Making a mountain out of a mountain

 'I WANT TO GO BAAACK!' was the wail on repeat as we clambered up chunky, uneven rock steps towards the top of Mount Snowdon's summit. We were in the guts of a thick cloud smothering the top of the 1085m peak creating zero visibility at best.

Not only couldn't we see anything but this stratus cloud was kindly soaking, freezing and battering us on our final final ascent to the peak.

'I WANT TO GO BAAACK!'

There it was again and I have to admit feeling bad. We'd lied to our eight-year-old that there was 'one last push' on a number of occasions and now, with just 10 minutes to glory she'd done believing us.

'Seriously you don't want to come all this way and not reach the top,' I said in a tone that even I felt excruciatingly annoying as soon as it left my lips. 'Nooooo!!!' she wailed.

More concerning than my eight-year-old was my six-year-old boy who'd been worryingly mute for the last 30 minutes of walking. A look of horror etched into his face as we trudged through cloud on a path surrounded by cloud under a roof of cloud.

Rewind 45 minutes and the climb up the Llanberis path - known as being the easiest, most popular and least attractive route - had been a dream. In fact our whole stay in North Wales was incredible, staying in arguably the nicest hostel - The Rocks in Capel Curig - we'd experience beach, castle, glacial lake, theme park, waterfall and of course...mountain.

'From rugged mountain trails and historic train lines to World Heritage castles and rejuvenated seaside towns, Wales' north holds its own against the arguably more famous attractions down south,' says Lonely Planet about North Wales.  

I couldn't agree more!

It was two weeks ago today we made the early start to Mount Snowdon. 5am early to be clear. We wolfed down breakfast and an all important coffee before slinging backpacks - packed within an inch of their life - to our backs and set out.

There was ample parking at the base of the Llanberis route, presumably because of its popularity and the station to cheat your way up or down on the Snowdon Mountain Railway. Because it was soooo early, humans were few and far between as we edged up the opening near-vertical road which takes you up to a breakout to the left and into the true mountain climb.

We were overtaken by a family of fell runners - as lean as greyhounds they were. Even the dad, who was trailing ever so slightly behind his kids, was as fit as a fiddle. I felt sluggish, carrying my lockdown kilo, until we saw some familiar, non-fell runners overtaking us. The competitive side of me said they didn't have two kids in tow, who incidentally were absolutely fascinated by EVERYTHING. We hadn't even hit the mountain path yet.

This was going to be a loooong old hike.

A range of groups continued to overtake us as we climbed, which was fine given the size of our tiny people's legs and Oscar's inability to just walk... needing to jump into a nearby ditch, climb a bolder and/or hide for five minutes. 'Very funny Oscar,' we said as time ticked away. We'd clocked 1km; he'd done about 4.

Our first warning of cloud at the summit actually came from an ill-prepared Bristolian dressed in his tracky on his way down. He'd lost his small black mongrel called Penny in the summit fog for half an hour. Luckily for him she was retrieved by a couple of runners who, we guessed, were the fell runners we'd seen earlier.

Dogs were in the masses on the walk. One of our favourites was Rex who we rejoined at the Halfway Hut after chatting earlier to his owners. Rex was a beautiful Alsatian who the kids were fascinated by asking numerous questions. How old is he? What's his name again? Have you any other animals? Are you from here? Do you have a hot-tub? They never fail to throw a random question in.

In fact questions to walkers were a common theme up to the Halfway Hut. A lot were happy to answer them, well one or two questions. But they had a mountain to climb and wanted to stride away, so there were times where Oscar was literally running behind people continuing his line of questioning.

A few kind, (very) patient walkers slowed to chat properly and let the kids have a pat of their canine friend.

The path had begun with a steep, rocky incline before flattening out and weaving up to the Halfway Hut. The sky was still clear and the views were incredible looking back towards lakes Llyn Padarn and Llyn Peris, with bright green mountains on either side of us. Then straight ahead with its tip currently (and constantly as it would turn out) smothered by a fluffy cloud stood Snowdon.

After a wrap, banana and chocolate, a drink and a relax of the legs at Halfway Hut, we were off for Part 2. However, at this point, unaware Part 2 was a longer, tougher, colder, wetter, ridiculouser version of Part 1.

                        

It wasn't long before we could see the kids would need a push through this section. They went from total hysteria, to friendly chats with groups (mainly with dogs) and mucking about with one another. Then back to hysteria.

