Saturday, August 28, 2010

21: Arusha to Ngorogoro (Tanzania)


Pictures Here:

Week 21 Update:
Arusha, Tarangire NP, Lake Manyara NP, Ngorogoro Conservation Area.

Day 141:
One very peaceful night’s sleep later, it was time to drag ourselves out of bed and head to Arusha Toyota. The reception lady told us that they opened at 8am. Being in Africa and adapting to its ways, we arrived at 9am after a surprisingly hot shower in a surprisingly clean and nice bathroom next to a surprisingly massive bar at the Masai Camp.

It was agreed that a mechanic would inspect the vehicle, check on a number things and then give us an estimate cost from which we could decide what work to ask for. This was said to take 30 minutes, so we nestled into comfy leather chairs with our coffee in thermos mugs and flipped open computer screens for some admin catching up. Half an hour rolled by with the only change being that a French couple who lived in Arusha joined us in the customer lounge, awaiting their half an hour promise of a quotation. By 12:00 I was hungry and convinced that the three hours we had spent there had to be enough to check the car out and give us an estimate. Just as I got up to make a friendly enquiry, the service receptionist handed me a piece of paper.

At first I thought it was very reasonable. They proposed to replace the leaking windscreen that was fitted on the streets of Lusaka in Zambia, professionally weld the leaking exhaust (Yes, it was leaking again), replace the timing belt and stuff that goes with it (This was actually only a quarter through its life, but as the warning light had come on at 300 000km, they automatically quoted for this) and give the old girl an oil service complete with new fuel, oil and air filters. What I almost missed was the extra digit in the amount, totalling R38 000.00 (About $4 500). I tried not to laugh, honest. We opted for the exhaust to be fixed and the service to be done for a reasonable R2 500 ($320) thinking that we could afford a few tubes of silicone to stop the windscreen from leaking for the remaining money.

The French couple suggested a place called “Africa Café” for lunch and told us that they offered free Wifi. It was also only a short walk away from Toyota and next to the Tourism Board who could answer some questions for us. Right by the door to the café we bumped into Neville, the Biker who had been following us, and had a good chat and a laugh about our respective adventures in the two weeks since we saw each other. We were shown to a table inside and handed a menu. For the second time that day I tried not to laugh. The prices were horrendous! I did some quick math on two hours worth of wifi for two computers and decided that we could order something small and abuse as much of the bandwidth as we could. While ordering I turned the computer on and asked the waiter about Internet use. He smiled and told me that they did not offer Wifi at all, but some people apparently get lucky sometime and manage to connect to the unsecured networks of the offices around them.

MMmmm. With that news I asked to cancel the order with the plan to go back to the Patisserie for cheap wholesome food and inexpensive internet. The waiter was having none of this and told me that as I had already ordered, I would have to pay anyway. So standing up, packing up and trying not to laugh for the third time that day I told the manager that we had no intention of staying or paying… We simply walked out.

On the way to the Patisserie we were mobbed by a million and a half touts trying to sell us cheap safaris, maps of Tanzania and pretty much anything else you can think of that we did not need at all. Fortunately it seemed like the patisserie proprietor took no such non sense in his place of business and we were left in peace to go inside. It was a cold and miserable day outside, so we ordered two helpings of vegetable soup and a massive Swiss bread to go with it. It was delicious!

Two hours later, internetted up, bellies full and warm from the soup and coffee we paid less than lunch alone would have been at Africa House and went on our way in search of the elusive US$. I found it bizarre that it was made so difficult in a country where the government did not accept their own currency as payment. Allegedly Barkley’s bank accepted VISA cards as payments for currency, but apparently their VISA machine had been broken for a while. So we literally had to draw cash in Shillings from an ATM and then walk into a Bureau De Change to exchange into $ where the rate for small bills was better than large bills. (Go figure) We were told that we could pay all our park entrance fees by VISA debit card at the gates but we had also learnt that neither Ethiopia nor Sudan seemed to have any currency in their countries. We heard that Rwanda’s ATMs only accept local cards as well, so we really needed to start building up a stash of $’s for three countries and with the ATM limits being what they were, we could only get about $600 a day.

Toyota told us that Maggie would be ready by 16:30, which we obviously did not believe, but strolled into the comfy customer lounge around that time. The TV was showing ancient re runs of “24” with Keither Sutherland which ended around 17:30 and the arrival of the bill. I paid the cashier, filled in the exit book at the gate and walked into the workshop to find Maggie’s bonnet open, spanners all over the place and three mechanics hard at work. A u-turn later saw Catt and I sitting on the steps outside the reception area, watching the bulk of the staff close up and leave for the weekend. I did briefly see Maggie’s nose poke out from the workshop before another security guard closed the gate and then saw someone with a pressure washer tending to the months old dust. We eventually received a clean, serviced car just after 18:00 and headed back to Masai camp, exhausted!

It was Friday night and I fully expected a huge party in the bar. We were a fair distance away, so I wasn’t too stressed and when it was still quiet around 22:00 I sighed in relief and ventured into the tent for some much needed sleep.

So at around 22:15 the music started. To be honest, it was fairly good music and the volume wasn’t really that bad. I drifted in and out of consciousness, tapping a finger to the beat when I was awake until about 2am when it all stopped and I could fall asleep again.

Day 142:
When we eventually woke up after 8am, we made an executive decision not to move for the day. We had no washing to do, no things to fix or plans to make, we simply wanted a day of doing nothing at all.

The showers were so hot that it needed the full application of cold water to make it bearable. We both got stuck for a while. The weather was fairly nasty with high clouds and cold winds, so before lunch we were back in the tent, hiding from the world and reading some books.

Around 16:00 we made yet another chocolate cake and soon after I went to the bar to charge some batteries while Catt decided to take a nap. A couple of hours later she joined me in the bar with the news that we had been invaded.

Back at our pitch, Maggie was completely surrounded by a group of Italian families in their respective 4x4’s. I was mystified as to why they did not choose a comfortable space else where in the four football pitch sized grounds and gardens and why they had to seemingly latch onto us. Perhaps they were scared of something.

Our dinner was quick and easy and marked the end of a lazy day, hiding from Africa in an African camp site… or so we thought! It was Saturday night and the music started at 20:00, twice as loud as Friday’s attempts. This also saw the arrival of many local vehicles that seemed to use the camp site as a parking lot. Being surrounded by the Italians suddenly became a blessing.

We went to bed as late as our heavy eyelids would allow, thinking that we needed only to survive to 2am before we cold get some rest. Saturday nights however seemed to have different rules…

Day 143:
It was 4:30 when the music finally stopped and we finally fell into something resembling a peaceful sleep. The early hours were marked not only by insanely loud and tasteless noise, but also cars driving around with their head lights shining into our tent, hordes of people walking around the camp site chatting and shouting and the relentless use of car horns to get the security guard to open the main gate. Still, we had been warned that weekends had parties, and we chose to stay there none the less.

Four hours of intense sleep later, the Italians started stirring and we got up as well. It was 8:30 and I did not feel very refreshed. After some chatting to the other campers we had the terrible surprise that Sunday mornings apparently did not have hot showers. It was still cold and cloudy outside, so the cold water was as unwelcoming as the DJ from the night before. It was not long before we turned the key in the ignition and headed out of camp towards the well stocked Shoprite with a detour to a bank and another Bureau for that day’s $ stash.

At Shoprite we bought enough to fill every corner of our food stores and freezer. We filled the diesel tanks with the same dedication and left Arusha in a cloud of dust by mid morning. “Good ridden” I thought, as the town disappeared in my rear view mirror.

Before our trip had started I read many blogs and stories of people who had done similar things. It always bugged me that the majority of independent overland travellers seemed to hit a slight depression in Tanzania. I could never work out if that was because of the time they had spent travelling or if it had something to do with the country they found themselves in at that time. I did however never think that it would happen to us. Interestingly enough, with the purest of intentions, I had to concede on the 143rd day of travel that we too were a little Africa’d out that day. It was not anything specific, but the continuous struggle of al the little things that should have been simple in life. It was the inability to walk down a street without getting plagued by touts or friends or brothers who insisted on helping you with things you did not want. It was the desperate need to run away from the masses of people that seemed absolutely impossible. It may have had something to do with the fact that the exhaust repair which Toyota charged a bucket of money for lasted only three hours… Trying to analyse the feelings I was experiencing, I came to a bizarre and almost humorous conclusion though…

The previous night our camping lamp had died a sudden death. This was hardly surprising as the lamp in question was one of our first overland purchases and we used it for the very first time in 2005 on our very first overland trip in a Suzuki SJ 410 around Namibia. That specific trip for us was the start of all overland travel plans together and sparked the dream of the trip we were living presently. As part of a discussion in 2007 I attempted to prove that the lamp was waterproof by dunking it into the dishwashing bowl while it was on, only to read the label the next day which clearly warned about any kind of moisture on the lamp. No one informed this cheap as hell lamp about the rules though, as it soldiered on and seemed indestructible. The solder on the contacts of the lighter plug had come loose in 2008 and was fixed in the bush of Botswana with some Gaffer Tape as we did not have electrical tape. The cable was lengthened using the left over cable from another, more expensive lamp we bought in 2009 which lasted only half a trip. So with the fluorescent tube in this poor lamp blowing, it truly did mark the end of an era and bizarrely opened a floodgate of fond memories and causing a strange emotional effect. This, it has to be said, was compounded by the fact that the replacement lamp, of the same make and model, blew up as soon as I plugged it in and I failed to manufacture one working specimen by combining the parts from the two broken ones even though I had a soldering iron handy and a basic understanding of how these things worked. “Oh for fuck sakes…” was about the only expression I could come up with at that time. I was in desperate need of a dramatic attitude adjustment.

