Archive for November, 2007

Thanksgiving on the Shore of Lake Malawi

November 25th, 2007

For a dollar a day, you can feed a starving climber in Africa. Cooking on BiRT is always interesting, not only due to the low food budget (50p a day!), but also in the tools we use – an open fire with huge cookpots and pans. Once, when we had engine trouble, we camped in someone’s back garden and we still roared up a fire for dinner. Needless to say, we tend to get pretty creative with cook duties.

Matt cooking for Hot Rock

Matt demonstrating typical Hot Rock cook duty (Spitzkoppe, Namibia)

Each person is assigned a cook partner on joining the trip, and the two must hit markets and shops together to purchase goods for two days’ worth of breakfasts and dinners with the pittance handed to us by the trip leader. If there are 15 people on the truck, you are given $30 to feed 15 people, for two days. Amazingly, in Africa it is just enough.

Breakfast usually consists of porridge, but occasionally we get the odd treat of eggy bread (French Toast) or pancakes. Each Hot Rocker is responsible for his or her own lunch. Those with higher personal budgets can splurge a bit on lunch food. Dinners vary a bit more, but usually start with a base of pasta, rice, or potatos topped with a tomato-based sauce or a bean/lentil stew of some sort. For a treat, we get either cans of tuna or corned beef chucked in the mix. If people really splurge, adding some of their own money to the cook pot, we get some real meat in the mix – with a veggie portion separated for the non meat-eaters. I never realised how much I like meat.

After months of this kind of food, Thanksgiving was looming on the horizon and I thought, hey, why not embark on a new sort of cooking adventure? I summoned the only other American on BiRT for help and he was all for it. Let’s cook Thanksgiving over an open fire in Africa. We were in Malawi, on the edge of a gigantic freshwater lake of the same name. It was hot.

Lake Malawi

Lake Malawi at sunset

Lake Malawi

Lake Malawi

Getting the right ingredients was the first hurdle to overcome. We sketched out a rough menu and set about seeing what we could find. Pumpkin? Corn? Apples? Turkey? Hah, unlikely! Having some trouble determining what was and was not possible, we decided to hire the services of a local as our “personal shopper” to lend a hand and see what he could find through local contacts. We gave him a huge shopping list, paying for most of it in advance, while also continuing to look ourselves. Of course, he didn’t find much, and we didn’t ask for the money back – he did after all kill and pluck a couple of ducks for us.

There were no apples but there were mangos galore, no corn but maize, no celery but some random vegetable that looked an awful lot like a leafy version of celery and was in fact rather tasty, no turkey but duck and lamb, and finally and most sadly… no pumpkin. Or so we thought.

We had been searching for pumpkin for days to no avail, when Duane noticed there was pumpkin soup on the menu in the bar at our campsite. Apparently it had been around at some point but was now out of season. D’oh! But how could they make the pumpkin soup? We kept asking, but no one answered – most frustratingly, even our hired shopper wouldn’t budge on this one. Finally, I hunted down the man who cooked the soup himself.

“How do you make your pumpkin soup?”

He looked at me, head tilted to the side, and answered “For how many people?”

“No no no, I just want to know how you make it?”

“But for how many people?” Oh, my God.

I had to work to explain to him that I didn’t really want the soup, but the ingredients for his soup. Finally, I managed to buy what was certainly the very last pumpkin in Malawi. :) Pumpkin soup was literally erased from the restaurant menu, and we had ourselves a lovely pumpkin pie.

David chopping, Duane frying

In the heat, David chopping, Duane frying

We chopped and mixed under a thatch roof and cooked over both an open fire outside and in the campground’s wood-fired pizza oven, our only means of baking. We were lucky to have it, or it would have been a stir-fry-only Thanksgiving. I’ll mention again: it was hot. And humid. While the other Hot Rockers splashed around in the lake and played games, holding the first-ever Hot Rock Olympics which included such notable events as a judged dance routine, volleyball, and dwarf tossing, we stirred and fried and baked in the stifling heat.

