Cathy's Big Adventure

G’Day Australia!

2009-10-08T11:29:00.000-07:00

Australia is quite big

It wasn’t exactly a warm welcome to Australia.

I arrived on a night flight from Johannesburg. I was vaguely aware that the Aussies are quite strict on what is bought into the country, so I had diligently asked the check-in clerk at Johannesburg what the rules were. She had seemed totally unaware of any restrictions and brushed aside my concerns. Lesson number 1 : Never trust customs information provided at a foreign airport. They don’t know and don’t care.

So I settled down for the long flight and forgot about it. I failed to get a wink of sleep until, it seems, they put on the Customs and Immigration video, at which point I must have gone out like a light. So on arrival at Perth, I proceeded sleepily through Immigration, blissfully oblivious of the regulations. I proffered my 3 month holiday visa and waited while they did the usual quick inspection of my passport. The customs official was taking ages over it, looking increasingly uneasy, and finally announced that I didn’t show ‘sufficient likeness’ to my photo (surely that should be the other way round?) I would have to be seen by a ‘facial specialist’ or some such jargon. I was in such a tiredness-induced daze that I don’t actually remember this person at all, I just wanted it to be over and to go to bed.

What I do remember is emerging from this ‘inspection’ and becoming aware of being followed towards the baggage reclaim area by someone else. He trailed alongside me asking my reasons for entering Australia, without actually asking me to stop, which I found very unnerving. It did cross my mind whether he was a weirdo stalking me or a real official. Probably best to err on the side of caution, given the photo fiasco, so I stopped and waffled about my travels. He demanded to see written confirmation of onward flights and any hostel bookings I had in Australia, and quizzed me incessantly on my precise route around the country. Lucky I had been organised and had printed copies of everything. Unbelievably, he then asked me to repeat my route, clearly trying to catch me out. He even asked what I did in the UK, why I left, and what I was going to do when I went back. None of your sodding business, I was tempted to say, and why the hell would I want to stay in this country anyway? But thankfully I decided against it. Lesson number 2: always have print outs of onward flight information and travel plans. Essential at South American borders too.

Finally he let me go. I breathed a sigh of relief as I spotted my backpack on the carousel, and went to haul it off. Unfortunately someone else seemed to have spotted it too – a very cute, waggy-tailed sniffer dog. His rotund owner made a beeline for me while the dog tenaciously mauled my bag at my feet. I was beyond caring that everyone was staring at the commotion, and desperately tried to think what possible contraband I could be carrying. With a thumping heart, I remembered my emergency packet of biscuits. I told the dog handler, and started to hunt around for the wretched things with a wet-nosed helper slobbering over my hand. Please don’t let there be any other stray snacks, I thought. It’s not unknown for loose sultanas to make a mysterious appearance in the bottom of my bags. I became aware of her asking me if there was anything else to declare, to which I replied no.

Mistake. I should have known from my track record in the packing department that I was rarely in a position to itemise everything in my backpack. Frankly it gets a little out of control at times. I triumphantly located a plastic bag containing the biscuits. She took it from me, delved her hand into it, and to my horror produced – in surreal slow motion – an apple. I was agog. It took a good two minutes to dimly remember shoving the apple into my bag in South Africa, thinking what a useful snack that would be. The dog got a biscuit (not one of my quarantined ones) and a pat on its smug head.

The guard adopted a more official tone, as if she was reading a legal document, and pronounced that I had failed to answer her question truthfully. I made pitiful protests that I was tired and had totally forgotten about the apple. Inwardly cursing my stupidity, I had another nasty recollection. A Tupperware container harbouring remnants of a nice tuna salad, in the bottom of my backpack. In fact, that was probably what the dog had smelt. Oh God, and a shell from a South African beach. I stopped thinking in case other things popped up. Bizarrely, she wasn’t very interested in the tuna when I sheepishly drew it from my bag, although it turned the dog psychotic. Lesson number 3: think carefully what is in your backpack before flying anywhere. I dearly hoped I would take this lesson to heart before my next flight.

Back to the apple. “This is from England?” Uh oh. “Africa.” Suddenly I had a hysterical urge to laugh, but managed to contain myself as walkie-talkies appeared, a supervisor was summoned and the apple inquisition stepped up a gear. I don’t know what they expected me to say, so I continued my pleas that I had asked at Johannesburg and they hadn’t informed me correctly, I had slept through the Customs video (not that I wished to imply it was boring or anything) and had done nothing on purpose. Finally they let me off the huge fine but gave me a long, overly loud lecture on protecting the precious and pure Australian environment.

So I walked out of Perth airport, my backpack a little lighter and clasping a humiliating souvenir – an official written warning from Customs. Welcome to Australia.

The Garden Route – Where is Everyone?

2009-09-25T21:01:00.000-07:00

I was exhilarated as I set off on my own along the Garden Route – the stretch of coast to the east of Cape Town featuring some of the country’s most scenic mountains, beaches and rivers. I bought a ‘hop on, hop off’ ticket on the BazBus, the door-to-door backpacker service, and chose Mossel Bay as my first port of call. Waiting outside the security-coded fortress of my hostel for the early morning pick-up, I felt ill at ease for the first time in Cape Town. The street was deserted, and there I was with all my belongings including an expensive laptop and lots of cash. I was so jittery that it must have been obvious I had something worth stealing. I told myself to get a grip and tried to adopt the nonchalant demeanour of someone whose backpack contains nothing but tacky souvenirs and smelly clothes. Fortunately, the bus turned up as scheduled. It was virtually empty though – an ominous sign that South Africa’s low season might be somewhat lower than I imagined.

Leaving Cape Town, we passed eye-openingly long stretches of townships which bore a closer resemblance to the shantytowns of Kenya than anything I had seen on organised tours in South Africa. I presumed this was Khayelitsha, the largest township with around half a million inhabitants. As we drove further around the Peninsula, a fantastic view of the city and Table Mountain stretched behind us, and our driver kindly obliged with a photo stop. I stepped out of the bus and for the first time in my life was quite literally blown over by the force of the wind. It took a major effort to fight against the wind and get back into the bus!

The hostel I had chosen in Mossel Bay would have been lovely, if it weren’t for the fact that I was the only tourist there. My fears were confirmed: the Garden Route was deserted. That night I had a 14-bed dormitory to myself – very bizarre and frankly unnerving. Plus, the weather was dismal. I had envisaged lots of hiking, exploring and socialising with other travellers, but my week on the Garden Route became more about relaxing in the peaceful surroundings and rediscovering

reading, running and healthy eating – three things I hadn’t done much of since leaving home.

Wilderness Beach. Beautiful.

I still had a good time. I loved Wilderness. My hostel there was slightly more inhabited than Mossel Bay and was perched on a hill above one of the finest beaches I have seen on my travels. It was fabulous running along miles of sand with the Indian Ocean clawing at the beach, and then watching the sun set from the hostel balcony. Whales, dolphins and sharks are all prevalent off the South African coast, and I don’t think I’d ever get used to such an abundance of amazing sea life. Whilst jogging, I came across a jelly fish the size of a dustbin lid stranded on the beach. I also stopped to watch a fisherman engaged in a battle with something tenacious and energetic on the end of his line. A small crowd joined me, and fifteen minutes later he managed to reel in what was clearly a shark, around two feet long. He proudly told us that it was a ‘baby raggy’, a spotted ragged-tooth shark, and then proceeded to let it go.

My concession to extreme sports -
the Flying Fox / Zip Line tree canopy
'tour' in Tsitsikamma National Park

At night, it took me a while to realise that the incessant crashing noise in the background wasn’t an annoying generator in the neighbour’s garden, but the sound of the sea. The hostel landlady told us that Europeans are always shocked, and she often gets complaints of a mysterious roaring noise during the night! It was certainly a million miles away from the gentle lapping waves that had lulled us to sleep on the coast of Tanzania. South Africa’s sea is deafening.

One place I would like to revisit in good weather and with companions is Nature’s Valley. As the name suggests, is the most unbelievably remote and tranquil spot. Wild Spirit Lodge, on the doorstep of Tsitsikamma National Park, overlooks a lush valley, with scores of hiking routes, waterfalls and mountains all around. This would have been very appealing if it had stopped raining for even five minutes, if the mist had lifted, and if I had other people to enjoy it with. Rather worryingly for the rest of my trip, I realised that I just didn’t fancy setting off on a trek alone, especially in miserable weather.

As it is, my abiding memory of Wild Spirit Lodge is being woken up in the night by strange, rhythmic scratching and rasping sounds. There was definitely something pretty large making its way around the room and up the walls. The two Belgian girls in the dorm had also awoken and we whispered to each other in panic, before deciding upon a sensible course of action – hide under the bed sheets and ignore it. We woke in the morning to find droppings over all the spare beds. Bats!

I was glad when I reached Port Elizabeth, from where I was flying to Johannesburg and on to Australia. I had met some nice people in hostels and the Garden Route was evidently a perfect place to commune with nature, it was just a shame I had visited it in September.