The adjustment came in the form of Paradise Camp site. According to our maps there was a camp site called “Lake View Camp” close to the Tarangire Nation Park Gate. We drove around the area for half an hour before giving up and heading on to the next possible on the GPS. Paradise camp was about half an hour past the park entrance and offered big shady trees, the cleanest western toilet I had seen since leaving my own one months and months before and the greatest gift to me that day: Solitude! Apart from the friendly staff who desperately wanted to pitch our tent for us, until I explained that our tent was on the roof of the car, we were the only souls within eye or earshot of the place. We paid our $8 per person with a great smile and settled in with binoculars and bird book for the afternoon. We managed to positively identify three species of birds we had never seen before while having an absolutely fantastic time in our “make-belief” world where we were the only people in existence. The adjustment of attitude came suddenly when reading the name of new species number two: It was called a Superb Starling… What a superb name!

We pitched our tent just before dark, cooked a fine meal and played some Bawo for the first time in a month and went to bed early, we think… We managed to set an alarm for the next morning without actually noting the time after packing away everything we could and even filling the thermos with hot water for the next morning’s coffee.

Day 144:
The bird song, marking half an hour before sunrise woke me up before the alarm went off. It was a fantastic day to be in the bush and to be alone! We energetically jumped out of bed, folded the tent away and drove out of our superb campsite just as the first rays of sunshine started hitting the tallest of the palm trees. It was with great excitement, and a noisy exhaust that we arrived at the entrance gate to the Tarangire National Park half an hour later. It has to be said that Kilimanjaro and the Tanzania parks did not form part of our normal budget. We had a special budget for that set aside, so the $110 for the two of us to enter for the day was fortunately not surprising, nor upsetting. It simply had to be done. Stupidly it helps to pay these fees by VISA instead of counting out the actual bank notes as well.

The Lonely Planet described the park as being under rated with high densities of game including vast herds of Wildebeest, Zebra and Elephant. For once, the Lonely Planet was absolutely spot on. Within minutes of entering the park we came across one of the biggest herds of Wildebeest either one of us had ever seen. They literally stretched as far as the eye could see. The landscape was absolutely littered by massive Baobab trees and knew high grass which made spotting game fairly easy. We saw a Kirk’s Dik-Dik for the very first time and started marking the birds off as we saw them.

We ventured along a road not known to Tracks for Africa and ended doing a massive loop back to the main gate and then on to the Matete picnic site for a well deserved lunch. The pleasant picnic site had surprisingly neat and clean bathrooms and the tables in the shade of some big trees provided welcome relief from the hot Africa sun. I did notice that we were the only “non safari company” vehicle there and started feeling deeply sorry for the poor tourists who were paying in excess of $150 a day per person to be cooped up in aircon less metal tubes for 8 hours a day on their three of four day whirlwind safaris. I much preferred spending 4 hours in the shade with binoculars, bird book and camera, striking up friendly conversations with the tourists who shared our tree every so often.

Amongst these were three American ladies who had just come from their 8 day Kilimanjaro Trek. We shared those common experiences of being cold on summit day and being fantastically proud of our individual achievements none the less. The conversation inevitably progressed to where we had come from and our plans were and even ventured into the positive attitude in which they perceived the new US government and the changes it had brought to the country. Catt swapped hospital stories with them as they were nurses who worked in a teaching hospital in Boston. They were completely flabbergasted by the stories of striking and aggressive government workers whose solution for not getting their requested pay rises was to burn things… and people… As was happening at that exact time in the hospital Catt used to work at. They were refreshingly naïve to the ways of socio economic Africa and I loved spending time with them.

Minutes before we decided to leave the shade, a Vervet monkey jumped on the table in front of me and grabbed hold of a packet of Provitas (Crackers) and despite me slapping the side of its head with an open hand, he ran of, packet in hand. I ran after him, shouting, screaming and even throwing a rock or two, but the relentless little bugger held onto the packet with those pesky opposable thumbs and went into apparent hiding in a thick thorn bush at the edge of the picnic site. I decided that it was simply not worth getting bitten and getting rabies for a packet of crackers so mumbled an obscene amount of abuse at the group of vermin and walked back to our table, noticing the expressions of utter amusement from the remaining tourists.

Our afternoon drive started around 14:45 and the plan was to follow the river south until we had to turn back to the main gate to exit before closing time at 19:00. Before long we found a small family herd of elephant munching away at some juicy greenery next to the river. I noticed a clear path they could take and positioned Maggie at a fine vantage point of the best suited mud puddle for family bath time. The herd played right into my hand and ventured down the chosen path and right into the mud, right in front of us. The light was nice, the interaction between animals phenomenal and our position perfect. We spent the best part of an hour watching them, photographing them and laughing at the clumsiness of the younger guys. The sighting really did make our day in the park worth while.

Over the course of the rest of the afternoon we saw many animals in many different situations and it was all great! On our way back to the main gate we left the river and headed towards what the park calls “Little Serengeti”. These wide open plains offered unobstructed views that seemed to carry on past the horizon. The skies were blue and huge and the game plenty! You could not look in any direction without seeing something interesting. We saw massive herds of wildebeest and Zebra, a huge herd of Buffalo and more bird species I can mention. We eventually reached the gate, happy and exhausted, 20 minutes before closing time, but after the sun had said “good night”.

Our original plan was to drive back to Paradise Camp, but on the way to the park we saw another camp site within ten minutes of the gate. This seemed like a more convenient option so we stopped in to investigate. Zion Camp site was community run, the same price as Paradise and offered hot showers and clean toilets. There was a level place to park Maggie and cook our dinner and although the site was inhabited by other campers, it seemed quiet and subdued. I though that perhaps they too were feeling a little weary from a long day’s travel.

After making our small charcoal fire we were joined by the guard, clearly Masai, who I was convinced, believed that he was invisible when he wanted to be. He would just stand a few meters away from us, not making a sound and watching what we were doing. At the time we were engrossed in a duel of Bawo, so perhaps he knew the game and was interested in the outcome. He seemed harmless, apart from the fact that he favourite a bow and arrows (I Kid you not) above the more modern weapon of choice the guys at Masai camp had… Oh yeh, they walked around with shotguns, insisting that we were all safe… Not that that made us uncomfortable at all…

We did not last long after dinner and despite the periodic arrival of our invisible guard, we went to bed early and fell asleep instantly. I was pretty sure he got bored of us anyway as he seemed to really be invisible for the rest of the night. Zion camp was a quiet, calm and wise choice for our stop over.

Day 145:
We did not have far to travel and we were in no hurry. I kind of expected the other travellers in the camp to rise early and race off to the park gate which opened at 6am. They eventually left at 8am which was when we decided to have a shower and slowly get ready to make our way to our next destination.

Lake Manyara National Park was on the menu for us. On the way to the village closest to the gate I stopped in at a spares shop to try yet again to source a gasket for the exhaust which Toyota had failed to fix. The lady who seemed to run the shop had no idea what I was on about but fortunately, as seemed to be the case in all Tanzania, I had a long lost brother who happened to be around and who happened to know the exhaust fixing guy. The latter arrived with spanners and told me to start the car. I politely told him that I knew where the problem was, I wanted to fix the problem myself and that I was only after the correct part. My brother appeared with the correct part and instructed the mechanic to fit it… in Swahili. I stopped him just as he rolled in under the car and asked the price for the part and again explained that I did not want the mechanic to touch anything. The price was… well, obviously a Musungu price and far more than the stupid thing was worth. Out of principal I told my brother that he was too expensive and left.

We found Twiga Camp which was recommended to us by a guide we had met the previous day. I was once again very pleasantly surprised with their setup. It was like camping in someone’s oversized back garden. The facilities were spotless, and the price fair. It was clear that we were entering popular national park territory as the fair price was 50% more than what we had been used to. It was however half of what we had expected in the area, so a bargain for us regardless.

It was very early still, so before lunch I crawled under Maggie to inspect the problem exhaust once again. The problem was not new, or interesting, or unavoidable in any way. The idiot who re fitted the exhaust at Toyota never fastened the bloody bolts! The paper gasket (No one obviously thought that exhausts may get hot and burn through paper) they had manufactured blew to pieces as well so there was just no seal what so ever! My solution: silicon Gasket maker, lock nuts and tightening the bolts within a millimetre of stripping them, or as tight as I could manage anyway. I emerged, triumphantly after no more than half an hour, announcing my utter confidence in my ingeniously simple repair. Catt looked sceptical, but supportive.

