We were up early again to head to Mzuzu. In Mzuzu, there's a market that sells stupid costumes...essentially children's clothes that westerners and other passers by are willing to buy to look silly. The overlanding company have a tradition of passing through, buying a few items and having a dress up party. Now, I am not against dressing up...if it's done properly. On many a hallowed eve, I have been a very convincing Joker or Cap'n Jack Sparrow. However, I will not demean myself by cross dressing just for the sake of dressing up. So I politely declined, as did Luke and Robin, which was a bit of a saving grace for me.
The idea was to pick an outfit for someone else after having pulled their name out of a hat. Not participating, I helped Catherine, an older Australian woman, pick her's for a young Australian farm boy - a revealing leopard skin bikini. During this, Ruth approached me to say that she had picked up that Luke and Robin wanted to join in, but maybe felt they couldn't afford it, so she had bought them surprise outfits...did I want to join in? I felt I had no choice then. She told me to pick an outfit. I wondered over to the pile, picked up the first thing I found. I chose it because I liked the floral pattern, colours and its relative conservativeness compared to other outfits.
It turned out to be a French maid's dress. A long scarlet frilly bottom part, covered by a smaller floral print apron/front flap and beige elastic top that was meant to come off the shoulders. Fantastic.
I was far from the only cross dresser. But I was the prettiest girl at the ball. There are plenty of photos, though I hope I never see them again. I wasn't in the best of moods by the time the party came round for two reasons: the orphanage (which I'll get on to in a minute) and secondly, cabin fever (I seriously wanted off the truck).
People got quite drunk at the party. Being in a slight mood at that point, I had one drink, it tasting like crap, I stopped there. I might have indulged in a fanta later in the evening, I can't remember.
Around 20h30, we were told that some of the locals would be playing bongos on the beach. We headed down, sat around a bonfire, chatted to the locals, listened to them play bongos (though not impressively) and even played ourselves. I met a guy that called himself Firefly, because he only comes out at night (though I've seen him a lot during sunlight hours in the last few days). Why only at night I asked? Because he's shy. A nice Christian boy, who writes a lot of Christian rap (he said he only does rap with swearing when his mum isn't around). I've seen him a few times in the last few days. He taught me how to play to the local Malwaian game of Boa, which I might go buy from him (having failed to find a decent chess set).
Having gone to bed relatively early, I awoke finally refreshed from my long walk two days early, but my ankle (which I rolled and stretched the tendon when I skateboarding at school) still aching. I went to breakfast early and helped with the daily chores to get the ball rolling (slightly selfishly so I could get food sooner). Ruth was there, but she was acting kind of funny. It took me a few minutes to realise that she was still absolutely hammered from the previous night....in fact she couldn't remember where she'd slept, let alone if she had slept. She was a mess. She runs a tight ship, but when the ship goes down, the captain drowns with it.
The day was spent milling around the campsite as most people were hungover. I had an easy day, but found my irrational anger building with the cabin fever and a final straw: ants in my tent. The ****ers were everywhere. A small amount of orange squash and water had leaked and they were swarming the tent to get to it. I spent two hours cleaning it out, killing each one individually, constantly sleeping the remains of the ant-massacre away and swearing - a lot. Eventually I realised that the ants were in the wooden pillars holding up the sun cover...so I moved my tent out into the open where they wouldn't be able to get me.
I eventually cooled down and went to bed after spend a few hours with the others.
lundi 27 septembre 2010
dimanche 26 septembre 2010
The wheels on the bus go round and a-****ing-round all. day. long.
Last I wrote I was in Nungwi, chillin' like a villain on the beach - not at all my thing, but the rest well required. I finally got my mojo back on the last day after spending some much needed time by myself.
We then got the boat back to Dar from Stonetown. I didn't feel as seasick this time (so I figure it must have been the malaria tablet last time) however, I can't say the same for the others; projectile vomiting ahoy.
After another night in Dar, we spent the whole day driving to Iringa in south west Tanzania. It was a long and boring day with very little to report.
The next day we were up early again (4am ish) to set off for Malawi. We crossed the border just after lunch, changed our money and arrived in the campsite too late to do any activities, but early enough to feel bored.
Having done no exercise for 3 weeks or more, I decided to do one of more strenuous activities: a 34km walk from the camp to Livingstonia, 1800 metres up, where David Livingstone first set eyes on Lake Malawi. Only myself and a girl called Ivonna signed up (she is one of Canadian girls I mentioned above - though she was very pleasant having now rested in Zanzibar). We started at 6h30 and made it to the top of Livingstonia at 11h30am...Ivonna didn't quite make it to the top, so our guide, Wisdom, rushed me up and back. The top wasn't that impressive anyway as the lake was very far away and the mist made it such that the sky and the lake merge together.
However, the views on the way up were incredible. And the waterfall about two thirds along the track was amazing. A cliff at one end with the water falling what, seemed to me as hundreds of metres to the rocks below (but was probably more like 30/40 metres, as Victoria Falls is meant to be 110 metres...my weak spot is blind measuring). Then it descends into a colossal valley that continues into the distance. I have photos that I will put up on facebook when I get back.
Our guide was interesting and impressive. He was doing his best to save money, mostly through wood carving (a big trade in Malawi, especially in selling to tourists) and taking trekkers up to Livingstonia. He was saving for university in Lilongwe (the capital) where he wants to study mechanics and engineering. Eventually, he hopes to escape Malawi to find a better life somewhere else. An impressive challenge he's set himself.
I was so exhausted when I made it back that I fell asleep in the bar on a couch, curled up in the fetal position. I eventually got some energy to go have a look at the wood carvings made from ebony and some other wood they collect from the forests of Malawi. I was quite interested in finding a nice chess set...made with a lion and lioness as king and queen, leopards as bishops, giraffes as knights, elephants as rooks and wildebeest or men as pawns. Unfortunately only the huge sets had safari themed pieces, the travel sized/foldaway sets had quite ugly pieces...so I declined, hoping I would find better at the next campsite (writing this with hindsight, I now deeply regret my decision).
Luke and Robin had bought plenty of things, a mask being the main purchase, that Luke helped carve. They had become good friends with Mike, otherwise known as Banji, their carver and salesman. He'd offered to take them out for a drink that night. I thought it would be a great idea to get away from the institutionalisation by the truck; the word of the day is truck-stitutionalised.
He took us to a local pool bar, where we played against the local pool sharks. Mike's goal was to save enough money to study law in Lilongwe (similar to Wisdom). His reasoning was that the town needs a lawyer, or someone with credibility, to overcome the local traditions that cause so many injustices. For example, if a few people have a dream about someone in the village, the witchdoctor (I'll get to him in a minute), will deem that person a witch (black kettle, meet pot). They then scratch three markings on his forehead with a razor blade so that everyone is aware of his stigma. Then, when anything bad happens in the village (e.g. rape, theft, etc...) the witch will be accused and executed. The other injustice of which Mike spoke was that husbands whose wives die, get to have the late wife's younger sister as compensation for their loss. I was impressed that this kid has his head on so straight and wanted to transform the unjust sociological structure for something more just and flexible.
He took us to another bar, where supposedly everyone else from our group had gone - they had not. Regardless we had a great time. The locals were merry, to say the least, dancing and shouting. The bar was barely made of four walls with a bar made of bamboo and bin bags (that wobbled when leaned upon) and tires for comfort seating.
The drink of choice was what can only be described as puke milk called Chitoku. It came in cartons, look like watered down greying milk with chunks. Luke tried some as said it tasted like a puke burp - graphic I know, but the truth is the best description.
A dvd player provided music. We danced to the world cup theme song. The locals love football, they all have arsenal, ranger, man united shirts on. So it got pretty wild, but always merry and safe.
The rest of the crowd had been to visit the witchdoctor during the day. For a few dollars, he guessed your age, profession or some other obvious fact and then made up some rubbish about your future. I hope people were skeptical...but some came back with a glint of genuine belief in their eyes. Well it turns out the witchdoctor they saw, is but a fisherman. Yup. An old fisherman that throws on a rug, waves some sticks about and makes a fool out of you while you pay for the privelege.
Well, he was in the bar. And he was hammered. He tried to barter with us: reading our dreams for a beer...but we weren't sold on the idea. Though he did openly admit to our friend that he was a fisherman.
We made it back to camp, got up early and set off to Kande beach where we are now. I have more to tell but the generator is about to be shut off (having been off all day), so I better sign off quickly!
We then got the boat back to Dar from Stonetown. I didn't feel as seasick this time (so I figure it must have been the malaria tablet last time) however, I can't say the same for the others; projectile vomiting ahoy.
After another night in Dar, we spent the whole day driving to Iringa in south west Tanzania. It was a long and boring day with very little to report.
The next day we were up early again (4am ish) to set off for Malawi. We crossed the border just after lunch, changed our money and arrived in the campsite too late to do any activities, but early enough to feel bored.
Having done no exercise for 3 weeks or more, I decided to do one of more strenuous activities: a 34km walk from the camp to Livingstonia, 1800 metres up, where David Livingstone first set eyes on Lake Malawi. Only myself and a girl called Ivonna signed up (she is one of Canadian girls I mentioned above - though she was very pleasant having now rested in Zanzibar). We started at 6h30 and made it to the top of Livingstonia at 11h30am...Ivonna didn't quite make it to the top, so our guide, Wisdom, rushed me up and back. The top wasn't that impressive anyway as the lake was very far away and the mist made it such that the sky and the lake merge together.