Photos from Cape Town and surrounds

2009-09-22T11:41:00.000-07:00

http://www.flickr.com/photos/cmay27/sets/72157622543431520

Carry on in Cape Town

2009-09-21T11:29:00.000-07:00

Cape Town's Twelve Apostles

Although I had loved roughing it on the tour, words cannot describe how nice it was to reach civilisation. I wondered how long it would take before I took cleanliness and comfort for granted again. I was especially lucky - for some reason the hostel had temporarily changed their pricey penthouse room to a shared dormitory and I was allocated a bed in it. It was definitely the best hostel room I can ever hope to stay in. The plush bathroom and power shower were pure luxury; fluffy towels awaited on the comfy beds; and as I excitedly swung the skylight window open above my bed, I found myself gazing upwards at the towering and spectacularly close Table Mountain! Five star hotels couldn’t have asked for a better view.

View from half way up Table
Mountain

The weather was beautiful and Table Mountain could wait no longer. I decided to give the cable car a miss in favour of climbing up the mountain, so myself plus Dan from Acacia and Renska from my dorm embarked on the ascent in the scorching afternoon sun. We hiked up Platteklip Gorge, the most popular trail, and after much puffing, sweating and cursing our recent lack of exercise, we reached the top in just under an hour and a half.

It was very hard work but we enjoyed a fabulous perspective of the mountain during the climb that we wouldn’t have got from the cable car. The world famous views from the top are not in the least exaggerated – stunning panoramas abound in every direction, with the city of Cape Town nestling between mountains, the Atlantic and Indian oceans.We took the cable car back down, and then jumped into a tourist bus back to our hostel. All went smoothly, although the following day I heard that

Lion's Head

tourists on one of the buses from Table Mountain had been held up at knife point. Such stories are rife, and we were warned not to walk into town in the evenings or on Sundays when there aren’t many people about. Personally I felt safe walking around the city centre on my own, especially with the heavy security presence and plethora of ‘armed response’ vehicles patrolling the streets.

Strangely, I have a particular penchant for City Sightseeing bus tours! (I went on the Windsor one twice when I lived there – you learn such a lot!!) The Cape Town route didn’t disappoint, giving a great impression of the lie of the land and key landmarks. We looped round the city’s bays, past swish residential areas, the shiny Victoria & Albert waterfront development and also saw the World Cup stadium under construction. Somebody asked me where the city reminded me of, but I couldn’t think of many coastal cities I’d been to before, let alone any with Cape Town’s unique features. Some of the properties and the sea views put me in mind of the Caribbean, but I had a feeling that the rest of my travels might provide better points of comparison, especially Australia (I imagined the housing to be similar to Cape Town, for some reason) and South America (perhaps Rio de Janeiro’s setting).

My initial excitement at having found a large Specsavers in the centre of Cape Town faded rapidly as they took an age to deliver my new glasses. However, I did a good job of finding some distractions in the meantime (doing my bit for Anglo-Afrikaans relations!) and took a trip up the coast to Hermanus for the annual ‘whale watching’ festival. I can’t say many whales made an appearance, but the local street festival was good fun. A group of us also went for a day trip to Stellenbosch, a pretty, upmarket university town. We had been advised not to catch local trains outside of rush hour, but ignored that advice for some reason, and although we had no problems we indeed found the trains out of Cape Town to be chaotic and intimidating by their emptiness.

Finally, on the joyous morning that my glasses turned up, I waved goodbye to Cape Town was ready for my first taste of proper independent travel.

Destination South Africa

2009-09-19T10:14:00.000-07:00

There was a distinct buzz about the truck as we approached South Africa. In fact, it was difficult to tell who was the most excited, the guides or the passengers! Our first couple of nights in the ‘Rainbow Nation’ were spent amidst undulating hills, beautiful mountains and the lush winelands

for which the Western Cape is renowned. We enjoyed a couple of good nights in the campsite bars, including an impromptu hen party for one of the girls. I can’t say I had a tear in my eye as I took down my tent for the last time – I was very glad to see the back of those nasty, cold metal poles that seemed to inflict daily injuries on me!

Steaming along towards Cape Town on the last official day of the tour, it suddenly felt as if the last couple of weeks had flown by. It was a spine-tingling moment when Table Mountain came into view on the skyline; I hadn’t known quite what to expect, but I definitely hadn’t realised how dominating and integral the mountain would be to the city. As we got closer, we could see the famed fingers of cloud that usually shroud the ‘table top’, but the rest of the sky was clear and bright. We were itching to get up the mountain while the good weather lasted.

First, though, we had one final activity left: visiting a township. I had been looking forward to comparing this with my experience of the slums of Nairobi (Kibera), and as we headed

Table Mountain watching over the new
housing in the township of Langa

into Langa it became immediately apparent that the two are worlds apart. Langa, after all, was a planned community designated for black Africans during the Apartheid era, purpose-built by the authorities with transparency and control in mind - a direct contrast to the origins of Kenya’s slums, which struggled to register at all on the authorities’ radar. We had seen little evidence of official aid in Kibera, and tourism was definitely in its infancy, exposing us unapologetically to the raw reality of filth, extreme poverty and rampant disease. In Langa, minibuses full of tourists were pouring into the vibrant chaos. We heard rumour of a B&B in the neighbourhood, and we even ate (somewhat tentatively) alongside locals in a crazily raucous, jam-packed café. Unthinkable in Kibera.

Langa consisted of an incongruous mishmash of different types of housing. Kibera-style corrugated iron shacks and down-at-heel brick tenements rubbed shoulders uneasily with neat, middle-class bungalows and new-builds not unlike a Milton Keynes estate. It looked like a community undergoing a face lift, presumably as part of the government 'upgrading’ initiatives of recent years and (looking cynically at the

proximity of Langa to the airport) a clean-up operation for the World Cup. The guided tour was very organised and it was impossible to judge whether we were being presented with just one superficial face of Langa. Certainly the tour gave the impression of a vibrant, open and evolving community; however I couldn’t help but wonder how different classes of housing could possibly be introduced into an established slum without disrupting social cohesion and order.

Leaving Langa, we boarded Kwando for the last time and headed for our final destination – a backpackers hostel a few minutes from the centre of town.

Photos from Botswana and Namibia

2009-09-17T13:30:00.000-07:00

http://www.flickr.com/photos/cmay27/sets/72157622418973555

More Marvels in Namibia - Dune 45 and Fish River Canyon

2009-09-16T11:10:00.000-07:00

Namibia still had two major attractions and distinct landscapes in store for us.

Firstly, we drove through the incredible ‘sandscape’ of the Namib desert to the region known as Sossusvlei. ‘Vlei’ means ‘pan’ in Afrikaans; a vast, circular expanse of white, cracked mud that is a low-lying flood plain. The pan is surrounded by Namibia’s massive, angular, rolling sand dunes, which at 300 metres high are amongst the largest in the world. Our campsite was a short drive away from the imaginatively named Dune 45, the world’s ‘most photographed’ dune (they had to think of some accolade to give it, since it isn’t the world’s highest!) and we set about mentally preparing ourselves for the following morning’s mission – climbing it before sunrise (when else!)

So we prised ourselves out of our sleeping bags excruciatingly early, plonked ourselves in the truck and drove in pitch darkness to the base of dune. I had a nasty suspicion that this climb was going to be very strenuous, especially so early in the morning and after weeks of little physical activity. We embarked on a single-file trudge up the side of the 170 metre high dune, feet sinking into deep, cold sand and pausing every now and again to catch our breath. It turned out to be more invigorating than exhausting, once we found a steady rhythm

and learnt to step in the footprints of the person in front. Finally we reached the crest and collapsed into the sand to admire the stunning, untouched sea of sand (aside from our own footprints) as the day began to break.

The early start was definitely worth it because we had the place entirely to ourselves. The descent was great fun – leaping and sliding our way back to the truck, where our guides had put champagne on ice and prepared a lovely cooked breakfast. This was certainly one of the most unique locations we enjoyed ‘Kwando cuisine’!

Sand dune action continued as we set off again in the style to which we were becoming accustomed – crammed into the back of a jeep. We were driven further into the desert for a guided walk to learn about the former lifestyle of the indigenous bushmen and the wildlife found in such seemingly inhospitable terrain. Our guide spotted snake tracks (alas no snake); delved his

hand into the sand and somehow produced a poor, squirming gecko for us to ogle; and pointed out small dotted circles on the sand that he claimed were ‘front doors’. He tapped several times on one, and sure enough a piece of sand flipped back and the inhabitant – a spider – popped out to see what was going on. The guide was a very curious character, and possibly an Olympic speed-walker: barely had he finished his commentary in one location before he took off at such a fast pace that we nearly lost him several times (or he nearly lost us, given that we were the clients!)

The most interesting part of the tour was visiting Dead Vlei, a kilometre wide white clay pan that hasn’t seen water for hundreds of years. The ancient, blackened trees spike eerily out of the pan’s baking hot surface and inspire iconic photographs of their skeletons silhouetted against the deep red of the dunes and the beautiful blue of the sky. The silence of the place is remarkable, and also the stifling heat, as the height of the dunes prevent wind from cooling the pan.

Leaving the sand dunes behind us, the final highlight of our Namibian visit was Fish River Canyon, Africa’s largest canyon boasting a 100 mile long ravine. There was no let up in the heat of the day as we strolled along the edge of the canyon, enjoying amazing views of its sprawling gorges and ravines. The sunset that evening was incredible, however – to my shame – I should mention that another unfortunate incident had occurred. I had dropped my camera onto a sandy track, lens open, and it immediately began to produce a sandstorm backdrop to every photo, before grinding to a halt altogether. So I cannot take the credit for any of the photos from Dune 45 to Cape Town! It was almost as inconceivable to continue my travels without a camera as it was without my glasses, so I added this to my growing list of things to buy in Cape Town. Certainly the city’s shopping malls were going to do very well out of me.