On the spur of the moment we decided to enter the park that afternoon. Our 24 hour permit would then allow us an afternoon drive, a night outside the park and a morning drive the next day and that sounded like a better idea than spending one single complete day in the park again.

I didn’t read up much about the park in question. The only prominent thing I knew about it was that it was said to host some tree climbing Lions. That sounded fantastic, so we entered around 14:30 and went in search of the crazy animals. I jokingly asked a safari guide where they hid them and he, quite seriously, told me that Lions were hard to find, but I could follow him if I wanted to. We opted to have a solo attempt and drove down into the lake side park first.

Our immediate impression of the park was WOW!!!! There were an absolute insane amount of animals and stuff happening around every corner! We drove to a marked Hippo Pool where we saw about a million Yellow Billed Storks and had to search for the Hippos in between their legs. The vast herds of Wildebeest and Zebra were Omni-present and a few massive herds of Buffalo were wallowing in the shallow waters. We found huge breading colonies of Pelicans and a ridiculously large number of Flamingos… We also found a Lion. Not in a tree, she was lying down in the shade, doing what Lions do best… Nothing at all… so we left her to the seven or so safari vehicles jostling for position.

On the way back to the gate we stopped at the Hippo Pool once again. Getting out of your vehicle was permitted as the single wooden pole fence was obviously seen as enough protection from the Hippo. While leaning on this fence and looking through the binoculars I spotted some very strange things in the back ground. I swept the binoculars from left to right, scanning the foreground, background and horizon and saw the following: (In order of appearance) Buffalo, Zebra, Thompson Gazelle, Masai man walking alone, Pelicans, Yellow Billed Stork, Dug-out Canoe with two woman in, Flamingos, wildebeest, Egyptian Geese, Warthog, Masai on motorbike chasing cattle, White Fronted Cormorants, Impala, Giraffe, four official looking people in green uniforms waking next to Hippo. One had a shotgun, one an AK47, a short fat woman had a huge carving knife and the smallest man had a stick. I had to laugh.

We did have a short conversation with them when they approached us and asked if we were not scared standing alone so close to wild animals (They waved at the herd of Zebra behind us) I remarked that people with AK47’s and big knifes scared me more than animals and that I was pretty sure that the Hippo they were walking next to was far more dangerous than the stripy horse like things around us. The man with the stick was impressed with this observation and said: “You must be from Africa; it seems you know your stuff…”

We reached Twiga Camp just before dark with a fully prepared exhaust and fond memories of a great little National Park in Tanzania. The camp was fairly busy, but the breed of safari goers seemed subdued and I was convinced that we had a quiet night ahead of us. As we dragged our tired bodies into the comforts of the tent I was, once again, pleased with our fine choice of campsite. It was peaceful and quiet and allowed us another fine night’s rest!

Day 146:
I was fully expecting to wake up to bird song, but minutes before they started I woke up to the sound of clanging pots. It wasn’t upsetting; it merely marked the early start to a day in a National Park. We left camp first after the ruthless efficiency in which only Catt and I can pack up camp and leave. We entered the gate within half an hour of waking up and slowly made our way down the steep hill towards the Lake’s edge. Our first sighting was a troop of Yellow Baboons, followed very shortly by a small herd of Elephant and then a large herd of Buffalo. This was all within the first ten minutes and excited me greatly.

The weather was, as it had been for some days before, cloudy in the morning. It seemed that the sun only managed to break through the clouds around 10Am, burn them away completely for a cloudless afternoon only to start the process again the next morning. Because of this we decided to drive the complete length of the park south and slowly make our way back when the sun was shining. The main road south meandered through forests and away from the lake’s edge. This also had very little animals around. The southern tip of the park had some interesting action, but was also infested with Tsetse flies, so with windows up and air-conditioning on we headed north again.

We stopped for an early lunch at a picnic spot next to the lake. The drive back to the gate was as eventful as the previous afternoon’s drive and very rewarding in terms of bird sightings. We saw Silvery Cheeked Hornbills for the first time and identified a Red and Yellow woodpecker again. The Hippos were out of the water, so we did not get out of the car there and made the gate with ten minutes to spare. It was the first time on our adventure that I actually wished that I could spend another day in the same park, but alas, the budget would not have allowed that.

From the main gate it felt like we were instantly climbing mountains again. I wasn’t sure whether the Manyara Lake was in the Rift Valley or not, but it sure felt like we were leaving some kind of valley behind. It took mostly second gear to haul Maggie’s bulk the 30km to Karatu, the closest village to the next parks we wanted to visit.

The recommended place, according to the guide books, was Kudu Lodge and Camp, so we went to investigate. The lodge itself looked fantastic and expensive. The camp site offered much level parking and pristine facilities. The price was $10 a person, which was going rate in the area, so our search for a camp site stopped right there.

We headed back into town to try and renew our Road Tax. This apparently was only valid for 30 days, and that was our 30th day in Tanzania. We found the Tanzanian Revenue Authority office easily, but not a single person in the office had ever seen the piece of paper we tried to renew. We gave it up for a bad joke and decided to try again in a border town, or just plead ignorance when confronted about it. We were planning on spending the next three days in National Parks and then get to a port town, so the likelihood of someone asking for this particular piece of paper was slim to none.

On the way back to Kudu we stopped for some veggies next to the road. We bough the biggest tomatoes I had even seen in my life for next to nothing and some avocado for not much more. It was refreshing to obviously pay usual prices with no skin tax added. Back at camp our chores were simple: we pitched the tent in record time, had a really nice shower and went to explore the grounds and search for the bar. We felt that we deserved a cold one!

Just before sunset we got invaded! I’m not sure why we thought we would be the only people in the camp that night, as it was obviously the nicest camp site in the area and also the quietest. The invaders were a group of Safari tourists in two vehicles. To be fair, they pitched their camp, cooked their food and went along their business in the same way we did and apart from a quick chat to their tour guide to get some advice, we were hardly aware of them.

Day 147:
After a very quiet and peaceful night I woke up to birdsong again. It was easy to get out of bed despite the cloudy and chilly weather and we left camp around 7am without even trying hard. It was a very exciting day for us for two reasons: We were about to pay more money for one day’s activities and one night’s accommodation that we had ever done before and we were about to go into the famous Ngorogoro Crater.

Since leaving Lake Manyara the previous day it felt like we were constantly driving up the side of a mountain When looking at the GPS I noticed that we had indeed climbed some 2 000ft to Kudu Camp and another 2 000ft to the gate. It was no wonder that Maggie was coughing and spluttering a little when I had to put my foot down to make it up the next hill. The poor thing was running out of breath!

From Kudu camp to the park gate took less than half an hour and after filling in the reception book and almost handing over the money, we got a fair and valuable warning: Our permit would be valid for 24 hours. That day was no problem at all, but the next day, travelling from Simba Camp to Serengeti would take longer than our permit would be valid for. It was entirely possible that we would get stung with another day’s park fees if we were left to our own devices. So the advice was simple: Chill out in the car park to 9:30, and then enter the park. That was exactly what we did.

At 9:45 Catt went into the office to get our permit and after handing over a whopping $400 she got handed a piece of paper granting us: Access to the conservation area for 24 hours, access to the crater in our own vehicle for the same time and one night’s camping at Simba Public Cam site, said to have horrendous facilities… I was very apprehensive about this day. When planning our trip I read many blogs and reports about people who were truly disappointed in the crater and actively discouraged others from paying the huge fees to visit the place. I was however on record as saying that I would rather join the group of disappointed people than pass by one of the world’s most famous wildlife areas without seeing it for myself. My first slight disappointment came when I signed the gate register and some corrupt twat told me that we would not be allowed to drive in the crater without a local guide… at a fee of course. I looked at him bewildered and told him that if that was the case, we would simply not go into the crater at all. This seemed to satisfy his arrogant puny little brain enough to let us pass unhindered. Leaving the gate I did wander if anyone would ever be able to explain to him that he was the poster boy for what the world perceived to be a corrupt and dishonest continent. He probably wouldn’t even care! While I was being upset I also pondered the, conservatively estimated, $150 000 entrance gate and which part of our $400 actually went to a good cause and which part went into building an obscene gate, and which part actually went to conservation, which was their main advertised reason for charging that much.

We continued to climb a mountain to the crater rim and were engulfed in misty clouds and the dust from insanely rude drivers of safari vehicles with apparent disregard for all other road users and the safety of their passengers. I was generally not someone who succumbed to road rage, but within the first twenty minutes of entering the area I was shouting abuse at every second idiot who was passing me at high speed on blind corners. Catt calmly smiled and told me that we were car number 90 to be granted access for that day and that I should really relax a little instead of working myself up over something I had no control over. It was good advice and my solution was to stop dead every time I saw another idiot in my rear view mirror. At least that way he could pass unhindered and I could actually concentrate on keeping Maggie upright and on the road.