Steve's Hot Rock Olympics outfit

Steve's Hot Rock Olympics dance-routine outfit

Hot Rock Olympics Dance Routine

A Hot Rock Olympics judged dance routine. From left: Jase, Juliet, Mike, Joe

We woke around 5am to begin cooking and were hovering in and around fire from about 8am until about 6pm, baking pies and roasting meat with no temperature control whatsoever. Somehow, miraculously, it all came together. I dare say it was one of the better Thanksgiving meals I’ve had the pleasure of putting together, although this could have also been due to the impossibility of the task to begin with and the comparison to the meals we’d been having until that point.

Hot Rock Thanksgiving in Malawi

Hot Rock Thanksgiving in Malawi

The spread included: two roast ducks (freshly killed and plucked that day by our hired shopper), a leg of lamb, stuffing, corn pudding (I had miraculously found cans of creamed corn weeks before in a supermarket), salad, mashed potatos, two mango pies, one pumpkin pie, and a flan. We had no measuring utensils and few actual recipes, but it amazingly turned out well! People got so stuffed that some actually passed out at the table; one didn’t even get to dessert having fallen asleep in his chair. The thing I was most worried about was that someone would get sick from either something we made or just having eaten too much rich food and butter, which we weren’t used to. Luckily, none of our “guests” did, but unfortunately one of the cooks (Duane) ended up having a loooong night.

The next morning, we had more pies and pudding for breakfast, the dishes were wiped clean and the legend of Thanksgiving in Malawi was cemented into the history of BiRT.

David eating mango pie for breakfast

David eating mango pie for breakfast

I am definitely going to have to try and make mango pie again someday. It was the bomb.

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Diamond in the Rough – Hiking the Mulanje Massif, Malawi

November 21st, 2007

Fingers tired from climbing and bums sore after some long drive days, we arrived at the base of the gigantic Mulanje massif in Malawi, rising violently some 2-3,000m from the plains surrounding it. The entire area is a national park with huts located throughout, offering weeks of potential European-style hut-to-hut walks through lush rolling hills. While climbing is possible, the walking potential was too good to pass up. The Hot Rockers broke up into groups and set loose, some for adventure scrambling, some for climbing, some for walking, with varying degrees of preparedness. ;) I set out for 6 days and 5 nights of hiking in the park. The experience was nothing short of magical.

We began by a combination of hiking and hitching to another end of the park along with few other Hot Rockers who were on a scrambling mission. We started walking in the heat of the day with sweat streaming, especially for Duane who insisted on carrying most of our food. “Training,” I believe he said. The man had something ridiculous like 18 cans in his pack. Cans! They go against every grain of my hiking body. That’s what happens when you plan a 6 day hike at the very last minute. End result: his shorts were completely drenched in sweat by the time we reached the top of the plateau. At least we ate well.

Mulanje, Malawi

Mulanje Massif, as seen from the base

Hot Rock members embarking on Mulanje

Hot Rockers already tired, and we haven't even started the real walk yet. From left: Duane, Matt, Emma, Drew, David, Jase

Children in Malawi

As usual, we were an attraction to local kids as we started out. :)

Cooling off in Malawi

A very welcome cool stream made the perfect lunch spot. Here David splashes Matt in a "waterfight"

After slogging up a steep hill for several hours, we finally topped out on the plateau and were stunned by the scenery. It really did look a bit like Europe! The air was fresh and cool, there was green grass, trees… with the occasional Mulanje Cedar-Cutter walking past us with a freshly cut cedar plank balanced on his head. I should mention they put us all to shame – 18 cans look like nothing next to a several-hundred-pound board balanced on the head. Worlds were colliding and it was beautiful. Our first hut was called Thuchila, and a fire was already burning in the hearth when we arrived.

Drew on Mulanje

Drew hiking up Mulanje

Mulanje Woodcarver

Woodcarver putting us to shame. These guys cut down the rare and highly coveted Mulanje Cedar trees, carve them into large (and heavy) planks and carry them all the way down, barefoot.