Surreal Spitzkoppe and Swakopmund

2009-09-12T18:17:00.000-07:00

Our journey from inland Namibia towards the coast to took us through some very unusual landforms. One moment we were travelling through grassy plains, admiring the distant mountains, the next we found ourselves amidst a fascinating range of granite hills and strange rock formations. We wound our way through the hills to Spitzkoppe, an area strewn with large, domed chunks of the 700 million year old granite. In the shadow of these boulders we set up bushcamp for the night.

I really enjoyed camping in this unique setting. We climbed up the hills for a panoramic view of the landscape before settling down for an evening around the campfire. All was going smoothly until someone’s shrieks announced the arrival of some impressive wildlife - ‘a tennis-ball on legs’ had apparently scuttled under a chair! For once, I was glad that I couldn’t see properly, especially when I had to venture to the ‘facilities’ before bed (otherwise known as long grass behind one of the boulders.)

With the last of our bushcamping exploits behind us, the road to regular hot showers, proper toilets and reliable electricity stretched luxuriously ahead. To much excitement, the plan for the next two nights was to stay in a backpacker hostel – the first time since Zanzibar. The location of this treat was Swakopmund, a colonial seaside resort and Namibia’s centre of adventure sports. Many of the group had adrenalin activities in mind but I preferred to ‘chillax’ (to use an annoying word, heard especially frequently in South Africa) and explore Swakopmund, as I knew there would be plenty of opportunities for exactly the same sports (such as sandboarding, skydiving) later on my travels.

The guidebooks describe Swakopmund as ‘quirky’. I would say it borders on the surreal - Teutonic, fairy-tale like architecture, wide boulevards and upmarket boutiques are juxtaposed with the bright colours, palm trees and beaches of a Caribbean resort. To me, it all looks a bit weird. I had to fight the urge to prod buildings to see if they would wobble like scenery on a film set. The centre of town felt perfectly safe, however I took a convoluted route back to the hostel via the beach and felt distinctly uncomfortable with groups of loitering locals watching me. I can only assume it’s not the done thing for a white (foreign) woman to walk around on her own.

Looking more carefully at Swakopmund, I realised that Nairobi-style security measures were back: intruder alarms flashed on every house and there was a constant, rhythmic click-click-clicking in the background that wasn’t insects this time but electric fences, including one surrounding our hostel. I was rattled by this sinister undercurrent given the outwardly cheerful and benign appearance of the town – and it was another reminder that this wasn’t Western society as we know it.

A night out was however pretty normal, apart from the fact that I went into a club carrying a doggy bag of overcooked zebra steak from our earlier meal. Not something I’m likely to repeat in Reading! Unfortunately the night didn’t end too well for all of us. One of the group mistakenly thought he’d been locked out of the hostel and attempted a beer-induced leap over the electric fence, only to be found some time later lying in a heap with a badly broken ankle. Sobering up quickly, we made frantic attempts to find an emergency services number and wake up the hostel’s management but failed on both counts. So one of the guides ran off to find the local police station to get help, and sure enough a police car duly pulled up with music blaring out and policemen looking suspiciously like they were enjoying themselves. Apparently the ambulance hadn’t been able to come because it was ‘in the garage’, so the injured party was lifted into the rear ‘cage’ of the police car and driven off to the local private hospital.

The following day we were all surprised to see him back in the hostel being helped about by others. Apparently the insurance company had dictated that it was too expensive to stay in hospital overnight – so he had to wait around a whole day before getting a taxi back into hospital for his operation. To complete his tale of woe, the decision was taken that we’d have to leave him behind, so we decided to call into the hospital on our way out of town. I don’t think the hospital had ever had 20 people through its doors at one time – especially out of visiting hours! – so we attracted curious, yet not overly concerned, glances by staff. Having said our goodbyes, we were off once again towards the Namib desert.

Videos from Etosha National Park, Namibia

2009-09-11T16:50:00.000-07:00

http://www.youtube.com/user/cmay27travelling#g/a

Elephant Extravaganza in Etosha

2009-09-10T20:45:00.000-07:00

We thought that we had ‘done’ game viewing. But our final animal adventure in Etosha National Park topped the lot and took our breath away.

For the first time, we drove straight into the Park in our very own truck (and home-sweet-home), Kwando. Our guide Jacques hopped in the back with us and drew upon his ranger background to give us an excellent

commentary through the safari. We spotted the rare black rhino, gemsbok and had a marvellous view of zebra drinking from one of the park’s waterholes.

Just as a couple of bull elephants arrived to compete for drinking space, the truck decided to develop a few water problems of its own and refused to start. So our rather anxious guides plus a mechanic from the group ventured outside (amidst ‘do not get out of your vehicle’ signs) and disappeared under the engine to administer some on-the-spot repairs. Thankfully Kwando spluttered into life and we were off again.

Our campsite in Etosha is where the real excitement began. We were astounded to find that there was a large waterhole right next to camp, complete with benches positioned just inside the low perimeter fence to give lazy tourists a unique ring-side seat. Knowing that I wouldn’t be able to appreciate the night’s waterhole entertainment (see lost glasses diary entry), I stayed behind while the group went on an evening game drive and savoured the iconic African sunset from the waterhole’s benches. I was immensely glad I did. Within a few minutes, I spotted what I thought was an elephant approaching in the distance. Squinting in disbelief, I realised that it wasn’t just one elephant, it was the first of a whole herd – females, bulls, babies, the whole extended family! - ambling in single-file towards the waterhole for an evening dip.

I watched their breathtaking display of bathing and preening for a good half an hour, at which point some other large bulls turned up, prompting much trumpeting and aggressive stand-offs. It would have been very handy to have an elephant expert on hand to explain the various social interactions that were evidently taking place but which I had no idea how to interpret. My good luck continued as some giraffes also took their place at the waterhole, spreading their legs wide and leaning their neck forward to drink in a very ungainly manner!

The next morning, I was woken at 5am by a tremendously powerful, resonating growl that continued menacingly for nearly forty minutes. I had never heard lions roaring before and can only describe it as the most intimidating rumbling sound. They sounded incredibly close, but we were told later that the beasts were as far as ten kilometres away. The elephants’ waterhole antics and lions’ roaring were totally unforgettable and a highlight of the whole trip.

T.I.A.!

2009-09-10T02:41:00.000-07:00

Hanging on for dear life in jeep

Before leaving Botswana, we spent a leisurely morning swimming in a disused local quarry. With typical disregard to health and safety, we all piled into the back of a jeep and hung on for dear life as we bumped and bounced our way along stony tracks. Several bruises, lots of laughs and a flat tyre later, the quarry appeared in the baking hot, barren landscape and we braved a dip in the icy water. To top off a relaxing day, I decided to ‘upgrade’ my accommodation for a change, paying a few dollars for the privilege of having my own traditional straw hut. Unfortunately I failed to inspect it closely before handing over the cash, and found that the door was mysteriously half the size of the doorway, leaving a lion-sized hole by my bedside! So although it was nice to have a bed for the night, I slept with one eye open for intruders of the human, animal or insect kind.

Hut with deficient door!

The following day, we set off for Namibia. By this point, we had perfected our daily ritual of annoying the guides by asking ‘What time will we arrive?’, to which the equally frustrating response was: ‘T.I.A.!’ This is Africa – impossible to say! So we were left to watch our surroundings and spot clues as to our whereabouts. I found the Namibian landscape intriguing and almost as spectacular as any since Tanzania. It is easy to see that Namibia is the second least densely populated country in the world! We drove for hundreds of kilometres without seeing any other vehicles, traversing flat, open plains with vast mountain ranges to either side of us. All this began to change as we neared the country’s capital, Windhoek.

From what we saw of it, the capital didn’t look particularly picturesque but it was certainly the most developed place we had seen so far, with Westernised shopping centres

and a very different feel from previous countries. It’s Germanic influence was in evidence from street and shop names to German being widely spoken (not just by the numerous German tourists.) As the city’s industrial skyline unfolded in front of us, I felt a mounting excitement at reaching the civilisation of Southern Africa, with only just over a week to go until we would arrive in Cape Town.

The Lion, The Witch and The Glasses

2009-09-08T20:22:00.000-07:00

Bin Bag Party - fancy dress overland style!

As my fellow travellers will testify, I appear to have a “special ability” for breaking, losing or temporarily mislaying my belongings – in fact, anyone’s belongings! – on an impressively regular basis. I don’t discriminate – items of significant value and minor paraphernalia are treated as equals. This talent has been in the making for a number of years, but on our return from the Delta I definitely surpassed many of my previous transgressions.

I lost my glasses – the one thing that I dreaded happening at home, let alone in Botswana. The incident occurred in highly dignified circumstances: in the ladies toilet, under the influence of Malawi’s finest brew, Powers Number 1 (“fine dry spirit”), and dressed up as a witch in a black bin bag.

