Elephant Antics & Monkey Business – Zambia

December 15, 2013November 5, 2018 / Shara / 1 Comment

Facebook has all the photos for this part of the trip – click here to have a look.

Chipata, Zambia

9th – 10th December 2013

Tea Farms between Malawi and Zambia

Having left Lilongwe that morning, I had crossed the border without any hassle. Passing acres of neat tea rows, the tar was smooth and the drive was easy going. I arrived in Chipata on the Zambian side and was greeted with a plethora of western shops and take aways (Debonaires in the middle of nowhere!). I hadn’t been grocery shopping since leaving Arusha in Tanzania and dashed into Spar to restock on basics, a few luxuries and some ice! I also took the opportunity to grab a Zambian sim and airtime – my first priority in any country.

My stop for the night was a small camp just outside of Chipata on the road to South Luangwa Game Reserve. Mama Rulas (nice play on the name – clearly owned by South Africans…) is a favourite stop for all travellers who find themselves in Eastern Zambia, and the night I arrived, it was absolutely teeming with a German biking enduro crowd who were on their way up to Malawi from Cape Town. After finding a nice quiet spot and doing the usual routine of setting up camp, a lovely young girl bounded over to me to have a chat. It was Estelle from Germany. She was travelling with her husband Chris and their friend Ryan from American, from Cape Town back up to Stuttgart, in a converted 1970’s German army ambulance called “Hano”- top speed 80km/hour… on the downhills! They were also headed for South Luangwa, and we made a plan to meet at one of the camps the following day.

Mama Rulas, Chipata Zambia

Zambian Village near Chipata

South Luangwa, Zambia

10th – 12th December 2013

Road between Chipata and South Luangwa - decent!

Road between Chipata and South Luangwa – contrary to reports, it was quite decent!

My batteries have been giving me trouble and I can only assume that the deep cycle battery which runs the fridge/freezer is draining the main batteries. The fridge isn’t working now (which is an indication that the batteries are low) and Chris and Ryan took a quick voltage reading and it’s low at 6v, which is why the fridge isn’t working as it needs a minimum of 11.8v to run. Not wanting a repeat of the flat battery incident in Chintheche in Malawi, I took a quick drive back to Chipata as I’d seen a Kwik Fit (yes, this town has everything!) on my way in. They would need at least 3 hours to charge the battery. I didn’t have 3 hours to wait and took the decision just to disconnect the fridge, pack it with ice, head for South Luangwa and hope for the best.

The road up to South Luangwa has a bad reputation for being torn up but I was pleasantly surprised to see fresh tar under the wheels for most of the way. The final 30-40kms was still under construction which meant taking sand tracks through a few villages to get to the park camps. I had been in contact with the German Army Ambulance brigade and we met at Croc Valley Camp, found two shady trees overlooking the river and set up camp before hitting the swimming pool for a much needed dip!

As South Luangwa issues day passes, it was pointless us trying to get into the park that afternoon. The river forms a natural boundary between the park and the rest of the bush so animals are free to roam south of the river and we decided to take a drive in the immediate area and have our own little sunset game drive. I bundled everyone into the Beast and off we set, with some Savannas in hand. We didn’t have to go very far before driving into the most incredible herd of elephants grazing under a tree in an open expanse. It could have been someone’s garden. The sun was setting, and I couldn’t have imagined a place I’d rather have been at that point in time…

Campsite at Croc Valley Camp overlooking the Luangwa River

Now, about those warts Mr Hog…

Sundowners, Savannas and Super Scenes

Back at camp, we had been warned by the park wardens that the local elephants were a bit cheeky and that 15 vehicles had been damaged over the past few months by elephants trying to get at food left in the vehicles. We moved all of our food stores over to the bar/lapa area where everything was under lock and key. Lugging all my food across the lawn was a bit tedious and I must admit to thinking “what are the chances, surely the elephants don’t come every night, I’m sure we’ll be fine, this all seems a tad overboard.”

Croc Valley Camp, South Luangwa

Just hanging around…

Well well well, did we have an interesting night… taking the advice about nocturnally roaming beasts to heed, I hadn’t pegged in my guy lines for fear of some hefty animal charging through, getting caught and ripping my tent from the roof (a bit over the top I know, but I wanted to avoid collateral damage as much as possible). Shortly after going to sleep, I was lured from slumber by the repetitive sounds of munching and peering through my mesh window found the most enormous hippo grazing next to the Beast. Now fully awake for over half an hour and not able to sleep with the disturbance down below, I started needing the toilet. If the damn hippo didn’t move on soon, I was going to have to swing my naked butt over the side of the tent and taking a leak on top of it if necessary!

Elephants by the dozen – South Luangwa, Zambia

I must have fallen asleep eventually and was woken again by the clap of thunder in the distance. Africa doesn’t know how to do drizzle and I knew that there was a strong chance we could be in for a storm, which meant, I needed to get down and do the guy ropes as the waterproof fly sheet needed to stay taught to do it’s job of protecting the inner canvas lining. With my bladder near bursting point, I checked to see if I could find the hippo, got down and had a quick wee next to the Beast before finding the mallet. In complete darkness, I brought in my washing and set about hammering the guy lines in to secure the tent in record speed, whilst on constant lookout for the hippo.

Tucked back up in the safety of my tent, I was just about to fall asleep safe in the knowledge that the hippo was going, my washing was in the Beast and with the guy lines secure, I would withstand the approaching storm. Not 10 minutes later and an entire herd of elephants made it’s way into the camp, picking branches off trees, grazing on the leaves and generally snooping around. Ryan, the American friend who had been travelling with Estelle and Chris, had chosen to sleep outside. He had hooked his mosquito tent up to the roof of the small open aired lapa and was asleep on top of a table when the elephants arrived. Watching from my window, I saw one of the elephants start trunking his leg through the mozzie net. I shouted a whisper down to him to tell him not to move. He was completely aware of what was going on and had made the smart decision of pretending to be asleep. The elephant lost interest in him after a short while and moved on. Estelle and Chris had also had a visitor… Lying asleep in the back of their cab, they had woken to find two ivory tusks and a trunk emerge through the open door. It was sweltering that night and they had left the door open for ventilation. Slightly panicked, they watched as the trunk explored the inside of the cab, probing at the pots and pans, rummaging through packets and bags and giving a really good long grope of their leather walking boots. Thank the African gods we had put all our food away, we had side stepped a potentially destructive situation.

The night guard came and shone his torch and banged on a pan to move them off. The troop left eventually but not before completely destroying the bar area near where we had horded our food supplies, breaking plates and throwing stuff on the ground. I can’t help but imagine that they know where the food is and are frustrated at not being able to reach it.

None of us got much sleep, but as always in Africa, we rise with the sun (and the heat), so at 6:30am we all had breakfast. I packed up my tent and we all bundled into the Beast for a big day of game viewing. We were not disappointed!

One might be mistaken for assuming I was back in Richmond Park…

With it’s short grass plains, South Luangwa looks like it could be the back of someone’s large garden or a tree lined golf course at times. We weren’t short on elephant sightings and alerted, by another safari vehicle, to a leopard lying in the dappled light of a tree next to the side of the road. The the ranger pointed her out to us and she stayed there for a while, in the cool of the shade before climbing down and heading off into the bush. We were incredibly fortunate to see a second leopard hiding in the shade of another safari truck, ready to pounce on a herd of impala. In the heat of the day, it was a half-hearted attempt and she came back to lie down in the shade of a tree near us. She got up and moved down the road and we followed her for a while before she disappeared into thick bush. After heading back to camp for a midday swim, lunch and a nap, we set out for an afternoon game drive as we’d heard whispers of a pride of lions in a particular area. The afternoon game drive was quiet on the animal sighting front but the sheer beauty of the landscape has us all spell bound! Heading out of South Luangwa, with a storm on the one horizon and the setting sun on the other, I vowed to tell the world about this gem of a game park!

Sundowners with the Hano Crew

Happy travellers – Estelle, Chris, Ryan and Shara

We’d had such trouble with the blady vervet monkeys in camp too. They were everywhere and would take every opportunity to get into your supplies and help themselves. You literally had them waiting in the trees just out of reach and with every step you took away from your vehicle, they would advance one towards it. Start walking towards them and they’d just retreat – like a game of tug of war. It became a huge problem as you had to keep all the car doors closed at all times – which, when living out of a vehicle is near impossible. At one point I was carrying the gas burner and some food out to make breakfast and before I knew it, they were in the Beast grabbing whatever they could find. I watched as my precious tortilla chips were being handed out in tree tops… My tolerance levels had maxed out and I resorted to running straight at them flapping my arms and screaming like a banshee. Only to find that, having left my post, a second battalion was being sent in from behind me to raid the food I was preparing. It was a futile situation and I wasn’t going to win, so I packed up and made do with some dry crackers instead.

Chris, Estelle and Ryan in “Hano” the 1970s German army truck.

[Chris and Estelle’s journey back to Germany is now complete – read all about their adventures here.]

After saying farewell to the Hano crew, I drove back to Chipata through one hell of a storm and took my deep-cycle battery to Kwik Fit in town and left it with them to charge through the night. Everything was soaked and the last thing I felt like doing was unpacking a tent in the driving rain, and so I treated myself to a small room at Mama Rulas – it has to be done every now and then!

The next day, I collected my battery which they had kindly charged for free (incredible generosity all the way through Africa – amazing!) and I set off in the direction of Lusaka. I knew it would probably be a really long day if I chose to drive the entire way. According to a few sources, Bridge Camp seemed to be the only half way stop and there is nothing in between. A 4 hour drive saw me pull into Bridge Camp and I immediately regretted not leaving earlier and trying to make the 7-8 hour journey in one go, but it was too late in the day to push on. Bridge Camp was a huge disappointment. The “camping area” was a barren earth car park, guests who were staying in rooms found their beds occupied with an army of ants. The owner’s wife sat with me for over 2 hours and complained miserably about how awful her life was, how their marriage was on the rocks and how she hated being there – a little awkward. Anyway, I would make the journey all the way if you can, it’s not worth staying there…

View at Bridge Camp is easy on the eye, shame about the actual camp.

Lusaka, Zambia

14th – 15th December 2013

It’s easy cruising in Zambia. The main road from Chitimba to Lusaka is a breeze and I found myself in the capital in no time. I was to stay with some South African friends who, having met through mutual friends in London, now lived in Zambia. Sarah and Rich live just out of town on a bushveld plot in the most gorgeous house complete with pool. In true African style, I arrived on a night with no electricity and no water but as we all know, having lived in Africa with these minor inconveniences, you just have to make a plan. There’s something so comforting about seeing old friends again. I felt close to home and was grateful to have had the opportunity of catching up over a braai and a Savanna or two. My stay was short though and I was off in the morning, bound for one of my favourite places in Africa, one that holds memories right the way though from childhood – Lake Kariba.

Rich & Sarah’s beautiful spot just outside Lusaka

Views on the way to Kariba

Road from Lusaka to Kariba

Living off Mangoes – Central Malawi

December 9, 2013November 5, 2018 / Shara / 2 Comments

Facebook has all the photos for this part of the trip – click here to have a look.

Nkhata Bay, Malawi

2nd – 4th December 2013

After agreeing to transport one oversized mama Malaiwan traffic cop who had requested transportation to Rumphi, I scrambled to clear the passenger seat littered with things I need at arms reach when driving. Watching her heave her large frame off the ground and into my raised-suspension Beast was quite something. I had to give her instructions about where to put her feet and where to hold to help pull herself into the cruiser. Once inside, she flumped into the seat, wiped the sweat off her brow, laughed and slapped her thigh with relief.

Escarpment Road near Chitmiba

“My name is Thelma. My people can’t say it right, so just call me ‘Felma’. You may proceed.”

So off we drove, me and Felma.

After around 20 minutes, I noticed she wasn’t wearing her seatbelt, so I asked her to buckle up in case I was stopped by a traffic cop and fined breaking the law for transporting a passenger with no seatbelt.

“Ha, you will be fine with me in the car. They will see me and know I am in charge.” she said laughing.

She buckled up anyway and I was quite surprised (and glad) to see the seatbelt had enough length for her girth.

The next hour or so was spent discussing Malawian policing systems, education, family life and anything else I could find to keep Thelma talking. The drive takes you away from the lake, up and over some beautiful mountain passes. Rumphi was a little off my bearing but I decided to drive Thelma all the way to the local police station and dropped her off inside their compound. She was so chuffed and got the rest of the cops a the Rumphi Police Station to come out and wave me goodbye.

My next stop was Nkhata Bay. With the lure of cobalt blue waters, I was excited to see this bay I’d heard so much about. Now what people hadn’t told me, was that there is no real camping in Nhata Bay as the town is set on the sides of a rocky hill and there is no flat ground, or campsite to be found. I made my way over to a few of the recommended places to stay in the Lonely Planet and found Mayoka Village to be the best option.

With individual huts perched on top of a steep rocky shoreline of crystal clear waters, Mayoka Village is a maze of undulating pathways and steps from huts to ablutions to restaurant. I paid for two nights and got settled into my grass hut overlooking the bay. For two days I completely relaxed. I read, swam, snorkelled, ate and tried to get as much note taking and blogging done as the restaurant had free wifi. Free if you want to join the other twenty guests sharing the bandwidth and wait half an hour for a picture to load…

Whilst this was stop was wonderful, I really was in search of a beach that I could camp next to and, on recommendation, I set off for Chintheche, 50 kilometres south of Nkhata Bay.

View on route from Nkhata Bay to Chintheche

Chintheche Inn, Malawi

4th – 8th December 2013

With no real village or town in sight, Chintheche Inn is on a remote and beautiful stretch of the lake. The gates opened up and I was immediately greeted by really friendly staff, the kind who insist on showing you around, explaining the ins and outs of the place. The inn serves as a cabana-type hotel on the shore of the lake and the remaining grass area is available for camping. Considering I was in Malawi, US$15 per night is by no means a cheap stay but it was just what I was looking for and I almost had the place to myself. The only other guests in the campsite were Callie and his two sons James and Peter, who were riding from Cape Town to Egypt. The boys couldn’t have been older than 16 and 18 – what a great thing for a father and his sons to do together. I heard them start up their motorbikes before the sun rose the next morning, and they were off. I do hope they made it all the way up!

I parked the Beast under a large mango tree and immediately went for a swim in the most incredibly warm and calm waters. I’d been informed that there was a resident crocodile that would swim by every now and then, but not to worry because they had locals looking out for him. Nothing like placing your reassurance in something as insubstantial as that. I would have to take my chances.

Lake Malawi from the shores of Chintheche

Over the next few days, I took root and for the first time since leaving Diani Beach, I stayed in one place for more than two nights. I hit the repeat button on my daily routine of waking, swimming, eating, reading, swimming, blogging and sleeping and just kicked back. With no one else in sight, I had a small kingdom of paradise to myself. Waking with the birds and watching the sun rise over the lake from the window of my lofty green castle, I would survey my private kingdom below. The campsite and lake became my playground and the trees dropped sweet, ripe mangoes for me daily.

Masterchef Malawi

Dip in the Lake Malawi

Beach all to myself

After a couple of months on the road, you find that you really don’t need much to sustain a relatively passive form of living. I had been given a bag of biltong by Paul Metcalf when leaving Mbeya in Tanzania a few weeks earlier and was still rationing out 2 or 3 pieces a day. Nuts and dried fruit were a favourite and if I found time in the evenings I would cook some garlic rice and mix in a dollop of Malawi’s incredibly Nali sauce which adds a peri-peri kick to the meal. Other than that, I was happy with tomatoes of which there was always an abundance of at roadside stalls. But it was those sweet mangoes that I looked forward to every day and I could have lived under that tree for weeks if time hadn’t been a bit of an issue.

Sun setting over Lake Malawi

Whilst at Chintheche I met two ladies who were staying at the inn. Janet comes out every year for a few weeks to continue the work set up by her charity following her daughter’s passing. She raises money for the local orphanage school and brings in supplies, desks, chairs and school books. I also met Ruthe who has been working on a homeopathic malaria prevention programme. She has been working in the area for some time now, administering this to local children and has been monitoring the programme for some years now with fantastic results. As I was not on any prophylactic of my own, I took some of her muti, enough to last for the rest of my trip (it’s only a sip per day) and swigged the required dosage each morning. Needless to say I never got malaria.

Ruthe and Janet – woman warriors out to make a change.

It was at Chintheche, that I witnessed the infamous lake flies. I took a walk down to the lake one morning and saw, what can only be described as black smoke or dark spiralling clouds brooding on the horizon which grew constantly. I have been told that the fly larvae live on the lake bottom where they feed. When they form pupae they float to the surface and hatch all at once causing the giant swarms. Winds often blow them to the shore and women from local communities catch them in baskets and squash them together to create a local delicacy (a burger-like patty which is then deep fried). I was most upset when this swarm made landfall that evening. Before I knew it they were everywhere. Every light attracted a million of the damn creatures and I have never been caught up in a swarm of so many insects – up your nose, in your mouth and eyes – just completely unpleasant! Dashing back to the safety of my tent, I was then confined for the rest of the evening knowing that my light was drawing them to the mesh of my windows. I woke up the next morning to find piles of dead lake flies under every possible light fitting. The local ladies were besides themselves, running up and down the beach with their baskets full of the blady things!

