Maasai to the Whiskey Route - Pole Pole...

..."So many times, it happens too fast, you trade your passion for glory."

Yes, we did it, snot icicles adorning our taches, tears frozen on our eyelashes. For a few icy minutes, time disappeared, dazzled by the effort it took for us to reach Uhuru Peak. There was no view but the cloud below us and the rising sun, but WE DID IT.

The hike started off rather pleasantly, with our guide stressing the importance of going 'pole pole' ('slowly slowly', for the non-Swahili speakers). The camping was uneventful, and since fires are not allowed on Kili, and we got to sleep early every night. Every night but the one we actually needed it - before the summit. The agenda for the final big push was to eat, then sleep in the afternoon until 23h30, then hike up the treacherously cold mountain face and be at the summit for sunrise. We no eat, we no sleep. Loss of appetite due to altitude and howling winds kept us from our beauty slumber.

We set off after a steaming cup of yummy, steaming, reminds-me-of-home milo. Without the occasional nudge from our guides, we would have curled up during our final ascent in the icy howling wind for a few minute's rest and never woken up again. I fatigued, Dave went bossies with mountain madness...

The events leading up to Kili were plentiful and diverse. After fattening up on Steers in Nairobi, we became really touristy and went on safari in Kenya's Maasai Mara, where instead of being booked together with the group of sexy Scandinavian swimsuit models known for going on safari naked for charity, we landed up with a troop of scouts and their chaparones who were volunteering their time at a local school. Sweet, but a real dream-crusher. Nonetheless, the three days were a welcome change of scenery, and we did get to see some animals.

After a short tuk-tuk ride to the Mombasa ferry...

...and a matatu (minibus taxi) down the coast,

we were at Tiwi Beach, Kenya coastline. A piece of paradise after being away from the beach for too long...

I cavemanned my way up a coconut palm, sweating, bleeding, and claimed the best tasting coconut ever...

We camped on the beach. Now, one tiny tent served only our luggage, so we reckoned we would sprawl out under the stars and enjoy what could have been the greatest sleep experience on the planet, on soft white sand, under African stars. We didn't count on the 'short rains'. Short, my ass. Jon erected a respectable shelter as a preventative measure,

but, well, the rains were a bit longer and heavier than we had experienced just a day or two earlier. The first torrents sent Dave and myself scurrying off with our sleeping bags and insect repellant to a nearby covered dining area. Jon's pride kept him holding the fort, at a cost of a noticeably congested nose for the next while.

It was here that David contracted clumsy syndrome, stubbed his toes to pieces, and declared a state of immediate inactivity. It was, after all, chill-out nirvana, so why not kick back for a few extra days, eh? But things soon changed. With adrenalin junkies like Jon and myself around, Dave was screwed...

We jumped. It was Dave's first time. It was my first beach landing, and I had the crazy tandem master who swooshed me onto solid ground at breakneck speed vertically. Awesome. I mean WOOOOOOOHOOOOOOO AWESOME!

An African sunrise... (it's better when you're actually there)

Time keeps moving, and we were soon crossing into Tanzania. A painless train to Dar Es Salaam, and we were in a metropolis once again. Fast food, yay.

We wasted no time ferrying across to Zanzibar, where we sampled a variety of tasty seafood snacks at an outdoor market,

rented bikes (check out Dave's mean machine),

and crossed the island to spend an afternoon on the most idyllic beach my eyes have beheld. No waves, but this stretch of beach had the softest sand you can imagine. Baby-powder soft. Really.

Back to the mainland, we climbed Kili, returned to Dar Es Salaam, and now the wind-down begins. We are planning to weave through Malawi (more rural experiences) and Mozambique (seafood heaven) before we set foot on sweet home ground. To be continued...

Sudan to Kenya. Eish, eish, eish, eish, eish.

TIA (This Is Africa). It's the only phrase which sometimes draws a smile from us in moments of travel bleekness.

After an 18 hour ferry across the Egyptian-Sudanese border, the parasitic Egyptian street folk long behind us now, we endured thirty-six hours on the weekly train from Wadi Halfa to Khartoum, Sudan's capital. We stepped onto the carriage blissfully unaware of our near future. We were about to glean much wisdom in the realm of relativity. Riding a camel is smoother than this train. Carriages incessantly swayed, bounced, and shunted. But the concern of a major derailment was pushed way back into the crevices of consciousness after an apocalyptic dust storm made permanent residence in our cabin. Bleekness redefined. Undoubtedly, we braved the WORST TRAIN RIDE IN THE WORLD, EVER. This video was taken on an average stretch of track...

The rest of our stay in Sudan was relatively uneventful, except for Dave's bag flying off the taxi roof at 100 km/h and tumbling along the dirt road before splashing into a mud puddle with a solid thud. The glass (tsk, tsk) bottle of white tummy medicine did not survive the crash...

The Sudanese-Ethiopian border crossing is the WORST ON EARTH. Mud and donkey shyte. Bare feet. Not nice. Dave's disapproving look speaks volumes...


We were in high spirits when we found out we could catch a ride out of those bleek conditions that very afternoon. We jumped into the taxi with no quibbles, especially after having acquired our first beer in many moons...