However, the views on the way up were incredible. And the waterfall about two thirds along the track was amazing. A cliff at one end with the water falling what, seemed to me as hundreds of metres to the rocks below (but was probably more like 30/40 metres, as Victoria Falls is meant to be 110 metres...my weak spot is blind measuring). Then it descends into a colossal valley that continues into the distance. I have photos that I will put up on facebook when I get back.
Our guide was interesting and impressive. He was doing his best to save money, mostly through wood carving (a big trade in Malawi, especially in selling to tourists) and taking trekkers up to Livingstonia. He was saving for university in Lilongwe (the capital) where he wants to study mechanics and engineering. Eventually, he hopes to escape Malawi to find a better life somewhere else. An impressive challenge he's set himself.
I was so exhausted when I made it back that I fell asleep in the bar on a couch, curled up in the fetal position. I eventually got some energy to go have a look at the wood carvings made from ebony and some other wood they collect from the forests of Malawi. I was quite interested in finding a nice chess set...made with a lion and lioness as king and queen, leopards as bishops, giraffes as knights, elephants as rooks and wildebeest or men as pawns. Unfortunately only the huge sets had safari themed pieces, the travel sized/foldaway sets had quite ugly pieces...so I declined, hoping I would find better at the next campsite (writing this with hindsight, I now deeply regret my decision).
Luke and Robin had bought plenty of things, a mask being the main purchase, that Luke helped carve. They had become good friends with Mike, otherwise known as Banji, their carver and salesman. He'd offered to take them out for a drink that night. I thought it would be a great idea to get away from the institutionalisation by the truck; the word of the day is truck-stitutionalised.
He took us to a local pool bar, where we played against the local pool sharks. Mike's goal was to save enough money to study law in Lilongwe (similar to Wisdom). His reasoning was that the town needs a lawyer, or someone with credibility, to overcome the local traditions that cause so many injustices. For example, if a few people have a dream about someone in the village, the witchdoctor (I'll get to him in a minute), will deem that person a witch (black kettle, meet pot). They then scratch three markings on his forehead with a razor blade so that everyone is aware of his stigma. Then, when anything bad happens in the village (e.g. rape, theft, etc...) the witch will be accused and executed. The other injustice of which Mike spoke was that husbands whose wives die, get to have the late wife's younger sister as compensation for their loss. I was impressed that this kid has his head on so straight and wanted to transform the unjust sociological structure for something more just and flexible.
He took us to another bar, where supposedly everyone else from our group had gone - they had not. Regardless we had a great time. The locals were merry, to say the least, dancing and shouting. The bar was barely made of four walls with a bar made of bamboo and bin bags (that wobbled when leaned upon) and tires for comfort seating.
The drink of choice was what can only be described as puke milk called Chitoku. It came in cartons, look like watered down greying milk with chunks. Luke tried some as said it tasted like a puke burp - graphic I know, but the truth is the best description.
A dvd player provided music. We danced to the world cup theme song. The locals love football, they all have arsenal, ranger, man united shirts on. So it got pretty wild, but always merry and safe.
The rest of the crowd had been to visit the witchdoctor during the day. For a few dollars, he guessed your age, profession or some other obvious fact and then made up some rubbish about your future. I hope people were skeptical...but some came back with a glint of genuine belief in their eyes. Well it turns out the witchdoctor they saw, is but a fisherman. Yup. An old fisherman that throws on a rug, waves some sticks about and makes a fool out of you while you pay for the privelege.
Well, he was in the bar. And he was hammered. He tried to barter with us: reading our dreams for a beer...but we weren't sold on the idea. Though he did openly admit to our friend that he was a fisherman.
We made it back to camp, got up early and set off to Kande beach where we are now. I have more to tell but the generator is about to be shut off (having been off all day), so I better sign off quickly!
dimanche 19 septembre 2010
I won't cook your favourite meal, but I'll order it from ZANZIBAR!
Luis, a friend with whom I did an MSc in Economics at UCL and had moved to Zanzibar with the Overseas Development Institute, had generously offered to let me stay at his in Stonetown. We met for some Masala tea then lunch with only an hour between - working life is relaxed in Zanzibar. I spent the intermittent hour furiously searching for the few people that had decided not to join the organised spice tour. Though I'm interested in learning about the slave trade, how spices are made and other history of Zanzibar...I was tired of being hurried around, Zanzibar was to be my opportunity to break away from the institutionalisation of the group (by which I mean, not being able to function without it, like Brook the old man in Shawshank redemption ... and we all remember how that ended) and recharge my batteries.
Fortunately I met up with the few remaining from the Masai Mara tour, a group with whom i have really bonded: Luke and Robyn (the modern Bohemian couple that are enticed by the tribal way of life and are sadly leaving London to return to Australia), Mark and Christina (a charming couple of teachers from Essex that exude a feeling of couples of an older British generation, though they themselves are quite young) and Charlotte (a travel consultant with the voice of an angel and a blossoming self-confidence).
Our snorkelling trip can only be summed up with one word: Uhuru. It means freedom in Swahili. To be able to do what we want, when we want and in our own time was incredible.
Unfortunately I got stung by some jellyfish - don't worry, they're only small things that look like floating unravelled condoms, they barely prickle.
We stopped on prison island to see the tortoises. I had no pre-conception about what I was to see, so I was so excited, like a little boy in a sweet shop, when I saw scores of collossal tortoises walking around us in this small park. We fed them lettuce, watched them chomp, stroked them, played with them, watch them walk around all excited, we even heard them fart! They are utterly incredible animals. One was 185 years old. It was like being in a nursing home for dinosaurs. For those of you that have seen Land Before Time (a cartoon adventure by Steven Spielberg that I loved as a kid), they are exactly like the baby stegosaurus that used to eat and eat and eat and eat, but never say anything.
We eventually headed back to the Stonetown, showered up and went out for dinner. The central fish market was an assault on the senses. Every stall had a medley of octopus, calamari, lobster, shark and other fish. After walking around to take in the smells and taste, we loaded up a plate that the stall operators proceeded to barbeque for you in a central barbeque. We then went on to a bar.
I had expected to stay for maybe a drink or two, unfortunately, Luke hitting the threshold of two drinks beyond which he descends on the slippery slope to loud insobriety, had got his mojo going, so that egged me on a little bit. Luis joined us with some friends. He had told me that since he was doing a scuba course the next day, he would have to be in bed early - I couldn't have heard sweeter words. Unfortunately that's not how the night unravelled. We ended up in the 'biggest' club in Zanzibar which wasn't bigger than a prison cell. The music was mostly western....poker face, empire state of mind, etc...but often the speakers would be overcome with a wave of static as if a low flying aircraft was disturbing the radio waves. A television, precariously taped to the wall, was showing MTV, though the horizontal lines of static fuzz moving up and down, suggested that a VHS recorder was on a loop in a backroom somewhere. Supposedly women of the night joined us on the dancefloor and a guys stood in the back wearing t-shirts that said "whorecore' or "England" on them - barbarians. This is true, but it was completely safe and quite fun. Plenty of attracting young people, white, black and mixed, being merry.
I finally got to bed after having my skeleton thoroughly shaken at 3h00. I had been up for 23 hours straight after 5 nights of 4 hours of sleep a night. The proverbial candle had no ends left to burn.
Unfortunately I was rudely awoken by an obnoxious bird skworking (?) outside my wind. After getting my attention, he proceeded to throw up or laugh, whatever it was, it was not funny.
I raced to town to meet Charlotte for a whirlwind spice tour of our own, then we all jumped on a bus north to Nungyi, a beach town. This is where I am now and will stay until Tuesday, to finally recharge my batteries.
We went for dinner along the beach last night. When we arrived, I saw a few guitars up on stage and was itching for tinkering, but too nervous to ask. Well as soon as I had finished dinner, I had found myself reluctantly volunteering to play bass for the band for the entire night. I was up on stage following the rhythm guitarist play simple chords progressions while my adoring fans shouted all my names and nicknames. Though nervously excited, I lacked energy and it was noticeable. Overall the band were pretty crap, though those watching said otherwise, it didn't sound pretty from where I was sitting, at least at first - it did get better as the night went on. We played Jammin' by Bob Marley, some Bob Dylan, Eagle Eye Cherry, Oasis, Zombie, classic songs I had never learnt.
In the intermission, I grabbed the electro-acoustic guitar and set myself up in front of a mic. I invited a friend to come up and sit beside me, I told her I was to perform her a song. I think her maternal instincts had sussed it was more support in overcoming nerves and just messing around than a romantic jesture of any kind. I played 'Hey Ya' by Outkast, but it didn't really take as I wasn't singing loud enough. I tried playing some blink 182, as my mind went blank. Having heard 'what's my age again' a good looking surfer dude came to grab the bass. The boy could slap a bass with the best of them.
