Softly Softly Catchee Mountain

Day 4: 5km, 3 hours, 3900m up to 4200 and back to 3930m. One point of interest from yesterday, by the way, was as we were coming down from the 4600m lunch spot. We (the hoards of porters and trekkers) found a woman who said she had been lost on the mountain for 7 days. She was clearly hungry and thirsty, so various people, myself included, offered water and snacks to give her a boost. She was to be shown back down the mountain by a spare porter, but that night when they stopped in a local hut, she vanished again. My waiter (did I not mention that I had a waiter? he was a porter too, and a trainee guide...) was talking about it on the last night and said she was a wizard (I think he meant witch), as she was clearly lying about having been lost for 7 days (she was not dirty enough apparently) and his theory was that she had been shot out of the air by someone (witches are, of course, bad!) It also explained why she disappeared on the way down the mountain. Abdul the porter was quite superstitious about it, and I think he believed what he was saying. He was a smart guy, a Muslim too, but obviously still held on to some traditional beliefs. Still, it gave us something unusual to talk about.

But I digress. The walking was getting interesting now, with some proper, two hands needed to climb, scaling of the path. The landscape was more barren and rugged, and took us to within just 2 hours of base camp. The 6-day trekkers would be going on to Base camp today as well, then summiting at midnight tonight, but we were keeping all that for tomorrow. At the time, I was feeling pretty good, like I could have done it in 6 days, but when it actually happened, I was glad I had gone for the extra day - it will become clear why later.

After we crossed the 4200m ridge line we had to drop down to the bottom of the Karanga Valley, then climb back out the other side. It was steep in every direction, and the stream at the bottom of the valley was the last water supply before we started the walk off the mountain. This meant that, firstly, all water for tonight would have to be fetched by some poor bugger (not me again) going back down the valley to bring up a 20l bucket of water. It also meant that tomorrow, when we had walked the 2 hours to base camp, someone (not me!) would have to walk back, go down the valley and bring water all the way back to base camp. On the up side (and its only a tiny upside), the porters could do the trail in about an hour, versus my slow 2 hours, but that's small consolation. Incidentally, I asked my guide how long it would take him to do the Machame trail if he didn't have to look after me. He said 3 days, there and back. I tried not to look too impressed.

The problem with such a short day was that once we got to camp, it was a long time until bedtime, and there was not too much to do in camp. I went a-wandering to try and find some of the more familiar faces I'd met on the way up so far, but it was that cold and windy most folks were hiding from the cold and clouds in their anonymous tents, and house calls still seemed a bit 'not on' to me. I mooched about taking some photos, making blog notes and snoozing, breaking all this up with as much food as the crew could provide. The food had been good all the way up, but by now we were off the meat and on to the vegetarian diet - for me anyway. The crew still seemed to have some increasingly smelly meat to tuck into. while the food had been generally excellent, Juma the cook did tend to be a bit heavy handed with the amount of salt he used in the cooking. I found it rather over powering, and was forced to reduce my intake to about half of what he made (this was still a lot, mind you), and he shared out what I left between the other guides. I don't think I offended anyone, and it seemed easier than complaining about the food or giving cooking advice. That wouldn't have been very British of me.

Day 5: 2 1/4 hours, 4km, 3930m up to 4600m. I had to get up in the night at about 3am for a pee. Not an old man pee, you understand (how very dare you!), a diamox induced diuretic pee, and I was glad to see the pattern of the cloud lifting and leaving a crystal clear night once again evident. It was also totally calm and still, so fingers crossed we'd get the same treatment tomorrow night.

Day broke just as still and clear, and we began another short day, this one deliberately so. The plan was to get to camp in time to have an afternoon nap, as we would be up at midnight to tackle the summit. Also, even though I was feeling good with the altitude, I was finding that if I did get out of puff, it was very hard to get it back, so the slow pace was finally paying its dues. We got to camp at about 11am, leaving plenty of time to kick back. This camp site was really a desperate affair this time, with tents being shoved in to any vaguely flat piece of ground. There were so many rocks and boulders it was very hard to find anywhere actually level, so I found myself trying to nap on an incline, which left me sliding down the roll mat into a heap at the bottom of the tent.

I considered my feet for a while - so far so good. No blisters, probably due to the slow pace - they never had a chance to rub up. This was good, because the last big push was to be 11km in the dark to the summit, then 11km back down for a breakfast, then anther 6km to a lower altitude for the last night. I hoped they would hold up for all of that.

As luck would have it, my tent was pitched near the tent of a loud American group. Now, you now how I hate to stereotype and generalise (ha!) but it's a well known fact that Americans like to talk loudly and not listen to what anyone else is saying. These ones also seemed unaware that everybody outside their tent could hear them, as the walls are only made of thin material. It was hardly my fault, then, that I was able to accidentally hear what they were saying (OK, it's a fair cop, I began to deliberately eavesdrop). The first part of the conversation was along the lines of "the wurst leg injury Ah ever had", the winner being the one whose leg was"torn to shreds" and "woodna made it outta there if I hadna had some painkillers". I missed the segue, but the next bit I heard was about "my mammy who came from Alabammy (sic)". I almost had to call out and ask the obvious - did she have a banjo, and was it on her knee? I resisted. The next part of the conversation almost proved too much for my self control, however. They got on to the topic of the poison that is Coca-Cola. Each man had some half remembered stats, and it was, for a moment, quite the stat-off! The first asked "D'you know how many T-spoons of sugar there are in a can?" His friend new it was lots, and was keen to impress. "20?" he hazarded. He'd aimed too high, and burst his friends shock bubble. "Na, it ain't that merch, its, like, 11 or sumpthin". Then we got on to acidity: "If batt'ry acid is, like, a 1 on the pH scale, and water's, like, 7, then coke is, like, 2 or sumpthin. Its pretty acid." I was so tempted to join in with my own stat: "Y'all know what I heard? I heard they use babies' souls to make the bubbles. They put the babies in a press and squeeze that soul right outta there, then they crush it up and chuck it in, and that's the fizzy bit. I dunno how many babies it takes for a can, but I do know they crush the souls right up. That's what I heard. Yup." It was tempting. Maybe it was the altitude playing tricks on my brain...Bloody rednecks.