We reached the steep descent road without incident and checked in with the very friendly gate attendant. He looked inside Maggie and announced that he was looking for a place to sit so that he could accompany us. I simply pointed out that we only had two seats and that there was no way we could carry a third person. His response was a polite smile and an enquiry about the maps we had. When he saw the extends of our navigation equipment he was pleased to inform me that we would not require a guide, but also that his satellite (He was pointing at a dish on the roof at this point) would see every move we made and that we would get into trouble for disobeying any of the park rules.

While all this was going on, a Masai was trying to sell Catt some stuff. When he asked if she wanted some bangles, she politely told him that she was not going to buy anything from him. He then asked about some Masai blankets. She again explained that we had no money with us that that we were not buying anything. His response was to show her his spear which he cleverly made so that it could be taken apart for easy aircraft stowage. She told him that she was impressed, but still not going to buy anything. At this point I arrived back from the office and he started with me… We went through the same friendly way of declining his wares one by one and satisfied that we were truly not going to make his day, he said good bye and left us alone.

The road into the crater was indeed a very steep descent road requiring some fancy footwork and low gear selection. Right at the bottom we stopped to have a look at our maps, selected a picnic area for lunch and started heading that way. We came across another 80 series Land Cruiser which had been turned into a Safari vehicle. I saw the guy the day before and noticed that one of his tyres was a little flat. He had obviously not done anything to rectify that situation, so I stopped by his window and told him about it. The poor man smiled and told a story of visiting numerous garages on his way without being able to find a single working compressor and that he was fairly desperate as he had already lost one of his tyres to bad roads and was left with only one spare for Serengeti. I took pity and showed off the built in compressor we had. As I was connecting the valve he asked if I was from South Africa. “Indeed I am” I said smilingly and asked how he could tell, not mentioning the obvious South African umber plate on Magurudumu that is. He simply said that all South African overlanders seemed to be prepared, unlike the Tanzanian Safari companies who expect miracles from their vehicles and drivers. I did feel a little sorry for the man.

We reached our lunch spot after seeing many herds of Zebra, Wildebeest, Buffalo and Gazelle and I was already fairly impressed with the park. It was still overcast, but I was blindly positive about parting clouds and golden afternoon sunlight. At the picnic spot we saw a Vervet Monkey climb into another vehicle to see what it could steal. While preparing our lunch I was vigilant, sling shot in hand and determined that we would not get robbed again. I even postponed going to the loo, not to leave Catt alone to guard the food. As the other vehicles left and we were alone in the site, I saw the monkeys make their move. I was ready for them! I shouted and waved the sling shot, even took a shot at one and while I was picking up another rock to re load, one little bugger simply swept in between me, Catt and the car door and made off with one of our only two break rolls. I WAS PISSED! The rest of them obviously saw this and scampered off and I continued to take pot shots at anything on four legs with a long tail I could find. As I heard one of my projectiles ping off a tree stump after narrowly missing the perpetrator’s head I could almost see, in slow motion how it could ricochet and shatter a window on the car. I stopped shooting before that happened.

More vehicles pulled in and suddenly the Monkeys disappeared. They were outnumbered. We enjoyed a peaceful lunch and left the site in search of more animals. The crater itself is not that big and nothing much grows inside it, apart from grass and safari vehicles. It was insanely dusty and we had to drive with the windows closed most of the time, but for some reason we were still impressed! Not only with the animals and the sightings, but the demonic drivers from the crater rim seemed to have undergone a metamorphosis and they were all friendly, courteous and even told us where the best game was to be found. It was a truly fascinating and inspiring experience! We saw our first Lion while looking at a massive herd of Wildebeest. This guy was chilling out about 300m away and just looking, making no apparent move of interest towards them. Our second lion sighting was more exciting. There was a herd of buffalo in a swamp next to the road and some four Lionesses were lying, sleeping in their way. The cats got spooked by the approaching herd and snuck off instead of chasing them, which I have to admit was not entirely unexpected. Disappointing, but not unusual…

From a high viewpoint we looked out over the crater and saw for the first time the ridiculous number of game contained within the rim. We could see no less than three big Buffalo herds and numerous Zebra, Wildebeest and Gazelle herds. We spotted many Hyena, Jackal, Elephant and Giraffe… and a few Lions of course. We left the viewpoint as the light started turning really nice and were approached by a Jackal. I stopped in the road and this little guy walked right up to us, gave me a curious look and walked on by, within meters of the car. It was quite surreal. We found one of the big herds of Buffalo and took some nice photos there before finding our third Lion sighting for the day. This was a pride of seven, doing what Lions do best… Nothing at all.

It was time to hit the road and make the exit gate before the 18:00 closing time, so we drove down the hill towards our original picnic spot, the massive herd of Wildebeest and the steep ascent road, briefly pausing to take the odd picture of plains game we happened to spot along the way. A few kilometres from our turn I spotted a herd of safari vehicles so headed that way. They seemingly stopped for the Wildebeest herd, but also seemed to have a good vantage point so I decided to join them to take a picture or two in the last light. The herd was so big that it took 10 minutes to drive from the one side to the other and I guessed contained about 3 000 or so individuals. We had about five minutes to spare anyway.

When I stalked up to the vehicles, I did notice that they were not really looking at the Wildebeest and when we got close we saw why. There were two Lionesses stalking the herd and the herd was completely oblivious to their presence. You could sense that action was about to erupt any second and that the guides were getting anxious to leave, but did not want their guests to miss out. Our theory was that as long as we were not the last vehicle to leave, we could only get into as much trouble as the local guides, which we did not think would be that much. So we stayed for a while. It was amazing to see the two predators at work and the precision at which they went about their task. They were flat to the ground and inching forwards at intervals without alerting a single animal in the herd. It took ages for them to get within striking distance and as I thought the leading lady was about to pounce, she lay down once again and waited, patiently. The whole experience was like watching an award winning wild life documentary on the biggest, most impressive LCD display known to man. People wait years to film something like that and we were watching it happen in real time! At some point I scanned the surroundings to see if we had missed any other players in this fascinating game and saw a Cheetah peering out from a ditch, waiting patiently, without curfew to see what was happening.

We did run out of time and the last two safari vehicles had started their engines. I turned Maggie around and broke all speed limits to the ascent road. I snuck a peak back to the herd at every chance I could to see if something was erupting, but all seemed quiet on the plains right up to the point of reaching the boom gate at the top. We did manage to catch up to the vehicles that left before right then. They were having the biggest argument you can imagine with the guard who closed the gate in front of them. It was, to be fair, 18:05 and we were, to be fair, late for the closing gate. What was not fair was that, allegedly, the guard allowed the local hotel’s vehicle to pass through and stopped the Arusha based companies vehicle by slamming the boom down right in front if him. I immediately decided to stay the hell out of any arguments and that we would take the punishment of what was dealt to the local guides without hesitation. I was also convinced that they would be able to argue their way out of trouble. You could see the events unfolding: It started with reason, turned into shouting and was about to turn into negotiation when I managed to understand that the boss had been summoned to defuse the situation and solve the problem. Catt and I chatted to two British girls who were on safari while the discussion continued, in Swahili.

The boss arrived in shocking pink Crocks shoes shortly after and one brief discussion later, in Swahili, I could see that the solution had been found and the gate guard walked over to open the gate. The guides filed back into their vehicles and I simply followed them out, getting the worse stare imaginable from the boss. I could honestly not take anyone wearing shoes that hideous seriously. I was pretty sure that the other guides were told to NEVR EVER do that again and to stop leading the Wazungu self drivers astray with their irresponsible behaviour, as all the guides looked like puppies with their tails between their legs.

We reached Simba Camp just as dark set in and parked under a nice big tree to pitch our tent. We were almost done pitching when a security guard angrily told me off for driving on the grass and pointed at a road, saying that I had to stay on it and camp on it if I did not have a ground tent, like other proper people. I smiled, apologised and told him that we would move at once, which instantly defused the situation and made him relax a little. I did wonder if other visitors normally argue with him, but then again, any decent human should accept the local rules without argument.

The pitch we found (The only level place) was right on the rim of the camp site in between a tree and the crater rim. Even though there were Zebra in the camp, I didn’t really expect any trouble until one of the guides who had argued our case at the gate came by and suggested that we put our table on the camp site side of the car. He explained that we were in fact parked next a path that was frequently used by Buffalo and that we could expect Hyena to come visit us. I suddenly felt terribly exposed, but was simply too tired to move again. We opted for putting the table and chairs right under the tent at the back of the car and use the barn doors as barriers from the outside world. Since our trusty camping light stopped working we could also use a flash light’s beam, bounced of the underside of the tent as a light source.

While Catt was cutting vegetables I was pouring wine and suddenly heard a startled, muffled yelp from Catt. I looked up and into the eyes of a Lion colour dog who had sat down right next to our table with his head inches away from the plate of vegetables. He wasn’t begging or unfriendly in any way. We decided that he just came to say hallo. We also kind of liked the idea of having an early warning system around for when all those wild animals were going to arrive. They never did and we went to bed early with full bellies and ecstatically happy with our experience of the day…. And because it was really really cold on the crater rim, inside the misty cloud with the wind blowing.

