Archive for the ‘Africa’ category

Houdini Holidays and Closing the Angel Chapter

February 25th, 2008

After waving goodbye to BiRT I returned to my Tanzanian ”banda” to lie and listen to the waves of the Indian Ocean, contemplating life. Then I wandered the streets of Dar Es Salaam alone for a couple of days and finally boarded a flight back to London. Stepping off the plane, grabbing my dusty bags, and joining the fast-walking crowd to the Tube was both a shock and oddly familiar. How can it be that both of those emotions can coexist?

I had three days in London before going home for the holidays. These were filled with friends and ice skating and emptying bags in order to fill them again with very different items. Out went the shorts and summer wear, in went the fleece tops and wool socks. Out went the climbing harness and shoes, in went the ski bottoms and boots. I shared my room with Caroline, a Swiss architecture student and intern who was subletting my room while I was out, and who I dare say was quite patient as I single-handedly made it look like a bomb had exploded in her/my/our room.

Roz and Caroline Skating at the Natural History Museum

Oxford Circus decked out for the Holidays (Check out all those shoppers!)

The Great Escape

On the day of my flight out, I had a chance to put my climbing skills to use. Having only one set of keys for both Caroline and I to share, she had taken them with her to work (as obviously I would not need them). I could leave and close the door, which automatically locks, and be gone. What no one had considered was the second lock… the bolt lock. In our house, one must unlock the bolt lock (if locked) with a key, from the inside. It’s the only way. God forbid there is a fire and you lost your keys. Or that your flatmates all leave before you and lock the bolt lock, thereby trapping you inside with all your luggage and no way out, when you are already late for a flight, all because you were too dim-witted to leave a note reminding people not to lock you in.

Must. Not. Panic.

OK… time to think of a creative solution. I had often wondered if I could exit the house via our front living room window. This is effectively a floor above ground, or about 10 metres high, as there is a deep pit in front of the house, between the sidewalk and the house itself. In earlier days, these pits were used for dumping coal to be used in the kitchen, which is also on the lower (basement) level of the house. Today it just lets light in the kitchen… aaand makes it tough to leave via the front window.

The other challenge is the fact that the front window sticks. Badly. I could only open it about 12-16 inches high. This was barely enough for me to shove my bags through and toss them on the roof of a small extension to the kitchen below, near the sidewalk. Then I had to pull a Houdini and squeeze myself out, which would have been difficult enough without the 10 metre drop on the other side.

Squeezing through the gap (this is a reenactment)

Kneeling on the ledge

Finally out on the ledge, standing with my back to the wall, arms out as though I was going suicidal or something, I heaved a sigh of relief and slowly turned around to close the window. It wouldn’t budge. There was nothing I could get a grip on to push it down. s@*t!

Stuck window (this is a reenactment)

After squeezing myself back in through the tiny gap, clock ticking, I opened and closed the window as far as I could several times hoping to loosen it up, and exited again. Window stuck again. Repeat. Three times.

Finally, at my wit’s end and standing outside on this tiny window ledge, I suddenly remembered that the top half of the window also moves. But surely it would also be stuck? Or locked? I was in luck, it moved! Quite easily! I managed to pull it down to the point where I could then get a good enough grip on the lower window and push down with all my might. All I needed now was to slam it down and have glass shatter all over me, but luckily that did not happen. It behaved. There was one point where if it had stuck, I would not have been able to go back inside, but eventually the gap completely closed. I turned around gingerly and did a gut-wrenching leap over my luggage to the far end of the little roof, next to the sidewalk. Success!

On the sill, pretty high up (this is a reenactment)

Jump path. ;) (this is a reenactment - there were a lot more bags in the way!)

I then bowed to my audience of workers and pedestrians across the street, dusted myself off, and walked away with large bags. Not suspicious AT ALL. Thank God no one called the police, or I would have had some interesting explaining to do, and definitely would have missed my flight.

I then called all flatmates and left urgent messages (no one had been answering the phone since I had first discovered my entrapment) that the front window was unlocked, and publicly so. Could someone could PLEASE go back to the house and lock everything up before an anorexic kelpto acrobat stole the flat screen TV, thank you very much and now to get on with my flight…

Holidays and back

I was lucky enough to spend a full month at home for the holidays. After roughing it for months, it was nice to have some of Mom’s cooking, plus a whole room not to mention bed (!!!), to myself for a couple of weeks. Needless to say, the holidays were wonderful, although it was a bit tough to get used to cold weather and the abundance of… everything. I nearly passed out on entering an Albertson’s (a supermarket) near my parents’ house. Couldn’t even see to the other end of the building! Avocados looked like footballs! People were walking around with carts that resembled small vehicles. What is going on here?