Day 6: 29km, 4600m up to 5895m and back down to 3100m. So, midnight came, I got up and had popcorn, tea and shortbread biscuits. Breakfast snack of champions, that. We had 11km in the dark to reach the summit, then 11m back down, and a further 6km to the lower camp that night. Best get too it.

When we set off at 1.15am, we were behind most of the other groups, some of whom had set off as early as 11pm. My guide was confident in my ability and speed though, and I had to trust him. He knew I wanted to be at the top for sunrise, and I left it up to him to chose how soon we should go.

I'd not got much sleep before we left - just an hour or so in the afternoon, and not much before midnight, but felt pretty ood. Perhaps the excitement was giving me strength. I focused on my breathing to begin with, as we shuffled our way through the rocks by the light of our head torches. I found, however, that if I thought about my breathing, I soon got out of breath, but if I thought about anything else, my body breathed as much as it needed and I was fine. We plodded on, and it was gratifying to catch and pass most of the people on the way up. My competitive side was kicking in again, and every time we overtook a wheezing, puffing group, I felt a little more pleased with myself. No wussy struggling for me! I had to take a bit of care though, as the overtaking was often slightly off track and required a quick burst of speed to get by, which could easily have left me struggling for air. It was all good though.

It's strange the places your mind goes when all that your eyes have to occupy themselves is a small area of illuminated rock and sand that never seems to change, and your guides legs from the knees down - all that was visible in the cone of light cast by my headtorch. Old demons and new came to visit in turn, as did some great memories of crazy days in South America and Canada. Not all were welcome guests for what they were, but all played a part in distracting me from the monotonous trudging in the dark. The sky had once again cleared for us and was diplaying a stunning array of astral bodies but the wind had decide to howl through with a vengeance, and it was slightly unstable going from time to time, not to mention far colder than it might otherwise have been.

Finally, at 6.15am on the dot (Mahamoud knew his business and my speed, that was for sure), we reached the summit in a slow speed foot race against sun as it just began to crest the horizon. We won, just, and I had enough time to snap a few shots, including the obligatory one beside the summit sign, before the bitter, freezing cold proved too much for my camera battery, and I lost power. It was so frustrating watching the sky lighten and reveal more and more of the amazing vista that was the highest place in Africa, and not having a means to capture it other than my memory. Of course, my photos would have totally failed to do it justice, but the option would have been nice. I was blown away by the ice, glaciers, rock formations, a feeling I get all too infrequently since I overloaded on spectacular in South America. It was nice to be wowed once again. Also impressive was the way everything changed over and over as the light grew stronger, shadows shifting, colours going from purples to oranges to regular, genuine brown. Too soon, it was time to begin the descent. I think I managed 20 minutes on the top before my fingers went numb and my face began to freeze.

The way down was a wonderful surprise - instead of a slow, 11km uphill trudge, we had a crazy-fast downhill scree run! Now, I'm usually pretty sensitive to my environment and not harming it, and scree running isn't the kindest of activities to inflict on the sid of a mountain but, on this occasion, I felt like I'd earned a bit of fun. They say you go up Kili like an old man (I did, every shuffly step of it) and come down like a teenager. Well I was up for some of that. I suspect we cut some corners and shortened the actual distance covered - a few less zigs and not so many zags, perhaps, so it took just an hour to make it down and my legs were burning by the time we got there. It was tiring but heaps of fun and the lure of breakfast at the bottom was certainly encouraging our haste. Of course, one false step and I could easily have stuffed an ankle, but you try not to think of these things at the time. that would be the old man agian, and his job was done. Stand aside, and let the teenager out - if only to prove there was still a bit of that attitude left in me!

Unfortunately, when we got back to camp we found the strong winds we'd suffered on the way up had been far worse in camp, and many of the tents had been blown over, including ours - to the point of total destruction! Instead of a rest and a feed, we did a quick pack up and set off straight away to the more sheltered lower levels. With sore, aching knees and feeling the exhaustion and lack of sleep creeping up with every step, we finally made it to the calmer, warmer levels further down, and had a picnic breakfast for half an hour, before continuing down the last bit to the final camp. A long, satisfying day, and it seemed strange to look back and see Kili looming over us once again, so distant and yet, just that morning I'd been standing on the top of her.

Day 7: 2 1/2 hours, 7km, 3100m to about 1800m. The final stretch down to the bottom was to be quick, but jarring to my knees. The descent route was far more direct than the ascent, and after a night spent sleeping soundly (my tent was fine, but my porters had to do a botch job on their tent as it had been so badly broken in the winds - at least they'll get a new one for the next trip...I hope) we set off bright and early. We made it to the exit gate by 10.30am, thanks to the fairly straight forward path. It wound its way through the forest once more, some of the porters were literally running down the hill with their lightened loads, and we saw a family of Colobus monkeys as we neared the end of the trail. What a nice way to end the trek. I was back in Moshi by noon and in the shower about 5 minutes later. I had time in the afternoon to reflect on what my summit trek to the top of Kili had cost me - apart from the financial of course - and figured it was a camera lens cover, and a possible dose of Giardia (false alarm) which provided me with the temporary amusement of attempting various tunes and farmyard animal impressions. My niece would be proud of my efforts, although I only really perfected the "angry duck".

