Serengeti

Today has been a veritable curate's egg. It's been a strange one, it has, and I've not really felt totally comfortable all day. We loaded up into nine-seater Land Rovers yesterday, and drove for several hours up on to the rim of the Ngorogo Crater. We've left the Oasis truck and Rob and Boyo behind, and we're in the hands of an independent safari company. Upon reaching camp, they already had our tents pitched, so everyone piled in. Unfortunately, no-one told the newbies that we've been keeping to the same tents every night (they're numbered) – and I do mean in a logistical sense. This wasn't really a huge deal, on the face of it. However, I've been a bit 'cross-party' recently, spending a lot of time with the new guys, and they were later letting off a bit of steam about how stroppy everyone had seemed about the fact that they'd taken the 'wrong' tents. Storm in a teacup, I know, but I don't like conflict or any sort of bad feeling.

The next morning we were up at 5am to game drive into the crater.

It was around 10am that things took a turn for the uncomfortable. Vicky (she of the broken vibrators) was in our truck, together with six of the other new guys – all young. She has a different background to many of the others – she left school at fifteen, works at Debenhams, but has plans to train as a nurse. Bluntly, she's just not on the same wavelength. So, yet again she was trying to make some point which, though eminently sensible to her, came across as utterly hilarious. It was something to do with how lions know that they're pregant. Anyway, everyone was laughing and making jokes but she somehow missed this and assumed (okay, perhaps with a smidge of justification) that everyone was laughing at her rather than with her. Tears were shed.

(At one point I did ask no-one in particular, 'do lions shoot blanks, then?' That had nothing to do with it, though)

Apologies were dished out, explanations were fired around, the driver got quite agitated about the whole thing. Twenty minutes later, it was all dealt with and everyone was fine. Twenty minutes later, on stopping at a hippo pool, the leader decided to jump out of his land rover, check everyone was okay, and try to swap her out of our landy onto one of the others. Of course, he had the best of intentions, but this was absolutely the worst thing he could have done. After everything had been sorted, he dragged it all up again and put her on the spot in front of our truck and the eight people on one of the other trucks. She protested everything was fine but, of course, burst into tears again. It took some talking to get the leader to go back to his landy, and of course he didn't realise she was now specifically crying because of his actions. What a palarva.

After lunch, everything was fine. We saw plenty of buffalo and a pool of hippos, but nothing really different or spectacular. It was pretty cold and misty. Immediately after we'd eaten, we loaded up and headed out of the crater again. We left four of the group at the top, since they'd elected not to pay the extra to 'do' the serengetti. They were to be picked up and driven back to Arusha. It was another few hours to the Serengetti, along a sandy-gravel road – possibly the dustiest drive we've done, and we were all soon a sandy-brown colour.

Once we reached the entrance, we parked up for half an hour. I know I should expect it by now, but it always amazes me and annoys me just how many tourists are doing this sort of thing. The carpark was full of landrovers, with white tourists everywhere. The first game drive was a whistle-stop affair. We hurtled through the landscape, our heads out of the open roof. To be honest, we were in too much of a hurry for my liking. The driver wasn't overly-communicative, and we were left scratching our heads and saying 'couldn't we just...' every time we whizzed by, say, a juggling elephant or a leopard in slacks. This seemed to be the pattern for the evening – us arriving just in time to miss the action. We came round a corner to see a hippo in mid-yawn, five metres from one of the other landys. A money shot, if ever there was one.

After more hard driving, the reason for our headlong rush became apparent – we parked in front of a tree in which a leopard was sitting together with a dead impala. Quite difficult to see, but very cool. We only lingered ten minutes, though, before we sped off towards the camp. I also managed to catch some acacia thorns in my head and hands. I was standing looking backwards caught some acacia thorns in the head and hand, which was nice. It drew an utter lack of sympathy from the kids on my landy – and that was more than fine by me.

The camp is in the middle of nowhere, with practically no facilities apart from the shortest long drop I've yet to see, It was practically overflowing. Dinner was cooked for us and so we're were in bed early for another early start. The camp has no fences, and we've been told not to keep any food in our tents. There are some basic cooking 'cages', and two of the shortest long drops I've seen so far – either they're only a metre or two deep, or they're very, very old...

Early start tomorrow, for a game drive.

Words

Sometimes, y'know, the words don't come easily. Don't get excited, it's not that I have something major to tell you that I can't explain. It's just that for the last few days, these missives feel a little laboured. Yes, lots of events recorded and places visited, but it feels a little 'what I did this weekend'. Not sure what it is, but inspiration seems to ebb and flow sometimes. Beer often helps, I think, because I stop thinking about it and just write.

Anyhoo, soldiering on, right now I have two very different things to tell you. Either a) The Maasai village and community round these parts or b) the new girl on the truck who tells us she has three vibrators but has broken two. Best until last? Okay, then...

(she's from Eastbourne, incidentally)

We were met at the camp by a local Maasai guide, dressed in full costume and 'Pirellis'. Pirellis are basically sandles fashioned from car or truck tyres, with canvas straps. If you canpicture them, there's no finishing or craft to them. They're not shaped, they're just two oblongs of car tyre strapped over the foot. They actually look really quirky and cool. Anyway, he introduced himself twice, then led us into the museum. This is a building set up with a number of scenes depicting Maasai life and culture. It was reasonably interesting, although I didn't learn much I didn't already know. On the subject of circumcision – male and female are both still practiced – I managed to draw a diplomatic opinion: that, while the government has outlawed female circumcision, it has to come from education rather than law.

After this, we were led out into a group of about ten huts, each of which was basically a Maasai craft shop. It's difficult not to get slightly ticked off with the constant selling, although I guess they're all trying to make a living. I got rather tired, though, of walking past each hut and hearing, 'Welcome! Welcome...', as they tried to encourage us in.

Things took a turn for the surreal at this point. Four camels sat outside the camp. Eight of our group were encouraged to mount them (no, no ,no), and off we went. At the next village, we were assailed by the usual gang of small children, all eager to be picked up and photographed. We also saw some Maasai dancing, which consisted of four or five blokes yelling and shouting while one jumped up and down on the spot. It would be rythmic for two minutes, then it would break and one would yell incoherently in a high-piched voice. It reminded me of a rather poor bunch of verbally-disadvantaged carol-singers who'd just seen someone they know across the street. I charged in and gave it a go, and I reckon I was actually a bit better than them at the jumping up and down.

Anyway, more picking up small children, and back to camp.

So, I happened to be sitting on the truck, when a conversation about boyfriends broke out. Vicky is from Eastbourne, as I mentioned, and she’s perhaps not quite as sharp as the rest of the people on the truck. She left school at fifteen, etc. and now works in the ‘Visuals Team’ at Debenhams. Sadly, it was one of those roles she described as terribly important, and I’m sure she’s done well. She’s still a window dresser, though. Anyway, she’s been missing her boyfriend, but she has the paranoia that only the young (and, I suppose, the emotionally-challenged) have. He hasn’t texted, therefore he’s dumped her. Or he’s only put two kisses instead of the usual three. The thing is, the joke escalated, but she didn’t get it. Someone suggested he, ahem, plays with himself instead. She insisted this wasn’t true, to which all the other girls were, like, ‘Yeah, right.’ Anyway, the conversation moved on to vibrators, at which point she said, ‘I have three, but I’ve broken two.’ Amongst the laughter, I couldn’t help but ask, ‘Um, was that structurally or mechanically’. Not much sense was spoken after that. I think the girl might have some problems going forward, though…

Absolutely Scrabulous

Ah, fresh air! We're down at Snake Park, in Tanzania. Rob considers this his third home. It's run by 'Ma and BJ', which sounds a little like a New Orleans cabaret act, but they're actually an elderly couple. All the profits go to financing the local Maasai tribes, and so far they've built a school, a campsite and a clinic. Rob's been looking forward to a 'cuddle from Ma'. He's been encouraging people to spend as much money in the bar here as possible. After all, 'it's for the children!'