A cozy night of Bluegrass with Dad

When my parents took off for their own adventures in Argentina (it runs in the blood), I made my way to the city of Seattle to hang out with friends, drink wine, and do some couch surfing. I also got back to work. Sigh. Actually, it felt good to get back to it on some levels. I won’t lie, though, and say my mind didn’t wander frequently back to Africa.

Seattle

The Puget Sound

Now I’m in London and nearing the end of my contract, again. Déjà vu. Packing up and getting ready to meet BiRT for the second time, only this time I know exactly what to expect. Well, sort of. I’ll join the truck in Jordan just after Easter, and we’ll be going north for three months through Syria to Turkey. Looking forward to it.

Somehow, though, I’m admittedly a bittersweet this time around. Something is different… I am closing the “Angel Chapter” and that commands some time for reflection. I’ve got that nostalgic twinge making me hesitant to turn the page, looking back, thinking over the memories of the past year and a half. I’ve had a fantastic time, and just as I am feeling at home here in London, I find myself packing up and putting things in storage again. I will be back, but I don’t know when, and things are going to be different next time. That’s not a bad thing, just different. ;)

When everything is up in the air – it’s exciting and wonderful and… friggin’ scary as all hell! Here we go again – wheeeee! What’s next in this choose-your-own-adventure?

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Posted in Africa, Europe, North America

Tags: angel BiRT dar es salaam escape holidays hot rock ice skating locked out london natural history museum oxford circus puget sound seattle tanzania window

Zanzibar

December 9th, 2007

On arriving, the magic of Zanzibar washed over me like the waves which had brought me there. Residents of Stone Town float along ancient back alleyways, markets teem with leisurely activity, and couples stroll through the shade in a waterfront park.

Stone Town, Zanzibar

A woman walks in magical Stone Town, Zanzibar

A man on a bicycle in Stone Town, Zanzibar

This same park later becomes a haven for seafood as a night market spontaneously springs up out of nowhere just before sunset. Stalls are haphazardly put together, fires roared up, skillets oiled, and kebabs put together. I spent no less than three hours eating continuously in this market, two nights in a row! I thought I was going to explode, but there were too many delicious tidbits to try, including a ginger tea stand with a group of adorable old men gossiping in a circle. I dare say I can recommend Zanzibar just for this street-food market alone. But there is so much more… Zanzibar is a photographer’s dream – at every turn, there is something interesting.

Evening food market, Stone Town, Zanzibar

Seafood... mmm!

The white sand beaches we found on the island are among the best I have had the pleasure of curling my toes in to date, rivaling the Whitsunday islands in Australia and beaches in southern Thailand. I only experienced a beach in the northwest, on and near Kendwa, but as far as I know they are good pretty much all the way around. Life is even slower on the beaches, which had seemed impossible.

Stone Town's Beach

Usually, I am not really a beach person unless there are things to keep me occupied. There actually is some fantastic diving in the area, but the lazy pace had crept into my bones and I just couldn’t be bothered doing anything more active than beach volleyball. For the first time, I truly became a beach bum (and even then, I only laid in the sun for a total of… oh, 20 or 30 minutes). Mostly, I ate and drank all-inclusive food and beverages while sitting under beach umbrellas at the five-star resort, La Gemma dell’ Est, and swimming in its ridiculously oversized salt-water pool. Quite a sprawling establishment, it seemed like a veritable palace after being in a tent for two and a half months.

La Gemma Dell' Est Pool, Zanzibar

My stay at the hotel started off in a typical enough fashion. A friend and I decided to leave the group in Kendwa and wander to the whiter beaches to the north. We walked along the beach in the heat of the day for over an hour, arriving at the front doorstep of an all-inclusive 5-star resort in a sticky, sweaty, and sandy mess. We had not washed our clothes in several weeks and our backpacks were covered in a layer of dirt. Sauntering up to the check-in counter of La Gemma Dell’ Est in our dirty Tevas, we casually inquired whether we could get a room. The hotel staff, without answering yes or no, raised an eyebrow and said “perhaps you would like to see the price list?” and slid a brochure across the counter. We looked at it pensively for a few minutes and asked for a deluxe suite. Eyes wide, she politely complied. She couldn’t believe we were for real, and I couldn’t believe I was going to sleep on a soft mattress and have a real, ensuite bathroom for a night or two. Amazing!