That evening, Mahamoud and Abdul joined me for a celebratory beer or two, and I was flattered when they both said how impressed they'd been with the speed I'd been able to hike the trail, especially the last summit push. I guess they could have been full of it, but as I'd already paid their tip (and it would have been a smaller tip than they'd have been hoping for or would have got if they'd had a larger party to lead) I figured they meant it. Which was nice.not sure whether to credit the altitude simulation or the half-a-diamox-twice-daily-with-food. I suspect they both played their part.

Next up is the safari trip to Lake Manyara, Ngorongoro Crater and Tarangire, starting in the morning at half 8. This is all being written retrospectively though, so I know how it all ends. You'll have to tune in later to find out. Sorry this one has been a bit of a monster. Well done if you stuck with it. See you later, I guess, for the next installment.

The Magnificent 7...Stroll

OK, here we go: Mount Kilimanjaro, highest peak in Africa, Day 1, 11km, 6hours, walking from the start at 1800m up to the first camp site at 3000m.

I was collected at the hotel about 20 minutes after they'd told me to be ready (African time, you see? Like Islander time in the South pacific, or South American time, only with rhythm) and taken to the tour shop to deposit all the gear I wouldn't be taking. Safe as houses, they promised me. We'll see in 7 days, I guess. We had a 40 minute or so drive to the Machame gate, start of the Machame trail up Mt Kili, where I had to sign in and wait about an hour while the porters got their loads sorted out and weighed - each porter is allowed to carry a maximum of 20kg, according to the Kili park rules, and the loads are weighed at start and end of each days hike to ensure no cheating. Because of this limit, the more luxury companies (who take things like toilet tents and porta-loos) have to use more porters. My crew consisted of a guide, a trainee guide/waiter, a cook/porter and 3 "just" porters. And me. So, the Magnificent 7 of the title, then. Still with me? Not tricky, eh?

My guide was held up at the start due to a power failure that prevented the rangers at the gate from entering important info, so my first day was to be led by the trainee guide, and he set a nice gentle pace up the hard packed, mud track through the lush forest. The mantra for the hike is "Pole Pole" (pronounced pole-ay pole-ay), which means "slowly slowly, and that is exactly how fast we went. In the end, as it was only to 3000m, I got a bit impatient (especially as my guide's English was a bit ropey and conversation a bit slow) so I went off a bit quicker and stopped now and again to rest and let him catch up. Now, I was going at a fairly easy pace, not knowing just how far we had to go or what the track ahead was going to be like, and I remembered a lesson learned a number of years ago on the Cotswold Way Relay in the UK. I was to run the 12 mile long, steep leg and was keen to get in under 2 hours, so was advised to "stick with Liz, she always comes in under 2 hours". Liz was in her late 50's I think, and I was about 30, so figured it would be easy. But she went so slowly! In the end, I went on at my own pace, only to be passed by about 2 miles from the end. She came in at about 1 hour 56 mins, I staggered over the line at about 2 hours 6mins. Shoulda stuck with Liz! Anyhow, far be it from me to tell a Kili guide how fast to walk, so I did my best not to go to much faster than he was. Just a little faster...

Camp the first night was at 3000m, lower than Cusco by quite a bit, so I wasn't bothered about altitude at this point. The camp site was actually fairly discreet, given the hoards of people arriving - there were 7 in my group for example, just to get one person up the hill. Apparently, if there'd been two of me, it would have taken 10 or 11 porters, so I guess for 3 in a group, you're looking at about 15 etc. There were several groups of up to 4, and some for the tour companies were far flasher than mine, with porters having to bring collapsible picnic tables, folding chairs, even the aforementioned porta-loos, so I think my guys were getting off light!

I tried to help set the camp, but was told quite firmly to sit down and rest. All part of the earning of the tips, I guess (at the end of the trek, each member of the party is tipped x amount per day depending on their duties: $5 for porters, $8 for a cook, $10 for a guide - and these are minimum amounts. Please feel free to tip more! For a party of one, I was looking at an extra US$300!).

There were 2 tents: mine, a small typical modern tent with flexi-poles and Mountain Hardware on the side, and theirs, a hexagonal spider-shaped frame with inner and fly combo, about 6feet tall at the apex. This was both sleeping, eating and food prep space all in one. It really was quite funny to watch the dinner being made. Think of all the things you were told never to do in tents by your dad when he was teaching you camping craft. Top of the list was probably "cooking or using naked flames of any description inside the tent". Imagine, then my surprise when the cooking was done on a 9kg calor gas cylinder with stove top attachment, and lighting was via 2 candles, precariously stuck to a small tin of puree balanced on a wobbly camping table and the plastic screw top of a 3l bottle of cooking oil. Yes, later we were going to be deep frying stuff!

Despite these obvious safety hazards, the whole procedure went off without a hitch - well practiced actions allowing Juma the cook to rotate about 4 different metal bowls across the heat and get everything ready pretty much at the same time. Skills! And it wasn't just Juma - the whole crew seemed to work together pretty seamlessly too, although there may have been any number of terse instructions being given under the disguise of cheerful sounding Swahili. How would I ever know? But that's beside the point. The end result was heaps of tasty food, including some deep fried spuds that had moments before been boiling merrily. The hot oil was carefully left on the floor in the middle of the tent until it had cooled just enough to return to the plastic container. Safe.

It was a relaxed atmosphere in the crew's tent - if they weren't helping they were huddling under their ludicrously inadequate looking sleeping bags (they have to buy their own gear and carry it on top of the customers stuff, so most of the porters seem to try and do without), chatting, snoozing or laughing, bright white smiles emerging from the deepening gloom like so many Cheshire Cats disappearing over and over.

By the time I took myself off to my tent, the cloud that had shrouded the camp site had lifted, adn the night sky was remarkable. I couldn't wait to see the view in daylight.