The Haribo bribes worked to a point. The chocolate resources were running low. But to be fair to them as we entered an actual cloud after a long relentless steep incline to the final train station, this was actually pretty tough.

The stretch from the last train station to the summit was the most painful. We were wet, actually in a cloud so zero visibility, legs were aching and kids (mainly Jude) were upset and wanted to turn back.

We asked a man and his girlfriend how far to go who said '30 minutes...you're nearly there.' They were lying. Their intentions were good...but they were lying.

An hour later (approximately) we summited. Well, we sort of did. There was a queue for the small stairs to the summit landmark, but there was absolutely no way we were joining a queue for a photo of us looking like total shite surrounded by cloud.

We had done it though.

The mood changed instantly as we negotiated back down the unused trainline to the final station where the weather snapped back into bearable and the visibility visible as we reappeared out of the bottom of the cloud.

From there it was plain-sailing smugness as those on the incline asked us how long to go and we lied '30 minutes.' 'You're nearly there' (they weren't). 'You're doing really well' (they were struggling).

We knew the kids were back to normal as they majorly fell out en route to Halfway Hut. Jude took a route along the grass parallel to the path with a face like thunder. 'She won't be coming again,' a passer-by helpfully pointed out. Jude growled!

As we closed in on Halfway Hut we noticed people passing us with takeaway coffee cups which seemed totally bizarre. The cafe was open for takeaway at the hut, so we treated ourselves to a brew (adults) and hot chocolate (kids).

That final stretch was incredibly enjoyable. The kids were tired but in fine form realising they'd done it...oh, and they'd get ice cream at the base! We were also able to properly take in the views, stroll down at our own pace and chat to people as they passed us as Oscar would jump into a nearby ditch, climb a bolder and/or hide for five minutes.

At the base an ice cream van was conveniently and incredibly parked like an oasis in a desert right next to our car park. 99s all round and the 'I WANT TO GO BAAACK' a distant memory as we devoured them and felt dead proud of our achievement. 

Marrakech - ten years on

Our last time in Marrakech was ten and a half years prior.

Layla and I took the FRS ferry from mainland Europe (Farifa) to North Africa, mooring in Tangiers before travelling down the north east of Morrocco, through the beautiful blue city of Chefchaouen to the country's cultural capital, Fez.

We then hitchhiked to Marrakech via Merzouga for a night in the Sahara and a Lawrence of Arabia-esque sunset camel ride into the famous Erg Chebbi dunes.

In Marrakech we stayed in a beautiful, traditional riad called L'Orangerie, before trekking into the Atlas Mountains where we summited the 4,167 metres of Jebel Toubkel.

Sounds peculiar even writing that. In fact, I hate the 30 year old me, he's a right tosser!

I'm saying this, here in Marrakech with mum, dad, brother, wife and two kids (8 and 6) celebrating my dad's 70th. A very different adventure, set with very different challenges.

It would have been very easy to constantly try and compare our previous visit to this. There was the danger of time exaggerating the experience we'd enjoyed in 2009 through rose-tinted Ray Bans. However, our start typified domestic, family life setting off from Birmingham after resolving a plumbing issue and refereeing a sibling boxing bout on the back seat en route to Manchester airport.

All this seemed inconsequential as we mazed through the Marrekech Medina, escorted by our host through the rabbit warren of alleyways to the door of our riad. A modest set of doors with the name Dar Damana above it opened up to an incredibly ornate palatial retreat.

After picking our jaws up off the beautifully detailed porcelain tiled floors, we ventured out, escorted initially by our amazing housekeeper Saida. First a pep-talk. Dos and don'ts (mainly don'ts) explained in French and translated through the art of hand gestures. She then helped identify six key landmarks which would help us navigate back from the iconic Jamaa El-Fnaa square to our riad.

Then we were thrust into the Medina lanes. Teems of people made up of Moroccan locals, daytrippers, street traders, tourists, bikes, scooters, motorbikes, tuk-tuks, trailers, were all bustling in, around, weaving and bobbing within the width of a street pavement. And it sort of seemed to work...if you stuck to Saida's rules of course.

Once we arrived at Jamaa El-Fnaa, we were delicately released into the wild by our kind housekeeper, into the main square where we waved, turned and got hit with chaos - and chaos it was - utter carnage in fact. But in a good way.

The kids faces were a picture as they were faced with snake charmers, monkeys on leads and all sorts of artefacts thrust upon them for 'very good price'. Add to this the smells of spices wafting and the sounds of the pungi echoing around the square, they were mesmerised.

