can say Mustapha Hadji.
There are the hassles yhou come to expect with people wanting to be your tour guide, give you a taxi ride or sell you hashish but for us we were out of he port, found an ATM, found the coach terminal to book our onward journey to Chefchaouen which freed up three hours to stroll around Tangier.
Alternatives to our route would be a grand taxi which would cost a little more. There is also a nidday train that would take you to Fes. I would even consider driving if you are coming across from Spain. However, we found ourselves on a nice coach on a nice road after taking in the sites of Tangier which was extremely interesting and had a buzz about the place with cast and crew from a Universal Studios flick absolutely everwhere.
Chefchaouen is three hours south and is extrememy pîcturesque perched on the side of a mountain. The stroll into town from the bus station was an error as it was scorching. We then had problems finding accomodation. Well I did. Twice walking into the Medina, getting seriously lost and coming out a flustered, sweaty mess with nothing to show for my efforts. Needless to say it took Layla about 2 minutes and 30 seconds to find somewhere suitable when I was left with the bags.
After a shower and a relax we took a stroll around the Medina before finding a nice restaurant up in the stars where you could look down over the town.
Day 61
I can highly recommend a little hop over the Med to Morocco from Spain. OK, we were using the trip to spend a couple of weeks travelling around Morocco but it was an absolute doddle switching continents.
We were definitely not going to miss the ferry today and get to the port in time for the 9am (they run every two hours and take 35 minutes). The ferry ride was quick and painless and on the other side you are off the ferry and in Tangier before you can say Mustapha Hadji.
There are the hassles yhou come to expect with people wanting to be your tour guide, give you a taxi ride or sell you hashish but for us we were out of he port, found an ATM, found the coach terminal to book our onward journey to Chefchaouen which freed up three hours to stroll around Tangier.
Alternatives to our route would be a grand taxi which would cost a little more. There is also a nidday train that would take you to Fes. I would even consider driving if you are coming across from Spain. However, we found ourselves on a nice coach on a nice road after taking in the sites of Tangier which was extremely interesting and had a buzz about the place with cast and crew from a Universal Studios flick absolutely everwhere.
Chefchaouen is three hours south and is extrememy pîcturesque perched on the side of a mountain. The stroll into town from the bus station was an error as it was scorching. We then had problems finding accomodation. Well I did. Twice walking into the Medina, getting seriously lost and coming out a flustered, sweaty mess with nothing to show for my efforts. Needless to say it took Layla about 2 minutes and 30 seconds to find somewhere suitable when I was left with the bags.
After a shower and a relax we took a stroll around the Medina before finding a nice restaurant up in the stars where you could look down over the town.
Saturday, August 29, 2009
Africa Here We Come......Here We Come Africa.....Were Coming Africa......Oh No Sorry Were Not
Wednesday 26th August 2009
Day 60
Day 60
The plan was to get the ferry today from Tarifa to Tangier in Morocco this morning at 11am. Unfortunately this plan didnt eventuate and I write this at the end of the day still in Spain.
The main reason was the amount of booze that was consumed last night. We were certainly in no fit state to do much let alone negotiate a ferry crossing to Tangier and an onward journey to Chefchaouen.
Casares
Tuesday 25th August 2009
Day 59
Today we visited Casares, a beautiful old white town set in the hills. Amazing to think just a short drive inland from the coast and you turn up at a place about as Spanish as it gets.
Layla and I were dropped off at the top where you can take the descent by foot into the township. We then walked up the other side of the town to the church and castle. Back down in the town we sat down with the old Spanish folk for a little while breathing it all in.
This evening we went for a final Spanish meal at a beach bar situated down the road funnily enough on the beach. Here we polished off a fair amount of booze which wasnt the smartist idea with us heading to Morocco tomorrow.
Day 59
Today we visited Casares, a beautiful old white town set in the hills. Amazing to think just a short drive inland from the coast and you turn up at a place about as Spanish as it gets.
Layla and I were dropped off at the top where you can take the descent by foot into the township. We then walked up the other side of the town to the church and castle. Back down in the town we sat down with the old Spanish folk for a little while breathing it all in.