Day 2: 7km, 4-5 hours, 3000m up to 3800m. I got up at about 6am, earlier than necessary but no big deal as I'd slept pretty well in the cooler climate - better than I had in hot ans sultry Dar, anyway. Quick wash in cold water (it would have been warm, but I was up before the porters), and it was off for what I suspected would be the biggest daily challenge of the hike: the daily constitutional, as they say, making use of the squat toilets in the camp site. Not wanting to dwell on things too much, but imagine a large keyhole shaped target being inexpertly used by dozens of inexperienced tourists, many of whom it seems may have been cross-eyed. Not pretty, and not comfortable either - I was dreading the extra effort it would all take once I got to a decent altitude!

Breakfast made up for it though, with "porridge" (more like semolina), fresh fruit (on various days: papaya, pineapple, watermelon), milo, toast and fried eggs, frankfurters. The eggs were transported in a small box full of sawdust, kind of like a lucky dip, and they pretty much all survived the whole trip - at least until they were selected for a meal, that is. It semed like there was to be no shortage of food on this trip.

The camp was being overlooked by the might Mt Kili, as I'd hoped, as the cloud was still gone. It was the first real look at it I'd had, as the cloud had moved in to hide it by the time we started yesterday. This was to be a pattern - clear in the morning, shrouded by 2pm at the latest. We got under way by about 8am for what was a shortish distance, but pretty steep compared to yesterday - more like what I was expecting to be honest. Some rock scrambling was called for on occasion, and and a bit of judicious tippy toe-ing to get by the craggiest bits, and once again all done at a very sedate pace. I started to wonder if the "pole pole" was for the complexity of the path or because the guide was texting as he walked (for a poor country, cell phone coverage is pretty thorough in TZ!).

Once again, the feeling of conquering a mountain was diluted somewhat by the huge number of people on the track. The guides made a mockery of us tourists and our sluggish pace, overtaking at speed with their outsized, precariously balanced loads. It was quite hard not to try and match them for pace, but egos need to be controlled if peaks are to be reached, so I just about managed to restrain myself. Not that I'd have been competitive in the least, you understand, but I'd've tried! Again I was astounded by the mismatched gear the porters used. Some were in trainers, others in walking boots falling apart. Some had shredded thermal tops, others football jerseys. All had to be bought and paid for themselves, so it was understandable why they didn't go for the good stuff. Anything brand-named would have been a gift from a grateful tourist trying to shed baggage after the hike. I kind of wished I'd brought throw away stuff, but I was traveling pretty light myself, so didn't have much to pass on. Every now and then one would pass with a transistor radio strapped to his pack, blasting out hip hop, reggae or whatever trashy pop the local radio station was broadcasting that day. It broke the day up.

Camp was much the same as before. A more scattered, open venue, this, reached by about 1pm. From a short distance away, it looked like a low budget pop festival was being held. tent village and all, just not sign of the performers. A few white-necked ravens lurked on the fringes, keeping an eye out for scraps and carelessly unguarded shiny things. Once again, I wasn't allowed to help so went for a wander to try and find some of the other trekkers I'd met earlier. I was finding it a slightly lonely experience, having been hoping to have people to chat to in my group, but it was hard to pin folks down at the camps. You got a brief chat, maybe, then we were called to our various tents for meals, which is where anyone in a group tended to stay, shooting the breeze with their compadres. I was left on my own somewhat, as it didn't seem right to go house calling a crowded tent. I'd hang with my gang in their tent, but 99% of the conversation was in Swahili, so I just sat and looked pretty in the corner until I got bored enough to go to bed. Every now and then I'd ask something of them, or they of me, but most of them had very little English and of course I have virtually no Swahili, so there was not much to go on .

Day 3: 11km, 6 hours, 3800m up to 4600m for lunch and back to 3900m for the night. Today was to be an acclimatisation day, going up to 4600m but not staying there. the extra strain on the body is supposed to get it prepared for the longer time at altitude still to come. The last time I went anywhere near this high was crossing a border between Argentina and Chile with food poisoning, and had gone from low down to up high in about 3 hours, thus not getting any adjustment time at all. It didn't go well (check the back issues if you care). This time I hoped for better.

Kili was in front of us the whole day today - no cloud, just a looming rock, challenging, taunting, sneering, but finally looking a bit closer than it had done before. We were gaining on it! The main part of the day - about 4 hours worth - took us to Lava Rock, the high spot of the day. It was pretty steep going, and the "pole pole" was definitely needed this time, I think. Once or twice I felt my puff starting to go, so I backed off a bit, as experience has taught me that if you loose your wind, it is very hard to get back. Better to hold on to it at all costs! Still, the 6 hour target for 11km was a b it much, surely? I could run that in under an hour...

We reached the Lava rock, and I was in good shape - surprisingly good actually, no problems at all, which was more than could be said for some of the others, wheezing their way to a lunch break. The lsat 2 hours of the day were downhill, pretty steeply down, and I had a couple of slips on the way, but nothing serious. I was undecided whether to blame altitude, old boots or daydreaming. Probably a combination of the three.

We rolled into camp at around 2.45, with Kili now hiding behind her usual cloak of mist and cloud. Intermittently, it would clear enough for Mahamoud my guide to point out tomorrow's path. It looked steep. Really steep. And what's worse is that its another false peak to acclimatise us - we have to drop back down again after, so don't even get to keep the height gain! Better get a good feed and a good rest. I'll continue the climb in another entry, just to break it up a bit. See you later :-)

The same only different

Willie Nelson sang it best. Or was it Donkey? "On the road again....". Ring any bells, Smitch? Smitch? Hey Smitch, I'm talking to you! Pay attention! That's better. I mean, really....