We now have twenty-one people on the truck, and first impressions are very promising. It's like playing scrabble. Having had a rack consisting mainly of Qs, X and a couple of Zs, we've elected to throw them away and draw another eight. The rest day in Karen was like us missing a turn (wow, this analogy just gets better and better!). We've been rewarded with what appears to be a darned fine selection of people. Even the American's okay. We'd heard that a twenty-two year old American called 'Skyler' was joining us. You can imagine what we made of this, but he appears to be a thoroughly decent guy. Web designer, obviously, from Coco Beach, Florida.

My favourites so far, though, are two sisters traveling together. They're half Australian, half French, from Courcheval but schooled in England. They're hilariously posh and amusingly naive. We cabbed to a 'nice' restaurant yesterday. The fare was three hundred schillings (about two pounds twenty). I paid. Afterwards, Mia pushed eighty US dollars into my hand. I looked at it. I looked at her. I looked at it again. 'Are you sure?', I said. At this point, she began to look a little confused. I had to explain to her that a dollar was very roughly the same as a Euro, at which point the penny dropped. Very, very d'oh. Still, they seem like a good laugh. We've also had gap-year medic called Sam join us, a young couple from Sutton Caulfield, an Irish couple who've just climbed Killi. I did a lot of charity work last night, buying a lot of beers – after all, it's for the children. Even at this stage, I'd rather like to stay on until Vic Falls, so I've done the 'top bit'. After Zanzi, though, I have appointments and plans in the UK, so it'll be time to go home. I can see how one can get addicted to traveling, though.

This morning, we're off to a Masai village, then this afternoon most of us are off to Ngorogoro Crater and the vast expanse that is The Serengeti.

Truck

I'm not sure I've fully described our truck yet. In keeping with the whole 'slightly less cheesy, slightly less “family”' atmosphere of this trip, the truck doesn't have anything as twee as a name. It's like...the truck reminds me a little of when I went shopping after my second or third snowboarding trip. It was only after snowboarding a couple of times that I worked out what I really wanted from my equipment, what didn't function so well, and what would work for me. What I mean is this truck has been designed by someone who knew exactly what they wanted, how they traveled, what they'd need when overlanding around Africa. For a start, there are twenty-six seats, but they're arranged so that there are two areas in the truck, at the back and front. Both areas face inwards so, in effect, there are two social areas. You can actually hang out and socialise on this truck, rather than simply travel in it to a destination.

You may recall that every day on the Nomad truck started with 'Beautiful Day' by U2. It got a bit tiresome after a while, particularly as the stereo system was a bit dodgy. Compare and contrast with Rob on our first day:

'Here's the stereo jack. You can put any music you want on, but if anyone puts on 'Beautiful Day', I will kick their arse.'

Magic.

The other contrast is in seating. With Nomad, we were on strict rotation every day. On this truck, there's a three-second rule: You move for three seconds, someone can take your seat. It works well.

The stereo is awesome – there's an audio jack between the two seating areas where you can plug in iPods and whatnot (Rob's favourite word is 'whatnot'). There are also two cigarette-lighter-style charging points. We have three cool boxes in the middle of the rear social aread (where they double as foot rests and tables. The biggest – marked 'LP FOOD ONLY' is for food for cooking – from the 'Local Payment' cash we paid at the start. This is only to be opened by the day's cook group, since they're only kept cold with ice bags.

The cabin is completely separate from the rear passenger area, and we don't see Boyo and Rob while we're driving. There's a buzzer in the back, with a key for 'x1 for photo stop' and 'x2 for toilet stop'. There's also an intercom phone, but we haven't used it yet. The seats are very comfortable, and all the luggage is in holes underneath these seats. It's not obvious at all, and Rob reckons they've been broken into in the past and lost nothing, since the thieves couldn't find the bags.

Oh yes, 'The Beach'. At the front of the passenger area, there's a raised platform, the width of the truck, and between three and four feet wide. It has cushions on it, and the roof above it can be folded back. It's basically for sunbathing, but you can also kneel and stick your head out of the top of the truck. Four people can squeeze on there at a time. It's a fantastic touch.

Karen

Another day, another campsite, another course of antibiotics. Honestly, this must be some sort of record; three different types on one holiday. Karen's a distant suburb of Nairobi and is, according to Rob, 'where the white people live'. It's definitely more affluent. It's, apparently, named after Karen Blixen (of 'Out of Africa' fame), who lived round the corner. My ear's improved a bit, but I thought best to nail it once and for all. As Rob predicted, the shopping centre we went to yesterday was a cut above, and the pharmacist not only spoke good English, but actually sounded like she knew what she was talking about. She told me the drug I'd been on – Metranidazole – is an 'antiprotazoa' (so presumably it's taken care of all my 'excessive protazoa' issues). She told me that while it cleared up the immediate infection, they should have given me something else much broader to take care of any secondary infections. This diagnosis fitted well with my symptoms, and I now have some 'Augmentin' – which is amoxycillin plus clavulanate potassium. Like Stella Artois, they’re reassuringly expensive, too. I'm on them for seven days, and I'm not allowed to drink. Of course, I currently have a bit of a hangover...

(I read somewhere once that the 'no alcohol with antibiotics' isn't actually true. When they first started using penicillin on civilians after the war, it was often to treat STDs. They told people they weren't allowed to drink because, bluntly, they didn't want them going out, getting smashed and having random sex while they were still infectious. I may have to check this, but it does sound very 'fifties British'.)

The pharmacist's English idioms only let her down on one occasion, when she said, 'These antibiotics will make you very proud'. I thought, 'Listen, love. If I wanted viagra...'

So I'm sitting on a table outside the bar, trying to sort out all my various electrical bits and bobs. It's like a branch of Curry's has cleared out a storeroom and dumped all the spare bits in a pile – camera batteries, little laptop, iPod, adapters.... I've already had one bloke ask me about the laptop today. I'm thinking of producing an A4 sheet I can just give to people – or maybe a small plinth with an information sheet on it I can stand in front of me when I'm typing away. Rob's just mooched past with a 'morning'. As usual, I have a load of questions for him, but I think it's important to pick my moments and give him a break occasionally.

We rolled into camp yesterday lunchtime. It's technically known as 'Karen Camp', but everyone calls it 'Dougie's'. There are eight overland trucks parked here, all from different companies. I guess Nairobi must be a pick-up point for tours, since only a couple of the trucks actually have passengers on board. Rob and Boyo have been enjoying some well-earned 'crew time' with the other trucks, after the stresses of the previous segment. The 'elephant' debacle was finally resolved, as we reached the giraffe sanctuary and most of the group jumped in waiting taxis. Four of us stayed, not being too bothered about the elephants.

I really wasn't that fussed about giraffes, but I was very pleasantly surprised. The giraffes are very tame. They have a two-storey rotunda with a fenced balcony running around it at giraffe-head height. When you walk in, they give you a handful of food, and let you feed, hug and even kiss the giraffes. Giraffes, because they're so tall, look thin and gangling from a distance. Up close, though, they're truly enormous (a bit like John Eales, really). David, one of the guys working there, adopted us, showing us how to feed and pose with two of the giraffes – 'Daisy' and 'Betty', then showing us around and giving us a talk. Apparently, giraffe saliva is antiseptic, since they're always cutting their mouths on acacia trees. I felt mildly reassured by this, as I pulled my hand away from Betty's mouth, leaving a two-foot length of drool hanging between my fingers and her tongue.

At Karen, we pitched tents, I mopped all the red mud out of my tent, then headed into Karen to do 'admin' stuff. I have to pay for the extended part of my trip in dollars, and getting money in this part of the world is a bit of a faff. There was a forex office there, but they didn't take cards. There was also a Barclay's, but they only had 'old' dollars (pre-2001 dollars with the 'small head' pictures aren't widely accepted due to counterfeiting.) So, to get dollars, I had to find a cash machine, withdraw Kenyan Schillings, then take them back to the Forex and change for dollars. This entailed walking back and forth past the same taxi drivers, hawkers and peddlers four times. I was getting to know them quite well by the end, but still didn't need, variously, a wicker giraffe, strawberries, dvds or a taxi. It was with great relief that I was able to present Rob with full payment in dollars. Only he'd quoted in pounds, so in fact I only had roughly half the required payment. Bugger…

Gah, far too many words. I need a good editor, don't I? Anyway, lots of beers last night, and I have a mild hangover. It was the last night for just over half the group, so we gave them a good send off. I attempted to show everyone Sarejevo Olympics, but they only had red sambucca, with the result that my hand is now stained red and looks like I've stabbed someone. Two girls arrived last night who are, apparently, joining us on the truck. Rob had gone to bed but they met Boyo (testicles, thankfully, squared away), who introduced them to Derek. I wouldn't be surprised if they've already headed to the airport.