Chintheche Inn

Chintheche Beach

Chintheche Campsite

Infamous Lake Flies

Underneath my Mango Tree

A day later I woke to the sound of a morning storm. I have seen a fair few storms in my time but this was on the heavy end of the spectrum. The tent was getting absolutely lashed but Howling Moon have a good rep for a reason but with the sheer volume of water things were starting to sag. I zipped up the canvas windows and with a bit of maintenance to prevent the water pooling and weighing the roof down, I remained mostly dry. The battery on my phone was just about dead and, as I was hoping to leave that morning, decided to get down to the cab, start the engine and charge the phone to do a bit of research for the road ahead. Racing from under the tent at the back of the Beast, opening the door, flinging myself in – I was drenched, and so were the books in the door holder… I plugged in the phone, turned the key and… nothing… battery had flatlined! That’s what you get for running your fridge/freezer for 4 days without starting your wagon. Plan B. I raced across the campsite in the bucketing rain and lighting to the ablutions only to find that the power has been taken out by the lightning. Racing back to the Beast, now drenched, I didn’t want to sit inside the tent or on the seats for that matter. Luckily the rain had abated somewhat and I saw one of the gardeners under shelter nearby. I ran over to ask if he could help me find someone to charge the battery. A short while later I had the camp manager, DK, and a team of workers with their camp vehicle trying to jolt some life into my batteries. They had considered removing both my batteries and running them down to the village where they have a battery charger but the power was down in the entire area. After 3-4 hours of trying various things, it seemed hopeless! Eventually some clever clog got under the Beast and manually got the starter motor running which would set the batteries charging. By now the rain had stopped and it was midday. There was no way I was going to make it to Lilongwe. DK, looking at this drowned shivering rat, offered me a room at the inn for the night. Well, how’s that for incredible hospitality! Ahhhh you can’t imagine how good it felt just to take a warm shower, have nice fluffy towels and just have space to dry everything out. That night, tucked up in a divine double bed with crisp clean linen, I couldn’t sleep a wink and lay awake all night… typical.

Before leaving the area, I took an exploratory drive down some incredible paths and tracks, and found the most smiley, inquisitive and friendly children playing in the fields, African children have beautiful souls and seem so content with life, without a care in the world. This was one of my favourite places of the entire trip.

Lilongwe, Malawi

8th – 9th December 2013

I had a pretty easy drive from Chintheche to Lilongwe, and like any capital town in Africa, it has it’s perks – western restuarants and malls greeted me as I drove through the streets. I drove out to Barefoot Camp which had been recommended in the guide books but found that, although the lawns were nice, it was a long way out of town and wasn’t serving food. So I drove back into town and bought a few groceries. By this stage I just wanted to stop for the day and chose to check out the campsite at Sanctuary Lodge which was in town. The campsite is attached to the Sanctuary (don’t be fooled by the name, it’s nice but not that nice…) and, as it borders a wildlife reserve, is beautifully lush with heavy leaved trees and thick lawns. Again, I was the only person in the campsite but it was pleasant and so were the ablutions (always a plus). that evening I made my way up to the lodge to gain access to their free wifi and on retuning at around 9pm that night (with a guard in tow), found the back of the Beast completely open. In my haste to get to the Lodge three hours previously, I had completely forgotten to close the tail gate and lock up… absolutely everything was in place and not a thing was missing. With everything I owned, including my passport and all the money in my possession inside, I had undeniable sidestepped a major crisis just then… thank you Africa!

*Not a thing was stolen thoughout my entire journey, except a 2l bottle of prized Mazoe concentrated juice from the back of my Beast in Cape Town… pretty incredible!*

Getting Sick up the Mountain – Livingstonia, Malawi

December 2, 2013November 5, 2018 / Shara / 3 Comments

Facebook has all the photos for this part of the trip – click here to have a look.

Livingstonia, Malawi

30th November – 2nd December 2013

Livingstonia is a town set high up on the Nyika Plateau, towering 900m above Lake Malawi and is just a few kilometres west of Chitimba – straight up. Not to be confused with Livingstone in Zambia, Livingstonia is an old mission station which has developed into a town. Cape Maclear had been the original site for the 1894 Scottish mission but on realising that their lakeside location was rife with malaria, the missionaries moved their calling 600km north, to the heights to escape the mosquitos who were killing all those they were trying to save. With it’s colonial stone buildings perched on the edge of this escapment and beautiful tree-lined streets, one might forgive you for thinking you’d gone back one hundred years in time. People walk the earthen streets in their Sunday best as if they’ve just been to church, and are proud of their University, school, museum, hospital and mission church that still serve as the central hub around which community life revolves. Getting up to Livingstonia is a tale in itself…

From Chitimba Camp you can approach Livingstonia in two ways. Walk or drive. Unfortunately neither of these is terribly pleasant. I had originally planned to drive up, but on discussing this with the owner of the bar, I suddenly had second thoughts. The “Gorode” (as it’s referred to by the locals) up the almost-vertical escarpment is a series of 21 switchbacks on a single gravel track. I’m talking about wheels-almost-over-the-edge type driving. The journey is said to take around an hour and some of the switchbacks involve a three point turn to get around the corner. If faced with a vehicle coming down while you’re going up, one of you needs to reverse until you find a switchback with a little room for you to manoeuvre around each other – and there aren’t that many about. You can’t drive if it’s been raining, as your vehicle will simply slide off the edge. I’m not the best when it comes to heights, sliding mud, crumbling road verges or reversing down cliff-dropping switchbacks and so I elected to walk up instead.

(Turns out the Beast would have managed the climb no problem, but without someone with me to spot I’m kind of glad I didn’t drive)

Children fetching water from their local well – Livingstonia Malawi

Chitimba Camp can arrange for a local guide to take you up to the top, and so at 5:00am I was ready for my pathfinder, Lawrence, at the gate. The distance from Chitimba to Livingstonia by road (via Lukwe) is around 18kms, and with a total elevation of around 900m this was bound to be a tough walk. The guides know ‘shortcuts’ straight up between the switchbacks which cuts the distance down somewhat but your’e climbing almost straight up. I had packed a backpack for one night’s stay at the top but with my camera equipment and two litres of water, I wasn’t travelling light. I’ve walked up Table Mountain in Cape Town before and, aside from the weight I was carrying, this was a fairly similar trek.

Women walk up and down from Livingstonia daily.

As I’ve mentioned before, Malawi is one of the poorest African countries so very few local people have vehicles. The only way up and down from Livingstonia is by walking, and for some, this happens every day, sometimes multiple times a day. On my way up I passed several groups of mostly women (and a few older children) walking down absolutely laden with produce balanced on their heads and carried in their arms. I asked Lawrence about this and he told me that the villagers bring fruit, vegetables, grain and other food stuff up and down the mountain daily. These women were mostly barefoot and I couldn’t help but be reminded how hard some people work to earn a meagre living.

After hours and hours of climbing, the punishing gradient tapered off and Lawrence took me down a side road to my place of rest for the night. Lukwe Eco Camp is perched precariously on the very edge of a sharp drop off and has views all the way to Lake Malawi in the East. The grass huts jut out over the edge and have the most fantastic views. The camp has been built from local resources and is run on solar power and wood fuel. Lukwe have their own organic gardens and compost toilets which require the scooping of ash and soil, from nice neat pots, into the tank below to cover your contribution.

Lukwe Restaurant

Grass Huts with a View

Manchewe Falls

Lukwe is around 4kms before the actual town of Livingstonia so I dumped most of my things in my grass hut, thanked Lawrence for getting me up to the top and discussed a meeting time for him to walk up and fetch me the next morning. I didn’t necessarily need a return service as the only way is down, but when you see how hard these people work for every penny, spending of $10 becomes a little more purposeful. Lawrence would see me at 7am the next morning.

My little guides up in Livingstonia

I had heard about Manchewe Falls and thought I’d visit this site on my way up to Livingstonia. After walking past a few remote huts and farmland, I suddenly realised I was being followed. Every time I looked back, giggling boys would dart back into the bush to hide. I felt a little like the pied piper after a while and gestured for them to come and walk with me which they did. They lead me to the Manchewe Falls and we all had a bottle of Fanta together. The falls were a nice little attraction, dropping down in to the valley below and surrounded by lush forest.

It took about another hour of walking uphill to get to Livingstonia where I bumped into a group of travellers from Chitimba Camp along the way. This incredible town is built along a one kilometre tree-lined dirt road. We decided to explore together as a group and stopped in at the market for a bit of fresh produce. We popped into the barber’s shop to see about a hair cut for one of the boys, but the barber had a queue and looked to be fairly busy (I’m not sure the styles on offer were what he was hoping for either) so we tried to visit the museum in Stone House instead, but it was closed. Near the end of town we dropped into the Craft Coffee Shop and met the shop keeper, Isaac. I was parched and so we stayed for a drink. Isaac speaks perfect English and was well versed in African history. Taking time out to listen to his stories was well worth the stop! Since the mission establishment in Livingstonia over a hundred years ago, the town has been visited constantly by missionaries who continue to educate the local children and adults. Livingstonian folk speak the best English of all the African people I have ever met.

Livingstonia High Street, Malawi

At the far end of town the impressive church stands proudly between the trees. We couldn’t help but notice the enormous stained glass window depicting David Livingstone, the Scottish explorer after whom the town is named. Obed, the enthusiastic caretaker, lead us on an extended tour through the church halls, past the choir and up onto the roof, through the rafters and out onto the open air bell tower from where we could see all the way out over the edge of the escarpment and down to Lake Malawi.

Livingstonia Church Choir in rehearsal for a special event – amazing!!

Livingstonia Scottish Mission Church

My group of merry travellers decided to stop for a bit of lunch, but by this time I wasn’t feeling good and simply ordered a plate of rice. I’m not one to get ill and hadn’t been sick once since the trip began. In fact, it’s rare if I even get a cold once a year. I attribute my incredible immune system to my many teaching years, being exposed to just about every strain of germ and virus going around, so it’s very unlike me to feel unwell.

We all walked together back down the hill to our camps. The rest of the travellers were staying at Mushroom Farm, a kilometre further than Lukwe and so we’d arranged for Lawrence and myself to meet them on the way down – giving Lawrence an extra bit of cash for the group of us. After walking the 16kms almost straight up to Livingstonia and a further 4kms back to Lukwe, I was not in a good place. A recent loss of appetite over the past two weeks had meant that I hadn’t been eating much and with quite a strenuous trek up the mountain that day, my resources were depleted and I crashed in my hut and slept for a few hours.

At small camps in these remote places, you tend have to put your dinner orders in at around lunch time so that the cooks can acquire exactly what they need for their guests during the day. On arriving earlier that afternoon I had optimistically chosen the steak, mash and vegetables off the Lukwe menu. There were only two other guests at Lukwe that night and so I sat down with them for dinner. The food came out, I stared at it, poked at the rice but couldn’t touch a thing. You’re always at risk offending people by sending their lovely home cooked meals back to the kitchen but I asked that someone explain that I wasn’t well and that the staff were welcome to have my dinner. I also though it wise to tell someone that I wasn’t well and the lovely African lady who runs the place, went to speak to the European owner about what to do. He mentioned that he was driving down the mountain the next morning at 11am and I could get a lift with him to Chitimba. With slight relief and with no dinner, I staggered back to my hut and called Lawrence on his cell phone. In my best simple English tried to explain the situation to him. I didn’t want him walking up in the morning if I was getting a lift down in a car. He seemed to understand eventually but, as with most lovely African, when they find out someone is sick, they are always hugely concerned and want to help. I explained that I would be fine for the night, and as I was getting a lift, I’d be back in Chitimba without further problems in the morning. I had no way of informing the other travellers, who I knew would be waiting for me at 7am down the road, but figured they would head down by themselves after my no-show.

Compost Toilets – lovely!

Things progressed from bad to worse – back in my hut I got progressively more ill. I was lethargic, clammy, was cramping badly and had dire nausea. Without any immediate (I mean “in my hut” immediate) access to fresh water, food or medication I felt completely useless. I managed to get hold of Boris by text and he told me to get to a hospital as he was worried it may be malaria. I had one of the worst nights of my life, fighting nausea, cramping, and in my exhausted state, had to trek up the pathway every time I needed to use the compost toilet… I should have just slept sitting down on it.

I must have fallen asleep in the early hours of the morning, and at 7am dragged myself to the bar to ask if the owner could take me to Livingstone hospital but he wasn’t around. I went back to bed, waiting for him to leave a little later, and was eventually woken by the cleaning lady at 11am who told me I needed to be out of the hut so she could clean. I explained that I wasn’t well and was waiting to catch a lift down the mountain with the owner. She looked puzzled and said that she didn’t think he was going that way today. My first hope was that she didn’t know what she was talking about, but I got up and stumbled down the pathway to the bar area in search of the owner. I couldn’t find him, but his African assistant confirmed the worst – he had decided not to go down that day after all.

Well that was just about the moment all my hopes came crashing down around me. I could try to walk up to the Livingstonia hospital, but that was 4kms away, uphill, and would take well over and hour. It also meant that I was walking in the opposite direction to where my car and my medicine was, and without those two lifelines, I felt hopeless. It was too late to phone Lawrence to come and get me as it would take him an hour and a half at least to get up to me. What a calamity of events, I’d cancelled my guide, I’d missed the cool early morning start and now I’d be hours behind the rest of the group from Mushroom Farm. I decided to head down and hope for the best

The next three hours are a bit of a blur, anticipating malaria, I knew I needed to get myself to help fairly quickly but with the delay and miscommunication, I was setting off in the midday sun. I had a few snack bars to chew on and a two litre bottle, so that’s all the water I could carry. In the days leading up to this, I had been surviving on nuts and fruit and had not had a proper meal in ages. Coming down the steep descent was torture on the legs which had turned to a shaking mess. I found a stick to use for balance and would change course just to walk in shade, even if it meant a longer path. I started counting my steps to take my mind off things but with the sun beating down on me, I was absolutely exhausted and was losing what little energy I had left, fast.

View from the Livingstonia escarpment overlooking Lake Malawi

At one point, I spotted a vehicle heading down but as I was on the steep decent in-between the switchbacks I wasn’t on the road to flag it down. I tried to pick up pace but it had passed the road beneath me before I could get down. It was slow going but all I could think about was getting back down in one piece. My vision was hazy, the weight of my bag wasn’t helping and I had long since finished my water when I heard someone call out from behind me.

It turns out, Green (yes, I checked a number of times – that is his name), a 20 year old local man had been visiting his grandfather up in Livingstonia and was now on his way back down the mountain. He offered to help and guide me down. For fear of seeming like a feeble tourist who can’t handle something these locals do everyday, I didn’t want to tell him how I was feeling and tried to keep up with his blistering pace. Eventually I asked him to slow down as I was starting to lose my footing regularly on the steeper parts. I wanted to throw up but I’m as stubborn as an old mule and couldn’t believe my body was shutting down on me like this. We made it out of the steepest section of the walk, where the land gradually slopes though the town of Khondowe and down to Chitimba Camp on the lake – another 5kms away. Leaving the wooded slopes behind us, we were walking under the harshest sun and my water had long since gone.

Livingstonia Children

I took my mind off how blady awful I felt by talking to Green about his schooling, his family and about life on the lake. We went back and forth together with my simple words and his broken English. As with most Africans I spoke to along my journey, he was incredibly resilient, happy with very little and saw the world through content and hopeful eyes. We parted ways in Khondowe at the foot of the mountain and I thanked him with the money I had intended on giving Lawrence. Another forty minutes of sun slogging, I stumbled past the carving stalls near the entrance to Chitimba Camp when Lawrence appeared, completely unaware of day’s events and now completely ashamed of himself for not guiding me down. He had been busy carving my name into a wooden keyring to thank me for giving him work the day before. It didn’t help how many times I tried to explain the situation in my simplest English, he just couldn’t understand why I hadn’t phoned him to ask him to help me. That’s African benevolence for you right there.

Getting back to the cruiser, I consumed all my purified water in one downing before standing under a cold shower for almost half an hour, too tired, too weak to move. The thought of drying myself seemed a chore… I got myself to the bar area and got some electrolyte mix, coke and more water into my system before collapsing on a chair where I sat and stared, completely drained, out over the lake until fell asleep. I’d started to feel better that evening and figured that this had probably been a case of heat exhaustion and lack of sustenance than malaria and so the urgency of getting to hospital soon abated.

I needed to press on the following day and decided against heading up to the Nyika Plateau in favour of finding some more wonderful camping spots on the lake further south. Nyika Plateau is higher up than Livingstonia and the only way to get there is by going around the plateau, 100kms south to come back almost 100kms north, something I didn’t have time for. So I turned the Beast south towards Mzuzu and Nkhata Bay.

Not five kilometres into my day’s journey and just outside the town of Khondowe where I had walked the day previously, a robust and very official looking lady stepped into the road ahead with her left arm high indicating that I should stop. Road blocks of this type are common; where are you going? where have you been? can I see your drivers licence and insurance (that’s not a question, that’s a command). She sauntered over to me, her voluminous bust had the shirt buttons at bursting point and her skirt stretched to capacity round her rear end. Leaning on my open window she peered into the cruiser, spying my recently washed pants and bras hanging from the washing line over my back seat.

“Where are you going?” – here we go…

“I’m going to Mzuzu and then to Nkhata Bay, Mayi” I respond in the respectful tone, addressing her as madam in Chichewa.

“Very good” she says “I’m requesting transportation to Rumphi. Let’s go.”

Well what choice did I have but to oblige? I had just become the official escort for the Malawian traffic police.

Camp Drama – Chitimba, Malawi

November 29, 2013November 5, 2018 / Shara / 1 Comment

Facebook has all the photos for this part of the trip – click here to have a look.