Not the smooth, seamless transition I'd been hoping for, thanks to a cock up in the aerial transportation department, courtesy of Emirates breaking their aeroplane and delaying my departure from NZ by 48 hours. Not the kind of stress you need, let me tell you. Still, I got a couple of days to drink beer and be sent off by Rich and Oddette, so thanks for stepping up, guys.

On the down side, I missed out on a day or two acclimatisation in Dar es Salaam, finally arriving on Saturday pm to be met by Kara (thanks so much for that) who also looked after me and showed me around a bit, taking me to a Korean restaurant (?!) one night and a fish restaurant the other, where I met a whole bunch of great people. My jet lag slowed me down a bit unfortunately, so I'm hoping I'll get a chance to give a second first impression when I get back. I eventually jumped a bus to Moshi and Mt kilimanjaro on the Monday morning - a 4am arousal followed by an hour waiting in the dark at a busy bus depot feeling slightly nervous and not entirely sure I was in the right place, until the bus finally arrived and loaded my bag. I figured even if it wasn't the right bus, if I got on it, as least I wouldn't lose my stuff! As it 'appens, it was the right one, and also the wrong one....

First, I had paid a bloke a whole dollar to carry my bag form the taxi to the bus stop. He wanted Tsh 10,000 (about US$7.50), I laughed at his very good joke and offered 500, he looked cross and asked for 5000, we settled on 1500. I knew I'd been had, but i was running the scene from Life of Brian through my head as I haggled, and couldn't keep a straight face any longer ("Hey, Bert, this bloke won't haggle!" "Won't haggle?"). Settled on the bus, I was next approached by a man with a clip[board (always a sign of officiality). who said I had to pay Tsh 10,000 for bag security. Look, he said. I'll even write it on your ticket. Must be fair. To be honest, I thought this might be a ruse too, albeit a very bold one, but paid up nonetheless, as it crossed my mind that it would be easy to "lose" my bag while we waited to leave, and I'd be none the wiser.

Finally, we were off, at least about 200 yards, before we joined the log jam of buses trying to leave the depot all at the same time. Once again, we got moving and, after about half an hour, I got my first look at rural TZ. The similarities with parts of South America were instantly there, and I hope I don't just travel around making those sorts of comparisons, but I guess its unavoidable at times, especially when adjusting to a bit of culture shock. Many of the houses were of a similar mud brick construction, although sturdier looking bricks - must be a better quality mud over here - people lined the roads selling all sorts of stuff from wheelbarrows (if they were lucky), scraping a living any way they can, harvesting meagre looking crops from half-arsed looking plots of vaguely farmed land.

It was to be an 8 - 10 hour jouney to Moshi (depending on oh so many things!). Things went smoothly enough up to lunch time - a truck stop type of place to stretch legs and buy street meat if you dared - but about an hour after setting off again, the bus pulled over and the passenger next to me explained we wouldnt be going any further in this bus as it was broken. Luckily wee were by a string of small houses/stores, so most of the passengers tucked in to fizzy pop. I watched helplessly as a group of locals tried helping the driver fill the engine with first with oil (it leaked out only slightly slower than the tipped it in from the cola bottles they were using), and then the radiator with buckets of water (which fair flooded out the bottom). At last, as a bus from the same company came by and was flagged down, people were shoe-honed in to seats that weren't really there, and the crowd of waiting passengers began to thin out. The funniest thing was that everyone stood about very calmly, making no fuss about the delay, but when a bus arrived, there was a scrum for the empty seats and the last place you wanted to be was the middle of it! I stood out the way a bit, with my bags, until a bloke pointed at me, shoved someone out the way and pushed me onto the bus, stowing my pack in the luggage bins underneath. The only seat left was the ticket collector's, so I got that one, right at the front with all the extra leg room, and she got to stand up. seemed fair to me....

On we went, Dodging scarily large potholes, overtaking in ways that were familiar, although the last time I'd seem them, I'd been outside the bus, heading towards it on a motorbike and fearing form my life. I know where I'd rather be...It rained at one point, and the wipers were duly employed. One of them anyway, and it only wiped in one direction. I have to say there are time when I'd rather not be in the front seat with the best view.

Finally, at about 5 pm, 11 hours after starting, we arrived in Moshi, and i was met by a rep from my tour company, who got me to my hotel safe and sound.

It was nice to get a kind of intro to Tanzania through the window of a bus. So much seemed familiar (with regards to the chaos, the bodge it and scarper stylings of the villages/roads/traffic rules etc) to what I"d seen in South America, although in TZ they seem to be working at the next level up in the world rankings of "Making Do". Comforting, though, in its own funny way.

About an hour after the half way break (the whole trip was due to be 8 hours...or 10...or however many it takes, don't fret it) we stopped for what i took to be another pee stop/ buy some fruit stop, only to be told the bus was knackered and we'd all be getting off to wait for a replacement. No idea how long that would take, but as the oil and water various people were shoving into the poor bus were dripping out the bottom in a kind of perpetual motion, it was clear I had little choice but to wait.

Luckily, there were several buses on a staggered departure time leaving Dar, so each one that came past stopped and took a few passengers from my bus. Its a funny thing. All the locals were behaving so calmly and relaxed about the whole thing, it was totally normal, no aggro at all, until a bus arrived when things dissolved into a scrum of silent shoving and pushing to try and get a place. I was somewhat bemused by the whole thing and starting to worry that I'd end up being the last one left, when a guy pushed me forward and got me on the 3 rd bus. Front row seat too, with the extra leg room, so the hour or so delay was almost worth it!

Things were going well, potholes like craters were being dodged, and then the rain started. So did the wipers, but only one of them, and it only wiped in one direction, so obviously the driver didn't slow down to meet the conditions. Sometimes the front seat with the best view is not the best place to be!