David topping out on Mulanje, Malawi

David finally topping out on the Mulanje plateau, hands raised in victory!

The next days saw us through varying elevations – to the top of the highest mountain in Malawi to lower forests, microclimates, fields, pools, and huts. We met some interesting folks and walked with more spring in our step each day, as the cans were eaten. ;) Everything was so… GOOD that we found ourselves repeating “This is soooo cool! Again!” every 15 minutes or so. I put it right up there with Patagonia as one of the best places I’ve ever gone hiking, and the best part is there were hardly ANY people. Stunning. Remote. Peaceful. I’ll let the pictures do the rest of the talking.

Peace-Out rock formation

Peace Out

On the summit of Sapitwa Peak, Mulanje, Malawi

Me on the summit of Sapitwa Peak (3,002m or 9,850ft)

Rocking Out in Malawi

Rocking Out

Hut in Mulanje, Malawi

The Pacific Northwest meets Africa

Bouldering pond, Mulanje Malawi

Bouldering in a pond

Hot Rock in Mulanje

I woke up in the middle of the night to use the loo, saw the stars, and decided to write Hot Rock in the dark. :) We were staying in Chambe hut, which you can just see in the shadows.

For more pictures, see the Flickr Malawi set.

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Climbing at Shamu and Dema, Zimbabwe

November 13th, 2007

Zimbabwe has many quality climbing destinations, but the highlights during our crossing had to be the rock outcroppings of Shamu and Dema, both in the middle of nowhere. They offered stupendous climbing and an intimate view into Zimbabwean country life.

At Shamu, we camped in an elder’s farm, pitching our tents on bumpy, fallow ground near a large tree. The farmer is 80 years old, his wife 24. Between her and his other wife he has 16 children. The family was very friendly and hospitable, even offering us a bucket with which to wash. (Now that I think about it, this may have been more for their benefit than ours). We spent a few days exploring the area; I found it quite relaxing after all the adventurous bushwhacking we had been doing up to that point, as it was an easy walk from camp to the crags. It was fun to check out some of the climbs that the famed Chris Sharma put up when he visited this same farm. According to the locals, his TV crew was not as nice.

Climbing Shamu, Zimbabwe

Steve and Remi climbing at Shamu, Zimbabwe

Unlike what a lot of people imagine Africa to be, Zimbabwe is at a rather high elevation, with pleasantly cool temperatures, rolling hills, and gigantic lumps of granite pushing out of the ground here and there. These offer a splendid potential for high quality multi-pitch climbing. The land is lush and perfect for farming. Here’s a bit of trivia, though: Zimbabwe has one of the highest rates of lightning striking humans in the world. This is largely due to the elevation, a climate with a penchant for thunderstorms, and all the hills creating perfect landing points. Therefore, when you’re climbing on a cliff and see clouds appear on the horizon, with occasional flashes, you get down ASAP. The place is electrified.

We had a pretty wild lightning storm pass through right on top of us while at Shamu. It all started off innocently enough, with hard driving rain under which many of us took a full shower and I even shaved my legs – desperation removes all shame. However, when the firebolts appeared we all huddled in the truck and hoped the old wives’ tale of vehicles being safe is true. I tried to push aside recurrent thoughts of how we were all actually in a giant metal box which was also one of the tallest things in the field. Luckily, the lightning was more attracted to the cliffs we had just been climbing…

Rain Shower

Showring in the rain (Photo by Remi)

The tents were another concern. The rain was coming down hard onto the now-soft spongy earth on which we were camped, which was a problem both for puddles and tent stakes not holding into the ground. Several people ran out into the downpour to dig trenches around their tents, only to discover that their tents had gone completely flat! One  even FLEW AWAY completely. Duane went out in the night to check on his tent and returned a few minutes later, looking utterly bewildered, exclaiming  “My tent has disappeared. It’s just… GONE!” It was not the time to go looking, so he spent the night in the truck, listening to the downpour beating on the metal roof and wondering what might have come of his tent.