If I had to do it again:
Masai Camp was a fantastic place in the week, but a BAD choice on weekends! We should have stayed only one night and found accommodation out of town for the nights after that. We were. To be fair, still exhausted from our climb and putting down the tent seemed like a really difficult thing to do, just to move camp sites.

One has to remember that although Tracks 4 Africa is a fantastic source of information, it is, by concept outdated by the time it reaches you, much like Lonely Planet Guides. We should have driven to the Tarangire NP gate before choosing our accommodation for the night. That way we probably would have entered the park in the afternoon and again the next morning on the same permit, staying one night at Zion Camp. But alas, the rest we got from our solitude at Paradise Camp was fantastic and much needed.

Now that I have paid the ridiculous fee to enter the Ngorogoro Crater I can honestly say that it is not a waste of time or money! You need to accept the fact that it is a half day affair, but I can not see how you can not be absolutely blown away by the place. Up to that point both Catt and I agreed that Botswana’s parks had been the best we had seen and that they offered incredible value for money, regardless of what we thought when we were living in South Africa. We can honestly recommend Ngorogoro to anyone passing by, but warn everyone that you need to somehow expel the money side of things from your mind.

Thursday, August 19, 2010

20: Kilimanjaro (Tanzania)

 
Week 20 Update:

Marangu, Mandara Huts, Horombo Huts, Kibo Huts, Uhuru Peak, Horombo Huts, Marangu.

Day 134:
Nothing earth shattering happened in the latter part of day 133. We did our chores, had our dinner, went to bed and started dreaming about mountains. Day 134 dawned with heavy cloud cover, but no rain. We had very little to do before our 10am pick up so enjoyed an extra long hot shower discussing the probability that we would never actually see the mountain we were about to walk up and how we felt very ill prepared for the adventure.

By 9:45 we sat in front of reception, all excited, very apprehensive, but smiling and waiting for our transport to arrive. The truly African taxi rolled in a little after 10:00 and we were introduced to our group: Asaya was the assistant guide, Joseph the cook, Harry the porter and a representative from Afrigalaxy to help us with the park paperwork. Our head guide and three other porters were to meet us at the gate.

From the Marangu Hotel it is a 10km drive, climbing 1000 meters to the start of the hike. The Marangu gate is the main gate to Kilimanjaro National park and was also the easiest gate to reach. We swiftly dealt with paperwork and managed to pay our extortionate park fees of $1 046 for our five days by VISA debit card, without the additional percentage charge most places seem to add. We met William, our head guide and after a short faffing session set of into the rain forest.

Our first day had a mere 7.5km to walk, climbing almost another 1 000 meters from 1970 meters to 2720 meters above sea level. Both of us used to be very fit and used to walking. Both of us used to be fairly good at walking in mountains and as we used to live at about 1 500 meters above sea level, the effects of altitude used to hit us a little later than those poor souls who suffered the fate of living at sea level. This was before we spent four and a half months in a car, of which most of our time was at lower altitudes and often on a beach. William our guide was however excellent at slowing us down, reminding us that it was not a race against time, but a competition to see if we could walk up the hill without ever getting tired or out of breath. “Pole Pole” or “Slowly Slowly” was the overlying motto of the mountain.

We reached our lunch time point after an hour or two of rain forest hiking without getting tired or being out of breath. We were amazed at the slowness of the pace set by William, but also appreciated someone to keep us from exhausting ourselves on day one. The packed lunch was simple but adequate and swiftly dealt with by us both. We were ready to walk on within fifteen minutes of stopping but were held back another ten minutes. The last few kilometres were a little steeper than the first, but we still managed to reach the Mandara Huts by 14:00, some 3 hours after setting off from the gate.

We opted for the Marangu Route for two reasons: The first was that it was nicknamed the “Coca Cola Route” as it seemed to be the easiest way to reach the summit. The second was that the accommodation was in mountain huts instead of tents. Not that we had anything against tents of course, but simply because tents would mean more porters which would mean more money. After checking in we were shown to our humble accommodations. There were numerous A-frame wooden huts dotted on a hill side clearing. These were divided into two halves and each half contained four beds. Three beds at floor level and a bunk bed furthest away from the door. There was pathetically little space for luggage and the mattresses were thin, but the use of available space was genius. We shared with a mountain guide from Scotland, Peter.

Our rucksack arrived shortly after us and with it the news that our tea was ready. We were shown to a big A-frame building which obviously served as an eating hall. Each group’s specific table space was marked by their cook’s table cloth and that seemed to be sacred territory. Our Joseph appeared with a huge thermos full of hot water, some tea bags, coffee (Instant), hot chocolate, sugar, milk powder and the biggest plate of popcorn and peanuts you can imagine. We feasted!

We were supposed to rest for the remainder of the afternoon, but got stuck into some card games instead. Dinner arrived around 18:00 while we were still sitting at our allocated table cloth. It was clear that we were not going to be left hungry as the containers of food held enough for at least a party of six. We had rice and vegetables and meat and sauce and fruit and more hot water with the usual assortment of flavourings. I over ate so much that I simply could not move, even if I wanted to. We sat chatting to Peter while finishing off the thermos of hot water before finally surrendering and retiring to our beds around 20:30, not tired in the slightest, but a little cold and quite apprehensive as to what the next day would hold. Needless to say that the night’s peaceful rest was broken at least twice by the mighty call of nature after the copious amounts of tea between early afternoon and bed time.

Day 135:
Our Joseph knocked on the door around 7am. His arrival was accompanied by two steaming hot bowls of water for us to wash from and the refreshing news that tea and breakfast was ready. I was astonished by the efficiency! Breakfast was served within half an hour and consisted of porridge as a starter, followed by fried egg and heated up Vienna sausages, some fruit and another thermos of the hot stuff. It had been a cold night made comfortable by the goose down sleeping bags we had. The time between leaving the sleeping bag and getting into clothes and then getting into the eating hall which wasn’t heated at all was long enough for us to get cold though, but the food and drinks more than made up for the heat loss.

By 8am we were off, led down… or rather up the path by our trusty guide, William. William couldn’t tell us how old he was, but he could tell us that he had been guiding on Kilimanjaro for 30 years and he had made more summits than he cared to remember. He said that he counted the first 200, but lost count after that. From our conversation it seemed that 200 summits made you a veteran and nothing after that really mattered.

Pole Pole along the path took us through the last bit of forest. It was remarkable to notice how the giant rain forest trees suddenly turned into smaller trees which turned into shrubs and finally into Fynbos… Oh the Fynbos! The guides and locals called this part of the mountain the “Moon Landscape” because it everything apparently looked the same. I couldn’t really see this as it looked like good old Western Cape Fynbos landscape. Although it was a slight little higher than Table Mountain.

We rose above the cloud line soon after emerging from the tree line. This was more spectacular than I ever imagined it would be and far more impressive than any of the pictures I had seen of Kilimanjaro. I didn’t think we were that high, but as we continued our stroll the clouds seemed to form a fluffy blanket below our path and seemed to stretch out for eternity forming an ocean like landscape to one side of us. When we finally cleared all clouds and mist William pointed at a pimple looking thing far in the distance and respectfully said: “That’s Kibo” which meant little to me. It was pretty though and the top was covered in snow.

At some point we happened upon some steel tables and a couple of wooden sheds which we guessed were toilets. This was clearly a designated lunch spot, so we stopped and offloaded our day sacks. Asaya, our assistant guide arrived shortly after with two plastic containers of lunch. This was made up of a piece of chicken, a boiled egg, a muffin, a couple of slices of bread, half an orange, fruit juice and the world’s smallest ever banana. I was astonished that someone would actually carry that 2 000 meters up a mountain.

With lunch came some clouds and it also became very cold, so rather than hang around and rest we opted for taking the walk, slowly as always, to our next camp. By 12:00, four hours after setting off we reached the Horombo Huts at 3720 meters, 11 kilometres and another 1000 meter climb later. By then the process was clear. We checked in at the reception and got shown to our hut which we shared with a couple of guys from France.

These guys looked absolutely shattered and it was obvious that they had just returned from their summit day. Neither one of them looked out of shape or unfit, but both of them looked desperately tired and one of them looked positively grim. He was grey in colour, had no energy at all and through droopy eyes told us that he made it to Gilman’s point but not the summit. He said that the way down was terrifyingly terrible for him and that he really just needed to sleep and get off the mountain. I think it was right at that point that I started to recognise the seriousness of the challenge we had chosen. Coca Cola route or not, walking up an almost 6000 meter mountain was no easy task and I was a little scared of what lay ahead of me.

Despite the doubts, we were still feeling strong. I though the day was easier than the previous one and felt no fatigue what so ever. This was also not the highest we had been in mountains and we felt no effects from altitude at all. Joseph came along to announce tea time which was like turning on the central heating. We spent the afternoon chatting to Peter the Scottish mountain guide’s group of people. These were students and youngsters who were on a charity holiday. They had spent some time waking around the Usambara Mountains and doing some work in schools in the area before their climb. I found them entertainingly naïve and almost blasé about the hole thing, but refreshingly so. Peter on the other hand seemed frustrated with their lack of seriousness and discipline. He tried to get them to use tea spoons to scoop their popcorn from the big plate into their hands. Hygiene was the concept behind it and the fact that you did not want your body to suddenly pick up a bug or be compromised in any way. He instructed them to use water purifying tablets for their drinking water and insisted that they wash their feet every day… It all made sense. Catt and I just thought that we shared bugs, so using our hands for the popcorn would be OK. We had been drinking water from all sources up to then, so mountain stream water seemed perfectly fine to us, but we did wash our feet, along with some other parts every day.