This morning, there’s a more relaxed vibe in the air. It’s nice to have gotten rid of a few people. Dave is on his way to England, so I think I’m free. Rob’s had his third cup of coffee, and is now sitting, ready for conversation, banter, questions and debate. So I’d best get to it.

The Gates of Hell

In the end, only Owen, Alex and I elected to do Hell's Gate – the others choosing the easier walking day at Crater Lake. We went to select our bikes. As we approached the gate, I expected to see a rack of brand new top-of-the-range mountain bikes, well-greased chains glistening wetly, chrome gleaming in the morning light. Well of course, this is Kenya, so what we actually got was a motley group of five locals, each holding a rusty mountain bike. It seems that they bring their bikes down, we pick the bike we want, have a ride around, then John the Fixer pays the owner for it for the day. Half of the gears on mine worked, while Owen didn't have much in the way of brakes. Marcus, one of the guys from the village walk, led us off up the road on our bikes.

Today we rode around twenty-six kilometers in total. There wasn't that much in the way of animals – zebra, impala, warthog and a scary solitary Cape Buffallo – but I've seen animals, so this was about the scenery and the experience. Hell's Gate put us in mind of Arizona – big cliffs rising above the plains, rock towers here and there. We cycled in, dropped our bikes and hiked into the Hell's Gate Gorge. This was full of hot springs, and I got a great photo of Owen and Alex showering under a torrent of steaming water in the gorge. As we left the park, Marcus's bike broke, so he sent us the few kilometers along the road while he grabbed a 'matata' – these are mini-bus taxis. They seem to have a set route, and hold about ten or twelve people. They appear to have a crew of two – a driver, and a business-tout-cum-conductor who hangs out the offside window on the matata, shouting at people for business.

We rode until we reached a gate with 'geopower' written on it. This was another moment that was so typically African simply because it wasn't. As the hot springs might have suggested, this area is geothermal, and they've built a geothermal power plant to take advantage. We were having our lunch in the canteen for the power station accommodation block. Sausage and chips, of course. Anyway, after that we cycled back to camp, bid Marcus goodbye (after one of the stallholders at the gate tried to trade for Alex’s socks) and headed to the truck.

The afternoon was spent at Ellsamere – Joy Adamson’s house (she of ‘Born Free’ fame). It’s a lovely house on the lake, with a very small museum, a well-worn video, and most importantly, ‘afternoon tea’. I’m rather ashamed to admit I fell asleep during the video, then spent the rest of the afternoon stuffing myself with cake. Yum.

Deja Vous

Back here again, where it all started. This was where we spent our first night, although I was ill at the time so it's all a little hazy. My tent didn't leak too much more last night, so woke in the morning toasty warm and dry. A few people got wet, though, and Rob is promising to 'kick Boyo's arse' (since Boyo's in charge of the tents, apparently). We spent an hour in Nakuro, where I double-checked on flights and stuff. I can get a direct flight from Zanzi to Nairobi, but the timing means I couldn't fly the same day so I'd have to stay in Nairobi over night. No thanks. Rob also reckons a flight from Dar is more reliable, since there are no 'coastal weather' issues. So, next time I'm near a computer I'll book that, then plan to spend the night before in Dar somewhere.

We reached camp around 2pm. Tomorrow, we have the choice of either Crater Lake or Hell's Gate. Both are national parks. The majority of the group are going to do Crater Lake, but I and a couple of the others are going to do Hell's Gate. It's unusual in that you're able to explore it without an enclosed vehicle, so the trip is going to involve some mountain biking and hiking, all through herds of giraffe, gazelle, etc. There's nothing too dangerous there, obviously (visions of hapless Japanese tourists being wrestled from their bikes by lions and leopards.), but it'll be a tad more strenuous – which is just what I could do with right now.

However, it looks like I'm going to need antibiotics again. I think the infection, while gone from my wisdom tooth, has migrated to my ear. It's really sore, although ibuprofen's controlling it. Sadly, I didn't realise how bad it was in Nakuro, since I could have obtained some more drugs. It's two days to Nairobi now, so I'm not sure what's going to happen. Literally, right now I'm feeling very odd and 'spacey' indeed. Not sure if that's the ear thing affecting my balance...

Soldiering on, we went on a 'village walk' this afternoon. After the two very odd experiences in Southern Africa, I'm a tad dubious of this sort of thing, but with nothing better to do, most of us headed out with a couple of local blokes as guides. This was very interesting indeed. They first took us to a local village (although I suppose you saw that one coming). The first thing that struck me was the litter. It was just everywhere, half buried, hanging in bushes. There were plastic bag fragments and polythene everywhere, of the sort that's bleached because it's been there so long. The guide heard us talking about the litter and explained that the government is doing something about it and trying to encourage people to too. He did say, though, that he thought the government was the main problem – completely missing the fact that it has to come from the people. It also wasn't surprising considering both guys had pulled the plastic seals off their bottles of water and tossed them casually on the road earlier. It's been ingrained into me from such an early age, to watch them litter so casually really, really jarred with me. I know some of the others felt the same.

We walked further into the village, children came running. Lots of children. We could hear their shouts – unintelligible to us save for the peppering of 'Muzungu!'. They loved to see themselves on camera screens, and a crowd of them soon gathered around Jen, demanding to have their photograph taken – a sort of 'inverse paparazi'. Even some of the mothers screamed with glee to see themselves on camera. It would be wonderful to somehow send them some prints, but I'm not sure how it could be done. The village itself consisted mostly of concrete buildings interspersed with litter and open channels through which sewage flowed. Everyone was friendly – the children, in particular. 'Hau-waar-yew', they repeated over and over again. At some point, they've learned that 'how are you?' is something mazungus often say when they meet someone, and it's been corrupted as it only can in the hands of young children. The parents are, of course, more cynical, although we often got a wave or gentle smile from them. 'John' and 'Marcus', our guides, seemed to know everyone in the village. John told us several people had asked, 'why don't the muzungus give us money?', to which he replied,

'No, they won't: they're from the church.'

That seemed to end all discussion on the subject. They also showed us a half-completed long-drop. This must have been about twenty feet deep. Apparently, the diggers are paid roughly 2USD per foot. What a way to make a living.

We walked out of the village towards a small masai settlement. The children turned back at this point, apparently frightened of the masai. John told us we shouldn't take pictures because the masai would demand payment. He told us they think the camera steals their soul. 'But the soul can be returned with a small cash payment?', I asked. John and Marcus were cynical enough to find this funny. This area is somewhat of a transit camp, and a UN refugee camp recently closed. The masai camp seemed fairly deserted, with only a few solitary figures. We didn't go in, merely looking from a distance.

Continuing down to another small village, they took us to the 'pub'. This was a square of benches under a tree at the edge of the village. They wheeled out a bottle of 'Changa'a' – a clear liquid in a plastic water bottle. This, you could use as fuel. From Lonely Planet,

......

It smelled a little like schnapptz, but slightly more medicinal. We all took a small sip. They warned us we shouldn't drink too much if we weren't used to it, as a glass would 'put us on the floor'. As we stood to leave, Marcus necked the rest – equivalent of a triple.

Back at camp, the conversation turned to elephants – specifically a visit to an elephant orphanage. This has become a bit of a ‘cause celebre’, and is causing complaints far out of proportion. Specifically, the documentation says we go to an elephant sanctuary, but Rob and Boyo say they don’t. It’s really not a huge deal, but it’s just getting ridiculous. Anyway, I’m staying well out of it. More later on the whole thing, anyway, as the group dynamic is fascinating.

