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!
Showing posts with label travel. Show all posts
Showing posts with label travel. Show all posts
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.
Thursday, November 19, 2009
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.
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.
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.
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.
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!
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.
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