We played 'Sitting, waiting, wishing' by Jack Johnson while a large crowd sung along. I then asked him if he knew 'drive' by Incubus. He looked at me as if to say sarcastically then excitedly 'Do I KNOW drive?! Hell yeh, I know drive!'. The whole crowd sung along. It was awesome. Personally, that was quite rewarding. The band came back on and were ok but lacklustre. Though I had had a nap during the day, the hangover was starting to creep back and at times I prayed that everytime I heard "this is the last song!" it didn't hold the same lack of truth that the night before had held when I was told "this is the last beer!".
Hannah, the welsh girl, having started drinking after we had checked in was three sheets to the wind by the time the band packed up. She asked me to take her back to the hotel, so that she wouldn't end up doing anything stupid, as the others were heading out to a club. The road we had come on was closed, as we had walked through a private residence, so we had to take the long way. Unlit, dirt tracks roads, with ominous dark figures moving around was not tempting, especially with the onset of fatigue. We decided to turn back when two vans started coming towards us, headlights blazing. We stood to the side, hoping this wasn't last chance Sunday.
Fortunately for us, it was the others getting a taxi to the club. 12 of them in a truck, we piled in and they dropped us off at the hotel. And finally I was able to rest...
Fortunately I met up with the few remaining from the Masai Mara tour, a group with whom i have really bonded: Luke and Robyn (the modern Bohemian couple that are enticed by the tribal way of life and are sadly leaving London to return to Australia), Mark and Christina (a charming couple of teachers from Essex that exude a feeling of couples of an older British generation, though they themselves are quite young) and Charlotte (a travel consultant with the voice of an angel and a blossoming self-confidence).
Our snorkelling trip can only be summed up with one word: Uhuru. It means freedom in Swahili. To be able to do what we want, when we want and in our own time was incredible.
Unfortunately I got stung by some jellyfish - don't worry, they're only small things that look like floating unravelled condoms, they barely prickle.
We stopped on prison island to see the tortoises. I had no pre-conception about what I was to see, so I was so excited, like a little boy in a sweet shop, when I saw scores of collossal tortoises walking around us in this small park. We fed them lettuce, watched them chomp, stroked them, played with them, watch them walk around all excited, we even heard them fart! They are utterly incredible animals. One was 185 years old. It was like being in a nursing home for dinosaurs. For those of you that have seen Land Before Time (a cartoon adventure by Steven Spielberg that I loved as a kid), they are exactly like the baby stegosaurus that used to eat and eat and eat and eat, but never say anything.
We eventually headed back to the Stonetown, showered up and went out for dinner. The central fish market was an assault on the senses. Every stall had a medley of octopus, calamari, lobster, shark and other fish. After walking around to take in the smells and taste, we loaded up a plate that the stall operators proceeded to barbeque for you in a central barbeque. We then went on to a bar.
I had expected to stay for maybe a drink or two, unfortunately, Luke hitting the threshold of two drinks beyond which he descends on the slippery slope to loud insobriety, had got his mojo going, so that egged me on a little bit. Luis joined us with some friends. He had told me that since he was doing a scuba course the next day, he would have to be in bed early - I couldn't have heard sweeter words. Unfortunately that's not how the night unravelled. We ended up in the 'biggest' club in Zanzibar which wasn't bigger than a prison cell. The music was mostly western....poker face, empire state of mind, etc...but often the speakers would be overcome with a wave of static as if a low flying aircraft was disturbing the radio waves. A television, precariously taped to the wall, was showing MTV, though the horizontal lines of static fuzz moving up and down, suggested that a VHS recorder was on a loop in a backroom somewhere. Supposedly women of the night joined us on the dancefloor and a guys stood in the back wearing t-shirts that said "whorecore' or "England" on them - barbarians. This is true, but it was completely safe and quite fun. Plenty of attracting young people, white, black and mixed, being merry.
I finally got to bed after having my skeleton thoroughly shaken at 3h00. I had been up for 23 hours straight after 5 nights of 4 hours of sleep a night. The proverbial candle had no ends left to burn.
Unfortunately I was rudely awoken by an obnoxious bird skworking (?) outside my wind. After getting my attention, he proceeded to throw up or laugh, whatever it was, it was not funny.
I raced to town to meet Charlotte for a whirlwind spice tour of our own, then we all jumped on a bus north to Nungyi, a beach town. This is where I am now and will stay until Tuesday, to finally recharge my batteries.
We went for dinner along the beach last night. When we arrived, I saw a few guitars up on stage and was itching for tinkering, but too nervous to ask. Well as soon as I had finished dinner, I had found myself reluctantly volunteering to play bass for the band for the entire night. I was up on stage following the rhythm guitarist play simple chords progressions while my adoring fans shouted all my names and nicknames. Though nervously excited, I lacked energy and it was noticeable. Overall the band were pretty crap, though those watching said otherwise, it didn't sound pretty from where I was sitting, at least at first - it did get better as the night went on. We played Jammin' by Bob Marley, some Bob Dylan, Eagle Eye Cherry, Oasis, Zombie, classic songs I had never learnt.
In the intermission, I grabbed the electro-acoustic guitar and set myself up in front of a mic. I invited a friend to come up and sit beside me, I told her I was to perform her a song. I think her maternal instincts had sussed it was more support in overcoming nerves and just messing around than a romantic jesture of any kind. I played 'Hey Ya' by Outkast, but it didn't really take as I wasn't singing loud enough. I tried playing some blink 182, as my mind went blank. Having heard 'what's my age again' a good looking surfer dude came to grab the bass. The boy could slap a bass with the best of them.
We played 'Sitting, waiting, wishing' by Jack Johnson while a large crowd sung along. I then asked him if he knew 'drive' by Incubus. He looked at me as if to say sarcastically then excitedly 'Do I KNOW drive?! Hell yeh, I know drive!'. The whole crowd sung along. It was awesome. Personally, that was quite rewarding. The band came back on and were ok but lacklustre. Though I had had a nap during the day, the hangover was starting to creep back and at times I prayed that everytime I heard "this is the last song!" it didn't hold the same lack of truth that the night before had held when I was told "this is the last beer!".
Hannah, the welsh girl, having started drinking after we had checked in was three sheets to the wind by the time the band packed up. She asked me to take her back to the hotel, so that she wouldn't end up doing anything stupid, as the others were heading out to a club. The road we had come on was closed, as we had walked through a private residence, so we had to take the long way. Unlit, dirt tracks roads, with ominous dark figures moving around was not tempting, especially with the onset of fatigue. We decided to turn back when two vans started coming towards us, headlights blazing. We stood to the side, hoping this wasn't last chance Sunday.
Fortunately for us, it was the others getting a taxi to the club. 12 of them in a truck, we piled in and they dropped us off at the hotel. And finally I was able to rest...
The Highway to Hell ... or Dar es Salaam
As a few of the people who had joined us for the Masai Mara tour was leaving, a few of us ended up drinking more than we should do while playing ridiculously hilarious drinking games, one involving that you don't show your teeth while naming vegetables - try not laughing when someone says "athpawaguth, athpawaguth to cawwot cawwot". I gave up early....that is to say, between midnight and 1h00....but we were getting up at 4h00, so it didn't make much difference.
The drive was looooonnnnngg. 15 hours long. We played cards. We sang. We slept. We ate. We debated about philosophy and theological archeology. We moaned.
We hit Dar around 21h00. Most people chose to upgrade to a small bungalow. Being cheap, I set up my tent for four hours sleep I was to get.
Up early, we got the ferry to Zanzibar which, to my surprise, caused me to suffer from sea sickness. I imagine it was the Lariam messing with my bodily balance, but I'm pretty sure, though not absolutely certain, that the conversation about sea sickness and vomiting didn't help...
The drive was looooonnnnngg. 15 hours long. We played cards. We sang. We slept. We ate. We debated about philosophy and theological archeology. We moaned.
We hit Dar around 21h00. Most people chose to upgrade to a small bungalow. Being cheap, I set up my tent for four hours sleep I was to get.
Up early, we got the ferry to Zanzibar which, to my surprise, caused me to suffer from sea sickness. I imagine it was the Lariam messing with my bodily balance, but I'm pretty sure, though not absolutely certain, that the conversation about sea sickness and vomiting didn't help...
Ngorongoro Crater and the Serengeti
This trip did not involve using the main truck. Instead it was an excursion using a local company that packed us into 6 or 8 seater jeeps. They moved us from the Arusha campsite to another campsite closer to the crater so that we would get there for dawn. Dinner was excellent, though we had a different cook. And the entertainment was awesome...first some East African dancing with live music, then some acrobats proceeded to wow with some flips and jumps....on guy bent over backwards and put a hat on with his feet. As soon as it was over, they wanted us up there 'shaking our skeletons' (a brilliant new phrase I'm hoping to import back home, customs permitting). Up until then, i had avoided buying any silly souvenirs, but I gave in and bought a Masai blanket (a essentially a rug that Masai usually wear, but can be used for wrapping around a sleeping bag at night in the colder stops on our journey).
We woke up at 4h30, had breakfast, were delayed by a driver who had overslept, and finally got on the road by 6h30/7.
Unfortunately the clouds were low, so when we reached the top of the crater, we could not see the impressive view. Our driver even said "This view point, but today, useless". We did however see some naughty Baboons that, in almost staged fashion, stopped in front of each jeep to pose suggestively.
The crater itself is a recognised national park, full of wildlife populating its 19.2km wide flat lands. We saw plenty of lions. In fact, one sat in front of a truck to warm herself up from the heat of the engine - it was a cold September morning after all. We saw the usual giraffes, zebras, warthogs and the odd lonesome elephant. Apparently this is where solitary elephants come to live out the rest of their days.