Chitimba Camp, Malawi

28th – 29th November 2013

Squeezing the Beast in between the hundreds of trucks jostling for space in the Songwe border, I eventually found a place to park and hopped out. At any African border, you’re greeted by twenty ‘helpful’ people wanting to exchange money or show you the ‘border procedure’ (for a fee of course). I learned very early on in my journey to pretend that I do this sort of thing daily. I greet them in the local language, smile, tell them I’ve already exchanged all my money in the previous town and that I’m good to manage the border myself.

BORDER INFO: In Malawi there is no charge for road or fuel tax at all, only for 3rd party insurance which I already have in the Yellow Card Comesa.

Burning Farm Lands – Northern Malawi

The difference between Tanzania and Malawi was immediately apparent. The land either side of the road was noticeably more flat and arid than the escarpment I had just descended in Tanzania. Where the farms were green and flourishing in north of the border, the land here was dry, burning and barren. The people of Malawi seemed slimmer, wore clothes full of holes and walked without shoes.

Due to last minute vehicle maintenance that morning, I had left Mbeya in Tanzania later than expected and I got to the first major town of Karonga in Malawi by early afternoon and was still undecided about whether to spend the night there or not. The guide books give you a few options for accommodation but you never really know until you pull into town and get a feel for it. One of the very first things I do when arriving in a new country is find a shack selling local sim cards and so I stopped at the Karonga bus terminal to try to buy one. I quickly realised that this was not the safest place for a lone female traveller and so I pulled up half on the pavement and as close as I could to the shack. This left half of the Beast blocking a large portion of the entrance to the bus station terminal and I soon had angry taxi drivers shouting at me to get out of the way – it’s amazing how a big smile and a thumbs up diffuses the situation. With a sim card and a bit of credit in my possession, I got the hell out of Karonga. With daylight fading fast, I set off for the next camp on the lake, Chitimba, 80kms south.

Northern Malawi near Karonga

I arrived at Chitimba Camp as the sun was setting. One of the most important rules of the road in Africa is to drive whilst you have light – even twilight is a risky ride.

The road surface in Malawi is generally good but it also serves as the main thoroughfare for every man and his dog. Malawi is one of the poorest African countries and very few Malawians own vehicles, so the roads are available for bicycles, hand carts, children, adults and trains of livestock. Aside from the occasional bus, you may see a clapped-out car or expedition 4×4, but due to the lack of traffic the roads are free for people to use. As a vehicle travelling at speed, you need to be highly vigilant and you find yourself driving in the centre of the road, avoiding the endless stream of pedal and foot power moving on either side. Keeping your eyes on the horizon, you dread the thought of an oncoming truck or bus as this tends to require advanced driving skills… immediate deceleration, and Stigg-like manoeuvring abilities through the human and livestock chicanes until the approaching vehicle has passed. You breathe easy and it’s back to driving with your tyres either side of the centre line.

Beds for Drying Fish, Lake Malawi near Chitimba

Approaching Chitimba I could see the Nyika escarpment on the right and the lake opening up to the left. From the northern border with Tanzania to Nkhata Bay 300kms south, Chitimba Camp is one of the only good stopovers on the lake. There’s no town here, just a local village with a few stalls selling the usual produce of onions and tomatoes. I took a left turn towards the lake and drove past a few village houses. Greeted by barefoot kids running along side the land cruiser calling for sweets and money, I rolled down my window and gave the a high five instead.

Smiles and Waves

As I drove past a dozen or so basic wooden stalls lining the dirt road before Chitimba Camp gate, I wondered how each of these incredibly skilled artists and sculptures make a living. The souvenir stands have been set up to provide the local villagers with a place from which they can sell their paintings and carvings without ‘harassing’ the tourists on the beach. A little sad really, but understandable. Malawi’s population survives on less than a $1 per day, so the competition for selling artistic work to tourists is fierce. It’s a sad reality that these people, in their desperate attempt to make up to a month’s wage with one sale, would start to approach visitors and not take no for an answer. People hoping for a nice quiet holiday at the beach soon choose not to visit these areas for fear of harassment and tourism declines. These allocated stalls seem to be the most reasonable and fair way of allowing the Chewa people to market their beautiful handcraft whilst the tourists walk the beaches undisturbed.

Chitimba Camp is set back about 200m from the lake, and is owner-run with a good restaurant and bar area. The basic accommodation is only around £1 more expensive than camping and I was exhausted from a full day of driving so that made the decision easy. There are a number of wooden style rooms, furnished with a single bed with a small window. I can’t say it was spacious, cool or airy but after a long drive, it was less hassle than climbing on the roof and opening up the tent.

I settled down in the bar area to get some planning and blogging done. Despite the restaurant food being incredibly cheap at these camps, I have lost my appetite and seem to be happy snacking on fruit, nuts and tomatoes. Wifi is almost non-existent and costs an exorbitant amount of money for a frustrating internet experience which gets you nowhere.

Chitimba Camp Beach

Huts and Camping Area

Chitimba Camp

Chitimba Camp Beach

Bar Staff – good bunch!

Fishing Dugout

Later that evening an over landing truck pulled into camp and spewed out it’s 20 or so travellers, most on their ‘gap yah’ no doubt. Having come down an alternate route in Tanzania, this was the first time I had come across a big over landing truck full of tearaways and so a little social observation ensued…

From my seat in the corner of the verandah I watched as two girls from the overlanding truck approached the camp bar. After ordering five rounds of double vodka and cokes, and digging through her bag for change, the one asks her tbff (travelling/temporary best friend forever) “What money are we using?”. The response, “I have no idea. What country are we in again?”.

Look, I’m sure each trip is different, and if this is the only way to see these countries, then I suppose it’s better than nothing. I’m all for young people getting on these trucks to ‘experience’ Africa but do feel that these trips tend to metamorphose into a drink-infused hazy cycle of camp, drive, drink, camp repeat (yah?). Throw in a few wildlife parks (optional extras at a cost) and you get to see some animals on your journey. Often these travellers can’t afford the game park entry fees and pricey side excursions, electing instead to spend their time pursuing other recreational activities (and I don’t mean the day trip kind). Cue the drama…

Chitimba Campfire

We had two incidents that night.

On heading over to the communal washrooms to brush my teeth, I found a gathering of people surrounding an older lady standing in a bucket of water. She was sweating, puffy and panicked, and I realised that this was probably a case of anaphalaxysis, a response to a severe allergic reaction where the body produces a dangerously high quantity of histamines which can cause swelling of the body tissue including the throat. It turns out she’d stepped on a wasp in the dark and was reacting fairly badly to the sting. I asked her whether she was carrying an epipen (the drug needed to counteract this severe reaction) and she wasn’t. We got a few oral antihistamines into her and for some time she really wasn’t in a good place. There was one local hospital within a 300km radius and it was up in Livingstonia but the road is treacherous and not to be driven in the dark. With all the vomiting, she couldn’t keep the oral antihistamines down so we lathered her in antihistamine creme and her friends got her into a shower to keep her body temperature down. After a number of hours, she was slightly better. It seemed the reaction was subsiding and I left her friends to tend to her. It was well past 1am.

Not long after I had put my head down to sleep I heard a huge commotion not far from my hut. I rushed out into the night to find two girls screaming and banging on the door of their overlanding guide, pleading with him to help them. They were absolutely hysterical and one seemed to collapse from what looked like a seizure. I ran over, and with the help of the tour guide, we got the girls out of his hut and back onto the grass area. Through frenzied sobbing and uncontrollable panic, the girls told us that someone had drugged them and they couldn’t find their friend. The tour guide seemed less than impressed and did little to calm the girls down. By this stage, half the camp was awake and some overlanding friends had come to comfort the two hysterical souls. I asked the girls a few questions, trying to find out if this person who drugged them was still in the camp and, more importantly, trying to piece together where the third friend may be. It didn’t take long before I had my doubts about this mystery drug lord, and my hunches were confirmed when the third friend sheepishly appeared only to tell us that they had all been smoking weed on the beach and these two friends had completely flipped out. She was fine but they had clearly suffered a proper dose of paranoia which lead to the fabrication of their weak story for fear of the police finding them and putting them into a Malawian jail. It was then that I understood the apathetic reaction of the tour guide – he must see this on every trip.

I finally went to bed to the sound of an enormous thunderstorm over the lake.

Chitimba Beach leading to Lake Malawi

The Lure of the Lake – Tanganyika, Tanzania

November 28, 2013November 5, 2018 / Shara / 1 Comment

Lakeshore Lodge – Lake Tanganyika, Tanzania

23rd – 26th November 2013

I can’t explain the sense of awe we had on rising up over the escarpment and seeing Lake Tanganyika stretched out in front of us. This lake is rather special. Formed in the fissure of the Great Rift Valley, at 673kms long, Lake Tanganyika is the longest freshwater lake, the second deepest and the second largest by volume, in the world. At over 13 million years old, it’s also one of the oldest. Across it’s waters lies the forbidden DRC.

We were headed for Lakeshore Lodge, near Kipili on the eastern shores of the Lake Tanganyika. Lesanne had been in touch with the South African owners, Chris and Louise Horsfall, to arrange a photo shoot for her photographic book on Africa. Chris and Louise had very kindly agreed to have me stay with Lesanne. We came off the main road to Sumbawanga and down the escarpment track to the small fishing village of Kipili. The road narrows and just about disappears as you creep slowly past village huts and you are greeted by singing and dancing children along the way. There isn’t much room between the lake and the village and, at times, you’re driving over front lawns and under their fruit trees. This Lakeshore place sure was off the beaten track!

Lake Shore Lodge, Tanganyika Tanzania

A huge sign, the length of the entrance wall greets you as you drive into the grounds… “Welcome to Lakeshore Lodge. Arrive as guests, leave as friends.” Never a more true phrase spoken.

The owners, Chris and Louise Horsfall originally from Joburg, had arrived in 2007 and built Lakeshore Lodge in this remote part of Tanzania. It’s exclusive, it’s a hidden gem and is so worth the visit – honeymooners, this is the place for you! Overlanders, you have to come well off the beaten track to get here but it’s so worth it.

The lodge has a range of luxury chalets on water’s edge, stylish bandas and a campsite under their mango trees. The heart of Lakeshore Lodge lies in it’s amazing lounge, restaurant and bar area where we spent the next few days hanging out with these amazing people.

Lesanne and I couldn’t believe our luck – we’d been treated to superbly stylish and luxurious chalet – the lake lapping the shore metres from the steps. The whole side of the chalet opens up to the water and before anything else, we took off our flip flops and went straight into the lake – the waters are crystal clear and the visibility is incredible.

Lake Shore Lodge Chalets

With only eight or so rooms available here, you’re bound to get to know the other guests – and I’m so glad we did.

Louise’s brother Dave and his lovely wife Cath were over from South Africa to stay for six weeks. There were Nod and Emily, a couple from the UK. Nod was doing research on the slave trade in East Africa – super interesting to talk to. The last two guests were quite special. Mat, a Kiwi now living in Scotland, and Jaap, a Dutchie now living in Switzerland, were on their own overlanding adventure down from Europe to South Africa on their KTMs. They got in contact through mutual friends and met up for the first time in September in Genoa on their way down. They had also heard whispers of this magical place and had come down the length of the lake from Burundi. Having hung up their riding boots for a few days, they too were enjoying the respite from travelling. Jaap is a camera man by trade had the most incredible footage of their journey – all shot on GoPro and edited by Jaap along the way. I had a serious spell of camera skill envy. My monotonous footage shot from the driver’s window of roads ahead, paled in comparison to the stuff these guys had!

Storm brewing on the horizon, Lake Tanganyika Tanzania

Over the next few days we had some of the most memorable times of my entire trip. Diving time! Chris called us all out with his vuvuzela and off we headed, towards the Congo. We moored near a small island a few kms off shore and to our suprise there was a whole village living on the island. The children jumped off rocks and swam out to us, happiest in the world these Tanganyika kids! Descending only a few metres, we followed Louise’s fins and cruised around massive boulders, taking in the lake’s special little cichlids.

Dive Team

Chris’ vuvuzela calling Jaap to hurry up

Cath & Dave

Dive Buddies – Mat & Lesanne

Island Kids

Great Dive Team

Overlanding requires constant tinkering with the vehicle, the camping gear etc. I had tightened the steering bolts and I’d noticed the tent wasn’t sitting quite straight. On closer inspection, I realised that the second section had been sitting at an angle and the hinges had been warped over time. Handy Mat helped me get the bolts undone and hammered the hinges straight. This took the better part of an hour and by the time we came back to the bar area, all we could hear was shouting and singing. We found the rest of the crew in the lake… Cath shouting for more wine, and Dave and Lesanne singing with their glasses raised high out the water. What could we do but join in? The wine flowed, the singing got louder and more passionate and the sun set on Lake Tanganyika – one of the most incredible sunsets ever.

We had dinner in the old boat on the beach and were entertained by some incredibly inebriated individuals…

The following day was a little stormy, perfect time to sit and blog and watch more of the boys’ footage. Mat and Jaap were due to leave that morning, but as the rest of us were all leaving the following day, we promised them a big party that evening (as if the previous night hadn’t been enough). So they stayed, one more night…

Another sun sets over Lake Tanganyika

We had the most incredible meal – pig on the spit. At Lakeshore Lodge, you all eat together like one big happy family, and you drink together like long lost friends. Conversation flowed, the drinks kept coming and before we knew it Chris had brought down two enormous speakers from upstairs. Thank goodness the closest neighbours are about 10kms away – music pumped, there was dancing, there was singing, there were body shots on the bar… With Chris behind the bar, the night went downhill fast, and the evening decended into anarchy. Bring on the ‘tequila omelettes’… one times raw egg, chew, swig of chilly from the bottle, swallow and chase with a shot of tequila. We all did it. I wish never to do it again. A couple of us found ourselves in the lake (despite Louise’s warning about a resident croc, and please don’t swim after dark). Someone arrived back in the bar from the lake, soaking wet just their undies as they couldn’t find their clothes in the dark… Nights like this will be remembered for a very long time. It was 4:30am by the time before I found myself a human prop and we staggerd down the path and off to bed.

Well the next morning was interesting. Lesanne and I were due to leave for Sumbawanga early in the morning and were taking Nod and Emily with us in the Beast. We only woke up after 11am and struggled with the very idea of getting packed and ready to go. Everyone was in the lounge, nursing hangovers – Dave was back on the beers… Mat and Jaap were due to get to Zambia that day, but on critical reflection decided that a short ride to Sumbawanga was tolerable, anything further would not be possible on a day like today. Time to leave these wonderful people, this magical place and move on… it was a sad goodbye to Chris, Louise, Dave and Cath.

and Mat – on orange

Jaap – on black

What a team…

We came as guests and definitely left as friends!

Road from Lake Tanganyika to Sumbawanga, Tanzania

26th November 2013

We got backpacks racheted down on the roof and with Nod and Emily in the back, Lesanne and I headed off up the escarpment and back to the main road that runs the length of the lake. This 150km journey took about 3 hours and was mostly on dirt. We’d agreed to meet Mat and Jaap at the Morovian Conference Centre, a christian establishment with clean double rooms and ensuite bathrooms. We decided to go out and have dinner at Forest Way, the four of us hopped in the Beast and Mat & Jaap caught a lift standing on the back bumper – just like in Africa… Still struggling from the previous night’s shenanigans, we had dinner and hit the sack early.

After a slow start the following day, we said our sad farewells… Mat and Jaap were headed for Zambia and then were hoping to make a daring dash through a short strip of the Congo. Lesanne was to travel with Nod down to Zambia by bus and Emily was to wait in Sumbawanga for Nod to come back in a week or so. My compass had been set for Malawi and so I turned south east for Mbeya.

Lesanne is one of the bravest young girls I have met, full of life and was such a pleasure to have on board for this stretch of the trip. She completed her trip near Christmas time and is in the process of putting together a coffee table book of her travel photos. Her travel page can be found on Facebook – Lesanne’s Trip Around Africa.

Saying goodbye to Lesanne before heading off in different directions.

Jaap and Mat made it all the way to the Cape without too much hassle – I envy them for having ridden the length of the continent! Two of the nicest gents I met on my trip, sorry to see them go… Check out their Facebook page Edinburgh to Cape Town Overland.

Jaap and Mat, two of the coolest dudes I know.

Road Sumbawanga to Mbeya, Tanzania

27th November 2013

The drive to Mbeya was a little uneventful and took just over 6 hours. 40miles of off road next to “roadworks” ie. an almost complete new road. Then the remaining 160 miles was good tar all the way. The road takes you past the Tanzania/Zambia border in Tunduma. Abostlute chaos with trucks back to back down kilometres of road. Thank the stars I wasn’t crossing here and I pushed on to Mbeya. The scenery towards the end of the drive was pretty awesome – the road rose and fell with the undulating forested land.

Garth Pereira had put me in touch with a friend from Zimbabwe, now living in Mbeya. Paul Metcalf very kindly had me stay for the night. I was treated to a night of darts and pool at the local hotel whilst the rest of the town’s volunteers played volleyball – clearly a favourite and very competitive sport round these parts.

Road Mbeya to Songwe Malawi Border, Tanzania

28th November 2013

Following our little steering wheel issue up in Kipili and before heading for the border, I decided to get the Beast into a local garage and have them check that all the bolts were on tight. This took the better part of the morning but they understood my need to get going and so did me a favour by getting my vehicle first in line. With a few things tightened and adjusted, I was off to Malawi.