In the morning, I woke up before everyone else (probably because I was one of the only people to have had a dry night’s sleep – so proud of my trusty little tent) and saw a couple of locals in a neighbouring field standing around something orange and bright – Duane’s tent! I hurried over and said “Aha! There it is! Ha ha!” and they looked at me and asked “Is this your house?” I laughed. “No, but it is my friend’s house… Last night he went looking for it and came back and said ‘My house is gone!’” The guys thought this was the most hilarious thing EVER, if only you could have heard their hoots of laughter… “heeee heee heee! The house flew away!” giggling and shaking their heads. I added “Obviously it is not a very good house” to nods and chuckles all around. The thing could not have looked more modern and high-tech – it is a “bomber” four-season tent. The locals were clearly thinking “These crazy foreign people proudly come here with these bright portable houses that are complete crap!” We each grabbed a corner and walked it right back to its takeoff point, still perfectly intact. When Duane emerged from the truck, he did a bit of a double-take.

Our next climbing stop was at an impressive bit of rock named Dema. When we rolled in to the area with our loud diesel engine, we cut out the music and a little elder appeared, wearing a name tag stating he was the village chief, along with an entourage of about 8 others. He informed us that we needed to get special permission from a local “king” (warlord?) who managed the area, if we hoped to camp and climb their special mountain. He and a lucky selected few went for a ride with us in BiRT (they will probably be telling their grandchildren of the experience for years to come) to meet said King at his heavily guarded compound. Even after scolding our leader, Emma, for shaking his hand (apparently, quite an offense – no one gets the privilege of touching the man’s hand) he seemed quite reasonable and fair, and allowed us to camp on the land after explaining to us how he manages the area. He also had us stop by the local police station to alert them of our presence. Amazingly, no bribe passed hands throughout the ordeal. It seemed more of a show of authority and pride than anything else. Definitely an interesting experience.

Dema, Zimbabwe

Dema

At Dema, we were an intense curiosity. Everyone, especially children, popped by for a visit at some point or another. Once again, we had instant rock star status. I was feeling a bit introverted – not in the mood to entertain crowds, but luckily some on the truck were quite up for it and there was a continual rather festive mood around the truck. Everything from spoon-egg races to painting to football games was going on at any one time. They were especially curious when they saw us gear up and walk toward the mountain – I’m sure it must have seemed like such a bizarre thing to do. Why would anyone want to waste time going to the top of that thing, the hard way, when there’s a perfectly good trail on the other side? Good question. :)

Emma and kids

Emma entertaining some kids with a fish-face

Football at Dema

Matt playing footie with the locals. (At one point, a rumor was circulating with the locals that David Beckham was with us)

Woman and farm at Dema Zimbabwe

Local woman with a beautiful farm-house

Kids of Dema Zimbabwe

Kids of Dema, they were so much fun!

David and I teamed up once again to attempt a lovely 2-pitch crack called “Flash,” which we did anything but flash. Somehow, it took us three tries over three days to finish the thing. The first day we were rained off, and had to leave gear in the route to come down. The second day Drew joined us, and as a group of three, combined with my snail-like lead pace, we ended up taking much longer than expected. I found myself 2/3 of the way up the second pitch at sunset, with both David and Drew waiting below. It was they who noticed “Aw, what a pretty sunset… Uh oh… Sunset!!” Nightfall comes FAST when the sun hits the horizon near the equator, and we knew it would be pitch dark by the time I finished the lead. Then we had to get the other two to the top, descend a trail of which none of us knew the whereabouts, with no headlamps (when will I ever learn?). We would probably end up sleeping up there, and it got pretty cold at night, not to mention the continual fear of lightening. Thus, we came to a hard-pressed decision to retreat once again, myself lowering on a rather hastily prepared, sketchy anchor. I met the two boys in the inky blackness where they had been hanging quite uncomfortably for hours, and we set up an abseil using a camera LCD to light our knots as we tied in. Luckily, we managed to catch another couple on their descent of a neighboring climb and yelled down to them, asking if they could go back and fetch us some lights for the hike out. We safely made it back to the truck.