23/7/08 20:29

I'm in the bar, tapping away, surrounded by people drinking, playing darts, discussing cameras... I'm feeling a bit rough, would you ever believe it? I have earache – the literal kind, rather than metaphorical. It's the same side as my wisdom tooth, so I'm seriously hoping this doesn't mean a re-occurance. Surely life couldn't be that cruel? (to you or to me)

A great game drive today, though. We were up and into minibuses at 6am, for the drive to Lake Nakuru National Park. The minibus we were in was cramped, and with eight people it was practically full. When we reached the park, I was mildly peturbed to realise we'd be game driving in said minibus. Hmm. Still, the centre of the roof cranked up so we could stick our heads out of the top. And off we went.

Let me tell you, the place was probably the best game reserve I've been to. Despite having no elephants, there's a lot of other stuff, it's very visible and largely unworried by vehicles. We saw a lion feeding on a dead buffalo from about ten metres, rhinos from five metres, giraffes and all sorts of other stuff. It was fantastic, and I've managed to bag quite a few decent photos. The driver, however, wasn't really much of a guide...

(Upon spotting a bird of prey sitting in a tree)

Me: Hey, what type of bird is that?
Driver: It's, um, a bird of prey.
Me: Yes, what type?
Driver: It's not a Fish Eagle.

Fantastic. Ta very much for that.

As I've said before, it's amazing how one gets blasé about animals. Amelia – our Australian journalist – having never been to a game park before, was saying, 'not another rhino. I want to see them having sex.' Of course, the baboons didn't disappoint her. They proved very entertaining, actually, particularly when one climbed into our empty mini bus while we were standing around outside. Sadly, I didn't get a photo, as I was too busy shouting at the driver. It turns out that, when I shouted, 'Excuse me!' to the driver, at least two people thought I was talking to the baboon.

The drive back was an experience in itself. We drove into Nakuru, in the pouring rain. dodging taxis, trucks and people on their way home from work. Every piece of shelter had rows of locals standing under it, just looking out at the rain and road. It's a funny thing, Africa. People seem to have far too much on their hands. Well, that's not fair, of course. They have a lot of time on their hands, so I guess that's why they're never in any hurry. I saw a woman sitting by the side of the road, peeling vegetables yesterday. She did it in slow motion, but then, it's probably the only task she had to do all day. But I digress. So, we found ourselves on a road – a road we'd taken that morning. We drove down it five hundred metres to find it shut. No signs, no nothing. So, twenty minutes of three-point turns, mud tracks, hand signals and arguments with local truck drivers followed. Just a crazy place, Africa, with no-one in charge. We eventually negotiated our way around the blockage and found a diversion sign for traffic coming from the other side. To be honest, I think the only reason it was there at all was because there must have been someone with a big enough piece of cardboard and a crayon handy.

Rob had managed to whip us up a lasagne somehow, which was nice, so we've been in the bar playing drinking games while the rain hammered down on the tin roof. I've already had to stifle three leaks in my tent using tissue paper, so it should be okay until morning. A couple of the others haven't been so lucky – mainly because they didn't take action early enough. They're now complaining loudly, and I think Rob may cop an earful in the morning. Yes, the tents shoudln't leak, but being right isn't going to make you any drier, is it? Playing drinking games with this lot is an experience – one or two of them are so bad at them. Leigh – a school teacher – couldn't get the hang of 'fives'. 'Fifty-five!', she yelled out, during a game with only five players.** Alex then tried, 'six!' Dear, oh dear.

A nine o'clock start tomorrow, and an hour in Nakuro for banks and t'interweb. I need to sort out how I'm getting to Nairobi from Zanzibar, and do a bit of research. Maybe a few days of windsurfing...

**max. twenty-five, in case you don't know the game.

Birdwatching

I'm in the bar, tapping away, surrounded by people drinking, playing darts, discussing cameras... I'm feeling a bit rough, would you ever believe it? I have earache – the literal kind, rather than metaphorical. It's the same side as my wisdom tooth, so I'm seriously hoping this doesn't mean a re-occurance. Surely life couldn't be that cruel? (to you or to me)

A great game drive today, though. We were up and into minibuses at 6am, for the drive to Lake Nakuru National Park. The minibus we were in was cramped, and with eight people it was practically full. When we reached the park, I was mildly peturbed to realise we'd be game driving in said minibus. Hmm. Still, the centre of the roof cranked up so we could stick our heads out of the top. And off we went.

Let me tell you, the place was probably the best game reserve I've been to. Despite having no elephants, there's a lot of other stuff, it's very visible and largely unworried by vehicles. We saw a lion feeding on a dead buffalo from about ten metres, rhinos from five metres, giraffes and all sorts of other stuff. It was fantastic, and I've managed to bag quite a few decent photos. The driver, however, wasn't really much of a guide...

(Upon spotting a bird of prey sitting in a tree)

Me: Hey, what type of bird is that?
Driver: It's, um, a bird of prey.
Me: Yes, what type?
Driver: It's not a Fish Eagle.

Fantastic. Ta very much for that.

As I've said before, it's amazing how one gets blasé about animals. At least one person, having never been to a game park before, was saying, 'not another rhino. I want to see them having sex.' Of course, the baboons didn't disappoint on that score. They proved very entertaining, actually, particularly when one climbed into our empty mini bus while we were standing around outside. Sadly, I didn't get a photo, as I was too busy shouting at the driver. It turns out that, when I shouted, 'Excuse me!' to the driver, at least two people thought I was talking to the baboon.

The drive back was an experience in itself. We drove into Nakuru, in the pouring rain. dodging taxis, trucks and people on their way home from work. Every piece of shelter had rows of locals standing under it, just looking out at the rain and road. It's a funny thing, Africa. People seem to have far too much on their hands. Well, that's not fair, of course. They have a lot of time on their hands, so I guess that's why they're never in any hurry. I saw a woman sitting by the side of the road, peeling vegetables yesterday. She did it in slow motion, but then, it's probably the only task she had to do all day. But I digress. So, we found ourselves on a road – a road we'd taken that morning. We drove down it five hundred metres to find it shut. No signs, no nothing. So, twenty minutes of three-point turns, mud tracks, hand signals and arguments with local truck drivers followed. Just a crazy place, Africa, with no-one in charge. We eventually negotiated our way around the blockage and found a diversion sign for traffic coming from the other side. To be honest, I think the only reason it was there at all was because there must have been someone with a big enough piece of cardboard and a crayon handy.

Rob had managed to whip us up a lasagne somehow, which was nice, so we've been in the bar playing drinking games while the rain hammered down on the tin roof. I've already had to stifle three leaks in my tent using tissue paper, so it should be okay until morning. A couple of the others haven't been so lucky – mainly because they didn't take action early enough. They're now complaining loudly, and I think Rob may cop an earful in the morning. Yes, the tents shoudln't leak, but being right isn't going to make you any drier, is it? Playing drinking games with this lot is an experience – one or two of them are so bad at them. Leigh – a school teacher – couldn't get the hang of 'fives'. 'Fifty-five!', she yelled out, during a game with only five players.** Alex then tried, 'six!' Dear, oh dear.

A nine o'clock start tomorrow, and an hour in Nakuro for banks and t'interweb. I need to sort out how I'm getting to Nairobi from Zanzibar, and do a bit of research. Maybe a few days of windsurfing...

**max. twenty-five, in case you don't know the game.

Such a child...

This is going to sound very childish, very smug, but I'm very quietly pleased with myself and I simply must tell someone. I just beat Dave at draughts (or 'checkers', if you like). We played by the fire in the bar, with everyone watching. He's clearly an intelligent bloke, and everyone expected him to win. At one point, it looked like he was. Nobody, however, counted on my many years of training with my two granddads. Four or five solid weeks every year (when Papa Jack and Nana Betty used to visit from Cornwall), papa and I would face each other across the draughts board on our stomachs in the lounge for best-of-three. I can play the game well without really even thinking about it now. I'll never forget, after papa winning the first two games of three, 'Now I've won today, see, so this one's just for fun.' Little did I know it would serve me so well so many years later, as the game suddenly turned before everyone's eyes and I wiped Dave out with brutal nonchalance. He was very gracious in defeat, and I merely enjoyed my victory behind a gentle smile. I then beat the next two people before stepping aside, not wanting to become a bore.