We stopped for lunch by an idyllic lake. They provided us with lunchboxes which had a piece of fried chicken wrapped in foil, a few pieces of buttered bread, and a few other things; I wouldn't call it a meal, but it was a hunger-satisfying eccletic mix of foods, so I can not complain. Birds hovered above us preparing to swoop and steal. No lunchboxes were lost.
We moved on to Oldabye gorge to see a vast landscape where archeologists and paleontologists have discovered the oldest known footprint and evidence regarding the cradle of humanity (bipedal hominids, homo erectus, homo habilis, etc...). It was very interesting, and if you have been following my postings, you will know I have an amateur's interest in this subject, but due to a miscommunication between Ruth and the drivers, we ended up rushing through it unnecessarily, even though we did have the time to see it properly. I will not go into detail, but it did end in a heated discussion involving yours truly reminding the driver about the delays his team had caused us earlier in the day.
Finally, we made it to the campsite in the middle of the Serengeti at 21h00 after two cars had suffered from 3 flat tires between them and the bearings on a third car gave in. Having been crammed into a jeep, I ended up standing for part of the way through the Serengeti - jeep surfing as I aptly named it. Bed by midnight as dinner took, what was seemingly, forever.
Next day, another 4h30 start. Pack tents. Have breakfast. See the sunrise at 6h30. Then we drove all day. We were lucky enough to see a cheetah, but admittedly the rest of the Serengeti was pretty lifeless. Very few animals, and when you did find one, it wasn't up to much more than sleeping.
At one point, a few people in my car had fallen asleep and I could only imagine how it looked from the front of the car. Our driver, like an African Mr. McGee was small, old and blind, so the steering wheel towered above him while he skwinted at oncoming bumps. The cook in the passenger seat, tall, calm and constantly reminding us that he was a hustler. Four Mzungus in the back, three of whom were fast asleep, heads bobbing like those small toys with oversized heads springing from their disproportionately small bodies. And me, being thrown around as if fickle gravity is trying to make up its mind about whether to exist and if so, in which direction to exert its force. All of which made for a somewhat surreal Serengeti comedy. The drive back was long to say the least, but we did get back to the Arusha campsite before dark.
We woke up at 4h30, had breakfast, were delayed by a driver who had overslept, and finally got on the road by 6h30/7.
Unfortunately the clouds were low, so when we reached the top of the crater, we could not see the impressive view. Our driver even said "This view point, but today, useless". We did however see some naughty Baboons that, in almost staged fashion, stopped in front of each jeep to pose suggestively.
The crater itself is a recognised national park, full of wildlife populating its 19.2km wide flat lands. We saw plenty of lions. In fact, one sat in front of a truck to warm herself up from the heat of the engine - it was a cold September morning after all. We saw the usual giraffes, zebras, warthogs and the odd lonesome elephant. Apparently this is where solitary elephants come to live out the rest of their days.
We stopped for lunch by an idyllic lake. They provided us with lunchboxes which had a piece of fried chicken wrapped in foil, a few pieces of buttered bread, and a few other things; I wouldn't call it a meal, but it was a hunger-satisfying eccletic mix of foods, so I can not complain. Birds hovered above us preparing to swoop and steal. No lunchboxes were lost.
We moved on to Oldabye gorge to see a vast landscape where archeologists and paleontologists have discovered the oldest known footprint and evidence regarding the cradle of humanity (bipedal hominids, homo erectus, homo habilis, etc...). It was very interesting, and if you have been following my postings, you will know I have an amateur's interest in this subject, but due to a miscommunication between Ruth and the drivers, we ended up rushing through it unnecessarily, even though we did have the time to see it properly. I will not go into detail, but it did end in a heated discussion involving yours truly reminding the driver about the delays his team had caused us earlier in the day.
Finally, we made it to the campsite in the middle of the Serengeti at 21h00 after two cars had suffered from 3 flat tires between them and the bearings on a third car gave in. Having been crammed into a jeep, I ended up standing for part of the way through the Serengeti - jeep surfing as I aptly named it. Bed by midnight as dinner took, what was seemingly, forever.
Next day, another 4h30 start. Pack tents. Have breakfast. See the sunrise at 6h30. Then we drove all day. We were lucky enough to see a cheetah, but admittedly the rest of the Serengeti was pretty lifeless. Very few animals, and when you did find one, it wasn't up to much more than sleeping.
At one point, a few people in my car had fallen asleep and I could only imagine how it looked from the front of the car. Our driver, like an African Mr. McGee was small, old and blind, so the steering wheel towered above him while he skwinted at oncoming bumps. The cook in the passenger seat, tall, calm and constantly reminding us that he was a hustler. Four Mzungus in the back, three of whom were fast asleep, heads bobbing like those small toys with oversized heads springing from their disproportionately small bodies. And me, being thrown around as if fickle gravity is trying to make up its mind about whether to exist and if so, in which direction to exert its force. All of which made for a somewhat surreal Serengeti comedy. The drive back was long to say the least, but we did get back to the Arusha campsite before dark.
Rush in Arusha
When I last posted I was in Arusha on a short trip from the campsite into town in the morning to get money, exchange it, buy a few snacks, etc... The pressure, stress and anxiety it caused is, I believe, emblematic of the overlanding trip more generally.
Ruth is impressive to say the least; she knows Africa, she knows which cash machines to use, where to change your money, where to do this and where to do that. However, it is often presented to us in a stressful stomach churning way: pick pockets operate in this area here, you need to get the maximum out on your card as this is the last place to get money out before Zambia (don't those two contradict each other?), if you don't have money at the border, we're. leaving. you. there. and you make you're own way home! I've done it before and I will do it again...Zanzibar had sea urchins, their spikes will dig themselves into your feet and be there for three days...
Chill Whinston. I get that people are stupid and sometimes approach a task (and a holiday) without any conception of the work involved...but they are marginal cases, not the whole group.
Though I moan, the structure makes for better efficiency. We did Arusha to Dar es Salaam in a day, we're going to to Dar to Malawi in 2 days. The food is excellent and clean (though I admit I have had enough spag bol to curse the italians for ever creating such a simple dish) - I have had no problems with food and neither has anyone else. The tents are easy to put up and down. Facilities at each campsite are always good. And I haven't had a frozen shower since my first day in Nairobi, and that is only because I wasn't savvy to which shower to use.
The rigidity and the stress of the structure are nonetheless quite taxing. More on that in my Zanzibar post.
Ruth is impressive to say the least; she knows Africa, she knows which cash machines to use, where to change your money, where to do this and where to do that. However, it is often presented to us in a stressful stomach churning way: pick pockets operate in this area here, you need to get the maximum out on your card as this is the last place to get money out before Zambia (don't those two contradict each other?), if you don't have money at the border, we're. leaving. you. there. and you make you're own way home! I've done it before and I will do it again...Zanzibar had sea urchins, their spikes will dig themselves into your feet and be there for three days...
Chill Whinston. I get that people are stupid and sometimes approach a task (and a holiday) without any conception of the work involved...but they are marginal cases, not the whole group.
Though I moan, the structure makes for better efficiency. We did Arusha to Dar es Salaam in a day, we're going to to Dar to Malawi in 2 days. The food is excellent and clean (though I admit I have had enough spag bol to curse the italians for ever creating such a simple dish) - I have had no problems with food and neither has anyone else. The tents are easy to put up and down. Facilities at each campsite are always good. And I haven't had a frozen shower since my first day in Nairobi, and that is only because I wasn't savvy to which shower to use.
The rigidity and the stress of the structure are nonetheless quite taxing. More on that in my Zanzibar post.
lundi 13 septembre 2010
The road to Arusha
We made it to Arusha last night. The day was long, but could have been much worse. I read most of the way and our Masai Mara group have become quite good friends, so there was a lot of joking down our end. They recently discovered my triple first name combo of Charles Andrew Stuart...so before I was just Andrew, now I'm called Charles by the tour leader and some of the other people on the tour, Chuck by the Masai crowd, and even Crazy Larry as I'm taking Lariam, the generally psychological episode inducing and sometimes hallucinogenic malaria medication.
The rest of the group have done the tour from the start (I think Kampala in Uganda) to see the gorillas in Rwanda, and most plan to go all the way to Cape Town. There are a plethora of different nationalities, but the pick n mix of accents probably couldn't be worse:
Most are Australians, so they sound like they're asking questions....all the time...as they go up at the end of their sentences (I even caught one of British girls doing it already). Hello Larry? Everyone get on the bus? This is how we put our tent up?
Ruth, the tour leader, is from Brimingham, so periodically she stands up to give us all our information (as well as the worst case scenario on everything: someone broke both their legs here, someone died there, don't take photos of anything, you'll get stone thrown at you). The b'ham accent, as some of you will know, goes down in the first few syllables, then goes back to the tonality it started at.
A welsh girl. They just sound silly.
Finally some Canadians who to describe them best are anal bitches. Most have initiated us slowly and with open arms. Not this mother-daughter combo. They like to enforce the rules and take no prisoners. I tried being helpful to get on their good side, but there were still some snide comments about the newbies, as we're known. Rules are important, but there should be some diplomacy in enforcing them.