Finally, at about 5pm, 11 hours after we started, I arrived in Moshi. I was met, as promised and despite being either 1 hour or 3 hours late, at the bus depot by my Kili tour company, and dropped to my hotel, for what I'd hoped would be a quick air conditioned rest. No such luck, I had to unpack everything and show them what I intended to take up the mountain. My choices were approved, arrangements for the morning were made, and I was directed to a great wee place across the street to get some dinner. I was also told that the other 3 people that had been booked on my trip had pulled out at the last minute, so I'd be the only one in my group. Good and bad that - I'll get individual treatment I guess, and get to go at my pace, but also I'll have to work harder to find anyone to talk to I expect. Anyhow, we'll see how that all works out when we see how all that works out. Time to relax with a beer and a curry at last! Off up a mountain tomorrow (Obviously, I'm already down but I'm cleverly writing this retrospectively! You're gonna get a 7 day hike shortly. Aren't you lucky?)

Countdown T minus 4 days....

There is a pile of things on the floor in my bedroom. Correction, there are many piles of most of my things taking up all the floor space in my bedroom, but only one of the piles is ear-marked to get shoved into a back pack and taken to East Africa for a 5 week trip around Tanzania and Zanzibar, departing on 11th January. I am, once again, starting to get a bit nervous while simultaneously the excitement is building about my latest adventure. I have no idea what to expect when I get there.

OK, that's not 100% true. I have read several guide books and talked at length with a friend who is working out there at the moment and who has been giving me lots of advice, tips and reassurance, not to mention a promise of meeting me at the airport to ease my transition into this most mysterious of continents, so I have a theoretical idea at least. There have been lots of warnings (from the guide books) to keep a watchful eye over my belongings, warnings about not going here or there after dark/alone/carrying anything of value in case of muggings, warnings about bugs and parasites that will be queuing up to infest me if I give them even half a chance. But there have also been lots of positive things to look forward to, courtesy of my friend Kara, who can't stop raving about the friendly people, the amazing scenery, the food, the culture. I think she is more excited about my introduction to Africa than I am! I know which camp I am pitching my tent in.

Preparation for the trip has been on several levels. I got all my inoculations from South America updated (only about 4 extra jabs this time), collected my malaria pills and re-stocked my medical kit. I read a book (The Zanzibar Chest by Aiden Hartley) which, though fascinating and inspirational, was also horrifying and disturbing as it was both a biography of his father's life pioneering irrigation and agriculture in remote parts of Tanzania, as well as an autobiography of his own experiences as a front line reporter in the midst of the atrocities that were carried out in Uganda, Rwanda and Somalia. Eye opening might be more accurate. Read it.

Despite packing for the hottest time of the year, I have also had to plan for the extreme cold that will be at the summit of Mt Kilimanjaro, the tallest mountain in Africa at 5895m, and the first big challenge of the trip (after getting out of the airport with all my belongings, obviously). Reading a couple of aid project websites the other day also gave me the idea of packing as much spare children's clothing as I can fit in, which I will be able to donate to any projects I encounter on the way. Once the Kilii trek is done (by no means a guaranteed success by the way - only 40-50% of people manage to get to the top) and the subsequent 3 day safari in the Ngorongoro Crater and Tarangire National Park is in the bag, I will spend a few days in Arusha where I hope to stay in local villages with local people, to get a taste of local life. It's here that I have contacted an organisation that runs volunteer projects throughout the country, and where I hope to deliver the clothes.

I have also prepared by trying to learn a little Kiswahili. Knowing the basic pleases and thank yous goes without saying, but I felt I got so much more from my time in South America because I made an effort to speak Spanish, which the locals clearly appreciated, so I wanted to try and get beyond the stock tourist phrases in Tanzania. I'm not sure how well I'm doing - there are virtually no familiar lingual references so everything has to be committed to memory - but I tried taking some Skype lessons with a chap in Kenya (the connection proved too unreliable to make this successful) and have taken out a "teach yourself Kiswahili" kit from the library (yeah, I know, who'd of thought they'd have one of those, right?) which is not as easy to use as I'd hoped. Still, we shall see, and it'll give me an ice breaker with the locals on the buses anyway.

The final, questionable preparation I have done is to try and acclimatize myself to the altitude of Kili by paying through the nose to take a 3 week course which consists of sitting with a breathing apparatus providing a nitrogen rich (and therefore oxygen poor) mix of air that is the equivalent of being at 7000m. The idea is that 4 x 7 minute cylces over 40 minutes , 5 days a week for 3 weeks will stimulate my body to produce extra red blood cells that will allow me to transport the thin air at the top of Kili more efficiently through my muscles. Could all be a lot of hokum, but if I'm going all that way, why not give myself the best chance? What I haven't been doing as much as I intended, and probably should have (and might have been more useful than some dodgy scientific theories), is exercising and improving my fitness. Oops. Too late now. I haven't been totally sedentary, I've just not been out hiking as much as I'd intended. Still, the mantra is apparently "go up like an old man, come down like a teenager", so I should be able to manage at least one of those....

So now, in the last few days before I leave, I'm dashing about trying to make sure I haven't forgotten some vital bit of kit/clothing/doobydad, trying to decide if I should take my diving fins or not, and making sure all the various rechargeable batteries are recharged. This entry has been your starter for 10. I hope to find reliable enough internet cafes about the place or, failing that, kind enough fellow travelers with laptops who will let me throw some thoughts, impressions and stories up as I move about. Photos will be added to the flickr link (I hope!). Once again, you're welcome to come along for the ride, just no fighting in the back seat, or I'll smack your knees. Tally ho.

The Final Reckoning

Well, it's all over now. I'm back in NZ trying to adjust back to normality (whatever that's supposed to be) and shake off the melancholy that always seems to follow these big trips away. I say 'always', I've only done this twice, but I can sense a pattern forming...