Road from Mbeya to the border – Tanzania

The 140km escarpment road from Mbeya to Kasumulu is one of the most stunning of the entire trip. Long winding roads rise up and then roller coast you down again on the other side past lush green forests and banana, coffee and tea plantations. This trip is slower than you think. Every time you pass a village, and there are many many villages, the speed limit decreases to 50km/h. I passed no less than 8 traffic police blocks along the way and got stopped by the 2nd one for driving 10kph over th limit. I sweet talked my way out of it, learned my lesson and just took it easy the rest of the way. They seem to have an appreciation for all things British round these parts – I drove past the “London Car Wash” and the previous day had come across the “Modern London Pub” in the middle of downtown Mbeya.

The border was chaos but definitely better than Tanduma. The carnet makes customs straightforward and pretty painless, and despite the number of trucks, I was through fairly quickly. There is no charge for road/fuel tax at all, and the only fee they needed was for 3rd party insurance which I already have in the Yellow Card Comesa.

Thanks Tanzania… for your shy and quiet people, for the chance of heading off into the unknown, for your unpredictability, for your picturesque woodlands and vast expanses and for the memorable times we had with the most hospitable and incredible people.

Chasing the King to Tanganyika – Tanzania

November 23, 2013November 5, 2018 / Shara / 1 Comment

Facebook has all the photos for this stretch of the journey – click here to check them out.

Nairobi & Naivasha, Kenya

15th – 18th November 2013

Complete overhaul… what accident?!

After flying from Diani to Nairobi, I collected the Beast from the garage in Karen. Luke Davey had been dropping in every now and again to keep an eye on progress and update me with photos, but seeing it again after three months, I couldn’t believe how good the Beast looked. Not a scratch, not a dent, it had simply been restored to it’s former handsome self.

After the crash and whilst waiting at Mikey Diesbecq’s place in Naivasha, I had stripped the Beast down entirely before sending it off for repairs in Nairobi. You know things grow legs here in Africa – so best not take that chance. (I later caught the security guys at Toyota Kenya draining my 80l of diesel…) The roof top tent, side awning, every box, every tool, books, cooker, gas stove, spares, recovery gear, clothing, shoes, batteries – every removable item had to come out. We stored everything under a massive plastic sheet in Mikey’s workshop along with his assorted collection of various vehicle and motorbike parts.

I was back to reload, restock and say farewell for the final time, to my Naivasha crew.

Getting expedition ready with Mikey in Naivasha

Mikey, being a mechanically minded young man, cast a quick eye over the Beast. We found a couple of things hadn’t been screwed in properly or bolted down and so cracked on with tightening up all the loose ends. With much heaving and sweating under the harsh Kenyan sun, the farm workers Nino and Albert helped us get the roof top tent back up, load the recovery gear onto the roof rack under canvas, tightened nuts and bolts and fill the jerry cans with water. Boxes went back into their respective drawers, leisure battery connected, camping gear arranged on the side and the fridge was re-stocked with what drinks and food remained after a three month stint in Mike’s fridge – there wasn’t much…

As always, I had a great evening catching up with the Carnelleys at their camp next door. Sadly the visit was short lived and I was chasing a visa deadline. I put my foot to the floor, and after a short stop in Nairobi (thanks Luke and Chloe for the use of your home… again!) turned south for the Tanzanian border of Namanga.

Saying goodbye to the fabulous Lovat, Chrissie and Mikey

Arusha, Tanzania

18th – 19th November 2013

Whilst living in Diani, I had met a young Zimbawean in the waves off Tiwi. Lesanne Dunlop, had been photographing lodges around East and Southern Africa and was staying at Kenyaways in Diani at the time. The lovely Monique had befriended her and brought her down to surf with us one afternoon. Lesanne was on her way to Tanzania, and I had kept in contact with her on the off chance our plans would coincide at a later date. We were both going to be in Arusha at the same time and so I offered to come and pick her up, and we’d go through Tanzania together.

Spiral Cable Repairs, Arusha Tanzania

Before I could put pedal to metal and get out of the streets of Arusha, I had a couple of things that needed to be done on the Beast. I had started to notice a tractor-like noise when overtaking or exerting the Beast. I had also lost the use of my hooter on the way down from Nairobi, and I found myself in heightened state of alert at the prospect of dopey beasts of burden or inadvertent humans wandering into the road at any given time.

Arusha is a hot and heaving mass of traffic and people. There is very little space for all the modes of transport and hawkers and people and animals that wish to use the same space. Pedestrians, donkeys, cars and boda bodas ebbing and flowing, jostling for an inch more pavement or road. Women with babies slung to their backs selling fruit, men pushing carts, kids and dogs running all over the place. Driving with no hooter is an experience I choose not to repeat. I got the Beast to Toyota in Arusha (and as usual, Toyota were useless and told me the noise was fine). I organised a fixer to ride with me for the day and help me sort out the rest of my affairs. I needed a new hooter, tinting on my drivers window and possibly a new tyre (my front drivers side had a bulge – patched up from the accident no doubt). No one could help me with the tractor noise coming from the engine… Driving back and forth fixing this and that took almost the entire day – thank goodness for fixers!

With buddy Justin in Arusha

Whilst waiting in Diani, I had been in touch with my good friend Brad Hansen. A Natal boy now living in Arusha, Brad has his own exclusive company – Hansen Safaris – and I had been trying to get some bush time out with him. I missed a few fantastic expedition opportunities the month before as the Beast wasn’t quite ready, and when I did manage to roll into Arusha, Brad was out on a safari of his own. Despite not being there, and typical of what you’d expect from a nice Natal boy, Brad had offered to have me stay at his place whilst I was in Arusha. His flatmate Justin would be at home and here was his number.

After days of failed attempts get hold of Justin, I picked Lesanne up from Arusha Backpackers and just turned up at Brad’s house, climbed over the gate and walked into the living room. “Hey Justin! Been trying to get hold of you and did you know we were coming to stay?”. Turns out Brad had given me Justin’s old number and the dear boy had no idea.

Lucky for us, JT is a welcoming and awesome host. “Karibu” he said, and opened up his home to his new and unexpected guests. Over the next few days, Lesanne and I set about planning the trip through Tanzania.

Through previous discussions with Brad I had learned that Kingsley Holgate was making his way up on the Mozambique coastline, through Tanzania and up to Thompson Falls near the Abadares in Kenya, following in the footsteps of the Scottish explorer Joseph Thomson.

This trip was also a personal journey for Kingsley and his son Ross, as they were carrying the ashes of their late wife and mother Gill “Mashozi” Holgate. The journey took Kingsley up to Thomson Falls and down to the Ololoolo Escarpment on the Maasai Mara where they scattered Mashozi’s ashes from the escaprment under the spiritual blessing of the Maasai warriors around them. You can follow Kingsley’s expeditions and see the work his foundation is doing here – Kingsley Holgate Foundation.

Brad & Kingsley – Thomson Expedition [Photo Credit: http://www.facebook.com/kingsleyholgatefoundation%5D

By the time I had rolled into Arusha, Brad had joined Kingsley on his journey back down towards South Africa and was near Rungwa Game Reserve on the south western side of the country. I was hoping to catch up with them to join the travelling party as they made their way down towards Zambia.

Route Planning – bring on the maps, books, compass, GPS – we need them all…

Lesanne needed to get to Lakeshore Lodge on Tanganyika to do a photo shoot and we had about four days to get across Tanzania. We both needed to get to just about the same place, but choosing how we were going to get there was the next problem… The safest option was to double back east and drive in completely the wrong direction, past the roads to Tanga and Dar es Salaam, to Morongoro, Iringa, Mbeya and up to Kipili on Lake Tanganyika – this route would see us do a clockwise route of the country from – safer roads, smooth tarmac but it would take the longest time and over 1800km.

Another option would be the 1500km drive via Dodoma road towards Malawi and then hang right to Lake Tanganyika – but on closer inspection this was completely out of the question as we’d heard that the roadworks along this section caused the flow of busses, trucks, cars and everything else, to crawl at a tediously sluggish pace over corrugations and through air thick with dust next to the actual road, taking days to complete even short stretches. Errrrr… next?

The only option left was to cut south west through the country directly towards Lake Tanganyika on roads less travelled. We tried researching this route but found no information on any overlanders’ blogs or any mention of this trail in any guide books. We had no idea whether the roads were safe, tarred or were even passable in this, the start of the rainy season. A couple of local people in Arusha had told us that they knew the stretch to Singida had been recently tarred but after that, not even the Tanzanians seemed to know what lay beyond.

Time to find out, and do a bit of trailblazing for anyone else wishing to venture off the beaten track…

Word from Brad, he Holgate party is in the Rungwa area… WAIT BRAD AND KINGSLEY – I’m on my way!

Early morning drive out of Arusha

Road Arusha to Tabora, Tanzania

20th – 21st November 2014

Lesanne had a contact in a small town in the middle of nowhere. Tabora was en route and so we had decided to push on through to stay with Roy, a Zimbabwean tobacco farmer. Tabora was almost 400 miles from Arusha… and 400 miles on small Africa roads is not like 400 miles anywhere else on the planet. We set off nice and early with high spirits, and after an initial 50kms of roadworks outside Arusha, we were on good tar all the way to Singida. Now when I mention “roadworks”, I refer to this in the loosest term possible. There could be a perfectly good tar road ready to be driven on but the workers have left rows of rocks across the width every 10m to deprive you of this convenience, forcing you to churn dirt on some made up gravel track along the side of the perfectly good road – avoiding rocks, under low trees, thumping over corrugations and detouring around the odd hut. If you so happen to get stuck behind a slow moving vehicle, you grind on blindly through plumes of dust and diesel fumes. There is no passing lane on this made-up-dirt-track-along-the-perfectly-good-tar-road, so with patience wearing thin and my sense of humour waning there were times when I chose to overtake lumbering vehicles and plough through the bush taking out termite mounds, crashing through ditches and ramping over rocks to get ahead of the pack. The road from Singida to Tabora was patchy gravel for most of the way and the journey took over 10 hours.

Buggered and in need of a good feed, Roy welcomed us with open arms and told us we were going to the local club to have dinner. Bare in mind, this is a small African town, so my idea of having dinner at “the club” conjured up thoughts of loud music, plastic chairs, checked wipable table cloths, ugali (sadza/pap) and goat stew for dinner. Turns out we were headed for the Tabora Hotel, the old colonial country club I expect, and to my delight we were greeted (with double vodkas and cokes thrust into our hands on arrival) by no fewer than 15 Zimbabean tabacco farmers. Ayyyyeeeee, we ate, we drank, we laughed, we played pool and we had sore heads in the morning…

Tabora’s Zimbo Tobacco Farmers

The Beast was in need of attention After Toyota Arusha telling me the intermittent trumpeting was “usual”, the resounding noise now roaring from the engine made the Beast sound less like a thoroughbred Land Cruiser and more like an old tractor with emphysema. It had become progressively worse over the past day and the noise was unbearable.I had spoken to some of the guys the night before, a few rally car drivers/enthusiasts who had all put in their thoughts, and I was to see the local garage man in the morning. The workshop had the Beast in for a full day and found that the sound was coming from a missing exhaust manifold gasket, which had come loose and fallen away. Their verdict on hearing the Beast had been rebuilt in Nairobi: it hadn’t been screwed on properly. Their solution: put an asbestos replica in it’s place until I find a garage that stocks my part (I changed this in Harare, over 3000kms later – no problem!). Good job by the garage team in Tabora!

Repairs in Tabora, Tanzania

This manifold affair, along with the broken spiral cable in the hooter (fixed in Arusha), and the bolting on of the winch that was just sitting in it’s slot (which Mikey found and fixed in Naivasha), was just the start of things that I found wrong with the Beast on leaving the workshop in Karen, Nairobi. After almost three months of waiting, I had put pressure on the workshop to have the Beast completed and it was only when I started sending Luke Davey to check on the proceedings and to take photos, that things started happening. But it had been a hasty repair in the final weeks before I needed to leave. It was no wonder the owner (name withheld) was a little brusque with me in Nairobi. Knowing I had a visa deadline and needed to be out of Kenya, there was no way of me coming back to have him fix these issues. [There were a few more incidental episodes following the hasty repair of the Beast further on down the line… keep reading.]

Slowing us down by a day didn’t help Lesanne but she called ahead to Lakeshore Lodge to let them know we were delayed. We spent the next day catching up with the wives of the farmers, some of whom Lesanne knew from Zimbabwe. It’s times like these you appreciate even a simple lunch of fresh bread, pickled onions, salami, ham, tomatoes and cheese. Thank you Esmé Blair, it was heavenly! We met everyone at the club that evening for a more civilised evening, everyone feeling a little less inclined to follow the previous night’s antics.

Who would have thought, in the arse end of nowhere Tabora, that we would find this wonderful group of Zimbos? We can’t thank Roy enough for his hospitality and for looking after us. Also, massive thanks to Garth and Jane Pereira for all their help and contacts throughout Tanzania.

Word from Brad, the Holgate party are near Rukwa Game Reserve… WAIT BRAD AND KINGSLEY – I’m on my way!

Roy’s Place

Esme, Lesanne, Jane and Sha

Cup-a-Tea-no?

Road Tabora to Katavi National Park, Tanzania

22nd November 2014

Tabora runners out for an early morning run.

Stocked up with a few luxuries from Roy (steaks, tinned mussels, crackers and additional surprises), Lesanne and I set off. Before leaving Tabora, we just so happened to be driving behind a morning marathon training session – what looked like the entire male population of Tabora was out on a pacey morning jog in a peloton pack.

On our way out of town, we were stopped by a fat cat in uniform. With his hand in the air – I wanted to drive up and give him a high five, but thought best not.

“Eh, you ah going down a one-way street”, Mr Official slurred whilst reaching for a pen and his booklet of fines (aka, notepad void of any written receipts whatsoever)

I looked around. I saw no one-way signs. In fact, I saw no signs at all which is why we were a little lost, and we were on a dirt road so there sure weren’t any road markings to forewarn us of this violation in the first place…

“I’m sorry, I didn’t see the sign, and which way to Mpanda kind officer?”

“You are going down a one-way street. You need to pay a fine”

Lesanne leaned over, elbowed me in the ribs slightly and started talking so fast I could barely keep up, “Hello Shamwari (uh, Lesanne that’s Shona and he’s speaks Swahili…), we need to get to Mpanda and are lost, and please can you show us the road that will lead us out of town, and we’ve got far to go and people are waiting for us to arrive, and what a nice day it is, and we’re in a hurry, and which way again?”

We threw a joke in the mix and forced a laugh, it’s amazing how quickly one can distract a fat cat… he gave us a series of turns this way and that, I put my foot down and thank him with a hand wave as I speed off.

The road through the Tanzanian heartland.

The road to Mpanda and on to Katavi was the slowest and most arduous journey of my entire trip. We were headed into the real unknown, a place very few people venture. We probably overtook one car that day and passed another four or five trucks coming towards us. The road was poorly maintained and progress was extremely slow, barely breaking 20km/hour at times. We descended into thick woodlands and passed up to six of broken down trucks. Worried about ambushes in such a remote area, we didn’t take any chances, kept our speed up, our distance round the rigs as far as we could and our eyes peeled. The track varied from full on graded dirt road to single lane track, and the ground rose and fell under the Old Man Emu suspension. Dodging fallen trees and weaving my way around pitfalls, constantly having to choose the best line and having to slow down every 30m made for tedious driving.

We pass a few small villages on the way and stopped to buy some local food and drink. The kids stared and we waved. Lesanne took photos and they all ran inside. Mostly I think the kids are happy to see us but with so few muzungus ever coming out this way, let alone stopping at their particular village, we must have been something of an anomaly. I’m guessing we must look like two albino humanoids with with long wild hair, our faces covered with black plastic across our eyes, how can we possibly see? Lifting the sunglasses, waving and shouting “jumbo toto” (hello kids) makes all the difference, and suddenly they all want to come out and dance! At another village, we passed a run down hut with the sign “The Hilton Hotel” painted on the wall. I wondered if they might have a concierge service out here?

Hyena Witchcraft Muti

Village near Mpanda

Stunning woodland

As we were driving past, Lesanne pointed up high in the the trees to what I can only describe as rectangular boxes hanging on rope. We wondered what they were for. Later we did a bit of research and found that they were for bees and it was the local communities’ form of bee keeping and honey harvesting. We also happened upon a dead hyena to the side of the road and stopped to have a look. At first it seemed like everyday road kill but on closer inspection, we realised that the bloated hyena’s ears and paws had been severed and it’s eyes had been taken, for more sinister intentions perhaps? In Africa, hyenas are mostly viewed with fear and contempt as well as being associated with witchcraft, as their body parts are used as ingredients in traditional medicine. We got the hell out of there…

Wild muzungus of the forest – on our way to Tanganyika.

It took all day to complete the 275 miles and by the end of the day the sky had darkened so much that it seemed night had came early. It started to pour with rain and we drove into the Katavi National Park Offices only to find that it was extortionately expensive to spend the night in the park. Weary from a heck of a long day’s drive, we just paid the park fees and drove towards the camp site on the river.