While the retreat was definitely the right decision – we would have certainly spent the night on top of the mountain had we kept going – it meant that we left gear stuck in the route at two anchor points, amounting to a good portion of our rack which was therefore not available for the start of the route when we returned, on the third day, to finally nail it. This resulted in a bit hairier of a first pitch for David, as many of the pieces he had used the first two times were no longer available. He basically soloed much of the (harder) first pitch.

The day was baking hot; the boys roasted in their hanging belay while I sweated up the first and moved on to lead the second (easier yet dirtier) pitch. I tried to hurry along a little faster this time, all too aware of my tendency to over-think things. At one point, I was pulling on grass and scrambling up a steep and dirty ledge when I thankfully reached for a huge jug that I remembered from the day before. Aiming for it, I grabbed it solidly with both hands. Suddenly, silently, I was falling backwards in mid-air with one stone in each hand. Luckily I hit the same sloping, grassy ledge not too far down and was completely unscathed. Just a little shaken up. ;) The boys below saw a bunch of slack come down and called up to see what had happened. I was checking myself to make sure I was OK, and started up again, trying even harder to keep my head in check. I reached my anchor from the night before and began to disassemble it. One of the pieces virtually fell out as I tugged on it. Gulp. Next came quite possibly the worst rope drag I have ever experienced. I couldn’t move before heaving the rope up with both hands and making a little coil at my feet. Finally I reached the end – it never felt so good to finish a route!

Unfortunately, I didn’t take my camera up the routes so I don’t have any climbing pics to share… if I get some from David I’ll see if I can post some up. For now, a few more pictures of the zoo that was our camp. ;)

Bouldering on BiRT, Dema in the background

Bouldering on BiRT, Dema in the background

Curious onlookers

I love the expression on the girl's face at left

A local home in Dema, Zimbabwe

A local home in Dema, Zimbabwe

Mother and Child

Mother and Child

Dema, Zimbabwe mother and child

The mother here was stunningly beautiful and the little boy was terrified of me, bursting into tears the moment he saw me. Mom and I both laughed. :)

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Zimbabwe

November 12th, 2007

This article originally appeared on MSN UK Travel. Please excuse the first few paragraphs, a bit of repetition from other blog posts. I have taken the liberty to add a few more pictures, as well.

My standards of personal hygiene have been reduced to a new low point. It has been about two weeks since my last proper shower, more than a month since I last slept in a bed, and I can’t quite remember the last time I had meat that didn’t come out of a can. When it rains, I run outside with a bottle of shampoo and hop around trying to get as good a rinse as possible, while the group fights over drips coming off the tarp next to the truck. The most amazing thing is how clean I feel after washing in water coming off a muddy tarp, and how the water pressure can actually exceed some of the ‘real’ showers I’ve had of late.

Muddy tarp shower

Muddy tarp shower

Zimbabwe has been a surreal experience. The people are open and friendly, well spoken, polite, and generally wonderful. Their houses are clean and neat, no matter how humble. Everything and everyone is meticulously taken care of to the best of their ability. I’ve seen wider, more soul-touching grins here than anywhere in the world. People are hungry, lacking in basic supplies, and yet are still dignified.

Zimbabwean Family

Zimbabwean Family

We were not quite sure what to expect, knowing the situation is quite dire, but what does that mean? Would people mob the truck? Would we see people dying in the street? It was hard to know, and we braced for the worst. We decided to bring some extra food with us to see if we could make a small dent in someone’s daily hunger, yet unsure of the best way to disperse it (I ended up going on little “food walks” in the smaller villages, which worked quite well). What we encountered was absolutely magical, and nothing like what we expected.