Sad, I know, but small things, small minds.

We were reduced to board games because there's a power cut. Happens all the time, apparently. The guy temporarily managing the place told me that ex-President Moi (Daniel arap Moi, I think) lives in 'that' direction, and his lights always come on first. When they come on it means the camp will generally have power twenty minutes later. It's amazing how well these African presidents do out of selflessly serving their country, isn't it? Apparently, when Moi lost the election, he agreed to step down only with immunity to prosecution. He's doing alright these days...

Our first proper game drive tomorrow, so an early start. Some of those on the nineteen-day trip (not me anymore. Hah!) have been complaining that for a trip entitled 'Gorillas and Gameparks', there are precious few game parks. Personally, I reckon a read of the itinary should have cleared things up before we left, but I thought best not to point that out.

Zanzi it is, then

(Kembu campsite, somewhere near Nakuru, Kenya)

I've gone and done it. I've pulled the trigger. After two solid hours of screwing around with google and the Nairobi Emirates office phone system, I'm now flying out on the 10^th August, landing at Heathrow on the 11^th. I'm now doubting myself. I'm feeling a bit, well, a bit lonely I suppose. I've decided that while I get on well with the majority of the people on this truck, there are only really a couple I can have anything approaching a genuinely open conversation with. The two main reasons that decided me on extending the trip were that 1) Whatever happens, it'll be an experience and I won't regret it (whereas I might well have regretted not doing it) and 2) there's going to be a big personnel change at Nairobi. Rob tells me that there's going to be twenty-one people on the truck from Nairobi, only seven of which will be people staying on. Notwithstanding the fact that the truck is going to be decidedly cramped, it's going to make for a new trip – and a chance to experience Africa without Dave's constant commentary.

(A typical conversation between Dave and I:

Dave, motioning to what are obviously solar tanks for the showers: Do you know what they are?
Me: Yes.
Dave: They're solar tanks. The sun falls on the surface and heats the water for the showers.
Me: Yes.

There's a Dave waiting for me in Dante's seventh circle of hell. With a better camera than mine.

)

Anyway, yes, I'm feeling a touch discombobulated (first time I've ever used that sensibly, I think). You know sometimes you just need familiarity, you need to be able to be totally yourself, to be able to say something and for those listening to know where you're coming from. But I have made my bed, and now I shall lie in it. I could just, occasionally, do with being able to talk completely openly to someone.

Basically, the extension I'm making is as follows:

28/7 Snake Park – according to Boyo, this is pretty much the centre of overlanding in Africa.

29/7 Crater Lake - some sort of Masai Village visit.

30/7 Game driving on the Serengetti.

31/7 Snake Park – it does sound like a cool place to hang out, though.

1/8 Tembo – A visit to a Heritage Centre, whatever that might be.

2/8 Mibati Beach

3/8 - 7/8 Zanzibar – diving, spice tours, prison...

The only flight I could get out was on the tenth, so I'm thinking about remaining in Zanzibar when the others leave and then flying back from Dar es Salam to Nairobi on the morning of my flight. I considered Dar for a few days, but it's Rob's least favourite place in the whole of Africa (and, tweaking his objectivity slightly, the place he spent a night in a police cell). Rob reckons there's plenty of diving and snorkeling to be done in Zanzi, and he knows a few decent people running hostels and dive boats there. I also wonder if there might be a bit of windsurfing, but we'll see. It's into the unknown of 'independent traveler' again, but I've done it a few times now (albeit briefly) and I've never regretted it. In fact, indirectly, it's the reason I'm here – meeting Rob and Boyo in Jo'berg.

Part of me would like to do it on my own – to strike out and see where life takes me. This is the quickest most convenient method of seeing the place, though. I just have to ensure I make an effort to mix with people not on our truck when I have the opportunity.

So does anyone have any tips as to how I can kill a few days in Tanzania (preferably near Dar es Salam)?

Green Lantern

Dinner tonight was at the Green Lantern restaurant. This another venture typical of the trip so far. It was basically a shack on the other side of the road, with trestle tables laid out. It was set up to give jobs to local youngsters, there was a knackered speaker blasting out local radio and plastic plates. Exhausted from the day's kayaking, I ordered a mango juice expecting fresh local juice... and was presented with one of those square cartons with a straw on the side. Yum.

The boss, telling us his name was Davis, 'but people call me “Sexy Davis”'' explained the concept. The locals cooked the food out the back – pumpkin soup, a buffet of local foods, and fruit to finish. Since we'd been cooking for ourselves, it was the first local cuisine we'd tasted. It was pretty good, considering the lack of quality ingredients. Rob explained that there's normally the option to do this, or dine at the a-la carte restaurant at the campsite, but he'd decided not to put it to a vote. I think he made the right decision. The food may not have been as good, but I'll be telling people about this night for years to come.

Yakety-yak

The water level of the Nile dropped significantly today, and I'm likely to be detained at the border because the missing water is currently sloshing around my sinuses. Seriously, I have a feeling that if I tilt my head in the right direction, a litre of river water is going to pour out – much like it did after kitesurfing in Fuertaventura (eliciting a 'Dude!' from the slack-jawed instructor). Today was a fantastic day, though – the sort of day I like best.

There were several things people were doing today – horse riding, a quadbike safari, kayaking, village walks... I could have done a half day each, but I elected to do a full day of kayaking – partly because of the price differential, but mainly because a full day would give me enough instruction to be able to ride some rapids. In the end Amelia, Dave and I signed up for it, with me being the only person to do the whole day.

The morning was spent down at a broad eddy in the Nile, where we'd been swimming the day before. Let me tell you, I have a new-found respect for the safety kayakers when we were rafting. My god, these things are unstable. In my opinion, they actually look faintly ridiculous, since they're so small. Basically, imagine the sort of kayak you see on the TV – the pointed cigar shape that we, in the UK, seem to call a 'canoe' – with the front and back cut off. I attacked the learning process in my usual utterly clumsy gung-ho manner. 'Paddle over there and back', said Ibrahim – our instructor. And I did. And I turned over. I think it says something about just how clumsy this was in that the instructor hadn't yet explained what to do in that situation. Anyway, I guessed enough to release the neoprene 'spray skirt' that covered the hole I was sitting in and crawl out, rather red-faced. After that, I was a little more circumspect with my paddling. We had two guys with us: Ibrahim, I already mentioned – a young Ugandan guy. There was also David, who seemed older, and slightly simian. The two worked well together, although we struggled with their accents occasionally. Ibrahim – as lead instructor – obviously spoke more, but David – in the background – was able to observe and provide many gems of information. Once we'd sorted paddling, we moved onto the T-rescue – this was a way of righting and overturned kayak, but simpler and easier than the classic 'eskimo roll'. Essentially, when you overturn, you let go of your paddle and put your hands on the sides of the upturned kayak. The rescuer comes in at ninety degrees and you use your hands on the nose of his kayak combined with a flick of the hips to right yourself. This proved exceptionally useful to me, although it took me a long time to master it, with my sinuses taking a pasting every time.

All the time spent upside down in the Nile meant that despite the luke-warm water, I was beginning to shiver. At lunch, only pride and determination kept me sticking to the whole day I'd signed up for. Lunch on the terrace overlooking the Nile in the sunshine, however, warmed me up and I was ready to go. The afternoon started rather oddly. Since I was the only person signed up for a whole day, it was just me and the two instructors. We trucked up to the Dam – where the rafts put in the day before. Ibrahim and I were in the back, and he told me that the dam was where Idi Amin used to dump the bodies of people he wanted 'disappeared'. It's chilling to find one's self in places where so many inhuman things have taken place. Down at the dam, we had to look around for a spot to put into the river, since there was a mass baptism taking place. It was led by what were obviously white missionaries, and they had an 'orphanage' minibus parked there. It bothers me, to be honest. I mean, I have no real right to criticise, since I'm not doing a whole lot to help in Africa, but the idea of people only receiving the help and aid they need if they take the Lord into their hearts sticks a bit for me.