A circuit of the square before a coffee overlooking said square must surely be THE first morning thing to do in Marrakech. We did this before successfully ticking off each Saida inspired landmark on our orientation challenge back to the riad.

Yves Saint Lauren was never my brand of choice. More of a Fred Perry man when it came to polo shirts. However, the fella sure knows how to pick a garden. I can say this now I've visited Jardins Majorelle - gardens the former fashion designer used to own.

It was definitely full of the Marrakech hip-brigade. The gardens had 'great Insta-fodder' written all over them. In fact I caught Tom Bowell say: 'Beautiful spot though and incredible use of the Majorelle blue which flowed through the whole experience.'

Once the gardens were ticked off the Lonely Planet Top Tips list, we headed back for food on the infamous rooftop of Cafe Arabe. The Casablanca beer didn't hit the sides and the tangines were to die for. The bill was also to die for, but we justified it as our 'premium brand' day.

Day two saw us part ways with my folks and brother. They hit the Badia Palace and we ventured out of the city walls to waterpark Oasiria. Only, there was one problem realised upon arrival - it was closed for the winter.

Fortunately there was a large heated pool we could pay to use, and this kept the kids content. There were six visitors to the park that day...and we were four of them. I'd never visited a closed slide park before and the kids had a ball with free reign using the water slides as normal slides. I'm pretty sure I had dreams of this sort of scenario as a kid.

Next day was a full day tour into the Atlas Mountains. Accompanied by our amazing driver Khalid from Trendy Travel, we ventured up into Berber villages where we got to witness the making of Argan Oil used for cooking and cosmetics.

We continued on, welcomed into a Berber home. Whilst slightly uncomfortable and a tad contrived, the lunch they cooked us was sensational with views from 2,000 feet down to the lake. Paragliders were in their masses hovering over our heads, offering lunchtime entertainment as we tucked into charcoaled chicken skewers, cous cous, lamb tangines.

Next up we wound down the hillside to the lake, before heading for a sunset camel ride. My camel aptly named Matthew had had 15 wives, our guide informed me. 'How many wives have you had Matthew?' our camel handler asked me. How we laughed!

Sunset was a photographer's dream as we enjoyed dunes with the backdrop of the snowcapped Atlas Mountains. We then drove back to Marrakech having had an amazing day outside the city walls.

The final day was spent shop-shop-shopping. We'd been eyeing up our purchases over the course of our trip - each Medina venture further refined our shopping list. The day was therefore spent converting our purchases through the art of haggling. The routine was haggle, have a breather and then haggle some more. Rugs, lamps, throws, belts, shoes, drums, we got the lot.

Full of adrenaline and excitement about our home mimicking a poor man's riad, the highlight of the day was in-fact landing on a value lunch option where we clambered up to an attic-like rooftop to be served Moroccan scram that filled the ever-expanding belly for £15 for all the family. Take THAT Harvester!

The ladies enjoyed some spa action on the morning before our flight at Hammam De La Rose. Scolded and scrubbed down in the name of pampering. They loved it!

The last task of the trip, blagging our ridiculously inflated baggage as hand luggage onto our EasyJet back home. We did it! Where we're going to put it all is a job we'll worry about back in Birmingham.

How did our trip compare to 2009? Totally incomparable on so many levels. But what a place to take kids. In fact, tear up every preconceived idea you have about Marrakech and give the sucker a go.

Is Santorini a gem for you AND your kids?

We’re in a bar. A bar called Magic Bus. Laid back, hippy vibe on the beach owned by tanned, tattooed, vest-wearing middle age ex-pats. Oscar, our four year old boy, is banging a bongo with his plastic stick from his orange juice while Jude, our six year old girl, is mid-show with her friend Amelia swirling and dancing on the raised area of the bar to the sound of bongos and Phil Collins on their playlist. 

Two local women squeeze past Jude to get to the bar at the show’s most crucial point knocking our girl off her stride and ‘totally ruining’ (her words) the show. It was irretrievable. Jude lost it in a diva-esque hissy fit. Meanwhile Lauren, Amelia’s four year old sister, wanted a piece of the action on the bongos. Oscar wasn’t exactly open to this. We concluded that this was the case as he used the plastic stick / drumstick to joust the bongo impostor. 

In a flash we paid the bill, herd the feral gang up and quickly moved on. 