Whilst preparing for the Bin Bag Party, I had put my contact lenses in and then, as if by magic invested in me by my outfit, my glasses disappeared. Despite several attempts at casting a special retrieval spell using my witch's hat, they never turned up - even after Powers had worn off and panic had set in.

Knowing that my feeble eyes aren’t up to wearing contact lenses in hot climates, I resigned myself to a fortnight of half-blindness with characteristic stoicism. That’s a lie. I whinged to anyone who would listen. Daytime was fine – thanks to my prescription sunglasses – but the mornings and evenings were a bind. Sitting around a camp fire when you can’t see the person opposite, game drives in half light and night sky-gazing all rapidly lost their appeal. No real harm was done, apart from a few mishaps such as walking into a tree (under the watch of my chaperone – thanks Daniella!) and becoming a source of amusement for everyone as I fumbled my way through mealtimes. It was such a relief to finally get a new pair of glasses at the end of the tour in South Africa and recommence daytime sightseeing!

The Delta From The Sky

2009-09-07T20:07:00.000-07:00

Once back on dry land, I jumped at the chance of taking a 45 minute flight over the Delta in a small plane. The flight itself was almost more exhilarating than the helicopter ride over Victoria Falls, because the Cessna didn’t feel particularly powerful or safe! One of our group in the back turned a shade of green as the pilot banked the plane unnecessarily steeply from side to side, but I was lucky to be sat in the front and loved every minute.

In our canoes, the Delta hadn’t seemed like a flood plain because it was so obviously a permanent feature and habitat (although it does apparently rise and fall as the seasons change) – but from above, the chaotic nature of flooding was evident. Usually, the unnatural symmetry of Man’s infrastructures and conurbations is conspicuously imprinted on the landscape below, but the Delta’s endless waterways, lagoons and islands created an untouched, fascinating collage of natural flows and patterns. The white patches visible in some areas were salt deposits that had built up and killed the vegetation. Our flight confirmed for us that the Okavango Delta is a totally unique place – and that flooding can be both dramatic and artistic when viewed from above!

Frogs? Making That Noise?

2009-09-07T02:20:00.000-07:00

Standing on a termite mound

All our wildlife viewing had been from vehicles up to this point, but on the island in the Delta we were lucky enough to have two guided bush walks, one at sunset and one ‘before breakfast’ (two words which should never be found together!) These were fantastic. We set off in small groups, walking in single file with a guide at either end of our procession. Using animal tracks and droppings to locate the beasts, the guides led us quickly to giraffes, zebra, elephants and springbok. Being so close to the animals felt like an intrusion yet also a real privilege – plus we were totally exposed, unlike in safari vehicles. Aside from the animals, we also examined the region’s famous termite (flying ant) mounds, bizarre structures as high as 15 feet, made by the insects to keep themselves dry when the Delta floods.

As the sun began to set on our evening safari, we were treated to the incredible sight of a wildebeest stampede in front of us. We stood silently, listening to their thundering hooves and watching the dust rising in the sunset. Having seen such a plethora of animals within spitting distance of our tents, we were slightly anxious about security as we returned to camp.

But this was soon forgotten once the campfire was lit, dinner was on and we were sat around the fire on upturned mokoros. A great evening followed (and not just because of marshmallows over the campfire!). The polers, who were camping with us, put on a display of traditional singing and dancing. We were all enjoying this until it dawned on us that we were expected to do the same. Having failed to explain that we don’t really sing and dance in our culture – unless very drunk - we made cringeworthy attempts at the Macarena, the Hokey Cokey and Oasis Wonderwall. Deeply embarrassing.

I had read that the Delta is home to a particular diversity of flora and fauna - all I can say is that the fauna makes a racket at night! By the time it was dark (far darker than I ever remember it being at home), the noise from all around was literally deafening. I have fond childhood memories of frogs gribbeting away endearingly in our garden pond (I’m from Norfolk, ok…) and crickets in the South of France that created a pleasant and exotic background hum. Not so in Southern Africa. Frogs bellow at each other rudely and crickets compete in a chorus of chainsaws. I sat in my pitch black tent in a state of bewilderment, wondering how it was possible to sleep through this cacophony.

One incident from our return mokoro journey will stay with me for a long time. Our poler directed our mokoro away from the group, and pulled up alongside a termite mound. She proceeded to bang the pole with some force against the mound. At first, I thought she was cleaning the forked base of the pole, but on closer inspection I saw that she was breaking off chunks of the termite mound and eating them. Possibly she was licking the termites off them, as they are supposedly nutritious. She also saved a few pieces of the rock for a snack on the way back, which was washed down with glugs of the Delta water. I was lost for words. It was one of the most striking examples of the cultural and wealth divide between tourists and locals that I saw in Africa.

A Sinking Feeling in the Okavango

2009-09-06T00:27:00.000-07:00

A strange thing happened as we approached Maun, safari capital of Botswana and gateway to the Okavango Delta.

I realised that I couldn’t wait to get back into the wilderness! Despite what I thought were overwhelming memories of tiredness, coldness and minimal sanitation, my brain seemed to have registered bush camping as exciting and adventurous. Either my definition of fun was being altered by Africa, or I was undergoing some kind of reaction to the malaria tablets!

The Okavango Delta is a strange place. It is a vast, flat wetland area (15 000 square kilometers) consisting of water channels, lagoons, swamps and islands, one of which was the location of our bush camping escapade. We were to traverse the Delta via the traditional mode of transport: mokoros, dugout canoes made from ebony or sausage tree logs. Apparently the problem with these (not the only problem, as I would shortly find out) is that it takes 80 years for the trees to grow, so fibreglass mokoros are beginning to overtake the traditional version (quite literally).

We were greeted at the water’s edge by our local ‘polers’, who packed all our luggage – overnight bags, food, water, tents and (worryingly) a spade - into their mokoros. With all the elegance of an African elephant, I tumbled into a sausage-tree mokoro which wobbled perilously from side to side, and vowed not to move an inch for the next three hours. Once fellow overlander Dan was seated behind me, our poler Rogers jumped on board and we set off.

It was baking hot. Thankfully we had been warned of sun-burn potential on the water and I had virtually bathed in sun cream before setting off. Aside from some very irksome spiders and other insects that kept joining me in the mokoro, it was incredibly peaceful and relaxing as we meandered their way through reeds and lily pads on the shallow water.

Until, that is, the peace was broken as I became aware of sitting in a shallow pool of water. I wailed “There’s water coming in!!” only for Rogers to reply flatly “No, there isn’t”, whilst blatantly bailing water out from the back. Before you could say ‘Titanic’, another bigger (fibreglass) mokoro from our group pulled alongside and I jumped ship – leaving Dan and Rogers to pole to a nearby island for emergency repairs. Finally we arrived intact at our destination, moored the mokoros and waded the last stretch to arrive on a secluded beach.

Before setting up camp, the males in the group were told to have a pee around the perimeter to mark our territory in true primitive style! In the absence of a fence, this was supposed to help deter wild animals. In the Serengeti, our campsites did actually have some (however unpleasant) facilities but here, there was nothing. The reason for bringing the spade became apparent – a hole was dug behind a large tree for the toilet, and the spade was leant against the tree to indicate occupancy!

Meat on the Truck? We're all Vegetarian!

2009-09-04T22:36:00.000-07:00

First stop, Botswana. There were two astonishing elements to our arrival in the country. Firstly, the infrastructure was in visibly better shape than any we had seen – we enjoyed smooth journeys on wide, newly tarmacked roads! This is one indication of the country’s relative prosperity, due in part to the diamond trade (which even I was aware of, thanks to the film Blood Diamond). Secondly, we were told at the border that Botswana operates ‘strict’ control of foot and mouth disease (apparently to meet EU stipulations on exporting beef) and therefore it is forbidden to bring meat into the country. We made lame attempts at looking innocent while the leaders assured officials we had no meat on board. I’m sure the burgers in the truck’s freezer didn’t contain proper meat anyway, and the ham was certainly of dubious descent.

Foot and mouth checkpoints and livestock fences (hundreds of miles long) are features of driving through Botswana. At each checkpoint, all vehicle tyres and every pair of shoes on the truck have to pass through a muddy pool of disinfectant. The logistics of getting shoes out of lockers made this into a bit of a rigmarole, and we became less conscientious about it. Suddenly one official announced that all backpacks were to be searched. I had visions of being arrested for smuggling a pair of hiking boots and one flipflop (the other sadly lost in Zanzibar), but fortunately his enthusiasm wasn’t matched by thoroughness because he failed to spot any footwear in his vicinity.

Once we were back on the road, we saw that Botswana was the most desolate and arid place we had travelled through yet. Much of it is covered by the Kalahari Desert, however there are two major attractions, the Okavango Delta - which had been billed as a ‘highlight’ of this tour - and Chobe National Park. The latter was our first stop, supposedly for yet more game viewing opportunities. The first few days since Livingston confirmed my suspicions that our new tour leaders had a penchant for even earlier-morning starts than the last ones, only this time with unshakeable joviality – not always reciprocated at 5am! Despite a valiant early start, the wildlife of Chobe was not cooperating and we returned to camp, frozen and muttering. But it did make us realise why it is sensible to include several game reserves on a trip - they can’t guarantee animal action!