This evening we went for a final Spanish meal at a beach bar situated down the road funnily enough on the beach. Here we polished off a fair amount of booze which wasnt the smartist idea with us heading to Morocco tomorrow.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
How To Lose a Sand Wedge
Monday 24th August 2009
Day 58
It´s amazing what you can lose on a golf course. Today I lost numerous balls, a driver cover and a sand wedge but it was an excellent round nonetheless.
There´s no way you can come to this part of the world and not play golf. Golf rules down here with the sport arguably more important than anything else in terms of tourist dollar. We´re surrounded by a host of top class courses including Valderamma just down the road and Finke Courtisin where the next World Matchplay Championship will be played just spitting distance.
The old man and I got up coated ourselves in factor 50 and hit the local course. Dad, who is a once a week golfer looked the part where as I looked a part throwing together a random outfit that sort of passed for golfing attire.
We had a good round. Not score wise. But hit the ball sweetly enough times to entice me back to the game when we hit English shores.
Day 58
It´s amazing what you can lose on a golf course. Today I lost numerous balls, a driver cover and a sand wedge but it was an excellent round nonetheless.
There´s no way you can come to this part of the world and not play golf. Golf rules down here with the sport arguably more important than anything else in terms of tourist dollar. We´re surrounded by a host of top class courses including Valderamma just down the road and Finke Courtisin where the next World Matchplay Championship will be played just spitting distance.
The old man and I got up coated ourselves in factor 50 and hit the local course. Dad, who is a once a week golfer looked the part where as I looked a part throwing together a random outfit that sort of passed for golfing attire.
We had a good round. Not score wise. But hit the ball sweetly enough times to entice me back to the game when we hit English shores.
Octopussy
Sunday 23rd August 2009
Dy 57
We've come across some random foods during our travels so far - from ice cream toast to typhoon shelter prawns to suckling dog. But nothing was more amusing than watching Tom eat octopus and turn a whiter shade of pale. "Are there beans in it?" he asked. It was quite difficult to tell a boy already distrubed by what he'd just experienced that "no, there weren´t any beans in it....they were the octopus suckers."
Our day started with a trip to some pretty cool second hand markets where I picked up a pair of one Euro sunnies. It was bloody hot though and you could hear the sizzle and the smell of cooked meat when we jumped in the pool afterwards.
The afternoon was spent relaxing and listening to a combination of the footy, the F1 and the Ashes. Whilst it would have been nice to watch the English cross the line against the Aussies on home soil rather than listening to it on a radion in Spain it could have been worse as this time next week we'll be somewhere in the Atlas Mountains in Morocco and I'm not too sure how bothered the folk of the Ziz Valley are in Freddie´s retirement, Strauss' series strategy or Ponting´s excuses ; )
We hit a seafood festival in Estepona on the evening which turned out to be more empty hall with a few fish dishes rather than the fish fiesta lining the streets we would led to believe. Tom´s octopus experience more than made up for it though.
Dy 57
We've come across some random foods during our travels so far - from ice cream toast to typhoon shelter prawns to suckling dog. But nothing was more amusing than watching Tom eat octopus and turn a whiter shade of pale. "Are there beans in it?" he asked. It was quite difficult to tell a boy already distrubed by what he'd just experienced that "no, there weren´t any beans in it....they were the octopus suckers."
Our day started with a trip to some pretty cool second hand markets where I picked up a pair of one Euro sunnies. It was bloody hot though and you could hear the sizzle and the smell of cooked meat when we jumped in the pool afterwards.
The afternoon was spent relaxing and listening to a combination of the footy, the F1 and the Ashes. Whilst it would have been nice to watch the English cross the line against the Aussies on home soil rather than listening to it on a radion in Spain it could have been worse as this time next week we'll be somewhere in the Atlas Mountains in Morocco and I'm not too sure how bothered the folk of the Ziz Valley are in Freddie´s retirement, Strauss' series strategy or Ponting´s excuses ; )
We hit a seafood festival in Estepona on the evening which turned out to be more empty hall with a few fish dishes rather than the fish fiesta lining the streets we would led to believe. Tom´s octopus experience more than made up for it though.
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