Katavi National Park, Tanzania

On crossing over the river and into the park we came across something that I doubt I will ever see again. We stopped the Beast on the bridge and grabbed our cameras for this unique photo opportunity. A heaving mass of hippos lay as thick as the river was wide. At first glance this might look like a bumpy road, or old lava flow, but it’s nothing short of unbelievable. Hippos side by side and nose to tail as far as the eye can see. During the wet season there is a vast wetland area, but in the dry season the rivers reduce down to paltry muddy streams. The hippos converge and jostle for space, it’s a sight to behold. You’ll find crocs in the mix – often tucking into the bloated, swollen bodies of hippos that have died in amongst the masses – nice…

Hippo Huddle – Katavi National Park, Tanzania

We camped on the Ikuu River’s edge, a short distance from the ranger’s post. Lesanne made a good fire and we had Roy’s steaks for supper. Without too much light about, and with night upon us, we had to cook and keep sentry at the same time. Hippos rule this part of the land and we had a couple of inquisitive cows saunter right past our camp. We were the only vehicle in the area and were on our own if a bold individual decided they didn’t like the look of us. We fell asleep to the rain and heard them grunting all night long……………

Word from Brad, the Holgate party are near Mbeya… WAIT BRAD AND KINGSLEY – I’m on my way!

Katavi Camp on Ikuu River

Firestarter

The Rice is Nice

Road from Katavi to Kipili on Lake Tanganyika, Tanzania

23rd November 2014

Bleary-eyed from all the nocturnal riverside commotion (worse than a Saturday night in Clapham) and in need of strong coffee, we took almost two hours to get sorted out before heading off on a short game drive on our way out of the park. From the previous night’s rain, things were strung out to dry and this gave us the opportunity to attend to general overlanding living chores. Today we were headed for Kipili on Lake Tanganyika – with just under 100 miles to go, we were ok to take things at a slower pace. The road out was all dirt track but we journeyed on through heavy woodland with mostly green velvety carpet. Passed some rural villages and stopped for a quick bite to eat on the side of the road. The rains had come, the land was green, the cows were fat and the children were happy!

On the last stretch, the road takes you down the most incredible escarpment road down towards Lake Tanganyika. You’re in thick lush forest and with the winds and bends, you can just about see the lake at times. It was on one of these lovely hairpin bends that I felt something wrong with the steering. I could feel a jolt when I turned the steering wheel at a certain point and could hear a faint thunk at the same time. I mentioned it to Lesanne but didn’t want to make a bit deal of it and came down the rest of the way at snail’s pace.

Road through Katavi and on to Tanganyika, Tanzania

On arriving safely at Lakeshore Lodge at the bottom of the escapement, I parked and had a look under the steering wheel to find that all but one bolt and a few washers come away from the steering arm into the engine bay and were lying in my footwell. With a few shakes of the steering wheel, everything came away and I was left with a free spinning steering wheel… thinking about what might have happened winding down the escarpment at speed, and having the bolts give way, just isn’t worth it. Once again, the Beast held out until we were safe before letting go.

Sadly, I believe this too was probably the fault of the workshop in Nairobi not getting everything bolted down tightly and with care, and we’re just incredibly lucky it didn’t happen on that escarpment track or on a busy road.

Word from Brad, the Holgate party have crossed in Zambia… ahhhhhh man… the King has left the country and all my hopes of me joining my favourite modern day explorer were dashed.

Things work out for a reason, and I stayed at on at Lakeshore with Lesanne instead – turned out to be one of the highlights of my trip!

The Lure of the Lake & Nairobi Nightmares – Naivasha & Nairobi, Kenya

August 10, 2013November 5, 2018 / Shara / 1 Comment

LAKE NAIVASHA, KENYA
10th – 15th August 2013

Following my crash I spent a week on Lake Naivasha at Mikey’s place. He’s got a nice big farm-style place just on the lake and it’s the perfect place to just sit and crunch through admin – mostly phone calls and emails with my insurers, all of us scratching our heads as what to do with the Beast. I don’t think they deal with too many accidents of this magnitude… in Africa…

I spent most evenings with the Naivasha crowd, hanging out at the Carnelley’s restaurant, which was the start of a downward spiral weight wise! Chrissy has that kitchen churning out the most amazing culinary delights, there is no point trying to resist… “Small Lake” soon became a favourite spot for watching flamingos whilst sipping on gin, watching the sun go down followed by gatherings round bonfires, talking late into the night and fending off territorial hippos. I got to spend a bit more time with the hilarious and fun-filled Andy and Fleur, taking boats onto the water for day trips out to remote spots along the lake. Breaking down with Mikey at the helm only added to the adventure. Everyone was so welcoming, and I got to know the entire Carnelley clan – Tommy, Annie (Lovat’s parents) who own and live at Camp Carnelley’s, Mwezi (Lovat’s sister), a beautiful bohemian nymph who’s recently left a life in Zanzibar to live back in Naivasha, and her boys Tristan and Arlo who are rough and tough little blonde headed boys.

Camp Carnelleys

Mikey and Marley at Small Lake

Day out at Hippo Point

Karen & Chrissy

Mike and Lovat recovered the Beast from the flower farm to Mike’s yard. Knowing the steering arm was broken, Mikey and I set off with a towing “A bar” (these boys know their thing so I just nod and go with the flow). We wired the A bar to the front of the Beast before Lovat arrived with his Land Cruiser. It took us the better part of an hour to turn the Beast around in such a small space – it’s heavy and the wheels kept turning the wrong way when Lovat was pushing it out in reverse. With brute force, tons of revving, wheel spinning and smoke, we finally got it rolling behind Lovat’s cruiser. Unfortunately, with all the strain on the A bar, secured only with a bit of wire, it eventually yanked my bull bar right off near Mike’s gate and the Beast rolled into a shallow ditch… We reversed the Beast out and Mikey brought two metal bars to turn the wheels manually. The last 300m of windy driveway I inched slowly forward, with Mikey and Lovat on each front wheel levering the tyres right and left. Just as we came through the gate Mike misplaced his bar, it slipped out, he flew backwards and put his back out… The very next pull, Lovat’s pipe slipped and cut a slice into his stomach. Moving the Beast from less than half a kilometer down the road has taken two hours!

Beware of helping me out folks. Karma’s not playing nice and chances are, you’ll get a nice slap in the chops for your trouble… Luke’s Probox had a small run in with a matatu the day after he rescued me from the accident scene, Mikey was rendered immobile and Lovat sliced himself open whilst moving the Beast. Sorry boys!!

I managed to get most of the insurance process started and the recovery of the Beast back to Nairobi was arranged within the first 5 days. It took almost a full day to unload the Beast of all it’s boxes, unbolt the roof top tent, unscrew the awning and just about gut the entire thing in preparation for it’s trip to Nairobi. All safely stored in Mikey’s store room, I knew it would be a lot safer there than in a panel beater’s yard!

I sent the Beast off with a full tank of diesel, it didn’t have a drop left when I got it to the panel beaters…

NAIROBI, KENYA
15th – 22nd August 2013

Luke & Chloe’s wooden hideaway in Karen, Nairobi

I wasn’t feeling great and decided that it might be a good idea to follow the Beast to Nairobi and get checked over at a hospital in Karen. Luke was around as he was working with horses in the area, and was leaving for Nairobi the afternoon the Beast was collected, so I got a lift back with him. He was heading up to Meru that evening and so kindly offered his place to me for the following two days. He lives in a stunning little wooden hut in a small compound surrounded by trees and horse paddocks.

Two days later, Luke and Chloe were back at home and so I moved to Karen Camp down the road where I spent a miserable week dealing with insurance issues. The Beast had been taken to Toyota Nairobi who quoted me over 2.2 million KES (around £16,000 for repairs) which was completely ridiculous. Before yanking the Beast out of their clutches, I got their assessment and was pleased to hear that the axle and chassis were all good, which meant that the Beast could be repaired! I found another local garage in Karen used by many of the expats and got the Beast moved there instead, not before realising that it had been drained of almost 80 litres of fuel whilst sitting in their compound.

The horrors of Karen Camp in Nairobi

Karen Camp is a dump – do NOT bother going there, I was paying $10/day for the smallest, darkest room with no bedding (all my sleeping stuff was folded up in the roof top tent). For 3 days I was the only guest at the camp, and with not much to do in Nairobi, this was not the best part of my trip. Was super chuffed when Luke and Chloe got back from their trip up north and spent a great couple of nights with them, Chloe’s cousins Sean and Tanith, and their friend Haz – the red wine flowed and Que Pesa didn’t know what had hit it by the end of the night!

I had been given information for a good tour operator who was able to help me organise Gorilla Trekking permit in Uganda. This all came together nicely and, knowing I might not be able to continue my journey (at least not round Lake Victoria as planned), I hopped on a plane and flew to Uganda for some rafting and trekking. Not sad to see the back of Nairobi…

Route Nairobi to Crash Site, Kenya

August 10, 2013November 5, 2018 / Shara / Leave a comment

Nairobi (blue) to Naivasha (red) – 58 miles (1.5 hours, beautiful escarpment road) – see post here

Naivasha to Narok (green) – 80 miles (2 hours good roads all the way) – see post here

Narok to crash site (yellow) – 5 miles (wish I hadn’t missed that damn turnoff…)

I Feel Like I’ve Been Hit By a Bus – Narok, Kenya

August 9, 2013November 5, 2018 / Shara / 6 Comments

NAIVASHA TO MASAI MARA, KENYA

9th August 2013

I leave Camp Carnelley’s with a heavy heart. It reminds me a little of Kariba and I don’t feel like I’ve stayed long enough. Time is short though and today I head back towards Nairobi and turn off, bound for one of the greatest shows on earth… the wildebeest migration in the Masai Mara!

The journey down to Narok is straightforward and on good roads. Narok is a local African town; full of life with the comings and goings of daily safari operators. It’s also the last stop before hundreds of kilometers of absolute wilderness so I fill up with diesel and grab a few essentials before my three day camp in the bush. I also manage to find a gas cyclinder and new regulator to fit my two plate stove, which I haven’t even cooked on yet.

I’m about 8kms outside of Narok in the middle of nowhere when I realise I’m headed to Talek. Talek also leads to the Mara, but the route I intended on taking starts at another gate called Sekenani. I have missed the turning just outside Narok. I’m pretty sure I’m on the wrong road but decide to consult my trusty GPS and guide book. With a few farms on my right I check ahead for a suitable farm road I can come off onto, to head back to Narok if necessary. I see one coming up in the distance. So I indicate, slow down, check mirrors, bus behind me coming full speed, move over into oncoming lane, start turning right and BAM. I get knocked sideways in my seat, there’s glass flying everywhere, I can’t see much as there’s just grey in front of me and things are flying up at my shattered windscreen. I feel the Beast crashing through a ditch, thank heavens I leave the steering and let it run it’s course. I try the brakes but they’ve failed. Eventually I come to a standstill, in a cloud of dust, on the right hand side of the road next to a farmer’s field. What the hell just happened? I look across to my right, and wedged in a tree and mangles in farmer’s fence is the bus…

I see an neat and official looking man open the door and get down from the steps. He must be guy in charge on the bus.

“What the hell were you trying to do, overtaking me whilst I was turning!”, I shout through the dust with my hands in the air. He shouts back at me and says I shouldn’t have turned.

There’s not point arguing such a stupid response.

I do a quick check. The windscreen is smashed but intact, my driver side window is completely out, my door and the area at my feet have caved in and has squeezed my legs against the gear stick… I’m bleeding. I can feel it on my face and neck and look down to see it running down my chest.

Suddenly I’m surrounded by local bus people. I feel hands prodding my head and reach up only to be given a bloody tissue by one helpful mama who’s trying to mop up the blood on my head. The man in charge from the bus comes over and tells me that he has phoned the police and that I should go to hospital. I want to stay with the Beast. There is no way I can leave it here, with it’s windows and windscreen smashed out, and expect to come back later and find anything left. I have heard horror stories of local people taking things from crash sites before the bodies have even been taken away by ambulance – I will be cleaned out.

Crap man! What the hell do I do now? Bus man is telling me that he will get a taxi to take me to hospital. There is no way I’m going to the local hospital in god-forsaken Narok! I’m 150kms away from Nairobi, how long will it take an ambulance to get here? Do I need an ambulance? I check my head. There is a massive bump on the right side, probably hit the window or door… As far as I can tell, it’s the cut on this bump that is bleeding, and after a quick pat-down, I realise everything else is ok.

I try to phone my friend Boris in Diani to ask him what I should do but he is on a fishing trip in the middle of nowhere, so I’m not holding out too much hope that he’ll get back to me anytime soon. Maybe I should phone Lovat? Then I remember that Lovat had to bail Alex out of trouble the day before. He had driven to Narok to rescue Alex’s safari truck with a bust gear box, and recovered it all the way back to Naivasha… He’s the last person I want to inconvenience. Luke seemed like a sensible guy with lots of contacts and, as he’s the last person I was in contact with this morning, I decide to call him in Naivasha and see what he thinks I should do.

“Luke, it’s Shara from last night. I’ve had a bit of an incident with a bus and don’t know who to call or what to do”.

“Pole (sorry) man, how bad is the car and where are you?”

“A bus hit my side, I think it’s a write off… I’m 8kms outside Narok on the road to Kisii”

“I’m going to make a few calls. Are you hurt?”

“Head’s bleeding but I’m ok.”

“Hang tight, I’m on my way.”

With that, I put down the phone and have a little cry…

Luckily I have all my paperwork in a bag just behind my seat and so I get my insurance papers out and call the company in the UK. They clearly aren’t much use but tell me to call them once I get to hospital. I gather all my belongings in the front of the Beast and shove everything I can see, everything from the glove compartment and under the seats into a cotton bag, before phoning Mike Diesbecq in Naivasha, He tells me Luke has left and is on his way.

A well dressed mama comes to my window. She puts her hand on my arm and tells me that she is the owner of the farm next to us and that she will look after me. She shows me that she has posted her three sons around my car to make sure that they keep an eye on things for me. She asks if I want to go to hospital and that she will take me and her sons will stay with the car. I tell her I’m ok and that my friend is on his way. I have another little cry.

I get a text from Luke to let me know that he has managed to get hold of a friend who lives in the area and they are sending a mechanic to me as soon as possible. I decide to get out the car and have a look around. My door is completely crunched in and there’s no budging it, so I climb over and get out the passenger door. I take photos of the poor Beast, the damn bus, and the carnage from the point of impact to where the vehicles both stand; strewn metal, severed plastic and crushed aloes.

The Beast is wounded… my door and front panel totally crumpled, bonnet buckled, front drivers wheel completely flat. All I can think about is the fact that my trip, that I’ve spent almost two years planning might be over.

The police arrive after an hour and tell me to go to hospital. I tell them I’m waiting for my friend and don’t want to leave my vehicle. They put me in the back seat of their car and take a statement from me. Jack the mechanic arrives with a small team and they go to work assessing the damage. They remove the flat tyre and put my spare one on.

Not long after the police arrive from 8kms down the road, Luke arrives all the way from Naivasha – he must have done some serious low flying to get to me this quickly. I run over, give him the biggest hug and have another cry… (that’s the last one I promise). He checks my head and we go over to the cops who are getting a statement from the bus driver. The police want me to come back to the police station in Narok and they want to keep the Cruiser in for observation.

Luke jokes with me a few days later, saying that he was disappointed to see I wasn’t in worse shape as he was hoping to put his first aid skills to the test after doing a course the week before… 🙂

Luke argues with them. As no one has been injured, we should be allowed to recover the Cruiser back to Naivasha instead of leaving it at the police station. He’s sure there will be nothing left of it if we do. The cops agree to us taking the Beast back that same day, but I need to go back to the station in Narok to do the paperwork.

I walk over to Kamal, one of the farm lady’s sons and quietly give him some money for the family to say thank you for their kindness. He looks at his fence and asks he for more money… I explain that I’m not liable for that damage. It’s the bus that has destroyed the fence, and therefore he should take that up with the bus company.

After replacing the flat tyre with the spare, Jack the mechanic starts the car and actually drives the Beast out and back onto the road. There’s talk about driving the Beast all the way back to Naivasha…! Really?

Almost immediately, the Beast comes to a halt. The steering arm, obviously hanging on my a thread, has snapped and has given way, leaving the steering wheel spinning freely. We manage to get a local tow truck out from Narok pretty quickly and leave Jack to sort that out for us whilst Luke takes me and Kamal to the police station in town.

The cop shop is up some back street over 4×4 rocky terrain. It’s a tiny corrugated iron hut no bigger than 5m by 3m and seats 2 policeman and their desks. Shelves hang onto the walls for dear life. There must be over 20 years worth of paper work, all yellow and bundled together, stacked high to the ceiling. The shelves bow under the weight. After about half an hour of photocopying, signing and stamping, I have my ‘abstact’ and we are free to go.

We head back towards the main road and meet the recovery truck as it’s coming into town. The Land Rover is crawling along at 2km/h with it’s front tyres literally off the ground under the weight of the Beast. It’s a funny sight, Luke and I had to laugh! There is no way this vehicle is going to get the Beast back to Naivasha, 130kms away. We park near the petrol station and immediately draw a crowd of drama-hungry watu. As the window is gone and the Beast doesn’t lock, there is still the very real possibility of things growing legs, so Jack the mechanic is posted on the one side of the Beast and I watch the other. Luke heads off down the road to a group of trucks to look for a suitable one we could load the beast onto. He comes back with a driver who is willing to do the trip for KES 25,000 (£180). One logistical problem, how the hell do we get the Beast loaded onto the back of the truck?

Luke decides the best way would be to find an embankment high enough, park the truck underneath and roll the Beast off the embankment. Just our luck there is a place not far out of town with something that might work.

Luke had negotiated with the recovery truck driver on a price of KES15,000 but just as we are about to load the Beast, the driver wants another KES5,000. Typical. It’s getting pretty late and all I want is to get this Beast back to Naivasha. Despite Luke’s 15 minute rant at this guy, he doesn’t budge and I end up paying him KES20,000 (£150) for towing 10km.