However, our evening cruise on Chobe River made up for it. We saw several crocodiles close-up for the first time, although we were preoccupied with giggling in a very juvenile fashion at a fellow passenger with a ridiculous moustache. When said moustache wasn’t silhouetted distractingly against the sky, the sunset was definitely one of the finest so far.

All Change!

2009-09-03T21:06:00.000-07:00

The second half of my African adventure beckoned. I was excited by the prospect of visiting Botswana, Namibia and especially South Africa. Before perusing the truck copy of The Lonely Planet, I knew precious little about the first two countries on our itinerary. I hadn't even realised, for instance, that Namibia once belonged to Germany (must have slept through that bit of my German degree). I was intrigued to see if a former German colony in Africa would look as surreal as the image in my head!

Waving goodbye to Livingston, we hit the road again in a shiny new truck, affectionately named Kwando after the African river. This time, the group was more international, with Germans and Dutch joining the UK and Australiasian majority, and our new tour leaders were two South African guys, Jacques and JP. I surprised myself by feeling quite unsettled for the first few days. The bonds, shared experiences and fragile familiarity that we had built over three weeks had disappeared into the Zambezi sunset. But it’s amazing how quickly such insecurities fade once you begin to get to know people again. In fact, before we knew it, the group had gelled far better than our previous one, and by the time we reached Namibia we were all enjoying ourselves so much that we didn’t want the tour to end!

From an organisational point of view, the Kwando regime was far more regimented, and at times reminiscent of a school trip (such as morning wake-up calls, in the form of vigorous tent shaking!) Overall, though, the more structured approach made a refreshing change, and the fact that nobody became ill on this part of the trip justified such measures as enforced hand-washing before cooking. The leaders were more integrated with the group, shared their duties more effectively and acted as guides rather than just organisers, which made a significant difference to our appreciation of the surroundings. Eyebrows were raised on the first evening when they announced that women wouldn’t be allowed to carry anything heavy including tents on their tour. What a marvellous idea. Sod the sisterhood, I have a bad back!

Photos from Malawi and Zambia

2009-09-02T03:41:00.000-07:00

http://www.flickr.com/photos/cmay27/sets/72157622404423359/

Livingston: Home of Victoria Falls

2009-09-02T03:00:00.000-07:00

Finally we arrived in Livingston, Zambia, the home of Victoria Falls. The tour ended here for most people, except for the eight of us ‘Cape Towners’ who would join a new truck to take us through Southern Africa. But before we said goodbye to our new friends, we still had a few days together to visit Vic Falls, partake in various adrenalin activities and do justice to the campsite bar.

Well, in theory anyway. As it happens, myself and a couple of others were incapacitated for much of the time due to challenges of the stomach variety. So while most of the group went white-water rafting, jet boating and Booze Cruising, we recuperated by the pool and enjoyed beautiful views over the Zambezi. Even though I had already seen enough elephants to last me a lifetime, I was still

entranced watching them wander along the opposite river bank whilst I lounged on my recliner. However, the novelty of having monkeys roaming freely around the campsite quickly wore off – they were quite aggressive and ran off with anything that wasn’t tied down.

An elephant also caused a stir on the evening that we were going out for a group meal; we ended up having to traipse through the five star hotel next door because a large bull was blocking the main road into the campsite and refused to budge!

I’m Loving Angels Instead…

Victoria Falls is one of the world’s largest waterfalls, apparently over twice the height and width of Niagara Falls, depending on which source you believe, and rivalled only by South America's Iguazu Falls (which I hope to see on my travels next year.) It is on the Zambezi River between Zambia and Zimbabwe; apparently the views are better from the ‘Zim’ side but this required another pricey visa so I contented myself with sightseeing from Zambia.

We walked beside the Falls in baking heat, marvelling at the depth of the chasm and the deafening sound of the water plummeting into great pools below. A constant mist of spray rising from the foot of the Falls explained why they are known as The Smoke that Thunders, and a rainbow arched spectacularly across the gorge. The Falls sounded pretty thunderous to me, but apparently the volume of water and columns of spray are even more impressive in wet season (November to April.)

Vic Falls and gorges in background

To get another perspective on the Falls, most people went white-water rafting but I had absolutely no desire to do so! I chose the comparably sedate option of a helicopter flight and was really glad I did (particularly when the rafters returned with sprained ankles, twisted knees and videos of capsizing rafts etc.) In a small helicopter, we soared up into the perfect clear sky, were treated to magnificent panoramic views of the landscape and saw that the Falls' backdrop is an equally breathtaking series of zigzagging gorges. On our walking tour, we had been struck by the sound and power of the water; but from above – just like my hot air balloon ride in the Serengeti – we were overwhelmed by the magnitude of the natural wonder, stretching as far as the eye could see. I also loved being in the helicopter, which felt so much more agile and powerful than a plane of similar size.

The pilot gave us an interesting commentary for the first half of the flight, then before we could object, switched on Robbie Williams' 'Angels' which blarred above the sound of the chopper. With the sun beginning to set as we swept over the Falls for the last time, I’m embarrassed to say that it was actually quite moving!!

“Looking Is For Free!”

2009-08-30T22:11:00.000-07:00

The journey through Malawi and Zambia to the half way point of our tour, Livingston, was my least favourite stretch of the entire trip (apart from several good evenings in campsite bars.) This was because I found the main highlight – Lake Malawi – disappointing. It’s the world’s eight largest lake, so on paper it should be interesting, but the water was murky, the beaches weren’t anything special, it was a mosquito magnet, and we encountered the largest, most unpleasant and persistent swam of flies known to Man. To my mind,

the campsites in these countries were those that fell into the ‘pointless stopover’ category.

We did however take the opportunity to hone our bargaining skills at local curios markets. I thought time-share reps in Tenerife were a pest until I met the traders on these stalls! They would try to shake your hand, ask your name, engage you in conversation about London (whether you lived there or not), follow you like a shadow around their stall and generously exclaim: “Looking is for free!” The phrase hapana sante – no thank you – came in handy. Some of the wooden carvings and paintings were stunning but surprisingly not that cheap, even after shameless haggling. However, we discovered that they were keen for part-payment in the form of virtually anything Western, from women’s fashion magazines, hairbands, batteries, clothes and pens. I felt like a complete fraud, touting around an old black hairband and cheap blue biro, but sure enough these were deemed worthy of exchange for a bracelet. Baggage allowance permitting, it would have been sensible to pack an old pair of jeans because clever negotiation could swiftly convert these into a beautifully carved wooden table!

Aside from the Lake, it was nonetheless fascinating to travel through the endless stream of rural communities and see the dwellings change from the tin-rooved shacks of Tanzania to the neat, round huts of Malawi. I had hoped to see something of the urban landscapes too, but the Acacia Africa itinerary only included cursory visits to the country’s capitals, Lilongwe (Malawi) and Lusaka (Zambia), namely to upmarket retail parks on the outskirts. These evidently serve as the recreation and shopping destinations of the privileged. Obviously it is debatable how much we could read into our short perusal of the two cities’ retail parks, but I can say that Zambia was the first place where we didn’t feel like fish out of water. We weren’t stared at for once (there were other white people around), the spoken English was easily understandable to us, and there were even some flashy cars in the car parks! It felt distinctly more international. I was naively taken aback to see these complexes awash with familiar brands that I hadn’t realised were so global – Spar, Subway, Nando’s, BP petrol stations (in Zambia) and numerous Barclay’s Bank cashpoints (differing from those in the UK by the presence of a heavily armed guard!)

Zanzibar: A Kind of Magic, innit

2009-08-22T02:43:00.000-07:00

Waiting for the ferry to Zanzibar, we had time to wander to a nearby commercial centre to escape the scorching heat and indulge in our first urban retail experience. It was pretty much like a Western shopping mall (with Western prices), including a supermarket (Spa!), pharmacy, various cafes and fast food outlets. It was strange being in a relatively familiar environment in such an unfamiliar culture. Overall, Dar appeared industrial and bustling, and I was glad to get on the ferry bound for the more relaxed shores of the ‘spice island’, Zanzibar.

We arrived in Stone Town and ambled (as best one can with a backpack) through a maze of narrow streets and alleys to our hostel. Zanzibar’s residents look very different to mainland East Africans because the island is predominantly Islamic, so most people wear traditional Muslim clothing and headdresses.

The town appeared quaint in a rather shabby way, with its white-washed ancient buildings and mosques standing alongside bustling bazaars and restaurants catering for the tourists. The food we had on Zanzibar was delicious, mainly Indian which made a change from our diet on the tour so far. The popular night food market on the waterfront was definitely worth a visit, and we sampled chapati, a tasty East African and Indian flatbread eaten with grilled meats and salad – basically a kebab!

Strangely, I was the only one who was excited about being in Freddie Mercury’s birthplace! I managed to find a small window in our hectic schedule to sneak off and visit the house where his family used to live (sad, I know). Disappointingly, it has been turned into a museum totally unrelated to the musical legend and only a cheap plastic notice on the wall outside testifies to the significance of the house! For geeky fans like me, I’m sure they could make more of this marketing opportunity.