Dinner was served around 18:00. It was of the vegetarian variety, but more food than we could dream to finish. With darkness imminent shortly after 18:30 I ran around the camp with my camera for a while. The clouds below us were lit up by the rays from the low sun and it was as if someone pointed a giant spotlight at the people standing on the edge of the camp. It was idyllically beautiful and everywhere you looked made another breathtaking image. I stumbled upon a contraption known as the “Kilimanjaro Ambulance” It looks like a gurney in some respects, but had only one central wheel which had mountain bike like suspension on and seemingly the same kind of rubber. Reserved for serious cases of altitude sickness, the patient gets strapped to this thing and rushed down the hill by two porters, head first. That sounded like a cruel, but possibly fun joy ride to me and I could not help but wonder if the grey French guy was going on the ride of his life.

We managed to hydrate and stay in the freezing eating hall until about 20:00 before quietly sneaking into the room where the two French guys were still fast asleep. I felt truly sorry for the poor grey one.

The night was bitterly cold and it took a long time for my feet to warm up inside the sleeping bag. I took my socks off and threw them at the bottom and actually put some of my clothes underneath me to keep them a little warm for the morning.

Day 136:
The porter responsible for the French dudes knocked on the door first and woke us all up. The grey one seemed better, but still looked a little like death warmed up. The other guy seemed tired, but ok. We had leaned the previous night that a lot of people stay at Horombo for two nights to acclimatise. They sleep there on night two of their climb; go for a three hour walk reaching a higher altitude the next day and return to the same huts for a second night, making their total time of the mountain 6 days instead of five. As we did not really know the option existed, we packed up, had our usual breakfast and headed out by 8:00. This was going to be the day we would exceed 4000 meters and the highest mountain we had walked up.

Pole Pole was still very much at the order of the day. William seemed to have a perfect understanding of the system and seemed to always get us to the perfect place at the perfect time. We obviously wanted to be the first group to leave camp that morning and the reason became evident very soon. It was incredibly dry! The path had been stepped on so many times and by so many feet that the dust was as fine as icing sugar and without as much as a breath of wind, it lingered in the air long after its cause had left the scene.

We reached the designated lunch time spot so early that I could still taste the eggs and sausage in my mouth and my belly was still absolutely stuffed from breakfast. William must have felt the same as he suggested we skip that spot and move on. I did notice a heli-pad there and guessed the altitude to be around 4 200 meters wondering who had a helicopter capable of that altitude…

We chose to have a rest and a bit of food at a place called “The Saddle”. Throughout the morning the Kibo thing we were shown the day before became bigger and bigger. The plants became less and less and the only wildlife we saw was a few mice. It became abundantly clear that Kibo was the top of the mountain and that we had chosen to walk to the top of it. The scariest thing for me was that I could see the path leading to the summit, or what I perceived to be the summit, from at least 10 kilometres away.

A few kilometres before Kibo Huts was another designated resting or eating place. Asaya had caught up with us by then and the four of us found a spot in the sun and out of the wind to rest a while before taking on the last little uphill to the huts. Neither Catt nor I were tired or out of breathe or felt any effects from the altitude at that stage and were keen to get the walking done so we could rest up for the mammoth task awaiting us later that day. We finally reached Kibo Hut reception at 4703 meters after 4 hours and some 9.5 kilometres, after gaining another 1 000 meters in altitude. It was 12:00.

Kibo was different to the other huts we had stayed in. Apart from the fact that the toilets seemed to get perpetually worse the higher you went there was no water at all. Nothing grew that high above sea level and there was only one building for the climbers. That building had a series of 12 bed dorm rooms with a table in each one for eating at. We were, not surprisingly, the first people to arrive and had the choice of beds.

Our instructions were simple: Sleep as much as we could manage. Tea would be served after two hours, dinner at 17:00 and the wake up call for the great ascent would be at 11:30. I don’t know if we were showing signs of tiredness, or if the altitude started having an effect on us or if we were just plain terrified, but neither one of said a word… for a while. An hour or so later, as our tea arrived, some other climbers joined our dorm room.

The first to arrive was an American father and daughter. They were followed by a Mexican girl and Italian girl who met in New York while studying and lastly we saw the arrival of two guys who we thought were Spanish, but they did not speak a word of English, so communication wasn’t really forthcoming.

The different “Josephs” for the different groups spread out their table clots, bustling for position and insistently marking their territory. We tried to explain that we were all adults and we would play nice and share the table and the table clots, but this was evidently not the way of the mountain, so no ones tea was allowed to touch another table cloth… All of us tried to go to sleep in the afternoon, but the new found bond between us all meant that chatting and sharing rumours was much more important than the much needed rest.

Dinner was served, as promised, at 17:00 and consisted of mostly carbohydrates. The menu seemed the same for everyone and by 18:00, as it started getting dark, everyone in room 2 was ready to make a serious attempt at sleeping. The two girls were told to expect their wake up call at 10:30, so we only had four and a half hours left to rest.

With 10:30 arriving way to soon, the Joseph for the girls snuck into the room and woke them up as quietly as he could. I had been awake for a while, courtesy of the snoring American father, so I saw him walking into the room. Once he was sure they were awake, he whispered some instructions and as he left the room he turned the lights on and slammed the door. That was it! The whole room was awake.

I was definitely not ready to leave my warm and fluffy sleeping bag yet, so insisted on staying in bed until our Joseph arrived. Catt was seemingly excited about the prospect of the day ahead so was as awake as anything and energetic and unhealthily bouncy for that time at night. Our Joseph arrived promptly at 11:30, thermos and tea in hand and that marked the start of our summiting day. I had to get up.

We started applying the layers of clothing and I ended up with: Three pairs of socks, including a thermal pair, thermal long underwear, thick waterproof trousers, thermal long sleeved top with turtle neck, t-shirt, long sleeved t-shirt, fleece jacket, water and wind proof ski jacket, balaclava and gloves. Catt had 5 layers on the bottom and 7 on the top. We filled our water bottles, grabbed our walking poles, head lamps and day sacks and headed out the room mere minutes before midnight.

Day 137:
The cold night air hit me like a brick in the face. I pulled the balaclava over my mouth and nose and pulled the hood of the ski jacket over my head. My head lamp with new batteries was incredibly bright and I focused the beam on Asaya’s feet in front of me. My intention was to simply follow him, step by step and Pole Pole. As we left camp I was convinced we were not taking the path I had seen and dreaded and with that came a magical relief, thinking that our route would be easier.

I knew we had at least six and half hours before sunrise and I knew the idea was that we could not see the massive mountain we were about to walk up but every time I did brave a peak out from under my hood I saw the headlamps of the groups that had left before us and they were ridiculously higher than we were and at an insane angle no human should be attempting to walk up. Still, one foot in front of the other, so slow that even at that altitude our breathing was normal, we continued up the path and started passing group after group before long. I was struck by the breathlessness and the expression of utter despair on some of the faces we passed.

Before too long the effect of the hired gloves I had compounded into a problem. They were too small and evidently cutting off some blood supply from my hands. This in turn had the effect of pins and needles in my hands and because of the lack in circulation also meant that my hands were getting colder and colder the longer we walked. I had packed my own pair of fleece gloves and without missing a step managed to get Catt to extract them from my bag and hand them to me for a glove swap. That was a huge mistake though! The old and warn fleece was simply no match for the coldness of the night and after less than half an hour I had lost all feeling in my fingers. I simply had to change back to the tiny gloves and deal with the lack of circulation. I found it fascinating how something as simple as gloves and freezing hands could become an all consuming issue in your mind, but for me, trying to get feeling back into my fingers was the single most important thing I had to do. The glove swap back to the rentals was done seamlessly once again and without missing a single step.

We stopped for a rest at a small overhang at some stage in our journey. I had no idea how long we had been walking for, nor did I now how high we were. I knew we had passed a sign for William’s point, marking 5000 meters, but how close we were to the top escaped me completely. We had a drink of ice cold water before heading off again and the reason for the rest soon became abundantly clear.

We had reached a surface which can only be compared to a sand dune, or mine dump. That side of the volcanic crater was made up of tiny gravel rocks which offered no traction or resistance at all. For every one step you took up, you would slide half a step back. The walking poles became essential in our progress and balance and the concentration to keep going even detracted from the immense pain my hands were in. Before long we heard an all mighty “HOOOO HAAARRRR” and knew that the Irish group had made it to Gilman’s Point at 5681 meters. We could hear that we were not far off and I suddenly became emotionally excited about the prospect of actually making it to the summit. Chatting to Catt after the fact she recalled almost crying out of happiness for the group followed by a stark realization that we may not be able to make it.