Touring with a big group of Mzungus is very different to travelling by yourself. I would say it makes things easier and more efficient, but does feel like it takes out some of the spirit. That said, we are camping in Africa...and for the next two nights 'in the bush' in the Serengeti, so there still is still a certain element of hardcore-ness...
The rest of the group have done the tour from the start (I think Kampala in Uganda) to see the gorillas in Rwanda, and most plan to go all the way to Cape Town. There are a plethora of different nationalities, but the pick n mix of accents probably couldn't be worse:
Most are Australians, so they sound like they're asking questions....all the time...as they go up at the end of their sentences (I even caught one of British girls doing it already). Hello Larry? Everyone get on the bus? This is how we put our tent up?
Ruth, the tour leader, is from Brimingham, so periodically she stands up to give us all our information (as well as the worst case scenario on everything: someone broke both their legs here, someone died there, don't take photos of anything, you'll get stone thrown at you). The b'ham accent, as some of you will know, goes down in the first few syllables, then goes back to the tonality it started at.
A welsh girl. They just sound silly.
Finally some Canadians who to describe them best are anal bitches. Most have initiated us slowly and with open arms. Not this mother-daughter combo. They like to enforce the rules and take no prisoners. I tried being helpful to get on their good side, but there were still some snide comments about the newbies, as we're known. Rules are important, but there should be some diplomacy in enforcing them.
Touring with a big group of Mzungus is very different to travelling by yourself. I would say it makes things easier and more efficient, but does feel like it takes out some of the spirit. That said, we are camping in Africa...and for the next two nights 'in the bush' in the Serengeti, so there still is still a certain element of hardcore-ness...
Edit: Masai Mara trip
I forgot to mention that on the way to Masai Mara National Park, after breaking down and just after we started the bumpy road, another event happened. David and Goliath, the Mercedes truck that was four-wheeling us (and sometimes two-wheeling ... on the side wheels) to and around the park, tried to overtake a small matato driving on the side of the road. The roads, as treacherously unpredictable as they were, meant that the matato and the truck collided sideways, smashing out the matato's left front headlight (and probably inducing a rearranging of the passengers and maybe even their organs in the matato) and bent in a beam underneath the truck.
However, we didn't bother to stop until a bit later. The matato was full of school kids on the way to Masai Mara, so they called ahead to the other buses in the same group and those buses flagged us down. Then a 45 minute argument ensued between the drivers, at one point erupting into a t-shirt pulling fight.
All the kids however, were as friendly as can be. They wanted their photos taken with Mzungus (non-swahili speakers, but often people confuse it with Wazungu which means white man)! Eventually a deal was struck and we were on our way...
However, we didn't bother to stop until a bit later. The matato was full of school kids on the way to Masai Mara, so they called ahead to the other buses in the same group and those buses flagged us down. Then a 45 minute argument ensued between the drivers, at one point erupting into a t-shirt pulling fight.
All the kids however, were as friendly as can be. They wanted their photos taken with Mzungus (non-swahili speakers, but often people confuse it with Wazungu which means white man)! Eventually a deal was struck and we were on our way...
samedi 11 septembre 2010
Let my people go! ... to the Masai Mara National Park
We met Moses, our Kenyan tour guide for the Masai Mara (hence the title), on Wednesday night in a small hotel close to the National Museum. He talked quite slowly and seemed pretty chilled about the trip, though he wanted us ready at 8h30 or 9 or 9h15 sharp....he couldn't quite make up his mind - a symptom of the This Is Africa (TIA) relaxed mentality to problem solving.
We met early the next morning, loaded up the bus and waited...and waited...and waited...finally Moses and David (our driver) get us on our way, or so we thought. We stopped at a supermarket to get money and food. He told us "30 minutes", we quickly learned that in Kenyan time that translates to roughly 1h15. We finally all jumped on the truck (again) and drove about 5 minutes when, on the edge of a slum just outside of Nairobi...we broke down. The brochure said this was adventure i.e. hope for the best, but prepare for the worst - we didn't expect it to all happen in the first 2 hours.
With the help of a local mechanic, David opened up the truck and solved the problem in about an hour. We stood around waiting not sure whether to speak to locals, walk around, stand as we had no idea how long it would take. Some took photos of themselves smiling with thumbs up in front of the slums - I only mention it because I'm not sure I feel comfortable about it. It's not a zoo for the poor where we go to see how the other side live; it's unfortunate reality.
Eventually we were on the road. About 2 hours in we turn off the main road and hit our first bump, the road from there are on out was to be bone shaking, fear mongering and organ lifting all the way to the Mara, around it and back. David drove Goliath (the colossal 4x4 truck, not a name that caught on, but I still liked the reference) we were in like a monster truck at the Destruction Derby. I can't count the number of times I dived to hang on to the edge of the seat for fear that we were going to tilt on the wrong end of a 45 degree angle off a bump and roll over. We eventually made it to the camp, having had most of our bones, organs and even atoms rearranged.
The campsite was very nice. The tents were set up under small thatched roofs and had beds with mattresses - a luxury we hadn't expected. The stars at night were incredible. I'd never seen the Milky Away before, in fact, I didn't even know you could see it with the naked eye, but from somewhere such as Masai Mara where there is no light, it's perfectly visible.
The camp was protected by the Masai people. Mostly tall very dark, completely hairless African men, draped with a red tartan like poncho (a different pattern for each family), carrying spears, bows and arrows, knives, etc...were our security. From what you say? The wild. We often heard hyenas not far off - the Masai explained their very distinct sound to us, it became very familiar.
Hyenas are nothing for the Masai though. At age 16, the Masai men, having been trained to not show pain, are circumcised publicly. If they show any pain, the party is over; all the food that has been prepared is wasted and the boy does not start his journey as a Masai warrior. From the age of 16 onwards, they are sent into the wilderness until they kill a lion. They carry the teeth of their kills around their neck. One security guard, Alex had killed three lions (the other two to protect his flock of cows), and as such was deemed the bravest.
The cows are used for more than just meat and the occasional glass of blood and milk. To buy a wife, it costs 10 cows to be paid to the father of the bride. Women are property. A girl in our group was made an offering, he wanted to contact her dad for details. You can buy as many wives as you can afford in cows. But be warned, you have to provide each with a house made of sticks and cow dung. She will collect food, cook, raise children, clean and even build the house. What do men do, you say? Security and baby making!
They choose to live like this...though some have casio watches and there was rumour that one had an iphone - GPS and wife/cow counter application would probably come in quite handy. They are certainly not to be pitied. They rake in plenty from the tourists: they took $10 each from us, then tried to sell us every bracelet and rug under the sun, as well as, request donations to their school (neatly provided by the Kenyan government). These cats are smart and they know how to use the system.
We did a whole day's worth of safari yesterday....we saw some elephants (I'm now on 4 out of the Big Five: Buffalo, Elephant, Lion, Leopard, Rhino), an ostrich protecting its eggs, wildebeest making their migration back south (they come up north across the Serengeti following the rain to the greener grass in July and August, then head back in September). Many die in the treacherous crossing of the Mara river full of crocodiles and hippos (both of which we saw). There were carcasses everywhere; the vultures and stalks were feasting...though the smell was less than endearing. The image was grotesque, the circle of like perhaps, but it still represents the darker side of it.
We stopped for lunch where cheeky monkeys surrounded us and tried to steal our food. It was amazing to see one monkey check the other for ticks, then to switch roles. The cooperation seemed so alien after they had been so competitive over the scraps we threw their way.
We went for another quick safari this morning and got to see more LIONS! David illegally took Goliath off road, on the grass and got us three metres away from a female with her cub. The lions' sociological organisation is very similar to that of the Masai (though the causation might go the other way as I'm sure lions have been doing this for a while). The females hunt, provide for the cubs, etc...and the males, though glorious in size, are lazy buggers. They sleep, provide a bit of security, but mostly are there for baby making!
I am now back in Nairobi and begin the tour to Victoria Falls tomorrow. We met our tour guide tonight, Ruth; she is ****ing scary. Organised, regimented and keeping us in line, she made the trip sound like Hell on Wheels. Among other patronising statements, she asked who was what malaria medication. She wanted to single out those on Lariam....unfortunately, yours truly was the only one in the group taking Lariam. She warned of possible night terrors, hallucinations, mood swings, depression, all of which should be reported to her. She even warned that if anyone saw "this gentleman" sleep walking, not to wake him up, as it can kill him. Thanks Ruth.
We leave early tomorrow, if I make it through the night. First stop, Arusha...
We met early the next morning, loaded up the bus and waited...and waited...and waited...finally Moses and David (our driver) get us on our way, or so we thought. We stopped at a supermarket to get money and food. He told us "30 minutes", we quickly learned that in Kenyan time that translates to roughly 1h15. We finally all jumped on the truck (again) and drove about 5 minutes when, on the edge of a slum just outside of Nairobi...we broke down. The brochure said this was adventure i.e. hope for the best, but prepare for the worst - we didn't expect it to all happen in the first 2 hours.
With the help of a local mechanic, David opened up the truck and solved the problem in about an hour. We stood around waiting not sure whether to speak to locals, walk around, stand as we had no idea how long it would take. Some took photos of themselves smiling with thumbs up in front of the slums - I only mention it because I'm not sure I feel comfortable about it. It's not a zoo for the poor where we go to see how the other side live; it's unfortunate reality.