One of the (only) must-do’s in Zanzibar is the Spice Tour, which is a guided bus tour of the island’s highlights. For me, the most interesting part of this was visiting a spice plantation and seeing how cloves, nutmeg, cinnamon and ginger are grown. You know that things are a little desperate when a tour is padded out with such ‘sights’ as a windblown tree! We trailed around a few other supposed landmarks but really Stone Town is the cultural centre and other than that, beaches are what draw people to Zanzibar. Just a shame the sun wasn’t out!

Actually, our guide himself was rather more memorable than the tour itself. We had a sinking feeling as he introduced himself as ‘Ali T in the Bus’, and launched into a bizarre half African, half Ali G routine, peppered with rhyming slang and ‘innits’. His disconcertingly dead pan delivery gave a few of us the giggles (well, me anyway) which was a bit embarrassing, especially in a church we visited. I’m sure the Zanzibar tourism authority wouldn’t be best pleased at the guide’s description of the Sultan of Zanzibar having frequent “comfortable times” with twelve different “Me Julies”! This surreal tour was topped off by his sidekick hissing random questions about Britain at me - “Manchester United, they’re from London, right?”

The Contrasts of Tanzania

2009-08-21T16:10:00.000-07:00

Dar Es Salaam

The diversity of Tanzania is phenomenal. As if the abundance of wildlife and national parks weren’t enough, the country also boasts Mt Kilimanjaro, superb beaches on the mainland plus the exotic island of Zanzibar. But before we reached the first coastline of our tour, we had to traverse Dar Es Salaam – giving us a glimpse of yet another facet to this remarkable country.

Traffic-clogged Dar was one of the biggest culture shocks so far, especially after having been off the beaten track for a while. We were warned that it could take a couple of hours to drive through the city, and sure enough the urban sprawl seemed to extend for miles before we even got anywhere near to the centre. Driving in Dar requires superhuman hazard awareness skills.

The moment the traffic slows down sufficiently, street vendors converge on the cars and dodge in and out of the lanes, tapping on windows and trying to sell their wares. Our elevated position on the truck put us out of their reach, so we were thankfully removed from the dizzying scene below. One major crossroads took us at least fifteen minutes to cross, with four lanes of hooting vehicles seemingly ignoring the lights as well as the ineffectual traffic officials.

Furniture for sale on the pavement!

Just as our driver was about to take his chances and launch into the chaos, we were horrified to see a beggar with no legs start to drag himself across the tarmac in front of the revving traffic. The second he emerged from the front of our vehicle, we thundered across the junction and could only hope he got across all lanes safely.

It was a relief to reach our destination that night. We camped on a fenced off section of beach, ready for our ferry crossing to Zanzibar the following morning. It was a beautiful and tranquil bay, but we were given a gentle reminder that you just can’t walk around on the beach alone (as a white foreigner anyway). I’m pretty sure that this was the first time in my life that I had ever camped on a beach and fallen asleep to the soothing sound of waves breaking on the shore.

Life as An Overlander

2009-08-20T23:29:00.000-07:00

With our East African safaris over, it was time to become properly acquainted with our nomadic life on the road. It transpired that there were only eight of us (the hardcore!) who were travelling the entire route down to Cape Town, and we would be joining a new group as well as changing trucks and tour leaders at the half way point - Victoria Falls in Zambia. I was actually quite pleased about this, as three weeks is quite a long time with one group (no offence, fellow overlanders) and two separate tours would make my time in Africa seem longer.

Everything we needed was carried on board the truck. Camping and cooking equipment was stowed in the sides, and we each had a large locker on board for our backpacks. Keeping lockers tidy and organised became an art form (that I never properly mastered) so that we didn’t have to take our backpack off the truck every night. Being a ‘participation’ tour, we were divided into teams and had a daily rota of duties - cooking, washing up, packing and truck cleaning. One of the tour leaders did all the driving, but they shared responsibilities for food purchasing, meal planning and general organisation.

Just Passing Through

There were some awfully long days spent on the truck. I knew that there was a lot of ground to cover – that is the definition of an overland tour, after all – but sometimes we couldn’t help but feel our destination was a little pointless. This was especially the case between Tanzania and Zambia where several sites were simply stopovers on our journey to the next ‘highlight’. We looked forward to the locations where we would be spending a couple of nights, or at least arriving by midday, so that we could do some activities and feel more settled. Physically the tour wasn’t really demanding enough, but psychologically it was unexpectedly so.

One of the stunning campsite locations

That said, it was constantly fascinating to see the changing landscapes out of the window. After leaving Tanzania, the scenery became arguably less diverse and spectacular until we reached Southern Africa - Namibia - which was stunning and so totally unlike anywhere I had seen before. Although we didn’t have long at most of the sites, one of the great benefits of overlanding is that the itinerary is well planned and stops are often in fantastically remote, tranquil and breathtaking locations.

Most journeys proved eventful in some way or another. Those dozing in the truck were frequently awoken by our driver hooting wildly at animals in the road – or indeed locals. We got lots of shouts and waves from children as our strange truck full of white people passed through their community. In Malawi, we wondered what was happening when an entire village appeared to be sprinting along the main road towards us. Apparently another overlanding truck that stowed its luggage on the roof had somehow shed some mattresses on the road and this was like manna from Heaven for the villagers, racing to claim the goods. Sometimes the tour leaders bought provisions from stalls by the side of the road in rural areas – such as firewood, potatoes etc – and a feverish scramble would break out as the vendors fought to secure the business of lucrative bulk-buying overlanders!

In East and Central Africa, it was generally getting dark by the time we arrived at our campsite so the first task was always to put up our tents and grab our mattresses from the truck before light disappeared. Usually there was very little time to ourselves once we arrived, especially if we were on cooking duty as everyone would be hungry (we built up a surprising appetite whilst sat on our backsides!) It became a feat of timing and organisation to fit some hand-washing and a shower into the evening, leaving enough time for socialising around the campfire or in the bar. Our first question at the campsite was usually “Is there hot water?!” but often the electricity was sporadic, or the fire to heat the water wasn’t lit, so we braved cold showers.

Food on the tour was excellent and surpassed all my expectations. If anything, some of the meals were over-ambitious and it might have been quicker and easier to opt for less complication creations. Aside from braais (BBQ over a fire), we had lots of meat and game dishes served with pasta, rice or a local staple such as the aptly named ‘pap’ in South Africa. In addition, a great selection of side dishes were on offer, like roasted squash and salads. Highlights included a delicious kudu stew (a type of antelope) concocted by tour leader Blessed, roast chicken with cauliflower and cheese sauce, lasagne (created by Fiona on the BBQ, incredibly) and homemade butternut squash soup. We were also introduced to a few ‘overlanding specialities’ such as cabbage with peanut butter and a bizarre dish of banana, tinned peas, mayonnaise and condensed milk - which we suspected was a way of using up ingredients rather than a recognised recipe!

The most talked-about dish of the trip - for all
the wrong reasons

Photos from Kenya and Tanzania

2009-08-19T00:36:00.000-07:00

http://www.flickr.com/photos/cmay27/sets/72157622528755244/

Up, Up and Away!

2009-08-17T02:32:00.000-07:00

I had not done a hot air balloon flight before and decided that the Serengeti was an ideal location to try it. So I treated myself and booked a sunrise flight along with a few others in our Acacia group. We had to get up just after 4am and my first surprise of the morning was being told by one of the group that there was a herd of buffalo loitering in the darkness right near the ablutions block. Nothing like a buffalo in close proximity to get me moving quickly in the morning! We were picked up from our campsite and taken to the hot air balloon centre where we were briefed on ‘boarding procedure’ in time for a sunrise take-off.

I had never seen a hot air balloon close up and didn’t realise how big they were, or that we had to climb into our allotted two-man compartment with the balloon on its side! As you can imagine, it wasn’t an elegant procedure but I ended up successfully wedged in, arm muscles killing me as I held on for dear life, and making small talk with a stranger to whom I was getting far closer than I’d have liked! After what seemed like an age, a roaring sound indicated the flame was lit above us and we were deafened and singed for a few minutes before the basket jolted, shook and began to lift upright.

We took off at speed and soared above the Serengeti as the sun rose. It was a beautiful, tranquil sight and I felt privileged to see the day breaking from this marvellous viewpoint. The pilot talked us through how the balloon was controlled and deftly slowed, accelerated or dipped to vary our flight. Seeing the vast plains stretching away to the horizon in every direction certainly made us appreciate the scale of the Serengeti. We spotted several giraffes below us and also startled a herd of elephants which started stampeding away from the balloon. I particular enjoyed sweeping down so low that we were clipping the tops of trees!

The morning was topped off by a delicious champagne breakfast served under (a very apt) Acacia tree. The fresh fruit platter and cooked breakfast at waited tables was our first taste of extravagant luxury in a while, and made our balloon experience even more worthwhile!

Roughing it in Tanzania

2009-08-16T16:36:00.000-07:00

Following the Mara expedition, we returned on the

tortuous roads to Nairobi and finally boarded the Acacia truck that would be our home for the next 6 weeks. As we began to get used to truck life, we headed towards Tanzania where our safari experience was to continue in the Serengeti and Ngorongoro. Tanzania immediately felt distinctly different. The scenery became more spectacular and varied, and although the rural settlements were still visibly poor, it didn’t seem to be on quite the same scale as Kenya.