BiRT Traverse

BiRT Traverse and sunset

We began in Victoria Falls, which is a bit of a tourist bubble. It is easy to ignore all that is happening in this country while there, as one is shuttled from adrenaline-filled activity to activity. The Zambezi river provided most of the entertainment. We rafted, tried body boarding – there’s nothing quite like nearly falling out of a raft through grade 5 rapids than to then take a small foam board with miniature flippers, be wished ‘good luck’ and jump right into it. Now I know what my washing feels like.

Needless to say, I was glad to move on from Vic Falls to see some of the real country in the interior, our next stop being a national park called Matopos. The area is stunningly beautiful, but also has an eerie ghost-town feel to it. There are lodges with no one in them, a formerly stately pool lies empty, and there are virtually no employees on the grounds. We camped in between the empty lodges and the stagnant pool, lamenting over what a truly special retreat location it once must have been.

Antelope park followed, which has nothing to do with Antelopes and everything to do with lions. It is a rehabilitation / reserve park, where the volunteers on hand work to increase the drastically reduced lion population in Africa. One of the main attractions is to go on a walk with lions, who think the accompanying humans are part of their pride. Our two lion companions were 17 months old, and therefore quite big. They are almost ready for their next stage of development; too old for safe human interaction and at a point where they are ready to begin hunting on their own. I don’t think the adrenaline rush that goes along with having a huge, nearly wild lion brush up against you like a pal needs any further explanation.

Walking with lions in Antelope Park

Walking with lions in Antelope Park

Harare, the capitol city, is where it really hit us how strange things are in the country. Clearly at one point quite cosmopolitan, today it has an odd feel to it. The buildings are modern-looking and clean, there are plenty of people, but most everything is closed or empty. The supermarket shelves stand bare. Department stores lack products and spread out the little inventory they have to give the appearance of there being a lot in their store when really, you could play field hockey in there. Things like bread, toilet paper, soap, shoes, butter (and the list goes on) are impossible to find.

There are enormous queues outside of ATM machines at banks; the government can’t print the money fast enough to keep up with inflation. There are two economies in Zimbabwe – the real one (otherwise known as the Black Market) and the official one. Currency is so inflated that you end up with a giant wad of cash in your hand for even the most minor purchases. Prices for the few things on sale in supermarkets are written on sheets of paper so they can easily be changed day to day, and you’re looking at spending something like $800,000 for a tin of baked beans. On the official exchange rate, that’s something like $3,000 USD. On the black market, that’s just over a US dollar – about right.

Million dollar baked beans

Million dollar baked beans

On our way out of the country, we passed by a few more climbing areas in the middle of nowhere, which provided quite an interesting outlook on rural life. First, we needed to get permission from the local village chiefs to climb their mountains and camp on their land. This was an experience in itself – local bureaucracy that had nothing to do with the actual government as far as we could tell.

Once all the pomp and circumstance was sorted, we immediately became the center of all village activity. I’m sure locals will be talking about the strange-looking big red truck that rolled through their village for years to come. Children came in droves to play on the truck’s climbing wall and to kick around a football.

Astonished onlookers

Astonished onlookers

Here we had good opportunities to leave the food gifts to local families – things like a kilo of sugar brought some mothers to tears. Talking with local women nearly did the same for me. One woman I met told me her story: she lost her parents at age 10, was raped at age 14, had the resulting child at 15. The child died a few years ago and now she has another lovely baby named Mona Lisa. This woman is the most eloquent, educated, beautiful young woman now at 21. It is heartbreaking to see her living in a spartan  hut and struggling to feed her child. I could see her as the CEO of a company. It begs the question – how many geniuses and prodigies go completely undiscovered due to circumstances such as this?

Zimbabwean mother and child

Zimbabwean mother and child

Zimbabwe will go down in my travel diary as one of those countries that changes your soul in a special way. I highly recommend visiting – the people are amazing, the landscape is stunning, and it’s not as bad as the media makes it out to be. Definitely give it a chance if you can. My heart goes out to everyone here, and I hope their situation improves.

Children in Zimbabwe

Children in Zimbabwe

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