Half an hour after the shouting was heard, and after we climbed over boulders and being convinced that Asaya was lost on the hill side, we rounded a big rock and were welcomed by a sign that read: “You are now at Gilman’s Point, 5681 meters. Tanzania, welcome and congratulations” It did nothing for me. We were told that we cold have a little rest, so I ripped the gloves off, opened by jacket and put my frozen hands in my arm pits as suggested by Catt. Within two minutes my hands started burning and throbbing and I knew that feeling was returning slowly to them. It hurt like hell! Asaya wanted to continue, but I bluntly refused and told him that I needed at least two more minutes, explaining that the rest of me was absolutely peachy, but my hands were just too cold. Catt helped to fold away my waking poles and I put the fleece gloves back on, but kept my hands in my arm pits, as did she. When I started noticing that my feet were also really cold I smiled. I knew that my hands were not the all consuming thing any more.

I also knew that we were less than an hour from achieving our goal and looking at Catt I could tell that we would easily make it. Neither one of us suffered any ill effect from the altitude. We were both full of energy and waling with our hands in our pockets, instead of wrapped around walking poles meant that we were snugly warm and happy to Pole Pole along in between William and Asaya.

At a place called “Stella Point” William, our veteran guide left us. Asaya told us that he was suffering badly from altitude sickness and had to turn around and descent some. This served as a very stark reminder of where we were and what we were doing. However, before long the skies became lighter and the sun started peaking over the cloudy horizon and with the first rays of welcome hitting the glacier’s trailing edge we could see the sign, marking the highest point in Africa and the highest free standing mountain in the world!

There are truly no words to describe the utter beauty of that sunrise and there is simply no way to explain the emotion that flowed through our bodies as we took the final steps to touch the Uhuru Peak sign at a mighty 5895 meters above sea level. It was 6:31, pretty much exactly six and a half hours since we had left Kibo Huts. Needless to say that we were both insanely close to tears, but simply had no breath to start the crying process. As the line of tourists walked up to the summit, no words were spoken or conversations held. A simple knowing and encouraging nod between fellow adventurers was all that was needed to confirm the awesomeness of the thing we had all achieved.

As I pulled the Canon 5D from my bag with the 70 – 200 IS lens, weighing in at almost 3kg’s I was pleased to see someone with the same camera, but heavier lens standing next to the sign. We took some pictures for each other, relinquishing our hands to the bitter cold for the lasting snap shots before inevitably starting our return journey to Kibo hut.

The concept of Pole Pole was no more! Walking down hill required very little cardio fitness and Asaya seemed to be in a hurry. We passed many groups on their way to the summit and looking at the sheer determination and almost shocked expressions peering out from under their hoods, I could honestly say that we managed pretty damn well. We encouraged every group we met by short descriptive explanations of how close they were and how incredible the top was and could see the anguished looked turn to smiles as we passed them. We got back to Gilman’s point, took some pictures in the light and tried to have a drink of water. Only we couldn’t because all out water was frozen solid. Seriously, three litres of water, inside day sacks on our backs manage to get frozen solid in the seven hours we had been outside the hut. THAT was how cold it was!

As we started our descent I suddenly understood why the grey French guy hated it so incredibly much. After clambering down the rocks we hot the loose gravel and met up with William once again. He was feeling much better and ready to lead us once again and his solution for the loose gravel was simple and marvellous, unless you were suffering from altitude sickness that is… We ran and jumped… landing on the gravel, you would slide two or three meters at a time and repeat the process over and over again. It was very much the same as running down a sand dune and I was sure that a sand board would have been a perfect vehicle for getting down quickly. It still took the best part of an hour to reach the harder ground and by that time my thighs were shattered! The last couple of kilometres to Kibo Huts were incredibly hard!

I was told before that the summit should always be seen as the half way mark of the journey. I was as prepared for this as someone who had not been to such a summit can ever be, but there was no real way to be mentally or physically fit for that last few hundred meters. By the time we reached the huts Joseph was waiting with some fruit juice and our shaky legs just managed to get us back to our beds before we took off the thermal layers and lay down. Years before I took some photographs at the finish line of an ultra marathon and couldn’t understand how the runners managed to carry themselves on legs that were visibly shaking from tiredness. As I put my head on my pillow that morning at 8:30 I suddenly understood it all.

After half an hour of intense rest, Joseph came around with some more tea and breakfast. William came for a chat and told us to be ready soon to start heading back down to Horombo for our overnight stop. His theory was that the longer we stayed at Kibo, the harder it would be to start moving again and the sooner we get to Horombo, the longer we can rest undisturbed. I liked his theory and with some tea and breakfast in us, we felt refreshed and ready for a walk!

Both Asaya and William allowed us to walk in front and set the pace as the concept of Pole Pole was clearly something of the past. It was absolutely amazing to notice how much easier it was to walk down the hill on the hard path and without breaking a sweat seeing how the porters coming up the hill were suffering in a big way. We crossed the alpine desert and passed the saddle and reached the point where the smallest bits of vegetation started before meeting the first climbers going the opposite way. Remembering how we felt a mere 24 hours earlier we smiled and tried to look energetic as we wished them good luck with their adventure. Most of them looked as apprehensive as I had been and some looked positively terrified. We met Peter’s group from England and shared advice and a fact or two before telling Peter the whole truth.

After two and a half hours we reached Horombo’s reception and checked in. We were, once again, the first to arrive. We were shown to our hut and told that we could go to sleep before Joseph would call us for afternoon tea. Strangely though, neither one of us was really tired any more nor felt like sleeping. We decided to try and stay awake until after dinner and then try to get a decent night’s rest from just after dark. We sat down on one of the beds and started working out how far we had travelled that day. It worked out to a ridiculous 19.5 kilometres and after climbing about 1 200 meters, we descended a whopping 2 200 meters. No wonder we were a slight bit weary.

Our hut was soon shared with two ladies from the land of chocolate and cuckoo clocks. They arrived for their first of two nights at Horombo and were still clean, with dust free shoes and clothing. We had a chat to them about the experience we had and encouragingly shared some tips before the arrival of Joseph and the announcement of afternoon tea. We were both pretty tired of being cold so took one of the sleeping bags into the dining hall with us and sipped hot drink after hot drink until the thermos was empty. Joseph arrived with lunch at 15:30 which we devowered unceremoniously before returning to our hut to re-pack our rucksack. Everything we had worn for the summit was caked in the fine dust from the rim of the volcano and needed to be separated from the relatively clean clothes. We had both kept something nice for the last day.

With the chores done we returned to the dining hall and were served an early dinner around 17:30. We shared a table with the girls we had met the previous day and swapped stories of our individual summiting experiences. This played absolute havoc with the master plan of the Josephs as we dared to share a table cloth. I could sense the utter disgust and unhappiness and rivalry between the guys, so folded our table cloth away when we had finished which seemed to calm the mood drastically. Oh the simple things people find so incredibly important!

Darkness arrived at 18:30 and we were snugly warm in bed and fast asleep by 19:30.


Day 138:
The Swiss ladies woke up first and as I opened my eyes I could see it was light outside. I was pretty sure that my position had not change one little bit during the night and I felt great for it! Catt was awake too and keen to get up but I bluntly refused to move before Joseph knocked on the door at 7:10 with two bowls of steaming hot water to wash from and the announcement that breakfast was ready for us. I have to be honest and say that I was expecting to be so muscle sore that I wouldn’t be able to move. To my surprise, this was however not the case and after getting dressed we walked down to the eating hall to find our table cloth. The Joseph’s clearly conspired against us as the table cloth for the two girls we had made friends with was set on a different table and our cloth was folded in half, taking up very little space.

William was already waiting for us by the time the sausages and Spanish omelettes arrived and after guzzling them down he announced that we should hit the road straight away. This suited us fine as we also thought that the longer we linger, the harder the walk would be. We did have about 18km and a drop of 2 000 meters to cover and I was seriously not looking forwards to that concept! By 8:10 we took our first steps towards the tops of the clouds.

It was a fine day above the clouds and with time going by it seemed like the weather would only improve. Within an hour or two the clouds had dissipated completely and we could see far into the valleys below the mountain. We couldn’t spot Marangu Village, but the huts on the ridges we could see indicated that we would have a clear view of Kibo from the hotel where Maggie was waiting patiently.

We reached Mandara Huts after passing hordes of climbers, guided and porters who were travelling in the opposite direction. We concentrated on smiling to the new cloud of adventurers, wishing them good luck while trying not too look too tired. Although the hiking was definitely starting to take its toll on our bodies, we still felt strong and the progress was fast. We managed the first 11 km in under 4 hours and sat down in the shade at the Mandara huts awaiting instruction.

Given the choice to either wait for the chef to arrive to cook us lunch or hi tailing it to the Marangu gate and have lunch there, we opted for the latter and after filling our water bottles once again we set off down the familiar forest path we had used five days earlier. We had 7.5 kilometres and 1 000 meters to go and we were keen to get it over with. Our pace slowed dramatically as I believe William was waiting for our lunch to catch up with us, but it was comfortable and we did not mind in the slightest. The noisy Irish passed us along the way and as we started passing new climbers on their first day and on their way to Mandara we still managed words of encouragement without looking or sounding too exhausted.