Anyway, out on the river, we practiced eskimo rolling, and I could I get the hang of it? Could I bollocks, could I. It proved incredibly frustrating, and the only thing that kept me at it was the knowledge that I found snowboarding so hard to get the hang of in the beginning. we went over a grade I rapid, and I tipped. Of course I did. Not knowing how close I was to the others, I released the skirt and became 'a swimmer', as they term people not in their kayaks. David took my kayak on to the bow of his, drained the water out, then helped me clamber back in.

Over the course – which took us back to the camp where we'd been practicing, I did two grade II rapids. I have to say going into a grade II in a kayak felt like a grade V on a raft. As I followed Ibrahim down into the swell, the white water loomed above me. I managed to get caught, and I still don't know what happened. I followed Ibrahim as well as I could, was paddling up a large slab of white water when suddenly I found myself going backwards. I was caught, 'surfing' on the rapids. I wasn't entirely sure if this was normal, when the sight of David cruising past on my left convinced me it wasn't. Sure enough, I rode up again, tipped sideways and I was upside down and swimming again. I can see that this kayaking laugh must be awesome once you learn how to right yourself.

At the finish, at our practice spot – having had David say to me, 'You must get back in, quickly!' while I was laughing over another capsize because we were approaching the Bugiagli Falls – we continued on the eskimos. I was determined to crack it. After three more failures I said, 'right, if I don't get it this time, I'm done'. I went under, steadied myself, and reached with the padde – and suddenly I was upright. Like everything, if done right it's effortless. Cue lots of whooping, high fives and a few tail spins from Ibrahim (just to remind me I'm still shit). Having cracked it, I must have done about twenty more, with varying degrees of success

I climbed the stairs back up to the camp, utterly elated, I gave them both a bit of cash each as a tip – and that is tipping as I think it should be. It wasn't expected, but I'd had a great day and they'd been willing to stay out there as long as it took. It was fascinating talking to the two of them. Five years ago, the kayak company had basically advertised, looking for locals who wanted to instruct. It's partly a community aid thing, but mainly I think having locals employed makes it much more likely for Muzungu business to be accepted in the area. David himself ran a shop (or shack, if you like) outside the campsite, selling drinks to locals. He kayaks when they need him. They said there are local bars where you're looked on as minted if you walk in with a ten thousand Ugandan Shilling note (worth around three and a half quid!). Neither had ever been abroad, and I must admit I did feel a bit like a rich tourist.

So, kayaking? Loved it. Like everything I try like this, I now want to take it up and become an expert at it, but whether I do or not, who knows. I love the adrenalin, though – it was so exciting going into a grade II, and knowing I could survive and right myself would mean I could drop in with complete confidence. We'll add it to the list when we get back to the UK, shall we, along with surfing and freediving.

Adrift

It's 1am. I'm sitting in the truck. It's pissing it down. It's raining hard, but it's raining hard over a period of several hours. If I explain just how I noticed it was raining, that should give you some idea of the tone of tonight's missive. I may have to start at the beginning, though...

We went rafting today – hammering down over angry white water on nothing more than something a balloon modeler might whip up with four enormous novelty condoms. Rafting and kayaking is basically the raison d'etre for Nile River Explorers' Camp, and there were two truckloads of people on the river today, which made up about eight boats. Rob had been talking up the insanity levels last night, and there was a core of us who were keen for some mayhem. I don't know whether it's a 'boy' thing or a 'me' thing, but I am willing and able to try anything with reckless (if not gay, naturally) abandon. The only proviso is an instructor or guide needs to tell me it's okay. So, to put it bluntly, I have total faith in anyone who's done a week-long 'Guiding 101'. Works for me. The problem this morning was that different people had different expectations. We gathered a group of six who were up for a bit of, as the guides described it, 'go-getting'. Jess then inveagled herself onto our raft (basically, I assume, because she wanted to be with 'Papa' Huw), then proceeded to spend the entire day moaning about how cold she was and about how she 'didn't mind going in the water but didn't want to get flipped'. Goddammit, if that's what you wanted, go in the other boat! And she's fat.

Oh yes, rafting. It was fantastic. It far exceeded my experience at Vic Falls (which was also fantastic). The rapids were faster (more 'rapid', I suppose) and harder, and boats were flipping regularly. The river itself was much wider, and the rapids were a long way apart. On the Zambezi, one tended to have two minutes to prepare for the next rapid, whereas on the Nile, we sometimes had half an hour. We had lunch on the raft – half a pineapple each, hacked into chunks with a machete on the bottom of an upturned kayak thrown onto the deck of a raft. I tell you, it was the most fantastic pineapple I've ever tasted. As we ate, hundreds and hundreds of bats – roused from the nearby island, circled.

There were four or five grade v rapids on the way down, and after each one, the river looked like the aftermath of a ferry disaster, with rafts and bodies everywhere. People swam to the nearest raft so, at one point, we had eleven people on board. It then took ten minutes for the repatriation process.

Dave has moved beyond parody. Jen an I were talking about rafting insurance, and I was telling her my insurance for the Heli-boarding – 'Dogtag' – covered me. Dave overheard this, then (and I'm deadly serious here. No word of exaggeration) proceeded to tell me all about my insurance and why it was so good. The best I could do was ask him whether he'd ever had insurance from the same company. He replied that he hadn't, with absolutely no trace of irony. And there's no-one I can tell about this! No-one would understand. I feel like bleedin' Salieri! And I want to hit him.

Oh, there's more! Let me not deprive you,.. We were talking about Uganda, and he asked me if it's the weirdest place I've ever been. 'No', I replied, 'that would have to be Kamchatka'. He then immediately asked me if sushi was popular there, and launched into a description of why the best sushi chefs come from Vladisvostok. You can't fault his general knowledge, but FOR F*CK'S SAKE I wish he'd listen for a change. No matter how much he knows, I could have told him something new, but he simply uses it as a springboard for the sound of his own voice. Hell, he's done a ski season in Val D'Isere, so is 'into' snow sports. Not one question about the heliboarding I was doing in Russia. Not interested, probably because he hasn't done it. Seriously, it's like he's been put here to torment me, and no-one else really sees it.

Elsewhere, Dan, Leigh and Boyo are turning into an interesting triumvirate. Leigh turns into a total flirt when she's plastered. Boyo, being a good working-class Shropshire Hobbit, flirts back, in his own crude and unsubtle way. Dan – obviously in love with Leigh – has himself set up as her moral guardian. So, at Leigh's suggestion, Boyo asks Dan if he can take Leigh to bed. Keep in mind that Dan is already mightily ticked off with Boyo over the 'testicles' incident. Dan fails to see the funny side, and explains to Boyo in a very stern voice, 'You have to understand, Leigh is like a sister to me, and if anyone mistreats her, they'll have me to answer to.' Dan teaches children under the age of ten, looks like he rarely goes out in the daytime, and couldn't fight his way out of a soggy paper-bag. It would be funny if it wasn't ever-so-slightly uncomfortable. Cue a long and serious conversation between Dan and Leigh. Dan, my friend, it's never going to happen. Run away.

Continuing in the same vein, I was talking to Derek. I've just about gotten the hang of his thick Irish vernacular, although it's the subject of many, many jokes. We were having a bit of a bitch and moan about various people. Jess is irritating me at the moment. I find her a little bit too gobby for someone who's the youngest on the trip, and she rarely separates herself from Huw. That' not his fault, of course. Well, it is a bit, I suppose. She also finds his jokes absolutely hilarious – even the ones that aren't funny. I thought this might bother Derek, since he and Huw are travelling together. He's not a big fan of Jess, but he's not too worried as it means he gets his own tent most of the time. No, what really surprised me is he can't stand Alex. I was shocked, since Alex is just a bundle of fun. Yeah, she's a little younger, and I suppose I can see why he finds her irritating and immature. Different folks, different strokes, I guess, but it's interesting how someone's opinion can differ so widely.

Oh, it rained. It rained and rained. We were on our rafts at around midday when the heavens opened. We all looked at each other, hoping Boyo or some of the others were around to shut our open tents. Sadly, when we returned, they weren't. There was my sleeping bag, with a small puddle on it. So I hauled it into the truck to dry off. Shortly after the Boyo-Dan conversation, I noticed Rob and rachael had disappeared. I ran to the truck, hoping to retrieve my sleeping bag and mat before they, erm, settled down for the night. And got soaked. Rain was coming down in sheets – on my open-to-dry-out tent. Godammit. So, since it appears R&R are staying in Rachael's tent (because Jess is staying in the extra tent she and Huw put up because Derek is in Derek and Huw's tent. You have to keep up.). So I'm sleeping on the truck, on the 'beach' tonight - and hoping Rob and Rachael don't have an argument.