To be fair it was the last day of our holiday in Santorini, Greece. The kids had been staying up late-late most nights as a treat, culminating in the wedding of two close friends two nights prior. It had all caught up with them after the most incredible holiday on arguably the most stunning of Greek islands. 

We were hesitant about Santorini as a destination. Initially down to cost, but also the perception of the island as primarily targeted at couples and honeymooners. Our phase of holidaying was still ‘if the kids are happy, we’re happy’. However, there was no way we were going to miss this wedding and built the trip around the event to see two close friends tie the knot in the pinnacle of wedding destinations. 

Safe to say we were pleasantly surprised. We stayed in a family-friendly beach area located in the south-east of the island called Perissa. Here we booked to stay at Hotel Aretousa - a family-run hotel who bent over backwards to make our stay enjoyable. Yes, we were the only families staying here. And yes, we weren’t exactly low-maintenance. But George, his wife, daughter and son - who each had a role to play in the running of the hotel - made us feel very welcome and like nothing was too much trouble. 

Like the time we arrived late on arrival and George waited patiently to pick us up. Like the time Oscar launched a strawberry yogurt off the first floor balcony exploding on the floor. The time we needed picking up from the wedding at midnight. And the time the kids bombed the pool at the end where the model couples were sunbathing. But there was an understanding and this understanding was rewarded with a lot of love from the kids...and hugs. Big hugs.

A four minute walk to the beach, the sea was perfect temperature and intensity for the kids to swim. The sand a strange small stone meant it didn’t stick to you like the normal stuff. Although you did find it in strange places later in the day when taking items of clothing off or showering. Much like the black rubber particles you find on AstroTurf football pitches. 

There were a stack of places to eat along the front. I was a big fan of the food. From a pork gyros on the first night - essentially a high-end kebab with chips wrapped in amongst the meat - to big plentiful salads, homemade moussaka, tasty fish and seafood right through to bakeries selling an array of sweet and savoury delights.

The lack of kids entertainment on the beachfront outside the sea was made up for by a water park being a short walk away. We spent two full days here. The kids absolutely loved it. We also did a day trip to Thira, the stunning main town on the island crammed with bright white buildings chiselled into the cliff face with iconic blue roofs the finishing touch on the picture-perfect back drop. 

Finally, the wedding. Santorini Gem is located on the outskirts of a small town called Pyrgos. We were met on arrival by a simple four poster canopy on the edge of a cliff overlooking the turquoise sea and famous volcano. It really was magical. The highlight being the famous sunset all to ourselves, slurping fizz with the couple’s sunset playlist the soundtrack to this amazing moment. 

So, is Santorini for kids? No, not if you're used to child-focused entertainment everywhere you look on your summer holiday. Will your kids enjoy it? Well, pick Perissa and Hotel Aretousa and I'd say yes, there's a very good chance they will. Oh, and you'll enjoy it too.

Hong Kong Phooey - a day exploring this gem with kids

Anyone looking to push their travel experimentation beyond Center Parcs with two kids in toe would be hard-pressed to find a better destination than Hong Kong.

Our decision was based on it being a) a convenient stop-over from Australia to England (where we had just visited family) and b) a place we’d both wanted to visit that would give our six and four year old a taste of somewhere a little more diverse.

The good news is there’s a whole heap to explore, the people are dead friendly, the food is yummy and I’m pretty sure your kids would have a blast too.

After flying the day before from Brisbane, Australia, day one saw us up at the crack of sparrows. We were actually too early for our first stop (Peak Tram) so killed 30 minutes in Hong Kong Park. When I say ‘killed 30 minutes’ we found the best kids playground I’ve ever seen - multi-layered and chiselled into the side of a cliff overlooking the Hong Kong sky-rise. We then stumbled into a colossal aviary, negotiating ourselves down a wooden walkway surrounded by a range of different bird life.

Literally everybody who’s Hong Kong’d recommended Peak Tram on our visit. Arguably the most iconic tourist attraction in Hong Kong, Peak Tram is on old tram/cable car that takes you perilously vertical up a cliff-side to one of the highest peaks on Hong Kong Island. Once at the top - subject to minimal haze - you get stunning panoramic views over the bay. Definitely worth a visit but we’d recommend getting their early (pre-10am) as the queues later in the day were absurd.

Next up we hit the good ol’ open top tourist bus. Completely new to this seemingly spralled-out place, we thought it’d be a great way to be delivered neatly onto the doorstep of some key spots we wanted to visit, as well as a feeble attempt to get our bearings.