Eventually we were on the road. About 2 hours in we turn off the main road and hit our first bump, the road from there are on out was to be bone shaking, fear mongering and organ lifting all the way to the Mara, around it and back. David drove Goliath (the colossal 4x4 truck, not a name that caught on, but I still liked the reference) we were in like a monster truck at the Destruction Derby. I can't count the number of times I dived to hang on to the edge of the seat for fear that we were going to tilt on the wrong end of a 45 degree angle off a bump and roll over. We eventually made it to the camp, having had most of our bones, organs and even atoms rearranged.
The campsite was very nice. The tents were set up under small thatched roofs and had beds with mattresses - a luxury we hadn't expected. The stars at night were incredible. I'd never seen the Milky Away before, in fact, I didn't even know you could see it with the naked eye, but from somewhere such as Masai Mara where there is no light, it's perfectly visible.
The camp was protected by the Masai people. Mostly tall very dark, completely hairless African men, draped with a red tartan like poncho (a different pattern for each family), carrying spears, bows and arrows, knives, etc...were our security. From what you say? The wild. We often heard hyenas not far off - the Masai explained their very distinct sound to us, it became very familiar.
Hyenas are nothing for the Masai though. At age 16, the Masai men, having been trained to not show pain, are circumcised publicly. If they show any pain, the party is over; all the food that has been prepared is wasted and the boy does not start his journey as a Masai warrior. From the age of 16 onwards, they are sent into the wilderness until they kill a lion. They carry the teeth of their kills around their neck. One security guard, Alex had killed three lions (the other two to protect his flock of cows), and as such was deemed the bravest.
The cows are used for more than just meat and the occasional glass of blood and milk. To buy a wife, it costs 10 cows to be paid to the father of the bride. Women are property. A girl in our group was made an offering, he wanted to contact her dad for details. You can buy as many wives as you can afford in cows. But be warned, you have to provide each with a house made of sticks and cow dung. She will collect food, cook, raise children, clean and even build the house. What do men do, you say? Security and baby making!
They choose to live like this...though some have casio watches and there was rumour that one had an iphone - GPS and wife/cow counter application would probably come in quite handy. They are certainly not to be pitied. They rake in plenty from the tourists: they took $10 each from us, then tried to sell us every bracelet and rug under the sun, as well as, request donations to their school (neatly provided by the Kenyan government). These cats are smart and they know how to use the system.
We did a whole day's worth of safari yesterday....we saw some elephants (I'm now on 4 out of the Big Five: Buffalo, Elephant, Lion, Leopard, Rhino), an ostrich protecting its eggs, wildebeest making their migration back south (they come up north across the Serengeti following the rain to the greener grass in July and August, then head back in September). Many die in the treacherous crossing of the Mara river full of crocodiles and hippos (both of which we saw). There were carcasses everywhere; the vultures and stalks were feasting...though the smell was less than endearing. The image was grotesque, the circle of like perhaps, but it still represents the darker side of it.
We stopped for lunch where cheeky monkeys surrounded us and tried to steal our food. It was amazing to see one monkey check the other for ticks, then to switch roles. The cooperation seemed so alien after they had been so competitive over the scraps we threw their way.
We went for another quick safari this morning and got to see more LIONS! David illegally took Goliath off road, on the grass and got us three metres away from a female with her cub. The lions' sociological organisation is very similar to that of the Masai (though the causation might go the other way as I'm sure lions have been doing this for a while). The females hunt, provide for the cubs, etc...and the males, though glorious in size, are lazy buggers. They sleep, provide a bit of security, but mostly are there for baby making!
I am now back in Nairobi and begin the tour to Victoria Falls tomorrow. We met our tour guide tonight, Ruth; she is ****ing scary. Organised, regimented and keeping us in line, she made the trip sound like Hell on Wheels. Among other patronising statements, she asked who was what malaria medication. She wanted to single out those on Lariam....unfortunately, yours truly was the only one in the group taking Lariam. She warned of possible night terrors, hallucinations, mood swings, depression, all of which should be reported to her. She even warned that if anyone saw "this gentleman" sleep walking, not to wake him up, as it can kill him. Thanks Ruth.
We leave early tomorrow, if I make it through the night. First stop, Arusha...
mercredi 8 septembre 2010
London: the little smoke
A final post for today. We heard from some volunteers working in slum of Nakuru that there is another slum not far from town called London. Its existence is supposedly denied by the government.
It's built on a rubbish dump. People live in two foot high caves. They wait for the rubbish trucks to arrive and they scurry through unwanted remains to find food, things to sell and things to entertain their children.
People collect battery acid to sell and use to get high. Some have consequently gone blind. The rumours about this place were insane.
It's built on a rubbish dump. People live in two foot high caves. They wait for the rubbish trucks to arrive and they scurry through unwanted remains to find food, things to sell and things to entertain their children.
People collect battery acid to sell and use to get high. Some have consequently gone blind. The rumours about this place were insane.
Hakuna Matato, not a wonderful phrase
A matato (in Kenya, or dalla dalla in Tanzania) is the most eventful way to travel in East Africa between small and major cities. I mentioned them briefly above, but my recent experience convinced me that they are worthy of blog post to themselves.
Often small 11 seat Toyota Hiace vans, they pack in 22 people including the white guy with his big backpack, the driver and one or two guys collecting money and pushing people in and out the van at every stop. They race down the main roads, then swerve off into the dirt and rocky side (in Africa, most roads don't have a paved side, the concrete just ends, often with a good foot's worth of difference). The van comes to a sudden abrupt, bone shaking safari like halt, the door slides open, lots of shouting ensues, people spill out, others get shoved in. Much dirtier people, most probably from the slums, in groups of four or five run up to the windows selling whatever crap they've got: "yugouurts" for flavoured milk and "fresh [inaudible]" for grilled corn on the cob.
When the matato gets going, the driver decides to overtake anything and everything without any aversion to risk. Pumping into the wrong lane, I have on occasion seen a Mercedes truck carrying a twenty foot equivalent shipping container hurtling towards us; the tristar growing as the relative speed of 150km/h. When in Nakuru, we saw on the news that 5 Koreans had died in a head on collision outside Naivasha early on the morning. Scary shit to say the least. There is a certain aversion to common sense here, though I sometimes wonder if it's not just practicality at it's best.
Generally the matatos don't park in the safest areas of town either. The first one I got in Nairobi involved the guy collecting tickets getting his shirt ripped off in a barbaric mauling by 10 other guys...probably for taking someone else's customers.
I'm somewhat glad that the rest of my trip will be in an organised tour truck, but my sense of adventure will miss the matato mayhem.
Often small 11 seat Toyota Hiace vans, they pack in 22 people including the white guy with his big backpack, the driver and one or two guys collecting money and pushing people in and out the van at every stop. They race down the main roads, then swerve off into the dirt and rocky side (in Africa, most roads don't have a paved side, the concrete just ends, often with a good foot's worth of difference). The van comes to a sudden abrupt, bone shaking safari like halt, the door slides open, lots of shouting ensues, people spill out, others get shoved in. Much dirtier people, most probably from the slums, in groups of four or five run up to the windows selling whatever crap they've got: "yugouurts" for flavoured milk and "fresh [inaudible]" for grilled corn on the cob.
When the matato gets going, the driver decides to overtake anything and everything without any aversion to risk. Pumping into the wrong lane, I have on occasion seen a Mercedes truck carrying a twenty foot equivalent shipping container hurtling towards us; the tristar growing as the relative speed of 150km/h. When in Nakuru, we saw on the news that 5 Koreans had died in a head on collision outside Naivasha early on the morning. Scary shit to say the least. There is a certain aversion to common sense here, though I sometimes wonder if it's not just practicality at it's best.
Generally the matatos don't park in the safest areas of town either. The first one I got in Nairobi involved the guy collecting tickets getting his shirt ripped off in a barbaric mauling by 10 other guys...probably for taking someone else's customers.
I'm somewhat glad that the rest of my trip will be in an organised tour truck, but my sense of adventure will miss the matato mayhem.
The Simple Life in Lake Naivasha
Amit and I jumped on an early matato to Naivasha from Nakuru. There we shoved and pushed into another matato heading passed Fisherman's Camp. It's mentioned in the Lonely Planet guide, so every Kenyan in the area has heard of it. "Wha yu goh? Fischamahn??!" was a common set of questions.
Fisherman's camp was picturesque, to say the least: on the lake, green, huge trees with monkeys running up and down them (one type of monkey was black all over but had a crown of foot long white hair down both sides of its back and from its tale, and white fur around its jaw - Amit said it looked like a Rabbi - oh how we chuckled) and a small open front, slightly pricey, restaurant.
The bandas (cabin) were too expensive in this picturesque camp, so we opted for the cheaper option known as Top Camp. We told it was on the side of the road...in fact, the uphill trail to the top camp started on the other side of the road. We skipped the main road by using a short cut straight up...walking through spikey bushes, savannah style dry bushes and tall cacti. I'm sure I heard one cactus say to the other "You think they're lost?". We found a Brit that seemed to be doing some sort of carpentry or DIY who pointed us in the right direction: keep walking up, through more bushes.