'Avoid Morning Sex'

I realise the post title sounds very 'Popbitch', but it's a sign we've seen several times over the past few days. I didn't think too hard about what it might be for, assuming it was taking some African tradition or superstition and using it to somehow combat the threat of AIDS. It's darned sight simpler than that, though. An American guy I met at the school explained. Apparently, it's literally encouraging people not to stay in bed all morning. They have a big problem here with, not to put to fine a point on it, laziness. By encouraging people not to have sex in the morning, they're hoping more people will be out of bed before lunchtime and doing something productive (it would be churlish of me to say, 'like sitting by the road, staring into space, perhaps?'). In this way, I guess they hope to kick-start their economy. Best of luck with that one.

We're off rafting in half an hour. They were showing videos of it in the bar last night and, if I may wax American for a second, it looks in-sane! Like, totally awesome, dude!' Seriously, it might be something to do with the water levels at the various times of year, but it makes the Zambeze at Vic Falls look positively tame by comparison. Most of the boats were flipped multiple times, and a few got caught in rips where they were spun until they overturned. What's more, Rob – who has a very small streak of insanity, I think – is going to do it, and is talking about giving the guide a bit of extra cash to go super-bonkers and take some of us down the grade VI rather than portage round it. We shall see. I am very excited indeed. Still a big kid, really, when it comes down to it.

(More)Random thoughts (than usual)

I'm back, oh yes I am. It's like I've been away, training in the mountains with a cadre of ninja-monks. Actually, it's like that bit at the end of Superman II when Clarke walks back into the diner with his powers restored, teaches the bully a lesson and says to the incredulous waitress, 'I've been, ah...', and mimes a couple of shoulder presses,..

...Sorry, tad self-indulgent, that. What I'm saying, in a hopefully-amusing-but-probably-too-clever-by-half way, is I'm feeling pretty much restored to health. The thing that's interesting for me (if not for you. Sorry, stay with me. Don't make me beg.) is that I thought I was feeling better a week ago. I remember sitting by the fire with Rob saying, 'Hey, I'm feeling a lot better', and meaning it. Today, I'm properly feeling better, to the extent that I don't think about my wisdom tooth every five minutes (or, indeed, mention it. I'm done. Promise,). I think people are wondering what's happened, since their impressions were all based on 'Sick Nick'. I've headed to bed, now, leaving our two new couples to it, but I could quite happily stayed at the bar all night...

New couples. This one's interesting. Huw and Jess now seem to be spending an inordinate amount of time together. It's all quite odd. Maybe some sort of mid-life crisis for him. We're enjoying some minor piss-taking, of course. Huw managed to get two tickets for NZ-Wales today, so I asked him whether he'd be taking Jess (who wasn't there). The table enjoyed that. Rachael and Rob, on the other hand, well, I don't know where to start with that one.

My 'clicky thing'. I have a gadget that's used to treat mosquito bites. It administers a small electric shock, from a flint. It hurts a tad, but is supposed to take down itching and swelling quite effectively. Improbably, it actually seems to work. Word has now gotten round, and everyone's trying it. Dave tried it today. Aftewards, as we walked up the path to the school, he said, 'I had one of these, but it was about one-and-a-half-times more powerful. We didn't use it for bites so much as to attack each other. I've lost it now.' David, dear boy, are you actually telling me you had one of these rather esoteric devices, only it was much better than the one I have? You are, aren't you? Seriously. I am lost for words. God knows why, though: I should have seen that one coming a mile away.

Rob 'hates people'. Interesting career choice. He's a little ticked off that some people have been moaning about yesterday's charity effort. Partly, I agree with him, but I do think people have the right to moan. It's part of their nature. For me, I found the organisation very noble, and they're obviously doing good. They're just very inefficient. However, as a tourist swanning through on holiday, I've hardly earned the right to criticise.

Soft Power!

It's been a day of 'Softpower'. Now, I know that sounds like an IT consultancy, but it's actually a charity set up by a Dragoman Overland guide ten years ago. They have this area completely sewn up, with around thirty schools in total benefiting from their work. We have three whole days in Jinja, and day one, for the most part, we all elected to do the 'Softpower' thing, where they basically take us around a few schools, show us their work, make us do some work, then dig some cash out us.

First up was a small nursery school, full of children up to the age of eight. When we came through the gate, they swarmed out of the building and all over us. I wasn't at all prepared, and suddenly found myself with children hanging off each hand and round my legs. I felt a bit like Indiana Jones at the end of 'Temple of Doom'. They didn't seem to want much apart from company, although they loved seeing themselves on the screen of my digital camera. They took great delight in hanging off my arms, too – they're so light, I could lift them into the air, with one on each outstretched arm.

From there, we walked to the education centre, which was a gaudily-painted building seemingly in the middle of the forest. Here, they teach basic IT, english, health and agriculture skills.

It was a bit of a whistle-stop tour, and we were then loaded on the back of a truck and bused out to a bigger school. Everyone in this area seems very friendly. Whether or not it's the influence of Softpower, no-one seems to be begging, and everyone waved at the truck in a very friendly way. At the school, those with the appropriate skills (teacher, doctor, farmer...) were put to use, and the rest of us.... painted. Yup, we painted one of the buildings. To be honest, we were doing this for a few hours, and it was fairly hard graft. I'm also not sure our time couldn't have been put to better use. However, we achieved something, and it didn't cost them any resources (except paint, I suppose) for us to do it. Charity so often seems to be more about the people doing it than the people benefiting. I do think there are things they could do better and more efficiently, but then I guess I should put up or shut up.

After a few hours with paint brushes, we had lunch. This consisted of rice, plantain and cabbage. Plaintains are basically over-sized bananas, with none of the sweetness. They taste a bit like potato, and I couldn't think of anything worse than to have them as my staple diet. Still, we ate it all, and it wasn't too bad. Suggested donation of twenty US dollars, and my guilt is assuaged for another few months.

So back at base, another swim in the Nile, and some free internet.

There, and I didn't mention the wisdom tooth once. What does that tell you?

Source of the Nile

Nile River Explorers camp, Jinja.

Another day, another awesome setting. I can step out of my tent and look over the rapids of the Nile. This is going to be a great few days. My tooth is responding to the antibiotics and I'm no longer on painkillers (as Matt said, 'It's the new “Nick's Camera”!'). There are plenty of people here, rafting and kayaking to be done, and beer to be drunk. I'm on 'cook group' tonight – I'm no longer able to claim I'm too sick. In a moment of madness, I suggested whipping up a ham carbonara, so I now hold ultimate responsibility for how this comes out. I haven't made it for ten years, so should be interesting.

It's a funny thing about camps in East Africa (Uganda is in East Africa because it's featured in the Lonely Planet book 'East Africa', okay?). The settings are as (or even more) stunning than they were in Southern Africa. They're just tattier. They just look like they need a bit of money spent on them. I don't know, maybe it's the extra humidity, or the rain, but everything feels a bit mildewed. There are patches of mud here and there, and lots of insects buzzing around. The showers look okay, but touch the wall and there's a patina of slime there. Yum. Yes, think sympathetically of me as you step on to the Northern Line tonight, won't you?

A relatively quiet night, last night. We were supposed to head into town, but no-one could muster the energy. As soon as Rob stood up to make his post-dinner briefing, Boyo sang, 'I wannna hold your haa-a-aa-a-a-a-and...' This brought the house down, and it was some minutes before Rob could continue.

We've just been for swim in the Nile, then. There was one helluva current to swim against, and I bottled jumping off a high step. Two local kids were doing this, so naturally I thought I should. I was already to leap, with two people with cameras and videos at the ready, when two of the girls spotted me and said, 'No, Nick, don't be stupid! Be careful.' Sadly, this caused me to reconsider. As a compromise, I tried it from a lower step... and I found my backside lightly touched the riverbed. Hmm, perhaps not such a good idea. As always in these situations, it wasn't so much the injury risk that worried me as the idea of looking stupid having taken an unnecessary risk.