First stop was Mid-Level Escalators with the sole intention to get a good noodle joint. Lonely Planet had recommended a legendary place called Mak’s Noodles on Wellington Street in Central. Yes, the noodles were superb but more importantly the staff were brilliant with the kids and the place was relaxed enough to let them slurp and burp their way through a bowl of noodles.

We then turned a corner and fell upon an incredible looking coffee house off Wellington Street on Cochrane Street. Turns out the Cupping Room is the number one place to get a posh coffee. I’m sure Layla sniffed it out. The Barista in fact recently picked up the third spot in the World Barista Championships. Layla was happy!

Back to the open top bus, we decided to cruise around the city, pretty much doing a 180 degree to the Star Ferry terminal which would take us to the next closest island, Kowloon. We disembarked and jumped on the top-deck giving us the opportunity to look back on Hong Kong Island and take in the enormity of the city. Kowloon would wait to be explored another day as we literately disembarked walked around the port and boarded the next boat back to Hong Kong Island.

By this point the kids were beat so we got onto the top-deck of the bus, our littlest crashed, our oldest went into a trance as we were transported around the remaining half of the bus loop taking in the sights. You could choose to listen to a tour guide by plugging in your ear phones. I chose not to.

We got off at the Man Mo Temple and took a peak inside. The kids were mesmerised by the incense and fascinated by the rituals performed by locals dropping in on their post-work commute.

Finally we strolled back to our accommodation located in Sai Ying Pun west towards Kennedy Town. Our Air BnB was literally the size of a wardrobe, but to be fair the home made great use of the space and our family of four had a nice comfortable stay.

Totally hammered from our first day in Hong Kong, we still had three more of the buggers to go. Jet-lagged, dazed and feet throbbing we collapsed in our wardrobe-cum-apartment contemplating whether to re-energise and head out for dinn...zzzzz.

Family holiday first-timers - day one in Skiathos

Here we were on the small island of Skiathos, and here I was lying next to our Villa pool disappearing into a Greek haze of sun, song and tranquility. Then SMACK. Semi-consciousness shattered by a thump, an all too familiar silence, followed by a wail.

My wife filled me in on the 20-second scene of devastation. The clues - Daisy the doll, face down floating in the pool; a poo lodged in the swimming pool filter; trail of wetness heading into the house; missing handle from the log burner with pool of water at its foot; crying child in arms of mother.

Yes, we're family holiday first-timers. We're well travelled by all accounts my wife and I, but travelling with an 18-month child is a completely different animal, as we duly found out in 20 seconds on our first day of holidaying as a three.

Lesson one: the tiled floor, which keeps the villa beautifully cool, also becomes a temporary ice rink on application of pool water. Lesson two: anything loose, left lying around the pool will end up in it. Lesson three: leaving a nappy off around a pool, even in hot climes, is a recipe for filter blockage. Lesson four: any loose levers, handles or slightly shoddy workmanship within a holiday abode will be punished.

Onwards and upwards we thought, and off we went to try and make a small dent in the 60 beaches to be discovered. On accessing beach number one that first morning of our holiday, we hit another snag. Our girl decided she didn't like walking on sand. In fact, any foot-on-sand contact was met with a squirm, a 'no' and an 'up,' meaning lift me up… lift me up now. This was a beach holiday. We were in trouble.

However, once in the turquoise-coloured sea all was ok with the world as schools of fish circled our girl’s feet as she strengthened her doggy paddle in the calm ocean. Talking of doggies, our afternoon was spent at Skiathos Dog Shelter. Set up to house homeless canines on the island, you could volunteer to walk them along a scenic cliff-top path.

Our hound of choice, Rocky, loved us....so it seemed, until he came face-to-face with our daughter, a coiled spring of excitement raring to go as Rocky was led out of the pen. Lets just say Rocky was awfully tolerant.

Day one was complete with an evening meal in the old harbour of Skiathos Town. It was here we discovered the charm of the locals. A group of old Greek men on the table next to us were making our daughter laugh pulling funny faces before leaving her with a ruffle of the hair, a tickle of the chin and three fresh figs as a gift.

For family holiday first-timers who overcame our 20-second introduction, lesson learned from day one in Skiathos is having a child CAN benefit rather than hinder your holiday....honest.

Itchy Feet

Feet are getting itchy....feet are getting itchy : )

An average morning in Ethiopia

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!

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?

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.

 

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.

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.

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.       

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.            

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.