We came through the last bush onto a small patch of land with a few huts. A woman showed us to a vacant room...I think they were all vacant though. The hut was made of bamboo with a tin roof and two neatly made beds. The showers and toilet were outside. It was a campsite, simple and basic.
Since I knew I would be pressed for time the next day, I decided to go straight to Hell's Gate National Park that afternoon. I rented a bike that would have been easier to ride if it had been made of concrete with square wheels. I cycled 2 or 3 km to the entrance, paid my $25 fee and bike surcharge (pssstt whatever) and I was in.
The scenery was amazing. It started with some simple rolling hills, then a hill or two start to separate off, starting with a 5 metre cliff and ending with one that seemed 100 or so (my estimates are subject to my bird's eye view). All of this was caused by the seismic activity that I mentioned in the Great Rift Valley post below. Cycling along the straight dusty road, cars rolling by, leaving me coughing in their subsequent dust storms, I came to Fischer Tower, a colossal tower of rock caused by a volcanic jet of molten rock however million of years ago. A second at the end of the cycle road marks the gorge. Being so tired and only having the afternoon, I decided not to go down.
Cycling along, there were fields on both sides populated by giraffe, zebras and warthogs running across the road in front of me, looking up checking me out. Though slightly hyperbolic I know, It was like being in Jurassic Park - much like that first scene when Sam Neill sees all the Bronchosauruses and other dinosaurs milling around the water....kinda.
I was pretty tired on the way back...it was all uphill. I decided that I did not envy the guy I met in Nairobi cycling from Cape Town to Ethiopia where he will cross to Yemen...and keep going.
After dinner, Amit and I went down to the lake where hippos (otherwise known as hip-hop-potamuses) were grazing behind the electric fence. They're like big grey water-dwelling pigs. They're quite scared though which makes them all the more endearing....but what out! They are statistically the most killer animal in Africa, mostly due to human stupidity.
Amit went to Hell's Gate this morning and I proceeded to wash my clothes in a bucket and lay them out to dry. I was very slightly pleased with myself at this simple task. I then grabbed some chipatti (Indian fried flat bread) for lunch and jumped on the next matato to Naivasha, then Nairobi.
Fisherman's camp was picturesque, to say the least: on the lake, green, huge trees with monkeys running up and down them (one type of monkey was black all over but had a crown of foot long white hair down both sides of its back and from its tale, and white fur around its jaw - Amit said it looked like a Rabbi - oh how we chuckled) and a small open front, slightly pricey, restaurant.
The bandas (cabin) were too expensive in this picturesque camp, so we opted for the cheaper option known as Top Camp. We told it was on the side of the road...in fact, the uphill trail to the top camp started on the other side of the road. We skipped the main road by using a short cut straight up...walking through spikey bushes, savannah style dry bushes and tall cacti. I'm sure I heard one cactus say to the other "You think they're lost?". We found a Brit that seemed to be doing some sort of carpentry or DIY who pointed us in the right direction: keep walking up, through more bushes.
We came through the last bush onto a small patch of land with a few huts. A woman showed us to a vacant room...I think they were all vacant though. The hut was made of bamboo with a tin roof and two neatly made beds. The showers and toilet were outside. It was a campsite, simple and basic.
Since I knew I would be pressed for time the next day, I decided to go straight to Hell's Gate National Park that afternoon. I rented a bike that would have been easier to ride if it had been made of concrete with square wheels. I cycled 2 or 3 km to the entrance, paid my $25 fee and bike surcharge (pssstt whatever) and I was in.
The scenery was amazing. It started with some simple rolling hills, then a hill or two start to separate off, starting with a 5 metre cliff and ending with one that seemed 100 or so (my estimates are subject to my bird's eye view). All of this was caused by the seismic activity that I mentioned in the Great Rift Valley post below. Cycling along the straight dusty road, cars rolling by, leaving me coughing in their subsequent dust storms, I came to Fischer Tower, a colossal tower of rock caused by a volcanic jet of molten rock however million of years ago. A second at the end of the cycle road marks the gorge. Being so tired and only having the afternoon, I decided not to go down.
Cycling along, there were fields on both sides populated by giraffe, zebras and warthogs running across the road in front of me, looking up checking me out. Though slightly hyperbolic I know, It was like being in Jurassic Park - much like that first scene when Sam Neill sees all the Bronchosauruses and other dinosaurs milling around the water....kinda.
I was pretty tired on the way back...it was all uphill. I decided that I did not envy the guy I met in Nairobi cycling from Cape Town to Ethiopia where he will cross to Yemen...and keep going.
After dinner, Amit and I went down to the lake where hippos (otherwise known as hip-hop-potamuses) were grazing behind the electric fence. They're like big grey water-dwelling pigs. They're quite scared though which makes them all the more endearing....but what out! They are statistically the most killer animal in Africa, mostly due to human stupidity.
Amit went to Hell's Gate this morning and I proceeded to wash my clothes in a bucket and lay them out to dry. I was very slightly pleased with myself at this simple task. I then grabbed some chipatti (Indian fried flat bread) for lunch and jumped on the next matato to Naivasha, then Nairobi.
lundi 6 septembre 2010
Ace Ventura: Nakuru Adventure
It turns out the Mexican guy was also Israeli, having just visited the Holy Land, we naturally had a lot to talk about. He pointed out my first scene of the majestic African land, when we turned a corner on the side of a hill outside Nairobi to see a vast open valley of dry grass, tall but flat topped trees and green mountains. It being the first time I saw the Great Rift Valley, it was pretty breathtaking.
We made it to Nakuru with nowhere to stay. We found the tourist information centre and the guy running it, also running a homestead, suggested we stay with him and his family...clearly there's a market for cheap hostels in Nakuru. We jumped in his jeep unbeknownst to what lay ahead: a nice Christian family oriented household with a spare room and hot shower...or kidnapping? Fortuitously, it was the former...especially because I don't plan on paying for the privelege of being kidnapped.
Peter, the homestead owner, arranged a game drive for 6:30 am with his son. We have just finished it now and I am rpoud to say I have already seen a lion...nay 8 lions...5 females, 2 cubs and one male (or should I say pimp?). Unfortunately the cubs were hidden in the bushes under a tree, so we saw some shadows and rustling, but not the star of a hit Disney movie.
We also saw two rhinos fighting. They kept inching closer, nudging each other until they were about 10 metres away...then the shit hit the fan. They locked horns and thrust against one another. We made a quick retreat to watch them from further afield for the safety our white asses. Our driver told us it was a male and female and joked that the female was kindly suggesting "not today honey, I have a headache".
Giraffe crossed the road in front. Thousands of flamingos followed each other in 6 lane migrations across the lake by foot. Hyenas cackled at jokes we made. And Baboons jumped on the car looking for food.
We have decided to stay here another night and head to Naivasha in the morning, hopefully to cycle around Hell's Gate Naional Park tomorrow afternoon.
We made it to Nakuru with nowhere to stay. We found the tourist information centre and the guy running it, also running a homestead, suggested we stay with him and his family...clearly there's a market for cheap hostels in Nakuru. We jumped in his jeep unbeknownst to what lay ahead: a nice Christian family oriented household with a spare room and hot shower...or kidnapping? Fortuitously, it was the former...especially because I don't plan on paying for the privelege of being kidnapped.
Peter, the homestead owner, arranged a game drive for 6:30 am with his son. We have just finished it now and I am rpoud to say I have already seen a lion...nay 8 lions...5 females, 2 cubs and one male (or should I say pimp?). Unfortunately the cubs were hidden in the bushes under a tree, so we saw some shadows and rustling, but not the star of a hit Disney movie.
We also saw two rhinos fighting. They kept inching closer, nudging each other until they were about 10 metres away...then the shit hit the fan. They locked horns and thrust against one another. We made a quick retreat to watch them from further afield for the safety our white asses. Our driver told us it was a male and female and joked that the female was kindly suggesting "not today honey, I have a headache".
Giraffe crossed the road in front. Thousands of flamingos followed each other in 6 lane migrations across the lake by foot. Hyenas cackled at jokes we made. And Baboons jumped on the car looking for food.
We have decided to stay here another night and head to Naivasha in the morning, hopefully to cycle around Hell's Gate Naional Park tomorrow afternoon.
No-one-rob-me in Nairobi
I arrived in Nairobi early on Friday morning and went straight to the hostel to sleep and eat. When I caught up on some sleep I went for a walk around Nairobi to get a first impression of the place. At first, I was amazed everything - the enthusiasm of a new-born tourist should not be underestimated. However, it quickly wore off. Nairobi is an ok city on average, the xeno-excitement is worn down by the lack of anything to do or see.
I find there are a few proud young Kenyans walking around. Wearing a suit, polished teeth, standing upright with a folder and papers neatly tucked under an arm. I like to think that these are those that consider themselves self-made corruption free Kenyans asking for constitutional change.