La Gemma dell’ Est is the largest resort in Zanzibar, with 138 rooms and a few separated villas (the largest being the “presidential villa” which has its own pool). It covers a HUGE area; there are actually little golf carts to ferry people around “should you get tired and not wish to walk.” There was a hookah bar and small restaurant situated on a pontile out in the ocean, a romantic spot to watch the sun set. It is clearly very popular with the honeymoon crowd. The best part for us was, as mentioned earlier, that all food and drink was included. Thus, after months on a 50p/day food budget, you can imagine how we ate and drank ourselves into a stupor! For us, after roughing it for so long, it was comparatively, oh, fabulous and a great way for me to end the trip.

Our exit from the hotel was nearly as entertaining as the entrance. Slightly cleaner, we missed our golf-cart transport to the front desk and hiked what seemed like miles back to the front desk. Here, we took turns to visit the restaurant in order to stuff rolls and Danishes into a paper bag for the road (yes, classy) as we waited for our “car,” which ended up being what resembled a clown truck. It was a local taxi with bright colours and Hot Rockers hanging out the windows, laughing and waving as it teetered around the corner and skidded to a stop. I half expected everyone to jump out and throw pies at each other. The bemused hotel staff politely waved as we jumped on board and rolled off.

A few more pics of Stone Town… where we stopped again briefly before ferrying back to Dar es Salaam.

Colors in Stone Town, Zanzibar

Fisherman

And then, it was time to say good-bye to Hot Rock. Back at our camp in Dar Es Salaam, the Big Red Truck (BiRT) rolled away and I stayed behind. A bittersweet end – it was a great trip. So good, in fact, that I made plans to return again at the end of March. Until then, Hot Rock!

Full slideshow here.

This article originally appeared in MSN UK Travel.

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Posted in Africa

Tags: all-inclusive beach big red truck BiRT food hot rock hotel la gemma del est market resort seafood stone town truck zanzibar

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 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 at sunset

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.

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 dance-routine outfit

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

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

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

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Posted in Africa

Tags: Africa BiRT campfire cook duck dwarf tossing hot rock hot rock olympics lake malawi lamb malawi mango pie pumpkin pie thanksgiving

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 Massif, as seen from the base

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

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

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 hiking up Mulanje

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 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

On the summit of Sapitwa Peak, Mulanje, Malawi

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

Rocking Out

The Pacific Northwest meets Africa

Bouldering in a pond

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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Posted in Africa

Tags: cedar chambe hiking hot rock hut walk huts malawi mulanje sapitwa walking wood carver

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.

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…

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

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 entertaining some kids with a fish-face

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

Local woman with a beautiful farm-house

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

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

A local home in 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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Posted in Africa

Tags: BiRT children climb climbing dema fall flash hot rock lightning retreat rope drag shamu storm tent truck zimbabwe

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

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

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 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

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

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

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

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

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Tags: antelope park BiRT camp family food hot rock inflation lions matopos msn victoria falls zambezi zimbabwe

Walking with Lions

October 31st, 2007

I never would have expected I would pat a lion on its belly and live to tell about it. Yet in the middle of Zimbabwe there is a place where you can do just that. It is called Antelope Park, but it has nothing to do with antelopes and everything to do with lions.

Patting a lion's belly in Antelope Park

The idea of the park is to reinforce a rapidly dying lion population. Africa’s lions are the continent’s most swiftly decreasing population, due to illegal hunting, inbreeding, and diseases such as feline AIDs. A group called Alert has created the park to work on getting more lions in the wild and reduce inbreeding by mixing up the population.

In the park, lion cubs are nursed from birth by volunteers. The lions think that humans (if they “act a certain way”) are part of their pride. The way to get funding is have crazy tourists pay to go on walks with the lions, acting in “that certain way.” It works out well for everyone, as long as everyone behaves.

Walking with a lion in Antelope Park

There are four main stages in the lions’ development – the first being the young cub stage (up to about 2 years old), in which the lions go on walks with humans. They are fed mainly by humans but are also taken on night hunting safaris where they learn how to stalk prey. After nearly two years, the lions graduate to a small-ish game reserve where they hunt on their own and have drastically reduced human contact, if any. After this, in stage three, they move onto a large reserve and competition for game is introduced, bringing in animals such as hyenas, and there is no further human contact. The fourth and final stage is introduction to the wild. The offspring of these lions will not walk with humans and are completely wild, but they may be mixed with the offspring of other prides to encourage genetic diversity. Countries all over Africa have expressed interest in the program, with the possibility of receiving some lions.