It was a funny last week. I connected with a new friend in a way I hadn't expected and then, just as things were getting interesting, I had to leave. As it happens, she was due to be leaving Canada too about a week later, for a 6 month job in Tanzania, so we were always going to be up against it, but I will be watching with even more interest than any of you to see what developments may occur.

All this meant was that I had one more reason to be reluctant about leaving, to add to the plethora of others I had been gathering up over the previous 4 months or so. I suspect I will be returning to Canada sooner rather than later, if I can wrangle something through work. Watch this space.

In the meantime, I guess I should record some facts and figures, for my own sake if you're not that interested, in an attempt to freak me out. I have already guessed that I could have saved a small fortune had I flown about the place and rented cars for less time in different places, but we live and learn.

So, what do you want to know - or rather, what do I want to remember?? Let's try this:

Time in Canada	104 days
Time on the road	69 days
Total distance covered, inc local trips	21, 672 km (13466.4 miles)
Distance covered on long haul (approx)	20, 672 km (12845 miles)
Furthest east travelled	Tofino on Vancouver Island
Furthest west travelled	Cape Spear, Newfoundland
Furthest north travelled	Edmonton and the road between there and Jasper
Furthest south travelled	Chicago and then a bit further round the bottom of Lake Michigan
Rental cost for 3 mths, 3 wks, 2 days	About $6500
Number of fuel stops	37
Cost of fuel	$2573
Number of punctures	1 – a giant bolt in the tyre!
Number of breakdowns	0 – but I did have to stop to let the brakes cool down one time
Dents added to the car	0
Different places stayed	54
Times camped out	18 – 10 in the car, 6 canoeing, 2 on a ferry
Hitchhikers picked up	6
Hitchhikers murdered and dumped in the bushes	0
Longest day behind the wheel	13 hours
Largest distance covered in a day (approx)	700 miles (1126.5 km)
Number of moose seen	3
Bears	About a dozen, including 1 grizzly.
Beavers	0
Lynx	1
Buffalo	Hundreds!
New friends made	Lots
Old friends reunited	Even more
Hospitality debts collected	All of them, with unasked-for interest
Hospitality debts now owed	Far too many. I will pay you all back.

And that's about it. If I think of any more interesting stats I will add them in, but I reckon that ought to do it for now (I just thought of another: number of speeding tickets: 0 - and that's despite blatantly disregarding most of the speed limits in north America. Yup, I'm a right rebelly one, me).

Up coming attractions for future entries could include a return to Canada, South America or even Africa, so watch this space. Thanks once again for your company. I feel like its not been quite as exciting for everyone concerned as the South American version, but I hope it brightened your day now and again. If you feel the urge to continue travelling, you could do worse than check out my brother's blog (see the link on my page) Riding in the Tracks of Giants. He is now heading south through the US of A, aiming for Central America. Lucky bugger. Hasta luego, amigos.

Canoe-dling in Temagami

So, Canoe tripping in the wilderness, eh? I have to say I had been looking forward to this for the whole of my time out here, but I'm not going to lie to you - as the start date drew closer, I was getting a little apprehensive. It was to be an 8 day camping trip with 9 people, some of whom I didn't really know, doing things that my - once again - increasingly fragile back was not going to be too happy about (lifting boats, carrying packs, paddling). I didn't want to be the one slacking off, but I also didn't want to get air-lifted out if I
blew my disc out again, so I was nervous about that. And, even though I knew most of the people on the trip, I was aware that there were a lot of enthusiastic, energetic personalities, and that might become a bit too full on for me for that length of time.

As it happened, I shouldn't have worried about any of that stuff. The group dynamic was as good as you could hope to get it with 9 people, I worked my way into the paddling and carrying in a gradual way that let me judge how much I could get away with, and even though I was uncomfortable with my back for the whole week, it didn't get any worse than it had been before we set off, so I was able to relax about that too. But what about all the energetic folk?

Well, it was girl heavy group, with Mike and I being the only guys. Most of them knew each other well enough to know that they all liked some quiet time, and with so many people it was easy to fade into the background for a bit and not be missed, and then fade back in when you felt like it. Also, I made the effort to be up first everyday (not difficult as I've never been a solid sleeper in a tent, and my back wasn't helping), so I had an hour or two at daybreak every day to just potter about the camp, put tea on to boil, read a book or just enjoy the loons calling to each other over the misty lake. Add to that the fact that everyone was able to drop any 'real world' pretensions and just be themselves, and the banter and conversations rapidly became hilarious

Normally, quantities of booze or pot are needed to get to this level of openness, but we managed it just due to the bonding nature of the experience. I have to say, I had no idea girls could be so rude! I had been brought up to believe they only had pure thoughts and smelled like roses, but my eyes were truly opened last week!

So what was it all about then? Well, we went north from North Bay to an area called Temagami, which is basically a patchwork of lakes and connecting rivers in the middle of nowhere, where we put 4 canoes to work, paddling about 110km over the 8 days and hiking all the gear, including the canoes, about 8km through the woods when there was no connecting river to get us to the next lake we wanted to be on. These portages, as they are called, varied in length from about 100m to about 2km, and everyone had to take a pack, a canoe or an arm-load of paddles to get the gear from one landing point to another. Its hard graft, and I was amazed at one or two of our group who would take, on occasion, 2 packs AND a canoe to get it all across in one trip. As the week went on, the bags got lighter as food got eaten, but it was still a mission and a half.

Speaking of food, I have never been on a camping trip with such a luxurious menu! Each

day was a surprise, anything from salmon fillets cooked over the fire to pad thai curry to quinoa salads to fajitas to chocolate fondues and fresh made brownies was on offer. Mike and Janelle, who organised the food, are incredible in their forethought and planning - especially as each meal had to have both vegetarian and gluten free options! There were snacks during the day, and food organised so we could have fresh veggies early in the week and fresh beet and carrot salads later on. they had dehydrated salsas and hummus and more fresh fruit and veggies so we had a seemingly never ending supply of fresh, tasty food. It was incredible!