We find the spot and, just our luck, the embankment is the perfect height. With the truck in position, an audience of watu, Jack driving, Luke yelling in Swahili, the recovery vehicle backs up and rolls the Beast onto the truck with few problems. It’s a snug fit and the Beast is slightly too long for the back so Luke and I head back into town to buy chains and locks to secure the tailgate which we can lift to around 45 degrees.

With the Beast firmly in place, Kamal (the farm lady’s son) offers to ride with the truck to Naivasha to keep an eye on my stuff. We give them some money for dinner on the way and Luke and I head off back to Naivasha.

It’s dark now and we stop at each road block. At each one Luke tells the police to expect the truck and to let them though. I have also given the driver a copy the accident abstract and a copy of my driver’s licence with a signed note saying I have authorised the recovery of my vehicle. The last thing I want is for the damn thing to be held up by the police. I’m in contact with Mike the whole way back to Naivasha and he’s waiting for us on the road, it’s 9:30pm. We go to his neighbours Andy and Fleur and wait for the truck to come in.

It’s after 11pm when we get the call from the truck driver to say he’s down the road. Another stroke of luck, Mike has a ramp on his flower farm, built for loading rally cars onto trucks – and that’s where we will unload the Beast. The tailgate is slightly higher than the top of the ramp but we prop it up on bricks. The Beast is still able to drive forwards, but without the steering wheel, the guys have to use poles and lever the front wheels to turn it wherever necessary, a slow and labourious process. We cover the Beast in my tarpaulin and I give Kamal some more money to say thank you, he asks for more, so Luke give him the jacket he’s wearing.

Mike lives in a big old farm house and has plenty of space to take me in for the night. He offers to have me stay for as long as I need.

What a day! And what amazing people these guys are. No matter how many times I thank him, Luke might never realise the extent of my gratitude. I am humbled by his kindness; coming to the rescue of someone he barely knows. I guess, after living in London for so many years, with everyone far too busy with their own lives, I just didn’t expect that someone would go to that extent to help me out. I could so easily have been stuck on the side of that road for hours with no help, possibly spending the night in Narok (where there are no muzungu hotels), potentially having all my stuff stripped from the Beast, I might even have slept in the Beast until I’d sorted myself out – that would have taken days!

But that wasn’t the case, thanks to this legendary and kind person, who shrugs the whole ordeal off like he’d do it all over again tomorrow. Luke Davey, you are a saint!

Absolutely exhausted and too tired to even contemplate having a shower to wash my matted bloody hair and body, I go straight to sleep.

Taking out Traffic Cops and Finding Heroes – Naivasha, Kenya

August 7, 2013November 5, 2018 / Shara / 3 Comments

NAIROBI TO NAIVASHA, KENYA

7th – 8th August 2013

See all my photos from this trip to Naivasha here on Facebook

Upper Hill Campsite, Nairobi – I wake to the news that Nairobi airport is on fire, no flights in and no flights out. The guy staying next to me at the campsite is getting married in Uganda in a few days time and is due to leave today… of all the things that could delay a groom, Hollywood couldn’t make this shit up!

I spend the morning organising the Beast a bit better. After some time travelling in a confined space, you soon realise that the packing system you had in your head before setting off was not the packing system that is most convenient. I have a bit of OCD and like like with like… However, despite the fact that similar things SHOULD go together, they just can’t. It’s impractical, for example to have all your toiletries with you at all times, so I devised a few pantry areas where I will store all those non-daily items. Certain things need to be in easy to reach places and some can get shoved to the rear of the boot behind everything else. Things I need every day move to the front boxes, like dust cloths, the torch and toothpicks.

Upper Hill Campsite, Nairobi

I ordered some flag stickers in the UK before I left, for all the countries I will be visiting on my way down. I clean the back window and decide on how to fit all the flags on in a nice sequential order. Vitalis, my handy mechanic at the Engen garage, has the morning to find me hubcap that will match my other three (have no idea where one of them ended up, but thought it might be a good idea to get one on with the amount of dust my Beast churns up). I have numerous cups of tea in the Upper Hill lounge and use the time to upload a few photos to Facebook, but find myself pulling my hair out with frustration at my pre-paid “wazi wifi” which is super slow and unreliable. Vitalis has the part by 2pm so I collect that and set my Garmin for Camp Carnelley’s in Niavasha.

Coming out of Nairobi, I end up driving through the most god-awful slum to get out to the main road. It’s streets are absolutely filthy, rubbish piled high, dilapidated roadside shacks with vendors, and precarious moments at every turn. Chickens running for their lives, bicycles weaving in my path, matatus pulling out with no indication, unobservant children running after a ball, it’s a miracle no one got a bull bar nudge.

The main road to Naivasha is just as dangerous as all the rest. There is a steep climb out of Nairobi which brings you to a pretty breathtaking drive down into the escarpment. It’s a single lane so inevitably you get your usual drama with lorries trying to overtake other lorries, in oncoming traffic, with a sharp death drop to one side… standard Kenyan driving. At one point we actually had a second “climbing lane” on our side. A truck was trying to overtake another truck at at fraction of a kilometre faster, so cars just started overtaking through the middle of the two trucks.

Near the top of the escarpment I drive past a typical traffic road block (polisi looking very official, standing round chatting). They don’t indicate that I should stop so I carry on without slowing. I notice one or two along the way showing me the universal arm waving up and down to slow down, and it gets more frantic as I pass. I’m not even going at pace so don’t take much notice. A few minutes later, heading down the escarpment, an old banged up white car, boot almost touching the tarmac, overtakes me at high speed and slows right down in front of me. I see four guys inside. A hand with a radio comes out the passenger front side and signals for me to pull over. Bear in mind, I’m currently driving down an escarpment road, with a sheer death drop to my left and now I have this unmarked, dodgy vehicle swaying in front of me to slow me down… I saw a few wooden curio stands, built precariously on the edge of the road (above death drop) and stop there. These four guys jump out of the car, all in plain clothes, brandishing radios and guns on their hips and come running over to the car – police or hijacking? Ready to go into fight or flight mode, I brace myself for a quick getaway… could the Beast run them all over if I flawed it now, ramming their car off the edge of the cliff for good measure?

Still unsure, I keep my window up as they start shouting at me through glass. They say my jerry can has come off the roof and has hit one of the traffic cops on the side of the road. I must get out the car and take a look at my roof to see it’s missing. At this moment, all my survival instincts kick in… similar to the “you have a flat tyre” con, they’ve seen my jerry can on the roof and they’re trying to get me out the vehicle to check! I stay put and have the sense to ask them for ID. One whips out a worn, laminated card with his picture on it – man, I could have made one of those on my home PC, so how the hell do I know that it’s genuine?

I keep on with the same line, pleading remorse, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean for it to fly off”.

“You need to come back”, the main guy demands.

“I don’t want the jerry can, I have spare. You guys can have it”, I just want to get the hell out of there and do not want to go anywhere with these guys.

“You need to come and see the injury our fellow officer sustained…”, no man come on! The jerry can was an empty light plastic one, surely can’t be that bad?

“Please tell your fellow officer I’m awfully sorry”

Eventually they resign themselves to the fact I have no interest in trusting their plain clothes, their scrunched laminated police IDs, or their clapped out mode of transport (they probably flagged down a passing car to chase me). There is no moving me from the vehicle, and no getting me to come back with them, so they give up and leave with final words to reassure me that they are genuine polisi and that it will be safe to get out once they leave and check that the rest of my roof cargo is properly secured. With that, their banged up car shoots a plume of black smoke into the air, and with the bumper dragging sparks on the road, makes a U-turn in the face of oncoming traffic and speeds back to where it came from. I take a moment to compose myself and get out the Beast. Checking the roof I realise that my jerry can is missing… and can myself at the thought of this white plastic container flying off and belting one of them on the head! Eish! How many road points do I get for that?

POW Built Catholic Church near Naivasha

Just down the bottom of the escarpment, Boris had told me to look out for a small Roman Catholic Church built by his grandfather and other Italian POWs in WWII so I stop and take a look around. I spend time chatting with the groundsman who is mighty proud of his garden.

Nearer Naivasha, as I’m turning in off the main highway onto the South Lake Road, I pass Steve Halton on his bike. He had been with me at Upper Hill Campsite and I had convinced him to come and stay at Carnelley’s on his way up to Turkana. Bear in mind, he is CYCLING! I can’t believe he’s done that massive escarpment climb and incredibly dangerous road on a bike! He’s carrying almost 60kgs of gear! I had a hard enough time using my foot on the accelerator to get up the escarpment road! I stop him briefly for a chat and take some photos of him with his camera (when else does he ever get the opportunity to photograph himself riding?). Steve follows behind and gets to Carnelley’s an hour after I do.

Camp Carnelleys, Naivasha

Arriving at Carnelleys, I park the Beast and take a look around. This amazing campsite is right next to Lake Naivasha and is full of beautiful trees. I take a short walk up to the bar and restaurant and meet Chrissy who is flying about, preparing food for a small party later that evening. Lovat and Chrissy Carnelley are great friends of Boris and Bruce. They have insited I come to the lake to see them and assure me it will be a fantastic stay!

I set up camp near the water and go about my daily routine of opening up the rooftop tent and pegging it down. Steve arrives a little later and we go over to the restaurant, where I proceed to order a lovely indulgent meal (you’ve never tasted food so good!). Steve chats to me briefly before leaving to go and make himself noodles for the tenth night in a row, he’s on a budget, I feel awful… Lovat Carnelley comes over and to say hi and I see another friend of Boris’ called Alex is here with the Carnelley’s too. Steve comes back later and we get chatting, I don’t get the opportunity to talk to Alex, and before I know it, he’s gone to bed. Apparently Alex has a big safari tomorrow with guests he needs to collect and take around the Masai Mara for a few days – he’s getting an early night!

Carnelley’s Campsite, Naivasha – I wake up to the most amazing sound of wild birds on the lake, what an incredible view from my lofty mesh window with the sun rising over Lake Naivasha.

Lake Naivasha

Steve Halton is heading off and we have a brief chat over some weetabix. He is finding biking on the main roads impossible due to the number of close shaves with buses and matatus, and has decided to take the longer, unpaved and rougher tracks to get from place to place. He’s headed up to Turkana and will do the less-travelled Western side. When you think about how much water you need on a daily basis for drinking, cooking and cleaning, you can only carry so much on a bike, and the fact that the Turkana is in a desert, it’s absolute madness to me! He’s going to push on through Ethiopia and Sudan where he believes water is stored in clay pots along the desert routes – I wouldn’t chance it – he’s got serious balls! Good luck Steve – wishing you safe travels!!

Steve Halton, riding North towards Turkana

The Land Rover George Adamson was killed in.

Exploring the area, I visit “Elsamere”, Joy Adamson’s house on Lake Naivasha where she spent her latter years. It’s been turned into a small museum full of all sorts of personal effects she and George shared.

You get to watch a documentary of Joy before enjoying tea on the well manicured lawns overlooking the lake. George’s Land Rover sits under shade. It’s the one he was shot dead in, by poachers, and is a stark reminder of how much these pioneers put on the line for wildlife… and it’s still a battle our conservationists fight daily!

Elsamere – Joy Adamson’s home on Lake Naivasha

Continuing along the Southern road to Crater Lake Park, I drive headlong into an abundance of herding animals – giraffe, wildebeest, buffalo, warthog and zebra as far as the eye can see. As the name suggests, this park is set on the side of a crater and is extremely dusty under-tyre with ash from it’s eruption a zillion years ago. This soft, fine, white dust gets in everywhere and I fear my old electric windows might seize up with the amount of winding up and down I have to do between taking photos and driving… There is a short climb up to a stunning view point which overlooks the lake inside the crater. I spend a bit of time up here before setting off down through a massive troop of baboons – shouting at them to bugger off and wielding a stick like a light saber, they scatter, glancing back with jaws completely ag(ape)…

Crater Lake Park, Naivasha

That evening, I set up camp all over again and head on over to the restaurant. I had been in touch with Mike Diesbecq since meeting him at the Mombasa party with Boris and Bruce a month earlier. He lives next to the Carnelleys and comes over to say hi. Lovat, his dad Tommy, Mike, Johnny Keith, Tarique and Luke Davey are all at the bar and we have a great evening together. Sitting next to Luke, he is the unfortunate one on the receiving end of my stories about the trip and my many plans ahead. As I am going around Lake Victoria to Uganda and Rwanda, Luke mentions that he is a horse dentist who travels regularly around the lake to see various polo and riding horses, and and kindly offers to get details of some of his contacts to me in the morning. As his phone is dead, I should sms him the following day, and he’ll send details on to me. There’s nothing like a good recommendation from friends, and so I thank him for the kind offer and head off for another comfy night’s rest in my lofty hideaway.

Little did I know just how kind and heroic young Luke was going to be in the very near future…

Route Mombasa to Nairobi, Kenya

August 6, 2013November 5, 2018 / Shara / Leave a comment

Mombasa (blue) to Diani Beach (red) – 23 miles (1 hour due to Likoni Ferry) – see post here

Diani Beach to Tsavo East (green) – 144 miles (5 hours through the Shimba Hills) – see post here

Tsavo East to Tsavo West (yellow) – 83 miles (4 hours pole pole game drive) – see post here

Tsavo West to Amboseli (purple) – 82 miles (5 hours – horrendous road!) – see post here

Amboseli to Nairobi (blue) – 141 miles (5ish hours – horrible road to tar, dangerous road thereafter!) – see post here

Hide and Seek with Kilimanjaro – Amboseli, Kenya

August 4, 2013November 5, 2018 / Shara / 3 Comments

Beach life has got the better of me and I’m afraid I am months behind with the blog. Here goes to trying to catch up… As always, Facebook has the most recent extracts of news and photos – http://www.facebook.com/london2cape

AMBOSELI, KENYA
4th – 5th August 2013

Best photos are on the Facebook album, aptly named “Amboseli”

Amboseli Kimana Campsite; Woke up nice and early under the slopes of Kili at my basic campsite outside the gates of Amboseli. I unzipped and peered through the tent window up towards the general direction of the mountain but it was still completely clouded over. All hopes of capturing that incredible image of elephants walking with Kili in the background was completely shattered when I realised that the “cold” season meant that the mountain would be covered in cloud, not just today, not just this week, but for months…

Kimana Campsite outside Amboseli Gates

The previous evening I had been treated to a surprisingly warm shower and had brushed my teeth in the outdoor basin carved from an old tree stump. The sounds of African laughter and smell of burning fires from their cooking area had lulled me into a deep sleep. I felt like I’d slept for a week.

On registration at Kimana Gate, a friendly local guide called Salim started chatting to me. He’d seen me at Kitani in Tsavo and had driven his clients, a honeymoon couple, from Tsavo to Amboseli with the earlier 10am convoy the day before. Salim kindly offered to have me tag behind them for the day, he knew the park and was in contact with the other drivers. After slight hesitation and not wanting to put the honeymooners out, I declined initially but his insistence left me with no option but to accept the offer and so I hung behind his cruiser for the morning. I chowed a bit of dust in return for the favour and generally saw things I might have done anyhow. It was a nice gesture nonetheless. Amboseli is mostly open and plains stretch as far as the horizon at times, so spotting elephants, zebra, wildebeest and antelope is pretty effortless.

Amboseli, Kenya

After a few hours, we stopped at a lovely lodge called Ol Tukai, for a mid morning break. The honeymooners, eager to snatch an opportunity to spend a moment without their driver of four days, took off immediately and left me with the Salim. Sitting at the lodge bar, coffee turned into beer (I felt it impolite to let Salim in on the fact that I throw up in my mouth when I drink beer) and he refused to let me buy the round, insisting that he cover the cost. One beer, going down with hooks, turned into three I started to get slightly uneasy about the fact that the honeymooner’s driver was taking time out of their game drive to have beers with a random traveller. They seemed fine though and were enjoying time to themselves, but I did have to strongly suggest that we didn’t have a fourth before continuing on with the game drive (at £80 entry fee per day, I was also calculating how much of that I had now spent on sitting in a bar).

Amboseli, Kenya

We pushed on and saw more of the same herding animals in the wide open plains; elephants wading deep in the marshy bog, hippos spilling out of themselves on the grassy banks of the lake and various cranes strutting about the grassy plains. We stopped for lunch at Observation Hill, a fantastic vantage point and from which one can see most of Amboseli. Once again, the honeymooners shot off to be with each other and I was left chatting to my new friend Salim. Conversation had soon run it’s course and turned to asking me if I wanted to come to have dinner at the lodge his clients were staying at, and that the manager was a nice guy and would let me camp no problem. I protested a bit but my campsite was pretty basic and the thought of possibly spending the night at a nice lodge with a campsite was extremely appealing. A little concerned that I hadn’t made any plans with the lodge manager himself, I didn’t want to commit entirely.