Our lions were 17 months old and nearing the end of their walking career, which means they were intimidatingly large. When we walked up to the gate, armed only with flimsy sticks, we looked at them as they paced back and forth menacingly. We were taught how to act – namely, confident, which is a bit tough when your legs feel like jelly and your heart is in your throat. We were told that if any of the lions were to give us “the look,” and we would know what that meant if we saw it, we were to stand our ground, point our little stick at it and firmly say “No.” Uh huh. OK I’m feeling really confident now!

They also instructed us to avoid patting the lions on the front half of the body (such as the head, especially) and to always approach the lions from behind, lest they think we were playing with them. The last thing you wanted them to do was to start playing with you.

David looking a bit like his lion

When the gates opened, both lions charged out and one went straight for me. It solidly bumped my leg in a “friendly pat,” just how a housecat would rub against your leg… only this thing was HUGE and a little rub nearly knocked me over. I nearly passed out, all the while trying to remind myself to look confident… hahahhhaaaa… After an instant, a surge of adrenaline went through me and I was completely exhilarated. Our lion-walk leader commented that I couldn’t seem to wipe the grin off my face throughout the entire time with the lions. Maybe I missed a calling somewhere? Who knew? I thought I was a dog person.

As we walked around in our little “pride,” the lions would play with each other, flop down in the shade and chill out (which seemed to be their favourite activity), and sometimes start stalking animals in the area. It was one hell of a way to safari – every single animal’s eyes were on us. As opposed to safari-ing with BiRT, where we saw loads of bums as they ran away, here we saw everyone’s face as potential prey stared at the lions, trying to figure out what they were going to do. It was like being a celebrity in a game park. We were with the big shots!

One of our lions playfully stalks zebras

Stalking giraffes. Ever feel like you're being watched?

The park manager was our guide, and this woman had some balls. She would put her hands in the lion’s mouth to show us his teeth, she pulled back the skin on the paw to demonstrate his claws, and even “played” with them occasionally which to me seemed like something only an insane person would do. “Here, let me wave my hat around like a mouse and see if the lion goes for it, ha ha.” I made sure to stand next to her most of the time, just in case anything gave me “the look” and I wasn’t paying attention. These lions, let’s be clear, are not tamed.

Check out those pearly whites

Our insane guide thought it was fun to wave her hat around, like a toy, for the lion. (crazzzyyy)

Finally, we returned them to their pen and retreated to the posh camp area. We had just come out of several days’ driving and a climbing stint at Matopos, in the bush, and hadn’t showered in ages. It was a bit of a shock to walk into the ladies’ toilets in all of my grimy glory to see women blow drying their hair and applying makeup. I wasn’t the most popular girl given some of the looks I got, especially when I decided to put off the shower in preference of a large meal. You know you’re used to being dirty (or you’re just plain hungry) when you can put off a shower after a week without, in the name of food.

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Tags: alert antelope park game park hot rock lions safari teeth walking with lions zimbabwe

Entering Zimbabwe – Victoria Falls and Matopos

October 30th, 2007

After much safari-ing in northern Namibia and Botswana, it was finally time to stock up on food and essentials to last us a month in Zimbabwe and cross the border. We weren’t quite sure what to expect on the other side. We had all heard increasingly desperate accounts of the situation from the news. Would we be safe? Would we see people starving on the side of the road, like you see in adopt-a-child ads? We had no idea what were getting into.

There was a rather heated debate on whether or not we should bring extra food into the country, if it would result in our being mobbed, or if all would be ok – and if so, how to disperse of it in a way that would keep us from being mobbed once word got out that we were giving food away. Additionally, we weren’t equipped for humanitarian work nor would we “solve the greater problem” (i.e. world hunger). While these were fair points, I felt that this was an opportunity to do some good. Even if we were mobbed, it would be better to have some extra food on hand for the attackers than to have to give from our personal stash. I just couldn’t face the idea of coming across someone who was genuinely starving and NOT give them anything at all. Let’s put it this way – if someone were to walk upon an act of harm, such as a rape or mugging, and not do anything about it because “rapes would still happen,” would that make sense?