To cross borders in Africa, we had to get out of the truck and go into immigration offices to have our passports ‘stamped out’. Then we walked across a weird no-man’s-land into the entry country and be ‘stamped in’ (and sometimes pay a visa fee). This process usually involved lengthy waiting around in queues, unexplained delays and being hassled by dodgy-looking locals claiming to be currency exchange dealers. The Malawian border made the others look civilised though. A local man accosted one of the guys in our group, explained he was seeking a wife, offered his fleet of tractors in exchange for one of us girls and started choosing his ‘favourite’!

We were all looking forward to round two of game viewing, and were excited to leave the truck in Arusha and set off again in small groups to the Serengeti and Ngorongoro. The former is a region that encompasses many national parks and game reserves, and the latter is a Conservation Area which features a 100 sq mile crater formed millions of years ago when a volcano collapsed. I found the Ngorongoro Crater a magical place, with its amazing diversity of terrains including forests, canyons, grassland plains, lakes and marshes.

But it was our arrival into the Serengeti that became one of my most memorable moments in Africa. We drove deep into the plains at sunset and came across a misty lake with the low

sun reflecting in the water. On closer inspection, we realised that it was full of hippos

wallowing in the water and lazing on the banks. It was an almost mystical scene as we took in the vastness of the area, the beauty of the sunset and the eerie silence punctuated by hippos splooshing as they submerged.

Unexpected Visitors

Overall, this trip was a different and more raw experience than the Mara. The regions are less touristy, although the reserves themselves are more regulated. Drivers had to stick to the wide tracks, meaning that wildlife was often a great distance away. Powerful zoom lenses and binoculars were certainly the order of the day. Wildlife seemed more abundant in the Mara, however we did see more lions in the Serengeti and overall I preferred the wild, expansive and more natural feel to the Tanzanian reserves.

Our camps in the Mara had not been fenced but they had been guarded by rangers, whereas here we were at the mercy of East Africa’s wildlife – and it was making its presence felt! When we first arrived at our campsite, we found some unexpected visitors in the shape of two large elephants.

They had evidently got hold of some foam mattresses (not belonging to our group thankfully) and were tossing them over their backs. It was an intimidating sight and we left on our evening game drive hoping they would disappear before we got back. During the night it was best not to think too carefully about what might be happening outside! When we awoke, we found a herd of zebra making their way through site and all stood still patiently until they were gone.

The trip was also more ‘natural’ from a sanitation point of view. We had been warned that there would only be longdrop toilets and no showers for 3 days (unless you wanted to pour a bucket of cold water over yourself) but hadn’t grasped quite how filthy and cold we would get. In fact, my feet and clothes haven’t been quite the same since. At night, all food and (bizarrely) toothpaste had to be locked away in the vans because they attract animals like bushpigs (which we did hear snuffling about during the night). Panic and giggles broke out in my tent as Gayle and I found a rogue packet of peanuts when we were getting ready for bed! I had to make a quick run to the vans to dispose of the potential bait. Overall though, roughing it in the Serengeti was an incredible experience – and also helped the group bond in our mutual struggle for sleep, sanitation and sanity!

Easing into Camping

2009-08-16T16:34:00.000-07:00

In theory, our Mara trip should have eased us into camping as we stayed at a permanent tented camp with catering. We had camp beds and even a toilet and shower in a separate ‘ablution’ compartment at the back! This sounds civilised but for some reason I found it more of a struggle than our later bush camping escapades. Partly this was due to my inbuilt aversion to early starts, as the trip initiated us into getting up before sunrise (from 4.45 onwards). It is never a joy to stumble around a tent at this time, using a head torch, in the cold and under constant threat from mosquitoes!

This was the first time I had ever slept under a mosquito net.

My tent mate Gayle modelling the mosquito net

Either there was a hole in the net or the mozzies had been on the attack at dusk, because I awoke on the first morning to find a large bite on my ankle. Clearly I needed to ramp up my anti-mosquito precautions! My tent mate Gayle, who I was to share with for the next 3 weeks, had to endure my evening ritual of applying a concoction of DEET products, from body spray (an interesting aroma) and DEET impregnated wrist and ankle bands (an attractive look) to an electronic mozzie zapper balanced on my pillow! Nothing quite like a toxic halo of chemicals to send you off to sleep. I think I won the battle though – mosquito bites were thankfully few and far between from that point onwards.

The Mara experience also taught us to get moving very quickly in the mornings (getting up even earlier obviously wasn’t an option!) Nobody wanted to be the one keeping the group waiting, so mornings tended to be a very minimal and rushed affair. Huddling in our warmest clothing, muttering reminders to each other to take our anti-malarial tablets, we would pile half-asleep into the safari vehicles and set off to witness the splendour of sunrise over the savannah.

On return to camp in the evening, we were introduced to the ritual that would become very familiar on our African travels - setting up chairs around a campfire and enjoying our evening meal together by firelight.

The Mara - Simba and Friends

2009-08-10T20:06:00.000-07:00

I chose an organised tour for the majority of my time in Africa. After much deliberation, I had opted for a 43 day ‘overland’ tour with a company called Acacia Africa, which would take me from Nairobi in Kenya to Cape Town in South Africa. In between, we would travel through Tanzania, Malawi, Zambia, Botswana and Namibia. ‘Overlanding’ is the budget version of a group tour – it involves camping most nights, cooking together and covering long distances in a purpose-built truck that can ‘off road’ for authentic travel experiences!

I was really excited about starting the tour. Around 20 of us convened early the first morning at a hotel in central Nairobi, where we met our two tour leaders - Fiona and Blessed - and were briefed on the first few days. We wouldn’t board our truck just yet, instead we were setting off in minibuses to the Masai Mara for a full-on East African wildlife safari.

To get to the Mara, we endured hours of hideously bumpy roads in our minibuses that were ill-suited for such terrain. Thankfully it was worth it once we arrived.

We went out on an evening game drive and were overwhelmed at the abundant wildlife we saw within minutes of entering the Mara gates. I won’t forget out first sightings – zebra wandering along next to the track (they seemed elegant, beautiful and timid creatures), a giraffe ambling along in the distance, and then a herd of elephants right next to our vehicle.

We learnt to look for vultures as they indicate that a lion kill has recently taken place, and sure enough we came across a flock swooping down to devour some vile and stinking offal! The ripping and tearing noises that accompanied their scavenging were truly repugnant.

However, it was incredible to witness such awe-inspiring creatures at close proximity.

Over the following days, we ticked off the revered Big Five – lion, leopard, elephant, buffalo and rhino – and even had the dubious honour of seeing the Ugly Five! - vulture, spotted hyena, wildebeest, warthog and marabou stalk (known as the Undertaker).

Given their unpleasant feeding habits, these five appear to be rather short on personality as well as looks! I could forgive a hyena its snarling appearance if it perhaps had other appealing qualities – but its vicious whooping and shrieking early in the morning is pretty fearsome!

Mostly the animals seemed surprisingly oblivious to the numerous safari vehicles hot on their heels – sometimes over ten would be tracking a pride of lions – but the Mara appeared woefully unregulated. Vehicles were driving off the tracks and into the grassland, stopping only a few feet away from the animals (hence my pictures of lions right next to our vehicle) and drivers would radio each other about animals’ locations. In some cases we even saw drivers revving engines to startle the animal into a performance for the tourists.

How the Other Half Live

2009-08-09T04:08:00.000-07:00

I spent the first morning chatting to people in the hostel – many of whom were also waiting to start an overland tour, like me – but soon realised that there was no way I was going to stay within these gated confines for another full day. The guidebooks had hinted that there wasn’t exactly a plethora of traditional ‘sights’ in Nairobi. However, studying the activity book in the hostel, I was impulsively drawn by the idea of a visit to the local slum, Kibera. In for a penny, in for a pound! More than a quarter of Nairobi’s population live in this neighbourhood – an estimated one million people – despite the area only covering 2.5 square kilometers! So I recruited a couple of other travellers from the hostel, and we arranged for a guide to pick us up the following morning.

Kibera, with the new housing in the background
that residents don't get because of corruption

Having feared the very thought of coming to Nairobi, Day Two saw me stroll out of the fort-like hostel compound and towards Africa’s second largest urban slum. No taxi to take us there – we would be walking in with the locals. Our guide was an inhabitant of Kibera and assured us that we would be safe as long as we stuck with him and didn’t take pictures of people without asking. Still, I was surprised at the casual nature of this visit. As we ambled down the road from our hostel, we joined a steady stream of locals all headed towards Kibera, some in suits and carrying briefcases, some in rags without shoes. Looking at the residences we were passing, it became clear that living inside fenced and alarmed enclosures is obviously the norm (for the middle and upper classes). We passed gated apartment blocks that would not look out of place in smart suburbs of London and neat, colourful bungalows with beautiful gardens but fronted by high barbed-wire fences.

Mud huts; rubbish and dirt under foot

It turned out that Kibera was a mere ten minutes walk down the road (which might explain the tight security measures in the area). I don’t remember reading that on the hostel website! The road soon changed into a wide dusty track, lined with people selling all manner of goods on make-shift stalls or tarpaulins laid out on the ground. They were flogging anything and everything – from grilled corn-on-the-cobs, gigantic avocados and mangoes, potatoes, coal, Manchester United shirts (!) and a range of what might generously be described as bric-à-brac (the most random selection of electrical items!). As Kibera opened up in front of us, the paths became muddier and we gazed at the filth and squalor of our surroundings. The housing consisted of stand-alone mud huts with tin rooves or corrugated iron shacks in terrace-like formations. We were walking on rubbish and sewage – layer upon layer of rubbish that forms the community’s foundations.