The end of the day was spent racing around as whispers of a lion sighting made it’s way from driver to driver. Salim dove like a rally driver and I kept up, chowing more and more dust in his wake. Eventually we found the lions just off some remote little side road and had about 3 minutes alone with them before the cavalry showed up, churning up a sand storm of fine dust. We left as more and more trucks descended upon the lion pair, the sky now filled with fine white dust, I sure they got some great photos of the whiteout…

Lions in Amboseli, Kenya

We were late leaving the gate due to a last minute cheetah sighting, and narrowly missed a fine, we got out at 6:15pm. After a brief chat with Salim and the honeymooners, I succumbed to Salim’s constant insistence that I camp at their lodge, Elerai. It took almost a full hour to drive down the corrugated road and then into the bush on a really dire single track; over rocks, through thorn trees and down dongas… It was dark, dusty and I was pretty exhausted by the time we arrived, but driving into Elerai it was immediately apparent that this was an exclusive lodge and definitely not a place for camping vagabonds…

It was dark now and I was a good hour from my campsite (which, sadly was right next to the gate of the park where we left off). The manager looked doubtful, Salim looked crushed, the honeymooners looked pitiful and I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me and my blundering rig. Salim started enquiring about room rates and discounts, but at almost £100 per night, there was no way I was staying here. The honeymooners offered me the spare bed in their room…

Declining all kind offers and just wanting to high tail the hell out of there, I bode farewell to the honeymooners and to the camp manager. I asked Salim to take me as far as the main dirt road that leads to Kimana Gate. After briefly getting lost on the small bush tracks, we finally made it to the main dirt road 40 minutes later. In the dark of the night, I pulled up next to Salim and turned to acknowledge him before I put my foot down but he jumped out of his truck and came running over.

“I have caused you too much trouble tonight. Please can I come with you to help you set up your tent”

Uhhh, what?! “No thanks Salim, you have been kind enough today.”

“I know it’s dusty and you need to cook”

Be nice… “Yes Salim, it’s 8pm, it’s dark, and my roof top tent is thick with dust. But no thanks, you have been kind enough today, and your guests need you.”

“I’m off the clock now. Can we go and get some nyama chomma (roadside braai meat) together”

“No Salim”, Eish! patience wearing extremely thin, “you’ve been very kind but I need to go now.”

“Ok, but we’re good friends now, can I have your email address”

I scribbled an email address down on a scrap of paper and shot off into the night. Good luck to whoever is receiving emails from Salim…

After a day of driving, and all that drama, there was no way I was going to unpack my roof top tent, thick with fine powdery dust. I skipped dinner altogether, lay down a kikoy, crawled onto my back seat, covered myself with a towel and got a pretty shitty night’s sleep…

Misguided kindness – it’s all around you in Africa – knowing when it’s happening is the hard part!

The next morning there was a frantic jostling for space in the park just near the gate as hordes of game viewing vehicles piled up on the side of the road. It was Kili opening up for a brief moment. The clouds had separated just enough for you to see her glacier capped summit, and to top it all off, we had a group of pachyderm grazing roadside. Now, anyone who knows anything will be able to tell you that happening upon a herd of elephants in the foreground of your Kilimanjaro shot is one of the most coveted photos – and comes with huge bragging rights… Unfortunately the elephants had inconveniently chosen to hide behind the most unattractive vegetation and you could barely see Kili’s white peak amongst the clouds of a similar hue. No matter, we all screeched to a halt, heads popped up through vehicle roofs, cameras cocked and aimed, recommencing another round of lens showboating. I don’t even have a decent picture to add to this blog it was such a poor scene. Gutted!

Kilimanjaro, above the clouds – from Amboseli

I took a drive into uncharted territory in search of more elusive game. My GPS marked the route as “off road”, and I soon understood why. I ended up on the worst track imaginable and to throw a spanner in the works, the Beast was clunking on every small rise and fall. It sounded like the shock at the back was going to fail completely. For over 3 hours I crawled over martian rocky landscape, following an imaginary path guided by my GPS. I limped passed a Masai village and eventually ended up back near one of the larger lodges where tried to get a mechanic to look at the problem. He couldn’t find anything, tightened a few bolts and told me I’d be fine. On leaving the lodge, I went over a small speed bump and CLUNK, nothing fixed… so I decided to leave the park and head back to Nairobi as soon as I could to get it looked at.

On my way out, I was super lucky to see Kili open up again, just in front of a herd of zebra and wildebeest – you can barely see the summit but it’s there…! (See photo above – you can just make out Kili at the top!)

Corrugations, what’s not to love about them?

It took ages to get up to the northern gate at Eremito. The roads are in pretty bad condition in the park, and worse was to come on the 20kms from the park gate to the tar road. It felt like an eternity on this hellish road with some of the deepest corrugations yet. I felt myself being shaken to pieces and was worried about back shocks but couldn’t hear anything over the noise. Once on smooth tar, the shocks seemed ok but the trade off was more typical crazy Kenyan driving and near misses. I couldn’t believe the traffic leading into Nairobi and was so grateful for my Tracks 4 Africa map on my Garmin. Without a navigator, and not a single street sign, I would have been completely lost.

NAIROBI, KENYA
6th August 2013

I found Upper Hill campsite no problem, and immediately drove to Engen where they took over an hour to wash car out and wipe down inside. My fellow car campers at Upper Hill were Bruno, who had been traveling the world since 1989 in his Land Cruiser, and Mike and Carol on their way up from SA. I also met Steve Halton, an English guy who was cycling from Cape Town to wherever up north…! Always admire these cyclists – they carry just what they need and live on next to nothing.

Upper Hill Camp in Nairobi

It was super cold in Nairobi. At 17 degrees, my one warm jersey just wasn’t enough so I wore layers of what I could. I had a hot shower, scrubbed the earth off my body and rinsed 6 days of dust and bush from my hair.

I got the car looked at Engen again the next day and we found a massive bolt missing from the roll bar at the back. The mechanics were amazing and spent half the day driving around looking for the right bolt. They gave everything a check, cleaned out the air filters and checked my tyres – everything came to just under £15! Bargain Kenya – asante sana!

Next stop: Naivasha and then hunt for flamingos!

Declining Escorts in Tsavo, Kenya

August 2, 2013November 5, 2018 / Shara / 1 Comment

TSAVO EAST TO TSAVO WEST, KENYA
2nd – 3rd August 2013

See more photos on Facebook here.

The next morning Dan, Ivan, Anneloes and Fay went off for an early game drive and I stayed behind to sorted out a few bits and pieces not quite right with the packing arrangement in the Beast. (It would take me almost a week of fiddling with the boxes and equipment, moving things around so that the most used things got priority at the top of boxes and easily accessible places – clearly remnant of some childhood tetris addiction).

I continued on along to Voi gate where I added some more money to my safari card and bumped into Dan and Ivan, back from their early morning drive and attempting to do the same. Amazing what a process it is adding money to these cards. It’s a bit like having an Oyster Card in the UK, but not as swift. We we were all there almost a full hour… You can’t enter the parks without enough credit on your card – supposedly to reduce the accepting of hard cash at the gates (it’s reasonable to assume the KWS cottoned onto the fact that the number of visitors didn’t add up to the amount of cash in the till at the end of each month…)

I took the scenic route, a stretch of road heading north, parallel with the main road, up toward Mudanda Rock. A 1.6km single hunk of rock, it which acts as a water catchment and has an enormous dam below it. I and stopped to take a look. One single giraffe stood splayed legged at the distant edge with it’s head dipped in the water. The lack of animals didn’t detract from the view though and I took a few selfies (one drawback to traveling solo). The road down to Manyani Gate
was awesome, with the earth dropping away to a vast plain of yellow grassland, and opening itself up to tons of wildlife. I joined the main road and entered Tsavo West at Tsavo Gate a little further down the road.

Tsavo East

Does my bum look big in this?

Mudanda Rock

Spotted him!

KWS lady at the Tsavo West gate, “You alone?”, I look over my shoulder (again), ensure there really isn’t someone I’ve forgotten (still), and shrug, “I guess so”. Eish her bosom bounced up and down as she laughed in disbelief and waved me through…

Tsavo West is dense in bush and shrub so animals are a lot more difficult to spot. The scenery however, changes every five minutes and is completely different and dramatic. I found myself resisting the urge to take photos around almost every bend. Sadly, I have completely mistimed this day. My accommodation for the night was right over the other side of the park and I had planned a route passed some significant points of interest along the way, which followed a slightly less direct route, past a massive waterhole (nothing) and up to Roaring Rocks lookout which was almost a 360 degree view of the land below. I drove on past the usual suspects, antelope, zebra and a few elephant but the land is just so think with bush. Probably find I drove past tons of herds and troops who all spotted me and the Beast instead – game viewing in reverse.

Behind the lens

Tsavo West

Roaring Rocks

I spot a Beast

Small Bayobaby

Tsavo West

Seems the bar isn’t open just yet…

With dusk drawing closer, I had one spot I wanted to see before heading to my room for the night Mzima Springs – a small oasis of perfectly clear water that rises up from the Chyulu Hills and produces 250 million litres of water per day, most of which heads downstream to Mombasa. My run with crappy animal spotting didn’t change much and I failed to see one of the many hippos or crocs that reside in this spring… I did sit and look at some fish in the underwater viewing chamber which was quite cool.

Kitani Bandas, Tsavo West

My room for the night was a cute rondavel at Kitani Bandas, a more affordable little camp a stone’s throw from it’s the luxurious counterpart, Severin Lodge. My ‘room steward’ Alex showed me the ins and outs briefly, mentioning that I should let the water in the shower run for a bit as it needs time to warm up. Well I stood naked and goose-bumpy in that shower for a good 8 minutes before giving up on the hot water and taking a quick 2 minute scrub down under cold water… Africa’s not for sissies.

Severin Lodge, Tsavo West

I decided to dine at Severin Lodge to indulge in the luxury of wifi, good food and wine. Drove down the road in the dark and on pulling into the car park, a fair distance from reception (bare in mind these camps are unfenced), was greeted by a Masaai who suddenly materialised from the dark of night, teeth was all I saw. He was in full get-up, spear and all, and his sudden manifestation scared the living shite out of me. He laughed, apologised and made polite small talk before walking me by torch light to the reception area (personally, I think he gets a kick out of that and does it to all new guests, ensuring that his tribal stalking through stealth abilities are still in tact). I went back the next morning for a cup of coffee and heard that during the night, lions had snuck into camp and completely torn apart one of the loungers outside a luxury hut – justifying my freakout with the Masaai man. Africa’s not for scardy cats…

The staff at Severin were amazing, their English impeccable and their manner with guests incredible. I went back the next day and was greeted by name at least two of the staff – that’s touching. Dinner was a four course menu of the finest foods – the small but delicious kind. Dining by myself, I do feel a bit spare at times but the Planet often feels Lonely too, so this resourceful book accompanies me to dinner at times. As I’m driving much of the day, I don’t get to research for the day ahead and so dinner’s often a good time to get stuck in. This night I ate under the stars, with my flickering candle, seat facing bush-ward towards the spot lit area. The chef even came over for a little chat to see how I’d enjoyed his food – top service!

TSAVO WEST TO AMBOSELI, KENYA
3rd to 4th August 2013

Tsavo West waiting for convoy to Amboseli

The plan was to go to bed fairly early and wake up before sparrows to do a quick game drive and then join the 10am Amboseli convoy from Chyulu Gate. Well it seems my phone battery died sometime during the night and I woke up 10 minutes to the 10am checkout / convoy time! I’d slept for almost 11 hours straight! Clearly wasn’t going to make the 10am convoy then, and would join the next one at 2pm… I took a lengthy game drive and made my way over to Chyulu for 2pm to join the last convoy of the day only to be told that there weren’t any other cars going. I would be a convoy of one, and would I like an escort? Shame man, now this escort (AK47 accessorized) would come all the way to Amboseli only to have to mission the way back again (how, I don’t know. There are no busses really so I guess he’d have to wait to come back the other way with someone else in my situation and heaven knows how long he’d be waiting at the other end – I didn’t pass a SINGLE vehicle going my way or the other way to Amboseli!). So I politely refused on pity grounds. AK47 man was also very short on English, and in response, my Swahili is woeful at the best of times, so can you imagine the 2-3 hour silence – no thanks… I love to sing, at full throttle whilst driving and his presence would rob me of this vocal freedom.

Driving out the gate and on towards Amboseli you pass the Shetani lava flow, a 50km squared area of black volcanic rock – pretty awesome and very black.

The road up to Amboseli was hectic with corrugations, and took around 2 hours. With dust flying up behind me, I passed local Masaai villages and had to wait for dusty bovine trains to cross before I could continue on with my journey. At one village a boom halted my progress. I sat in the car not knowing what to expect when I saw an armed soldier beckon me over to a small wooden hut next to the side of the road. Hopped out the car and went over. Friendly greetings didn’t seem to be his cup of tea.

“You alone?”, I look over my shoulder, ensure there really isn’t someone I’ve forgotten (still), and shrug (yet again), “I guess so”.

“You can’t pass”, he informs me with eyes dark and yellow, “All vehicles must pass me by 2 o’clock and it’s 5 o’clock now”.
Well I laughed, and then quickly stopped when I realised he wasn’t the joking kind. My tone a little more serious now, “But the last convoy only leaves Amboseli 50kms down the road at 2 o’clock, and by the way, it’s only ten past four”.
“Where is your escort?”
“I don’t need an escort.”
This was his little window for a chance of me ‘parting with something’…
“Where do you come from?”
“Tsavo West” (thought we’d established this…)
“NO, which is your country?”
“South Africa.” (I’m positive they think people from the UK are all millionaires so I avoid telling them I’ve actually come in from England – South Africans are Africans and therefore must be slightly less well off)
“What have you brought me from South Africa?”
“Hmmm, nothing.” (honestly had nothing to give the man, other than the cash bribe he was after)
He kept me there, took my details and continued to ask what I had brought him from South Africa. I didn’t have a thing… After 5 minutes of being completely difficult and wasting my time…
“Go and buy something from those people there”
I looked around to the three local Masaai hanging around my drivers side door.
“But I don’t want anything today thanks”
“You go buy or you won’t pass”

So I purchased a KES2000 (£15!!) bracelet for KES500 from an old Masaai lady with stretched earlobes and the boom was finally lifted.

Kimana Campsite outside Amboseli Gates

Kimana Campsite was where I was headed and I arrived at around 5pm, too late to enter Amboseli for the day, so I set up camp in this pretty stark campsite. I spent at good amount of time trying to clean the inch of dust the outside of the Beast and tent before opening it up. (When you’re the one washing your own clothes by hand, you do everything possible to try to keep the few items you have clean!). I even wiped down the inside dash and back-end boxes which, after 3 days of chasing round the bush, were all covered in a fine layer of dust. Leftover meat from the braai in Tsavo made for great steak and cheese sandwiches. and I hit the sack at 9pm, keen to get going early the following day and see Kili looming above in the morning light…

Broken Buckets and the Joy of Coincidental Reunions – Shimbas and Tsavo, Kenya

August 1, 2013November 5, 2018 / Shara / 2 Comments

SHIMBA HILLS TO TSAVO EAST, KENYA
1st August 2013

Check out more photos on Facebook here.

After stocking up with last minute snacks and food at Nakumatt for my 4-5 day game drive, I headed down the long sultry coast road of Diani. Past the ladders above the road for the Colobus monkeys, the dreaded unannounced speed bumps, Shakatack and the sign down to Forty Thieves – how does one grow to love a place so much after such a short stay?

The earth up at Shimba Hills is a stunning red colour and the forest feels like it’s on top of you at times. It’s just spectacular. Rolling along the red track, taking in the views as the road winds it’s way through the hills and villages, past some farmers fields and livestock along the way then CRACK… I nearly jumped out of my frikkin skin! It sounded like lightning, but the windscreen was suddenly covered in water (like he heavens had opened up, but just over my car, in one truckload of water). I realised my 50l shower bucket on top of the roof rack had come loose, fallen forward onto the windscreen and smashed. I’m so fortunate the steel tap didn’t shatter or even crack the windscreen (this Beast is a toughie).

My home-made shower kicked the bucket – Shimba Hills

I stopped the Beast and got out to check the damage… my shower had most definitely kicked the bucket… At this point, a truckload of locals pulls up over the horizon from behind. The driver starts shouting at me with his hands in the air, annoyed at having a vehicle in his path. I pointed slowly to my broken bucket, gave him sad eyes, and toed the area where the water had soaked into the earth (there was a full on river!). The driver’s tune changed when he saw my misfortune, and pitiful cries of “pole” were heard from the traveling onlookers as the truck rolled slowly by.

“Pole pole” is the Swahili word used for “slow”, but at this moment in time I realised that “pole” (in singular form) must be the term used for “ag shame”.

The drive through the Shimba Hills was magnificent, it’s so lush and beautiful. I carried on through a couple of small villages, waved at the passers by, old men on bikes, children walking along in groups, herdsman… but no one waved back. Then it dawned on me that my side windows were tinted and that they couldn’t see my enthusiastic greeting. I made a mental note to wave from the windscreen area in future.

Villages on the way to Tsavo

I turned left at the end of the dirt road and made my way up onto the Mombasa-Nairboi road (the section on driving this road just about needs an entire post for itself). The driving in Kenya (as mentioned previously) is pretty horrendous and this road, in particular, serves as the only route for ALL import and export for the whole of East Africa. The railway line for cargo is just about non-existent so everything arrives and leaves by truck – every single goddamn container-baring one of them, heading up and down this road…

Driving this road takes nerves of steel, eyes in the back of your head, timing, advanced driving skills and a massive helping of pure luck. It really is a matter of leap frogging your way around the caravan of trucks, with each overtaking opportunity resembling something like this…

drive at 50km/h (with nothing in your windscreen but truck)
ear on the side window for an additional 4cm viewing range, pull out slightly to the right to check the road ahead, pull back sharply to the left as oncoming trucks approach,
repeat x20,
ear on the side window for an additional 4cm viewing range, pull out slightly to the right to check the road ahead, see a 100m strip of clear tarmac ahead,
check wing mirror and blind spot just in case you missed a sneaky matatu (taxi) and to ensure you’re not being overtaken from five cars behind,
foot flat and turbo boost to 100km/h,
eyes wide, heart pounding as truck bares down lights flashing (even though a reasonable distance away),
hard left quickly back into the 7m gap left between the next two trucks,
rapid deceleration to 50km/h again (with nothing in your windscreen but truck)
continue to repeat the process whilst witnessing the most horrendous driving in your life; trucks overtaking cars, the slow overtaking the even slower, the fast overtaking anything and everything… on blind rises, over solid lines, on the dirt next to the road, five cars in a row past seven trucks in a row – I could go on and on.