I decided, what the hell. I’d pick up some extra food, store it in my own personal locker, and “see what happens.” Why not – if we were to be mobbed we’d probably be mobbed anyway. I wasn’t out to save the world or single-handedly solve world hunger, but if I could help one family by giving them a pound of very-hard-to-come-by baby food, I would do it. Why not? I’m here. Might as well do a little bit to help. If everyone had that attitude, the world might be a better place. The silent supporters pitched in with donations on my way to the grocery store, while others were genuinely worried about what I was doing and asked me to never do it within view of the truck. I agreed.

(I should mention that people later changed their minds on this and were all for helping out. Like I said earlier, none of us knew quite what we were getting into, and there was definitely fear in the air. Looking back, I do not blame anyone for their opinions here. It was hard to know what would come of it).

It was thus with a rather solemn mood that we entered the country, although we were definitely excited for the first stop, the famed Victoria Falls. Needless to say, the town was a lot more clean and modern than I think any of us expected.

Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe

The highlight in Victoria Falls has to be rafting the Zambezi river’s grade 5 rapids. The river is especially fun beacuse it is deep, so even if the raft flips (which it did) you don’t need to worry too much about hitting rocks on the bottom – only the other rafters and their paddles (which is dangerous enough)! To be honest, I was more worried about hitting crocs than anything else. We passed by one right at the start of the trip, and he silently slipped into the water, instantly becoming totally undetectable. If only they blew bubbles. Naturally, I imagined him and his friends swimming alongside our raft for the rest of the excursion.

This was again on my mind when a few of us jumped out of the rafts and took up riverboarding. I was handed a foam body board, the kind you see kids playing with on the beach, and tiny flippers. With this gear we jumped into the frothy, milk-chocolate, croc-infested (ok, they avoid the rapids but still) water and proceeded to go through a series of rapids (including a class five portion) with nothing but the board and a lifejacket to keep us afloat. Yes, that’s right, boogie boarding the Zambezi! It was awesome!! Now I know what a washing machine feels like. It was absolutely ridiculous, which I think is and will be the theme of this entire trip. The waves seemed 10 times bigger when we were down at their level than when on the raft. It was like going on a slip and slide over mountains, where you hang on for dear life to this laughable little board that could be ripped out of your hands at any second, sending you under water for an unknown amount of time only to pop out like a cork further downstream. You really had to focus on when to breathe and when to hold, and trust that you would eventually pop back up for another desperate breath. Actually, it was the most fun I’ve had in a very long time.

Other activities included a horse safari where we walked quite close to water buffalo, all the while our guide was explaining to us that they are one of the most dangerous animals to encounter in Africa (okayyyy, can we move right along then?), bungee jumping off the bridge between Zimbabwe and Zambia, a three hour “sunset” (read: booze) cruise, and a very hippie-esque, touristy drum circle dinner night. We had a great, adrenaline-filled time… but one couldn’t help but think that none of this was the true Zimbabwe. It was the theme park part. Needless to say, while I had a lot of fun, I was glad to get out of the bubble and move to the real interior. In addition, I was finally starting to feel closer to everyone on the truck. They were letting me in, stubborn food ideas and all. ;)

Andrew and Mike checking out Vic Falls

Bungee Jumping over the Zambezi (photo taken by Sam)

Horse Safari near Victoria Falls, Zimbabwe

Horse Safari, with water buffalo watching us (Photo by Andrew)

The next stop was Matopos, a national park in Zimbabwe, where we did some exploratory climbing. I assisted David in creating a new mixed route called ‘Fart with Confidence.’ I’ll let you use your imagination on how we came up with the name. This was my first experience with new-routing. David-from-Cornwall drilled in the bolts (with a top-rope) and did the first lead ascent. I somehow did the second lead. Now our names will go down in flaming glory for ever as creating the very best climb at Matopos. ;)

David on the first ascent of Fart with Confidence (18, Ewbank Rating)

David (a.k.a. "Jesus") and our new route

The park was interesting in that you could tell that it was at one time a very luxurious place to stay, and probably an oft-visited national treasure. It is in a beautiful setting with rolling hills and lush vegetation. Today, however, the tourist facilities have the feel of a ghost town – or better said ‘ghost resort.’ There is a dark stagnant puddle in what used to be a decent-sized pool, empty halls with broken windows, deserted cabins, and only infrequent electricity. We pitched our tents among the decrepit cabins and used the good-sized fire pit to cook up our usual meal in Zimbabwe, a bland-tasting bean-and-lentil-based stew. Hey, at least we are eating, I’m not complaining! We also met a group who had come from Harare to meet and discuss free speech. A secret conference, of course.