The paddling was good too. It's kind of like running a distance race, as your shoulders ache after a bit, but if you keep going you find a place where you could paddle all day and not get tired. The steering, done from the stern of the canoe, was harder, but I found that not only was it not too taxing on my back, but I was something of a natural, with good strength, rhythm and stamina, and I managed to pick up the various sculling strokes for manoevering the canoes just by watching the others. Very satisfying.

Every day provided opportunities to swim, and the lakes were shallow enough that the water

was fantastically warm and welcoming, even first thing in the morning and after dark. We had camp fires every night to create a bit of smoke to keep the mozzies at bay (sort of) and keep us warm and to cook on, and it was just one of those wonderful, peaceful experiences that you hope one day to recreate. It was probably the first bit of real "holiday" that I've had over here, as I was able to relax properly and enjoy the company of my friends and the place I was in without having to think about where I was going the next day or how many hours of driving it was going to take to get there!

There are a bunch of photos on the flickr link, and even more on my facebook page for those that are my 'friends'. Enjoy. I did.

And now, I have about 3 1/2 days left to pack, rest up, unkink my back a bit if possible, make some work exchange contacts and say goodbye to people. So I best be getting on. I'll be doing a facts and figures entry before long, but that may well be the last one for a while. Keep your ear to the ground for that one. Happy paddling!

Just for Laughs

So, Montreal, eh? Hot. that's the first thing I remember about it. And Humid. Hot and humid. Nice, too, though. I got there about 4pm on the Wednesday which gave me enough time to unpack, grab a shower and dinner and get to my first Just for Laughs stand up show of the visit. I have been a fan of the Just for Laughs Comedy Festival for as long as I can remember, way back when all I ever got to see of it was a half hour compilation on late night TV. To be in the city itself and able to get to some shows was pretty exciting for me.

Jimmy Carr was my first pick. Not a bad show, but he is basically a one-liner wonder, kind of like Bob Monkhouse but ruder. And less orange. He was funny, but after a while I was hoping for something more interesting. He said himself that his show was something like 300 gags in and hour and a bit. Frankly that's too much for me. When you walk out the door, its hard to remember even one of the jokes he told, even though your face hurts a bit from laughing.

Thursday was spent wandering about the new part of the city, checking out the day-time bits and pieces of the festival and trying to sort some extra tickets so some friends of mine who were also in town would be able to join me for Louis CK that night. Sadly, it was sold out, but they got tickets to another, earlier, show, and we had time for a 10 minute catch up as we crossed over at the venue. Plans were made to make plans for Friday.

Louis CK was pretty funny. He was going to be getting the award for Best in Show, I believe, so no wonder he was sold out. His was a more usual, rambling monologue style, telling a short story over a long period of time, due to the tangents he'd go off on. I'd not seen much of his stuff before, but Ricky Gervais thinks he's great, and I still, for the moment, put at least some stock in Ricky's comedic tastes. If his own stand up continues to get worse, however, that may not last, but perhaps he can salvage some respect with his latest sit com that is nearly ready.

Friday came and I headed to the Old city down by the port. Lots of cobbled streets and tacky souvenir shops, but the buildings themselves were pretty cool. I was even able to get my camera cleaned so it no longer puts blobs in the same places in all the photos I take. My friends, it turned out, had tickets to the Cirque du Soleil show 'Totem' at 4pm, so I gate crashed their afternoon and got myself one, and bloody glad I did too.

Cirque du Soleil are based in Montreal (something I didn't know until that day), and I'd seen tasters of what they offered on TV shows and even at the Buskers Festival in Christchurch, where many of the acrobatic performers have history with C d S. The show was unbelievable. A mixture of skillful balancing, amazing acrobatics and pure strength and control, it left us all reeling afterwards. I didn't have long to reflect on it, however as I had to get back up town to see Danny Bhoy, my third show of choice.

I'd seen Danny Bhoy before in NZ, and he is hilarious. Half Indian-Scots he was influenced predictably enough by Billy Connolly, and it shows. He had his prepared material that he was able to add to and stray from at will, and his show was by far the funniest of the 3 I saw. If this guy doesn't become one of the best in the game, something is wrong with the world. If you get the chance, go see him.

I took an extra day on Saturday to just hang out and do laundry etc, then drove back all the way to Waterloo on the Sunday - the last leg of my mammoth journey. I'm glad I've done it, but by god, am I glad it's over, too! Frankly, it was too much driving to cram in to so short a time, but it is a tick on the bucket list, and something I won't have to do again in a hurry.

I spent most of this week relaxing, unwinding, swimming in local lakes and gearing up for the big canoe trip. I gave Flash Harriette back yesterday with an impressive 21,672km notched up for the 2 months, 3 weeks and 2 days that I'd had her for, and it hit somewhat hard in the pocket. Ah well, them's the breaks. You can't take it with you, etc. I'd rather have had some left to spend on next year's project, but there you go. At least I haven't gone over what I brought with me...yet. Still time I guess. At least the next week will be fairly cheap, out in the bush. Hopefully there will be tales to tell and photos to upload from that little caper, and then it'll be all over and back to the grindstone.

I have looked back on some of these blogs and, somewhat understandably, compared them to those of my brother on his motorbike trip. I think its fair to say he has won on interest and originality. I guess it is the nature of the trip. Not so much of the new and unusual for me this time around, I'm afraid.

Ah well, quit your whining and be grateful for what you're given. Keep 'em peeled for the final instalment sometime in about 10 days. All aboard...