"3 hours", they mused, "and you'll reach Gondar, gateway to the Ethiopian Highlands". Then came the worst taxi ride ever experienced by man. Our skeletons aged a decade after being jarred for a day and a half on the non-road. A four day trek into the Simen Mountains soon soothed our trauma though...


We camped, at one with nature, my tent the only one infiltrated by a yet unidentified biting insect. Life cycle of bites: ongoing (estimated 4-5 weeks). Not your average mozzie bite. Great views, perfect training for Kilimanjaro. We retreated to Gondar before heading to Addis Ababa. At this stage our moustaches were really beginning to flourish...




Capital city ho, we cruised into Addis Ababa and chilled out. Jon pushed the fashion envelope further by going to the barber - and leaving with a mohawk, tache still in place. Dave is still adamant about not shaving his head, and the women are really loving his style...


Refreshed and recharged (despite the semi-frequently recurring bouts of stomach issues) we charged towards Kenya, the NEW promised land (Ethiopia lost its status as land of milk and honey after we experienced nothing milk-and-honey-ish about it, except for great macchiato coffees and a cheap but great pizza joint, a highlight of our capital city experience). We hit Moyale, the border town with one foot in Ethiopia, the other in Kenya.

Our next journey was, undoubtedly, the WORST BUS RIDE ON EARTH, due to the WORST ROAD ON EARTH being the chosen path. Dubbed the "Nairobi Express", this behemoth of a trip erodes one's will to live. The sagging aisle end of the bench left us with lingering bum cheek bruising, sleep was impossible (22 hours, non-stop except for food and toilet breaks, by the way),


and our communal kitty had been depleted (due to a lack of ATMs) to the point where a PLATE OF BEANS was beyond our means. We humbly sat outside a lonely desert canteen with a few stale bread rolls, a bit of honey, and some bananas while the locals strolled right in for a hearty meal of meat, potatoes, veg, and bread.

THEN WE REACHED THE PROMISED LAND, NAIROBI.



Fast food outlets, tarred streets, internet cafes, supermarkets, pubs, and ATMs with which to fund all these indulgences. We wallowed in the Springbok's victory...


A few days of fattening up have seen us ready to stray from this haven of civilisation into a 3 day masai-mara safari (fully catered, admittedly, but we damn well deserve it), where we will hopefully catch sight of some of the wildebeest migration. Watch this space.

Cruising for a Bruising

Firstly, the Miss Belgium thing raised more questions than it merited. All that happened was a flock of beauty contestants descended upon the promenade in Dahab while we were sipping on mango lassies and chilling out after a hard day's diving. No interaction, no potential hook-ups. Just drooling.

We're finally heading in the right direction in our overland safari. Not straying far from the Nile, we have had the same reception at each alightment: hoardes of Egyptians trying to sell us carriage rides, Egyptian cotton, asking us where we're from, etc, etc. All in all, we've grown calloused to anyone who dares (we are, after all, in cowboy hats - picture soon - and flashing mighty moustaches) approach us on the street. We even strike back on occasion with the same questions, which more often than not just spurs them on. It will all soon be behind us though... A ferry down to Sudan (and a possible forty lashes for being caught with alcohol) awaits.

Enter the Tache

Boundaries stand out once they've been crossed. Public reaction to the latest bold move in the realm of style has been varied. Small chuckles, toothy smiles, and just plain staring. The three banditos have a visible ripple effect every street they walk down. And in this two-camel town, walk down every street we have. Our stubbly legacy will echo from the rocky peaks down to the deep blue for many many moons to come.

It is my last evening in Dahab, and I leave with an advanced open water diver certification, a tan, and the life-altering hairy upper lip. It's back to dusty Cairo and due south from there.

These pics were taken by our dive instructor at The Canyon, a great dive site in Dahab. Check out the row of moustaches in the back row.

Ciao Europa, Salaam Middle East

The evil streak in third world cuisine lay in ambush as I dined recklessly on Cairo's selection of shawermas, mixed grills, and yes, buffalo meat (although it could just as easily have been camel). I was shown no mercy, but it in no way affected my experience of awesome sights and sounds this wonderful land has to offer.

After nine days of continental rest and relaxation in Italy and Greece, I braced for the worst (this is Africa, after all) as the dusty Egyptian horizon came into view. Paths have been made straight before me. The entry visa was cheap and easy, the Egyptians have been accommodating to a sterling degree, and the gravity of being inside the Great Pyramid was an experience I'll be talking about in a rocking chair on a porch someday.

I am in Dahab, Sinai Peninsula's east coast, the Red Sea, a scuba diving Mecca. Day one of my advanced open water certification is complete, and I can't wait for tomorrow.

Salaam.

The Journey Draws Nigh

It is upon me. This journey of a lifetime will be one of the most thought provoking experiences I will put myself through, and to those who visit this page and follow me in spirit, thank you. The posts will most certainly be few and far between, but if they effectively convey a fraction of what I am to experience, they will have fulfilled their objective.

I will be leaving the green isle on Tuesday, 28th of August, and touching down in (hopefully sunny) Rome, Italy. After a whirlwind tour (Pompeii, Venice, Milan), September 3rd will see me flying to Athens, where the few days of scorching heat will give me a taster of what I will be enduring for the following four months.

To all who have been in my world for the three and a half years away from home, I wish you the best. Look up, smile, shine, and watch this space.