However, there is also an excessive charity culture which I think might stifle development, like a baby never weened off of breast feeding. For example, I was on my way to the National Museum to see Lucy and other bipedal hominids dug in Kenya, when a man, well dressed, just above middle age, starts talking to me about the weather. When I realised I was British, he inundated me with questions that seem to have been stored up with no outlet: "Andruh, thill mee, whaat eez the deeforhence between ah UK and GB?"...well... "Yu have House Commons AND House Parlhiament, why two govornmints?"...so!..."Why YU cohme here and colohnize me?" ...dangerous question, veer away from that one. He invited me for tea, I entertained him as he seemed genuinely interested. He told me about Somalia and how he's met a professor who has guaranteed him a place at Edinburgh university to do a Masters in veterinarian sciences (oh wow impressive). He need to get to Malawi (hmm ok). And he needs money (ah shit). As soon as I said I couldn't he got very grumpy. His body language changed, not looking at me in the eye and asking for the cheque asap.
Having met a Mexican dude in the hostel who also wanted to go to Nakuru on Sunday, we left together. In the Matato (overfilled small Toyota vans that pump along the one lane highway, weaving in an out of oncoming traffic while you hold on for dear life), I told this story....and he told the exact same thing had happened to him...except instead of Edinburgh it was an American university in California well known for veterinarian sciences. This guy had done his homework. Regardless, it would seem that I had been taken for a ride...and never left my seat.
The most demoralising part of it for a tourist is the upfront kindness which seems so genuine. As soon as they realise that they're geting nothing, they're not interested in you.
I find there are a few proud young Kenyans walking around. Wearing a suit, polished teeth, standing upright with a folder and papers neatly tucked under an arm. I like to think that these are those that consider themselves self-made corruption free Kenyans asking for constitutional change.
However, there is also an excessive charity culture which I think might stifle development, like a baby never weened off of breast feeding. For example, I was on my way to the National Museum to see Lucy and other bipedal hominids dug in Kenya, when a man, well dressed, just above middle age, starts talking to me about the weather. When I realised I was British, he inundated me with questions that seem to have been stored up with no outlet: "Andruh, thill mee, whaat eez the deeforhence between ah UK and GB?"...well... "Yu have House Commons AND House Parlhiament, why two govornmints?"...so!..."Why YU cohme here and colohnize me?" ...dangerous question, veer away from that one. He invited me for tea, I entertained him as he seemed genuinely interested. He told me about Somalia and how he's met a professor who has guaranteed him a place at Edinburgh university to do a Masters in veterinarian sciences (oh wow impressive). He need to get to Malawi (hmm ok). And he needs money (ah shit). As soon as I said I couldn't he got very grumpy. His body language changed, not looking at me in the eye and asking for the cheque asap.
Having met a Mexican dude in the hostel who also wanted to go to Nakuru on Sunday, we left together. In the Matato (overfilled small Toyota vans that pump along the one lane highway, weaving in an out of oncoming traffic while you hold on for dear life), I told this story....and he told the exact same thing had happened to him...except instead of Edinburgh it was an American university in California well known for veterinarian sciences. This guy had done his homework. Regardless, it would seem that I had been taken for a ride...and never left my seat.
The most demoralising part of it for a tourist is the upfront kindness which seems so genuine. As soon as they realise that they're geting nothing, they're not interested in you.
mercredi 1 septembre 2010
The Great Rift Valley
Tomorrow I set off for Kenya, arriving in Nairobi early enough to remind that time does exist before 8am. I'm hoping to spend two days there finding my feet, before potentially heading to Hell's Gate National Park where I will awe at nature's wonder that is the Great Rift Valley.
Caused by shifting tectonic plates over 6 million years, with the usual seismic, volcanic and general geological activity, it starts in Lebanon, descends through Israel and the Palestinian territories (creating the lowest point on dry land in the Dead Sea), Sinai peninsula, down through the Red Sea, into Ethiopia, into Kenya (where it causes the many lakes to form...Nakuru, Naivasha, Victoria, etc...), then splits in two and continues southward.
Coincidentally, I travelled to Israel, the Palestinian territories and Jordan at the beginning of the summer; a trip I had long awaited to do, but only just now found the right time. So not only does the Great Rift Valley divide the Western plate from the Eastern plate, it also neatly separates my summer as the starting point for two (incredible) journeys.
However, this is a mere note compared to what it can truly represent. Research has hypothesised (convincingly) that the seismic activity in Africa between these two plates caused a group of prehistoric ape like creatures to be divided. Those left on the West side of the valley were surrounded by jungle and high trees, so they learned to climb, and those left to the East of the valley were surrounded by long grass, so they had to learn to stand on two feet to see any oncoming predators. It was a step towards vindicating Darwin, but also in correcting him. We did not come from monkeys, but from a common ancestor. The speed of evolution was increased as a direct consequence of an earthquake. Evidence that has been found in the area includes the legendary Lucy - the prime example of bipedal ancestor of homo sapiens. So not only does it separate the West from the East, but it also separates man from beast.
However! There is more. On the northern tip of the Great Rift is none other than the founding stones of the Abrahamic religions: the Dome of the Rock (under which sits the rock that supposedly created the world and where Abraham came to sacrifice his son to Jehovah (after which Jerusalem was named) before and angel stopped him, and where the Prophet Muhammed came to ascend into heaven on a one night journey from Mecca) which sits on the Temple Mt (destroyed originally by Babylonians when Jewish faith first became monotheistic, and Jesus predicted its destruction and subsequently was destroyed by the Romans in 70 AD marking the exile of Jews from Eretz Yisrael), Mt Sinai on the Sinai Peninsula (where Moses descended with the 10 commandments, 613 rules of the Torah, and God roared to the 600,000 Hebrews present at the time), the Dead Sea (where the Dead Sea scrolls were found, some of the oldest known Hebrew scriptures), the Jordan River and Jericho (where Jesus was baptised, lived and was tempted by the devil), Sodom and Gomorrah (the depraved cities of Genesis), Mecca itself, the Red Sea, etc....And on the other end is evidence to the contrary, evidence for evolution.
The Great Rift not only divides man from beast, West from East, Asia from Africa, the developed from the underdeveloped, it divides science from religion and finally God from man.
Interestingly enough, internal division in these two adjacent but divided worlds has caused much violence based on identity (Check out Identity and Violence by Amartya Sen): the Crusades, WWI and the Jewish/Palestinian conflict have scarred the northern tip of the valley...and not so far removed, British colonialists, Rwandan Genocide, military dictatorship have marked the southern tip of the valley. A topic a bit too ambitious for this post...nonetheless, it would seem that division and violence are intertwined together, but independent of religion and science.
Caused by shifting tectonic plates over 6 million years, with the usual seismic, volcanic and general geological activity, it starts in Lebanon, descends through Israel and the Palestinian territories (creating the lowest point on dry land in the Dead Sea), Sinai peninsula, down through the Red Sea, into Ethiopia, into Kenya (where it causes the many lakes to form...Nakuru, Naivasha, Victoria, etc...), then splits in two and continues southward.
Coincidentally, I travelled to Israel, the Palestinian territories and Jordan at the beginning of the summer; a trip I had long awaited to do, but only just now found the right time. So not only does the Great Rift Valley divide the Western plate from the Eastern plate, it also neatly separates my summer as the starting point for two (incredible) journeys.
However, this is a mere note compared to what it can truly represent. Research has hypothesised (convincingly) that the seismic activity in Africa between these two plates caused a group of prehistoric ape like creatures to be divided. Those left on the West side of the valley were surrounded by jungle and high trees, so they learned to climb, and those left to the East of the valley were surrounded by long grass, so they had to learn to stand on two feet to see any oncoming predators. It was a step towards vindicating Darwin, but also in correcting him. We did not come from monkeys, but from a common ancestor. The speed of evolution was increased as a direct consequence of an earthquake. Evidence that has been found in the area includes the legendary Lucy - the prime example of bipedal ancestor of homo sapiens. So not only does it separate the West from the East, but it also separates man from beast.
However! There is more. On the northern tip of the Great Rift is none other than the founding stones of the Abrahamic religions: the Dome of the Rock (under which sits the rock that supposedly created the world and where Abraham came to sacrifice his son to Jehovah (after which Jerusalem was named) before and angel stopped him, and where the Prophet Muhammed came to ascend into heaven on a one night journey from Mecca) which sits on the Temple Mt (destroyed originally by Babylonians when Jewish faith first became monotheistic, and Jesus predicted its destruction and subsequently was destroyed by the Romans in 70 AD marking the exile of Jews from Eretz Yisrael), Mt Sinai on the Sinai Peninsula (where Moses descended with the 10 commandments, 613 rules of the Torah, and God roared to the 600,000 Hebrews present at the time), the Dead Sea (where the Dead Sea scrolls were found, some of the oldest known Hebrew scriptures), the Jordan River and Jericho (where Jesus was baptised, lived and was tempted by the devil), Sodom and Gomorrah (the depraved cities of Genesis), Mecca itself, the Red Sea, etc....And on the other end is evidence to the contrary, evidence for evolution.
The Great Rift not only divides man from beast, West from East, Asia from Africa, the developed from the underdeveloped, it divides science from religion and finally God from man.
Interestingly enough, internal division in these two adjacent but divided worlds has caused much violence based on identity (Check out Identity and Violence by Amartya Sen): the Crusades, WWI and the Jewish/Palestinian conflict have scarred the northern tip of the valley...and not so far removed, British colonialists, Rwandan Genocide, military dictatorship have marked the southern tip of the valley. A topic a bit too ambitious for this post...nonetheless, it would seem that division and violence are intertwined together, but independent of religion and science.
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