Talk about a crash course (!!) in East African driving…

I turned off the road at Buchuma Gate at the southern point of Tsavo East. A buffalo skull welcomed me at the gate and the lady behind the counter took some time to absorb the fact that I was indeed on my own and wasn’t hiding a small companion in my cruiser. Maybe they get lots of cheapskates trying to get into the parks for free (which isn’t without just cause at $65-$80 per person per day).

I have had this many times over since… “You alone?”, I look over my shoulder, ensure there really isn’t someone I’ve forgotten, and shrug, “I guess so”.

Dry and parched landscape of Tsavo East

I drove up the hot and dusty track towards Aruba Dam with not much game on the way. I did spot some elephant in the distance and, as you tend to do when on your first game drive after a leave of absence, shot around 20 photos of the reddy grey lumps in the distance. Aruba Dam was dry which was a bit of a disappointment as the guide book had really bigged it up. I took a smaller road down next to a river and saw more elephant, a little closer this time (cue another 30 snaps of distant reddy grey lumps). The sun was hanging low in the sky so I pressed on to the public campsite for my first real night of camping. Stoked to finally have the opportunity to camp out in the bush with no one about (I didn’t pass a single car the whole day!), I drove into the almost desolate (but for one other bakkie) campsite. I was leaning, elbow out my window, reading the do’s and don’ts on a signboard when from the bush I heard my name being yelled. Could this be the sad deluded voice of loneliness calling me in my head? I turned to where I thought the voice had come from, lifted my sunnies and squinted to get a better look. Running towards my car is none other than Dan Sorrell (my fellow Saffa and total trouble maker from Mombasa Backpackers)!

Sundowners with friends in Tsavo East

TTC 5: I had no idea Dan was planning on coming to Tsavo, he had no idea I was either. We had said our tearful goodbyes days earlier in Mombasa… I was there for one night and one night only, and we were the only two cars in the campsite.

Dan was camping with Ivan, Anneloes and Fay so I came over and set up camp near them. We had sundowners in a dry river bed accompanied by a guide who Ivan chatted away to happily in Swahili. Watching the sun dip below the horizon whilst sipping on Patron – what a way to end the day! We had a braai in the presence of the Captain until the early hours of the morning. Awesome first night! If only I could have a chance bumping into of friends every night on my travels, I’d be so chuffed!

Partying in Mombasa and Retreating to Diani, Kenya

July 31, 2013July 16, 2015 / Shara / 1 Comment

[19 August] Things have a funny way of working out… and this whole journey so far has been about a collection of coincidences and events where I almost didn’t, but then did… and ended up meeting awesome people, getting to know their friends, and experiencing the unexpected kindness of strangers.

You’ll have to read the next few entries to see just how these little changes affected a potentially disastrous outcome. Follow the treasure trail of coincidences over the next few posts to see how lucky I ended up.

MOMBASA, KENYA
26th – 30th July 2013

So, with cash flying out my wallet at an insane rate (due to unexpected customs, parting with cash and port charges), I decide to move to a backpackers. Searching online I find a nice looking place nearby called Nirvana Backpackers (sounds tranquil enough) and enquired online. I also check the Lonely Planet which alternatively and rather cheerfully suggested Mombasa Backpackers…

Mombasa Backpackers

“If you thought backpacker hostels had to be cramped and grimy places be prepared for a surprise. This is a huge white mansion surrounded by lush, coconut gardens (with camping areas). The spacious rooms and dorms are well maintained and there’s a decent swimming pool. Note that there have been some muggings in the vicinity of the hostel.”

[Lonely Planet East Africa July 2012]

Muggings in the area? Hey ho, that’s standard in Kenyan cities right? So I gave the owner David a call and he had space in a single room. Got back from the port office that afternoon and hadn’t heard from Nirvana so taxied over to Mombasa Backpackers and wandered into the reception area, laden with bags (still bearing my folding shovel, step stool, four large unnecessarily weighty padlocks). As always, when arriving at a new backpacking joint, I tend to do a quick recce and mentally assess the situation. Everyone always looks like they belong, morphed into the lounging chairs, sipping beers at the bar, wandering around barefoot, and you’re the spare kid who’s just arrived, with no friends, looking like you might need to be picked for one of the many gangs gathered in various hot spots… feeders at the dinner table, actives at the table tennis table, readers on the cushions, peace corps world changers in circles on the lawn, loungers lazing pool side or Chinese-eyes in stoner’s corner near the bottom of the garden.

Anyone for 90% DEET?

Liz showed me to my single room. She unlocked the door and as my eyes adjusted to the lack of light I saw a horde of disturbed mozzies rise up from the darkness. Liz made a swift exit back to her post behind the reception desk / bar, leaving me to wonder what the hell I had gotten myself into. David is going to kill me for this, but the room is below par on all standards. The mattress was stained, the painted walls bubbling and peeling, the hole in the wall with mesh (window?) had some heavy material nailed across it. Judging by the dust settled on the curtain creases, it hadn’t been cleaned or moved for months, the top section between the door and ceiling was missing, and the room itself was as big as a postage stamp. The bathroom next door was covered in muddy footprints, the shower curtain was missing and the plumping had seen better days decades ago. The mozzie net, patched up in places with material plasters, was insufficient and didn’t quite stretch over all corners of the bed and so hung low leaving very little space in the middle for a person.

Not ideal when you’re tired and dirty…

Something I hadn’t considered was the lack of bedding… my sleeping bag (as you may recall from the customs strip search) was folded away in my roof tent in the container. So, out came the sarong placed over the sheets, and over me, two towels beneath which I curled. I read for a bit before trying to get some shut eye, but sleep came in fits and starts due to the missing section of wall above the door. I woke every time someone slip-slopped their way down the corridor or slammed the bathroom door, then at some ungodly hour the backpackers started playing beer pong on the table outside and I was subjected to a running commentary, laughter and shrieks as the games came down to the wire. I later found out who to blame for this… Dan Sorrell.

I woke early and headed back to port for the day with Paul from Multiple Solutions. Being a Saturday, there wasn’t much to be done and so I was back by midday. Having decided there was no way I was spending another night at this backpackers, I sat outside and tried to get onto the elusive wifi (we had been given the password to hack into the wifi from a neighbouring resort and the only one bar ‘hot spot’ was on the driveway).

Whilst searching for alternative accommodation options for that night, and just about to tall a taxi, who should walk out of the backpackers front door but Boris frikkin Polo. He and Bruce Cattermole were up from Diani for the weekend for a friend’s party. I had met Boris and Bruce amongst other local wazungus (cue Dan “Swindian” Floren) at Forty Thieves (where else?) in Diani the week before.

After a few cold Tuskers at the in the bar it didn’t take much persuasion to stay at the backpackers, and as Boris and Bruce knew David the owner, it didn’t take much more to sort out a sweet upgraded room to myself outside the main house – mozi net intact, freshly painted walls and a shower with a shower curtain – amazing!

Bruce and Boris

Boris and Bruce invited me to join them and so off I went, to the birthday bash of people I didn’t know. Now, partying with wazungu Kenyans is an event only attempted by the audacious. Thought I’d had plenty practise leading up to my London departure but these guys take things to a new level. The party was hosted by Mike K at his stunning home in Nyali. Complete with fairy lights along the drive, open entertainment area, free bar, poolside buffet and headgear theme, it rendered itself open to a bender of note. It wasn’t long before I was being introduced to high society Mombasa and up-country locals alike; the uncle of this one, second husband of so-and-so, and the cousin of that. I did my best to keep up but the dawas (Swahili for muti/medicine – a lovely concoction of vodka, sugar and lime) were slowly working their way through my bloodstream and, like with all parties with free booze, things started getting a little hazy.

Mombasa Party – everyone ended up in the pool

Mikey Diesbecq hopped behind the bar to give the overworked barman a hand, and things started going off-piste something chronic. We had a great night, saw too many shenanigans and decided to leave at 4am once people started getting thrown into the pool. We got back to the backpackers to find Rasta Dave and a few other guys in a similar state on the foosball table. Too much excitement for one night, I turned in. Two hours later I get a knock on my door, it’s Bruce looking to come cuddle. Too funny, we had a little chat and I gave him a high five through my mozi net before sending him packing.

Beer pong – a favourite past time at Mombasa Backpackers

I awoke just after 9am and hand on head, walked into the bar area to purchase some much needed H2O, only to find Bruce with a Tusker in hand and blood shot eyes… still awake, still drinking. Worst still was the shriek that came from the bar. On swift investigation I found a young brunette on the bar stool doubled over with laughter and a pretty blond girl, beer in one hand and needle in the next, piercing a bearded guy’s left ear. I repeat, it’s 9am in the morning… Enter Emily, Izzie and Dan Sorrell. They hadn’t gone to bed either and were still hammered… Anyhow, long story short, Dan ended up sporting a new surfboard earring and we all went to the beach for the day where they continued to drink and soak up the sun. Sea urchins in feet and unsuccessful attempts at trying to persuade the local beach hotels to sell Dan bottles of rum saw us through to the afternoon. The young bloods continued their drinking marathon into the night with rounds of beer pong on the table tennis table. The following day I found Dan asleep on the concrete floor underneath the wicker sofa.

Mombasa Backpackers Crowd

The Diani crowd departed taking Izzie and Emily with them, and leaving me to fend for myself fighting the customs officials in port.

DIANI, KENYA
30th – 31st July 2013

Kenyaways Kite Village, Diani Beach

Tuesday came around and once I got the Land Cruiser out of the container I headed back to Mombasa to get a few things (before heading off to the parks for a week). Once in Mombasa I realised that it would be foolish to put foot flat and race up to Tsavo and so I decided to drive back to Diani and sort some kit out. I arrived at Kenyaways Kite Village where Boris has his H2O Kitesurfing school and called him and Bruce to tell them I was there – Izzie and Emily were on the loungers and we all ended up having great chow at Bruce’s Madafoos Beach Bistro.

Pluto and Scooby, my new fury friends

I stayed with Boris over the next few days. He has the most incredible spot on the beach down the coast – a little slice of heaven. Although Boris won’t admit it, I do think his dogs, Pluto, a Rhodesian Ridgeback, and Scooby, a big-boned “shhh don’t hurt her feelings”, Jack Russell started to love me more than him, and so I had to go before it became to obvious that his pets had switched allegiance.

I got all the recovery gear onto a bag and taupe on the roof and cargo netted it all down. Final placing of goods in their rightful boxes and the raiding of Nakumatt for the stocking of fridge perishables and Captain Morgan was high on the list of priorities. Boris was a complete legend and kindly donated two pairs of Havaiana flip flops, the largest sticker ever displayed for the back window of my LC, and an awesome black 50l bucket which he ratcheted to the roof for showers after those hot and dusty days!

Boris’ home-made shower of the roof rack – lasted about an hour before coming off

I met a great friend and business partner of Boris’ at lunch called Alex, and raided Boris’ contacts for useful people, campsites and places for the journey ahead; including names and numbers for Lovat and Chrissy Carnelley, and Mikey Diesbecq (party barman) who both live in Naivasha; “These guys will take you in”, he assured me.

Another thing Boris gave me good advice on, was the flamingo situation. I had planned on going to Lake Nakuru to see flamingos but with the rising water levels, the salinity in the water is diluted, resulting in a reduced availability of algae and so the birds have flown to other smaller lakes to source this. Due to the lack of flamingos, Boris persuaded me not to go to Nakuru but to go to Naivasha instead to see his friends and said I should try the small lake next to Naivasha for flamingos.

And so, on Thursday 1st August, headed for Tsavo, I waved goodbye to Boris and the dogs and headed off into the Shimba Hills and beyond.

My drive had begun!

Expedition is GO – Boris’ House, Diani

TTC 1: How I know Boris and Bruce is by pure chance… My last night at South Coast Backpackers (Diani) I wasn’t going out at all and was in my pyjamas. But as the taxis arrived to take my Irish friends down the road to 40 Thieves, I had a sudden surge of FOMO, changed quickly and went with them. I met Boris & Bruce that night through Dan Floren who I’d met the night before.

TTC 2: Nirvana Backpackers didn’t get back to me so ended up at Mombasa Backpackers, my second choice.

TTC 3: Minutes away from leaving Mombasa Backpackers and booking another place to stay, Boris and Bruce appear at the backpackers I wasn’t supposed to be at in the first place.

TTC 4: Boris persuades me to go to make last minute changes to go to Naivasha instead of Nakuru.

Route Saga

April 25, 2012November 5, 2018 / Shara / 2 Comments

PLAN A

“Go West”, they sing! Following fellow travelers Kirk and Dale’s trip in 2010 (SawubonAfrica), I had decided that they were getting to see much of “real Africa” – taking in both the West and Eastern sides before heading down South. Super plan! I would follow a very similar route and drive from London, through Spain to the Straight of Gibraltar before cruising through Morocco, Senegal, Mali, down Western Africa and into Angola before traversing through Zambia to Eastern Africa and making my way down the East from there. After many months of meticulous planning and thought, I realised that traveling through Nigeria and such countries didn’t really compare to Ethiopia, and those I’d miss on the other side. I decided I needed to go East…

PLAN B

My initial thoughts, getting to East Africa from London via Egypt, involved driving down through France and Spain, cross at the Strait of Gibraltar, drive along the coast of North Africa to Egypt and then down the East side – seemed simple enough. Planning for this route was researched over many months and I had the route mapped, almost to the day, on Google Maps. Distances, sights and sounds – I had it waxed. Then someone decided to play silly buggers with the powers of the universe, and sent the Arabic world and it’s dictators into crazy mode….

On the 14th February 2011, following the fall of Egyptian President Hosni Mubarak 3 days earlier, Libya descends into chaos and dictator Muammar Gaddafi hunkers down for a fight. No way through – unless I intend on joining the protests or volunteer as a moving target for the pro-Gaddafi supporters.
NO ROUTE THROUGH NORTH AFRICA.

PLAN C

Following the turmoil in North Africa, I thought I might use the Summer to explore some of Europe’s finest countries, Belgium, Austria, Croatia, Montenegro, Albania and Greece before touching African soil. Now I wasn’t too keen on getting a ferry over the Mediterranean as it seemed far more exciting to try to drive as much of the route as possible. Crossing water on a ferry, without the wheels turning, somehow seemed like I might be cheating… and, as there’s land between Europe and Africa, I could drive round the Mediterranean, through Turkey, into Syria, down to Jordan and catch a short ferry across to the Egyptian peninsula near Dahab. Bit of a waste though as I have traveled through Jordan and dived Dahab previously, but it was a plan none-the-less.

With riots in Egypt, I looked into driving from Jordan down through Saudi Arabia and catching a short ferry from Jeddah to Port Sudan. This route was fraught from the start with two problems. Firstly, all visas for the next few countries could only be obtained in Cairo, and secondly, as a female in Saudi Arabia, I would only be allowed in the vehicle with a male relative and wouldn’t be allowed to drive…

Right, so the decision was to brave Cairo. According to our friends Gav and Nadia who were living there at the time, it was fine – so this seemed like the best solution.

There had been a bit of trouble in Syria, but overlanders were still making their way through safely by avoiding the hot spots. Didn’t last long… cue Syria unrest. It becomes too dangerous to travel through Syria and all non-essential travel is discouraged from March 2011.

Let’s check the map to see if we can drive around Syria and avoid it? Uh, perhaps not, Iraq sits to the East, so out of the question…
NO ROUTE ROUND THE MEDITERRANEAN

PLAN D

I’ll skip the drive and take a ferry from Greece to Alexandria (which actually docks in Syria on the way). Sorted, found a ferry company, shipping wasn’t too expensive and would take around 4 days. Hectic planning ensued, mostly to do with the Wadi Halfa crossing from Egypt into Sudan which seemed to be a real talking point on the overlanding forums.

Shortly thereafter, the ferry company stopped running it’s route due to the Syrian and, to an extent, Egyptian unrest.
NO ROUTE VIA FERRY TO EAST AFRICA

I’m back to where I started and with no option into East Africa, we’re back to Plan A… WESTERN AFRICA

Europe, Morocco, Western Sahara, Mauritania, Senegal, The Gambia, Mali, Burkina Faso, Togo, Benin, Nigeria, Cameroon, Equatorial Guinea, Gabon, Congo, DRC, Angola, Zambia, Tanzania, Burundi, Rwanda, Kenya, Tanzania, Mozambique, Zimbabwe, Botswana, Namibia, South Africa

UPDATE: Since the above plan was re-hatched, the ferry routes started to open up and crossing the Med was now a possibility again! Europe to Turkey and then Egypt and down – SORTED! But things are never as straight forward as we’d like them to be… read about the drama that unfolded here…

Taking all risks into account (as a single female), I decided to ship the Beast to Mombasa and drive from there onward. After over 2 years of planning, it’s finally come together!