Matopos, Zimbabwe

Squeezing up a crack in Matopos

Huts in Matopos

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Tags: Africa bodyboarding bungee hot rock matopos new route rafting rapids riverboarding rock climb victoria falls water buffalo waterfall zambezi zimbabwe

Meeting the Big Red Truck in Namibia

October 22nd, 2007

It begins. I am now crossing Africa in a ridiculous big red truck full of rock climbers. The trip is called Hot Rock and the truck is called BiRT (the Big Red Truck). Needless to say, it has been an adventure – I have been with the truck for nearly a month now and am settling in to the rhythm of dust and grime and scarce showers. Being in a group is a bit odd after going solo for so long, though. It can sometimes feel a bit like Big Brother on the Big Red Truck. I wish I had a decent video camera and an interview chair…

I joined the group in Windhoek, the capital of Namibia, after a few days on the coast of Tanzania on Mafia Island. I was given a tour of the truck and the first thing I noticed was the smell. Then I was told that I was the first girl in the group, aside from the trip leader (which explained the smell), and met the lads. Everyone seemed nice enough, but I was exhausted, and retired to my tent fairly early while the others had a big night. They had just come off a week in the desert and were enjoying a bit of civilisation (e.g. beer and girls). I did not have the same predilection. ;)

Windhoek (prn: Vint-hook) is a pleasant enough town, mainly known for the lager beer of the same name. Nothing notable happened there, other than a good deal of preparatory shopping and a delicious meal at a steakhouse that I couldn’t appreciate quite like the other, half-starved members of the group. I should mention the food budget for each traveller is $1 a day, which is for breakfast AND dinner, plus a little extra for condiments. While this amazingly seems to work for the most part, when a steak is at hand, people run for it.

Finally, we were ready (a few days late) and we took off for a town called Swakopmund, on the coast of Namibia, and an adrenaline junkie’s paradise. Everyone was eagerly looking forward to the activities on offer there. We quad biked on huge sand dunes, sky dived, met a crazy old man who set up a 1.2 km zip line from one mountain to another (which of course we had to try), among other things.

Dune Diving near Swakopmund

Sky Diving near Swakopmund - I'm on the right.

Mike getting ready to zip-line 1.2km across the valley

Here I also learned that there was somewhat of a pirate theme on the truck, which for those of you who know me, this was cerrrrrtainly exciting… I ran out posthaste and bought the gear to make our own “land-pirate” flag.

The Pirate Flag

Having exhausted the crazy activities in Swakopmund, we headed inland for a week of climbing at Spitzkoppe, which is a huge granite peak that rises up 700m from the surrounding desert. It was pretty intense for my first climbing in months, let alone outdoor climbing which I hadn’t done in over a year. One of the first endevours, of course, was the summit. Another favourite climb was the Rhino Horn, which had an amazing abseil in the sunset. Aside from the hordes of flies, it was a fun climbing spot which reminded me quite a lot of a slabby version of Smith Rock, Oregon.

BiRT and Camp at Spitzkoppe

Remi and I at the top of Spitzkoppe - photo taken by Mike

Abseiling off the Rhino Horn near Spitzkoppe Namibia

Abseiling off the Rhino Horn - taken by Remi

Our Spitzkoppe camp at night

Next, we headed up the Skeleton Coast (where we actually did see a number of animal skeletons), stopped off at a “Ship Wrack” and took a dip in the frigid water. It was a quick visit as we had a long drive day with destination: Etosha Pan (salt flat and game park). We ran around on the salt flat and went on Safari with BiRT, which is an interesting experience given its ridiculously loud diesel truck engine and a bunch of loud climbers blasting music in the back. I have a lot of great pictures of animal bums, as they all ran away the moment they sensed us coming.

BiRT on the Skeleton Coast

Zebra bums in Etosha

Hot Rockers proudly waving the pirate flag, from left: Remi, Sam, Mike, Emma (trip leader), Henry (the driver)

Bye bye pretty elephant!