Amidst the evident poverty, we were surprised by the presence of electricity pylons and televisions, and even in an African slum you cannot escape the global craze for mobile phones, ringtones and accessories. There also appeared to be an obsession with Manchester United, Chelsea and Arsenal – which I later found out is not just confined to Kenya! As we trudged deeper into the heart of Kibera, I was struck by the way that people were simply getting on with their daily lives around us. There was hustle and bustle everywhere – people doing washing, preparing food, selling goods etc – and music blared from stalls or bars, creating a certain vibrancy. The adults mainly ignored us (apart from the odd shout of ‘hello white woman!’), and young children in filthy clothes ran up to us in hoards, wanting to hold our hands and screaming “’Ow are you!”. Only one child begged from us, but we were under strict instructions not to give handouts that “perpetuate the begging culture”.

Somehow I had imagined the slums to be ‘no-man’s-land’. But our guides spoke of paying rent and utilities. Apparently, after Kenya gained independence in the 60s, Kibera was declared an illegal settlement but it continued to expand nonetheless, and the landowners started renting out dwellings to a far greater number of tenants than legally permitted. These days, there are supposedly slum ‘upgrading’ initiatives run by the Government to improve housing and sanitation, and of course organised aid work. Actually we saw scant evidence of this. There was a brand new toilet block (paid-for facilities that apparently nobody can afford to use) and on the horizon, cranes indicated the construction of modern housing. But our guides said that corruption is rife and the rich landowners simply take the new houses.

We were invited into the house of one of the residents – a man in his 30s with HIV. Our guides told us that around half of Kibera are HIV-positive (although that doesn’t seem to tally with online reports that state around 20% – a shocking statistic anyway). We squeezed through the jagged iron door into a dim, small room with a bench, bed and curtains partitioning them from their neighbours. As we sat there, it was unnerving to hear the noise of their neighbours through the curtains going about their daily lives. With his wife and baby next to him, the man told us briefly about his life, which was a depressing tale of various diseases, going blind, not being able to work, eating only one meal a day and being ostracised by his family because of HIV. Despite his situation, he frequently stated defiantly: “I do not have AIDS – I have HIV and I’m on the tablets”. Our guides told us afterwards that there is a huge social stigma attached to HIV despite the vast number of people infected, and also denial about how it is spread.

It seemed we were expected to ask questions, but like my experience with the Rwandan man on the plane, we simply felt uncomfortable. For instance, I didn’t know whether the residents referred to their own community as a ‘slum’. Sadly it was a relief to leave their hut. We began to make our way out through the mud and filth, and I remember thinking it was strange that we hadn’t encountered any animosity as we were so obviously out of place. But I was very glad to have seen an area so far off the tourist track, and it would be interesting to compare Kibera to the townships we would see later in South Africa.

Karibu! Welcome to Africa

2009-08-08T05:28:00.000-07:00

The first culture shock that hit me when I arrived at the hostel was the security. We pulled up outside a massive fortified wooden gate where I expected to be dropped off, but we were driven through this and right into the hostel grounds. I was slightly taken aback to make out a high perimeter fence surrounding the whole place, and centry-like guards on the main gate. Clearly the security risk that I had heard so much about was very real.

On that first night, it was so cold that I wore virtually all the clothes I had brought with me including gloves to go to bed! In my room, the next African reality presented itself – the light switch didn’t work. The following morning it was explained to us that there is strict power and water rationing in force because Kenya is officially in drought. From Day One in Africa, hot showers and electricity became luxuries.

This was also my first experience of staying in a youth hostel, and definitely surpassed my expectations. It had nice facilities – especially given the circumstances beyond their control – and a friendly atmosphere, with everyone having recently arrived and seeking the company of like-minded fellow travellers. It proved easy to meet people, chatting over breakfast or in the dormitory. Even though I wouldn’t be doing much independent hostelling for another six weeks, after the end of my organised trip, it was a very promising start!

Nairobi – Please Drive Carefully

2009-08-07T05:27:00.000-07:00

As the plane began to descend, I felt my nerves return and was inexplicably unsettled by the fact that it was dark outside. Coming from mid summer in Britain, somehow I hadn’t considered that nightfall would be at 6 o’clock in Kenya. It crossed my mind that this would make my forthcoming camping trip a rather different experience to what I had imagined, and was thankful for having packed my torch! At customs, we had to sign various declarations that we were swine flu-symptom free – which inevitably brought on a coughing fit! – and over an hour later we emerged through Arrivals and stepped onto African soil. Immediately another myth was dispelled – it was downright cold!

I was relieved to spot a driver holding a sign for The Wildebeest Camp - my hostel - and I got into the taxi with a young French couple. The driver swiftly taught us an essential word – Jambo! Hello in Swahili – and then we sped off into the darkness of Nairobi. My abiding memory of this journey is the driving, which proved to be a good introduction to the anarchic situation on the roads in East Africa. The region has the highest number of fatal road accidents in the world and it is not difficult to see why. As we approached a major roundabout with cars criss-crossing haphazardly, some without headlights, five young men pushing a broken down jeep ploughed into the traffic to much hooting and shouting. A couple of days later, I was to see the aftermath of a horrendous head-on collision in the early hours of the morning, where a Mercedes had somehow ended up on the wrong side of the road and had smashed into a lorry coming the other way.

In fact, most of our journeys in the coming weeks would be marked by shockingly bad roads – some under construction as we drove on them! - overturned lorries, pedestrians walking into the road or refusing to move out of it, cyclists swerving into us – enough hazards even without jay-walking animals!

One of many crashes we saw en route

My First African Experience

2009-08-07T04:28:00.000-07:00

I was still excitedly waggling my feet in the acres of legroom and ransacking the freebie bag when an imposing African man plonked himself down beside me. He leaned over me (in what I couldn’t help considering a clear violation of my personal space) and loudly introduced himself as a humanitarian fund-raiser from Rwanda. A very surreal and uncomfortable conversation ensued. He fired a startling array of questions at me, as if I were the oracle of all things British - from the constitutional status of Scotland to the origins of Greenwich Mean Time! I ploughed on valiantly but harboured an uncomfortable suspicion that this educated and well-travelled man was purposely trying to expose how little the average Brit appreciates their history and cultural origins…certainly he couldn’t have done a better job.

He referred frequently to Europe’s complacency about living in peaceful times, with many of us taking for granted the personal freedoms and opportunities in our daily lives. Just as I was feeling increasingly uneasy, he mercifully turned his attention to his homeland. This was a real wake-up call for me about the reality of Africa’s recent history. He talked passionately in a mixture of English and French about Rwandans’ daily struggle for survival, in a country still healing and rebuilding after years of civil war. I have only hazy memories of TV images from the genocide in 1994 in which an estimated one million people were slaughtered within a three month period. Faced with somebody who has lived through such unimaginable horror, I struggled to know what to ask without sounding crass. This was the first of many such instances in Africa where I realised I had no point of comparison and no idea what might be appropriate questions.

Despite Rwanda’s dark past and huge challenges that remain, I was in awe at this man’s sense of national identity, commitment to the future of his homeland and his compatriots. The comparison to the way I had falteringly attempted to convey a sense of British identity was striking. I began to feel less aggrieved by his implication that most of us remain oblivious to ‘how the other half live’ and thought how self-indulgent and carefree my life must seem to him. Our conversation was an apt reminder that I must make the most of this trip that my Western lifestyle has afforded me.

I’m also glad to have provided him with one anecdote to add to his international fund-raising speeches. It transpired that the amount of money BA had offered me to fly the following day was the same amount required to build a house in Rwanda for 10 people – a sobering thought.

Aug 6 - From Norwich to Nairobi

2009-08-06T01:06:00.000-07:00

All ready at Heathrow

I admit I was nervous as I waited for the shuttle bus from my hotel at Heathrow. Nervous about leaving my job, my house, my friends and family, about embarking on this trip of a lifetime on my own, nervous about flying to Nairobi….so nervous, in fact, that I ate my way though the breakfast buffet as if it were my last meal, totally lost track of time and ended up being late for check-in!

When I did finally make it through the doors of Terminal 5, lugging my shiny new, full-to-bursting backpack, the official at the BA check-in desk appeared more flustered than me. It seemed that every other passenger on the plane had checked in online – rather humiliating. Combined with my lateness, they had drawn the conclusion that I was a ‘no show’ and had re-allocated my seat! My rising outrage swiftly turned to surprise as the BA man proceeded to offer me 600 Euros plus money for a hotel room if I agreed to travel tomorrow. In hindsight, this would have been a very sensible option given that I was worried about having spare time in ‘Nairobbery’. But having meticulously planned this day for weeks, I insisted on boarding the plane, so after much tut-tutting and paper-flapping, he turned back to me and muttered: “Ok – you’ve been upgraded. Don’t try this again.”

So with slapped wrists, I found myself lounging undeservedly in Business Class, congratulating myself on this auspicious start to my journey to Africa. And if I’m honest, I did briefly consider whether I should adopt this check-in strategy for my entire trip!