At 14:00 we reached the final destination of Marangu Gate and our initial starting point. Signing back in and getting our uniquely numbered certificates took a few minutes after which William directed us to a shady spot on the lawn to enjoy our much deserved lunch of chips and salad. Soul food, I thought. By that time we were hungrier than we expected and polished off the mountain of starch and bucket of greens with no apparent effort. We got loaded into the familiar African taxi and dropped off at the Marangu Hotel by 15:00 to complete the full circle.

The only thing left to do was to sort out tips for our team which we promised to do two days later and drop it off at the office. We explained that we had to visit a bank to enable us to this and that was met with some hostility and much unhappiness from the porters. Asaya and William was a little more understanding, but I have to say that the whole concept of them taking a tip for granted upset me a little. The receipt we received from paying the company clearly stated that our fee included salaries. It did say that the fee excluded tips, but seriously, a tip is something you give on a performance base and should be a bonus, not a demanded right. I could go on to say that if they want more money they should have a discussion with their greedy national parks authority who charge so incredibly much that no one can realistically afford to pay the tips that they want, which would have amounted to half the fee for a full five day climb. I refused to get upset by their attitude though and simply smiled, pled ignorance and promised to see them in two days time.

We checked back into the Marangu Camp site, pitched out tent and abused their laundry service. Every single piece of clothing we took on the mountain was absolutely covered in dust and we didn’t even want to put it inside the car before having it washed. I guess we could have washed it ourselves, but the hotel’s laundry service was cheap enough to make the decision to use it very easy.

After a shower that lasted for what felt like hours and washing my hair four times I started to feel clean and human again and ready for a celebratory beer in the gardens by the bar. From the gardens you have a great view of the two highest peaks on the mountain with Kibo’s snow cap glistening in the sun. I was pleased that we did not have that view before we started our climb as the task looked absolutely mammoth from that cushioned chair in the garden with a cold Kilimanjaro beer in hand. We had a fried chicken dinner in the hotel’s restaurant that night and crashed into bed just after 20:00, dead tires, but feeling a little like super heroes.

Day 139:
I opened my eyes to bright blue sunshine day in Africa with birds singing and feasting on the fruit from the trees in Marangu Hotel gardens. We stayed in bed as long as possible and eventually left the tent after 8:00. The day was clear so I strolled over to the gardens to take a photograph if Kibo in the distance. I could still not believe that we had been at the top of that beast a mere three days before. We had very little planned for the day and for that reason adopted the “Pole Pole” attitude of the mountain. It took more than an hour to make and have morning coffee and with binoculars, 400mm lens and bird book we managed to identify a few new bird species for our records.

We saw, for the first time, the Brown Breasted Barbet which is endemic to the area as well as the Crowned Hornbill which the book described as “uncommon”. These guys were feasting on the avocados that fell on the ground and provided much entertainment as they picked at the fruit. I also heard an avocado drop and sprinted over, in competition with a flock of Hornbills, but managed to get there first. I grabbed it up and carried it back to our chairs, stashing it in the car for later consumption.

The morning shower happened after 11:00 and was absolutely heavenly once again. This was followed by lunch before 12:00 and part of the afternoon on maintenance. Somewhere along our way the built in compressor had lost the will to live, so that needed reviving. After taking it, and a part of the trim of the car apart it seemed like the wiring was faulty and the fix easy. Our tent’s mosquito netting was ripped, so while I was getting dirty on the ground, Catt started sewing that back up. The success of that all put us both in a great mood and the rewards was an afternoon spent in the gardens reading, writing and generally relaxing.

The early evening saw the arrival of a big overland truck complete with the nightmare of highly energetic and loud children who had been cropped up in a vehicle for most the day. They ran absolute riot in the camp site for a few hours while we were cooking a fine Risotto. Against all odds the whole group seemed to loose their energy before we did and by the time we scaled our ladder, at around 21:30 all was quiet in the land, except for the night watchman’s pacing and coughing.

Day 140:
It was with great delight that I realized that the noisy unwashed did not pack up and leave at 5:00. I woke up after 7:00 with the tantalising smell of bacon and eggs from the overland chef’s kitchen. I almost felt like asking for the left overs, but I was still far too lazy to move. We did get up shortly after and waited for the big truck to disappear around the first bend before indulging in yet another boiling hot and comfortable shower. We were far from being used to the pleasures of that phenomenon!

Before long we had packed up, filled our water tank and started to head in the direction of Moshi and the Afrigalaxy office to hand over our tips. We had decided on a fair 10% of the total cost of our adventure and made the split in such a way that the most senior person would get the most benefit. Catt was feeling utterly British and guilty that we could not give more. I was feeling utterly realistic and even reckoned that the tips we were giving were ridiculous. Neither one of us were in any kind of mood for confrontation though.

In Moshi we entered the seemingly empty office and was greeted and congratulated by Wema Pagali, the executive director of the company. We explained that we had come to thank him for the efforts and to leave some tips for the guides and this was received with great appreciation on his part. We had a short chat and parted happy. Our next stop was Arusha.

The town of Arusha was seen by many as the Safari capitol of East Africa. This became very apparent as the intensity of safari vehicles increased exponentially the closer we came to town. We drove directly to the Toyota dealership and made an appointment for a major service for poor Maggie who had not seen the inside of a workshop in over 20 000km. Driving around town I recognised the aggressive driving style and concluded that the only driving schools in Tanzania had to be in Dar Es Salaam and the motto had to be; “The most aggressive driver has right of way”. I was still a little weary from the hiking and perhaps a little less patient than I should have been, but man I found Arusha to be a dirty, unfriendly, aggressive and ill-mannered hole of a place.

After Toyota we headed to a Patisserie by the clock tower, the apparent place where people advertise last minute safari deals. The notice boards were full of ridiculously prices four and five day safaris and nothing that suited us, so we opted to share a pizza for lunch and move on to grocery shopping as we had emptied our food stores completely before our climb. The Shoprite was absolutely fantastic! They seemed to stock local produce at market prices and a fine selection of meat to stock up on. We managed a week’s worth of shopping in one place in half an hour for a very reasonable price and hit the road towards the Masai Camp ages before the start of what could only be a nightmare rush hour.

The Masai Camp was a very pleasant surprise as well. They charged a very reasonable $5 per person to camp and with the very noticeable absence of overland trucks; the place was peaceful, tranquil and insanely spacious. We had an appointment for the car to be serviced the next day, so we sign up for two nights and received a warning about loud music and great parties on Friday evenings as well as a suggestion to camp as far as we could away from the bar. Our chosen spot was next to a bamboo mini forest with the solar panel in the sun, the tent in the shade and the table and chairs tucked in behind Maggie for some privacy.

By 17:00 the half a Pizza was used up by my body and the only snack I could think of was chocolate cake. This was easily made by using the trusty Cobb and the five minute chocolate cake recipe, adapted slightly to incorporate peanuts and raisins for a little extra flavour. Afternoon seamlessly rolled into evening without a huge party and after feasting on some Pork chops for the first time in ages, we drained our glasses of the finest box red wine known to Tanzania and went to bed, happy and relaxed and excited about the next week’s adventure.

If I had to do it again:

Contact details for Afrigalaxy are:
Wema Pagali (Executive Director)
Cell: +255 754 309521
Office: +255 27 275 0268
afrigalaxytours@yahoo.co.uk
info@afrigalaxytours.co.tz
www.afrigalaxytours.co.tz (Some browsers don’t like this one)

Despite the tip issue, the company was fantastic and the price was right! Including $100 of gear hire and $185 in tips, we ended up paying a total of just less that $2 000 from the day we arrived in Marangu until the day we left. Most people will tell you that the climb will cost around $1 500 per person. It would be worth contacting the Marangu Hotel directly to get a quote as well. The reception ladies can line up guides and porters for you. Check online what the expected daily rate, or tip should be if you do that.

My top tip for Kilimanjaro climbing is simple: Make 100% sure that you can be comfortable at minus 10 deg C for six hours. Boots, socks, balaclava and gloves are probably the most important pieces of kit you need. The rest of the hike is not that hard and any reasonably fit and healthy person should be able to cope fine. It is however not for sissies and the thing you need most of all is determination to reach the summit. We did take Acetyl Zolomide to help cope with the massive gain in altitude. I can’t say how much it worked or not as I have no comparison, but at less than $10 for enough tablets for two, obtained in a pharmacy in Moshi, there was no reason not to use it.

If I had to do it over again I might consider going on a tented route rather than the huts. I think you spend more time with the people who help you on your way and there is much more privacy. You do need to keep in mind that you need more staff and usually an extra day of you go that route, so it will be more expensive.

The Marangu Hotel is a fantastic place and even if you’re not climbing, it’s worth a three to four day stop over to relax, recuperate and stare at the highest peak in Africa and highest free standing mountain on earth from the comfort of a garden chair with a cold Kilimanjaro in your hand.