Giraffe watching us

BiRT Wildlife Photographers

Our second safari, in Botswana’s Chobe National Park, was more successful. We took advantage of local 4×4 jeeps and split up into smaller, quieter groups. This way we saw much more game, including: giraffes, elephants, zebra, a rhino, hippos, oryx, springbok, crocodiles, and LIONS, who were a leeeettle closer than some would have liked… especially when they began running toward the ‘candy mobiles’ as I like to call our jeeps, making eye contact with you as you begin to worry that mayyyybe they are selecting their next meal.

Lion in Chobe park, Botswana

Elephant pooping in Chobe, Botswana

Hippos

For more photos, visit the flickr sets Namibia and Botswana.

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Tags: abseil BiRT camp dunes elephant etosha pan flag giraffe hot rock lion namibia pirate rhino safari salt flat skeleton coast skydive spitzkoppe summit swakopmund windhoek zebra zipline

Mafia Island, Tanzania

October 10th, 2007

Before joining the dusty Big Red Truck (BiRT) in Namibia, I decided to take a few days to relax on the remote Mafia Island, off the coast of Tanzania just south of Zanzibar. It is situated in a marine park, so the diving is fantastic and there are less tourists than the neighbouring Zanzibar up north. It was just what I needed after a whirlwind final week in the UK trying to get everything ready. Of all things, I forgot to bring sandals. Nice.

View Larger Map

Getting there was quite the adventure. My flight went through Dubai, where I was treated to a 7 hour layover. I highly recommend the ‘Quiet Lounge’ for those of us who aren’t gold-star members in an elite mileage program. Sleep was the mode du jour. Finally, an airport that caters to napping! The shopping was great as well, of course, it being Dubai. I treated myself to a digital point-and-shoot camera. Overall, one of my favourite airports to date. (For other good sleeping-in-airport information, I recommend The Budget Traveller’s Guide to Sleeping in Airports. A must try!)

My flight from Dar Es Salaam to Mafia Island was a little more adventurous. You know you are out of the usual airport scene when the safety instructions consist of the pilot shouting over his shoulder to tell you where your lifejacket is. Even better, when you get to sit in the co-pilot seat! Now, THAT is an upgrade. We landed on a tiny strip of dirt barely wide enough for a car, after which I was shepherded into a giant jeep which crossed Mafia island. I felt like a superstar – every child who caught site of the car jumped up and down squealing with joy and waving.

An amazing view from the plane. Below is a Dhow.

That strip of dirt is Mafia Island's runway

Upgraded to Co-Pilot on the return flight

There are only a handful of hotels on the island: Pole Pole (about US$200/night and the token “fancy hotel”), Mafia Island Lodge (about US$100/night, but beware there are quite a few add-ons, so ask before agreeing to anything), and Chole Mjini Eco Lodge (on another island just across the bay). The latter consists of tree houses, which sounds like fun, but overall I think I made the right choice. Being alone, it was easier to meet people at Mafia Island Lodge and the owners of Chole didn’t seem so nice, according to other guests.

The lodge is basic and comfortable. I’m not quite sure what the difference is between the ‘superior’ rooms and the ‘standard’ rooms, though. It seems the standard rooms have much better views of the bay, which is what I imagined the superior rooms to have. My ‘superior’ view consisted mainly of trees, but I didn’t mind as I was hardly ever in the room. The showers have pretty low water pressure. When the lodge was full, there was but a trickle coming out of the showerhead at peak shower time. The best part is the staff – they are so incredibly friendly and interact a lot with the guests. I had free Kiswahili lessons during my entire stay.

Mafia Island Lodge

Diving: the first day was what I would consider average coral reef diving. The visibility wasn’t spectacular; there was quite a bit of sand floating around. I learned later that this was due to diving during low tide. Day 2 was much better – we went farther out, and during high tide. I do recommend it as a good place to dive, just make sure to get out of the bay itself. I met some other tourists who had been diving off of Pemba Island further north, and they had some amazing photos from underwater. Next time, I’d like to check that out.

The dive crew. I was the only client. :) These guys were a lot of fun!

Fishing boats on Mafia Island

All in all it was a very relaxing few days and I’m happy to have had time there before heading out to meet BiRT. I am a believer in soft landings for budget travellers. Organise a nice hotel for the first day or two, and then go for the hostels and budget lodgings. It’s a good way to get your travelling feet under you, to get used to the climate, the lingo, the money, and generally living out of a backpack. In other words, you can relax a little and drift into it.

For the full set of potos, click here.

This article originally appeared on MSN UK Travel.

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Tags: Africa airport beach dhow diving mafia island plane