More bitching, then. Leigh, quietly, is beginning to attract some criticism. She's basically a bit of a princess, used to getting her own way. A bit of a flirt, too. She's one of these people who asks when she wants something – and asks a lot. Otherwise, everything good. We were stuck at the shopping centre for an hour or so earlier. They'd run out of eggs – a massive supermarket – and when I tried to buy ice, four different workers there couldn't help me at all. In the UK even the lowliest shelf stacker knows where stuff is since, you know, they see it EVERY SINGLE DAY. Not here, though. Our Canadians, Owen and Alex, went to get their phone unlocked. The guys said it would take twenty minutes.... then put it on the back of a bike to the other side of Kampala. It took an hour and, of course, there was no way of telling them 'forget it'. 'Welcome to Uganda', said Rob.

Kampala by Bike

You can keep your gorge swinging and bungee jumping. White-water rafting? Hah, piffling. Quad biking? Sandboarding? Forget it! If you want real heart-stopping adrenaline-fueled action-adventure in Africa, take a taxi-bike into Kampala.

Today is a 'free day', to explore Kampala. Despite the possibility of a lie-in, I was awake at 8am, and 9:30 found us trying unsuccessfully to make a dent in the enormous pan of porridge the cook group had made for breakfast. After sitting around for a while, conducting one-to-one post-mortems of the night before, we made half a plan to head into town. Derek, Huw, Jess, Boyo and I all headed out together, down to the garage round the corner where we picked up some bikes. Boyo approached on guy to sort a price, whereupon we were suddenly surrounded by guys on bikes. It was like a scene from Grease II (look, my sister really liked it when she was young, okay?). Anyway, after a bit of negotiation, we were off, with me clinging to Boyo (with scrotum squared away in his shorts, fortunately).

My god, this was incredibly hairy. We whizzed and weaved through traffic at fifty km/h, my knuckles going white as they gripped the handle behind me. It was a ten minute ride, and twice I heard myself murmur, 'I'm not ready to be a statistic'. I did have a chuckle to myself, though, when I heard Boyo ask the driver, 'Been busy?'. I couldn't help but ask, 'What time you on to?'

Kampala's a great city. It's busy, smelly and polluted, but somehow relaxed. People talk to you, sure, and we had to keep an eye on the odd street urchin who hovered near us, but it was all fine. There are fourteen-person taxi-mini buses everywhere, but god knows how anyone knows where they're going. Twin that with the ubiquitous motorbikes, and you have a city consisting mostly of public transport.

We left Boyo to run some errands and struck out on our own. We didn't actually do a lot in Kampala, other than completely fail to find the craft market (sadly, Lonely Planet led us to a craft shop. Not exactly what we were after). We had a bit of an issue on the way back. We negotiated a price, and they drove us back, stopping outside a 'shoprite' superstore. We were, like, 'this isn't what we wanted', but they insisted it was what we'd asked to. Patently untrue, since I'd actually pulled out a book with the address in it. Anyway, they decided it was further than we'd negotiated, so asked for more money. I actually think the price was very cheap, and a little more wasn't out of order. However, as Huw (yes, it's 'Huw', not 'Hugh' – he's properly Welsh) pointed out afterwards, they were trying it on with us – trying to renegotiate on the fly. We elected to pay them 3000 per bike to drop us there – 1000 cheaper than agreed for Red Chilli. We then walked off on our own, ignoring the growing crowd of touting bikes.

We walked for then minutes, unsure of where we were. Eventually, we found a garage, asked where we were, then conducted some more brief negotiations with some more bikers. Off again, and this time they got us home. Well, they got Derek and I home; they only got Jess and Huw to the end of the hundred-metre drive. So now dinner is being prepared, and I must go wash Kampala off my skin and out of my hair.

Nick comes to the diary room...

Oh my lord. I really had no idea, but it appears that this truck is more like Big Brother than Channel 4 could ever hope for...

So, the story so far... Hugh and Jess (thirty-seven and twenty, respectively, if not respectably) have been copping off, and last night disappeared mid-evening. As I headed to bed, I caught Jess's distinctive chuckle from one of the tents. Meanwhile, Rob – our guide – disappeared with Rachael to 'share a bottle of wine'. Owen and Alex were spotted 'making out' in the internet room (although we'll let them off since they're, y'know, in a relationship, 'n' all). Meanwhile, Boyo's wandering around with his testicles hanging neatly from his open fly. Rob warned me this might happen, but I thought it might take a few more days.

To cap it all, Dan and Leigh are having a not-domestic. Dan and Leigh are both teachers in Cairo, and are just friends. Dan is rather, shall we say, 'straight'. He is incredibly unimpressed with Boyo's antics, and it's a source of tension between him and Leigh, who finds it all hilarious, in a mock-offended manner. I can see the problem exactly, although there's little I can do about it. Dan simply doesn't share that sense of humour. He finds it childish, rude and just plain immature. The issue is that, because he feels like that, he can't operate on that level. This means that he basically feels slightly excluded from the group, who are all laughing uproariously. Personally, I just don't find it that clever. Having played rugby most of my life, I've seen it all done before – and done in a much funnier, wittier way. This is simply old hat to me. The difference, though, is at least I can engage with it - I have a feeling that explaining, 'well, I know a guy who did that and it was much funnier' (actually, he did and it was. He engaged a female bouncer in conversation for ten minutes. She didn't notice).wouldn't be particularly entertaining. Didn't stop Dave, though.

There are the others, of course, and I don't know how they feel. I'm going to watch, carefully, over the next few days. This situation is going to develop. Compare and contrast with the Nomad trip, which is now looking very vanilla. It's all about the people, I guess. And the alcohol.

A free day to explore Kampala today. Not sure I want to really explore Kampala, but for want of anything else to do....

Chilli Hot

Back at 'Red Chilli Hideaway', on a very dodgy internet connection. Their wireless router has blown up, and I've been trying to help them fix it. It's the power supply, though, so they're going to try and get another tomorrow. So, my little laptop is plugged into their network. So far, five people have asked me about it, where I got it, etc. I wonder if Asus knows there's an enormous market for this in the 'travelling' community? My favourite was a Ugandan girl who works here... 'Is that a Viao?'

'No, it's an Asus eee PC.'

'Is it as good as a Viao?'

'No, but it's very small and cheap – 500USD'

'Where did you get it?'

'Um, Amazon. They're readily available.'

'Can you get me one?'

'Ummm.'

Very odd.

So we're heading out into Kampala tonight for a beverage or three. We have a 'free' day tomorrow, and Kampala is Rob's favourite city, so we might go and explore. Or lie in our sleeping bags with hangovers. My wisdom tooth is still painful, although my old friend ibuprofen helps a lot. I've finished the stuff Derek gave me, and it's had no effect. I've just done a bit of self-diagnosis on't internet (which is always reliable, and perfectly safe), and it appears I have a combination of Chron's Disease and Sickle-cell Anemia. Well, not really. It did say, though, that the stuff I had from Derek is 'narrow spectrum', and may not be the right stuff. We called into a shopping centre earlier, though, and I've got a different antibiotic from a pharmacy. They were... suspiciously cheap: something like fifty pence for thirty of them. I've looked them up, though, and they appear to be just the ticket. However, from Wikipedia:

'Interaction with alcohol

Consuming ethanol (alcohol) while using metronidazole causes a disulfiram-like reaction with effects that can include nausea, vomiting, flushing of the skin, tachycardia (accelerated heart rate), shortness of breath, and even death.[5] '

So, I've decided to start those tomorrow morning!

I've winged a mail to Emirates Nairobi about changing the flight. If my tooth doesn't improve, I'm not going to bother, but I'm hopeful about these latest drugs – I'd like to chill out on Zanzibar for a few days. I'm still kinda waiting for the epiphany that one is supposed to have when traveling, but it hasn't happened yet. I'm sure, though, my personality is changing in all sorts of subtle ways (no borderline disorders yet, though).

Last night was interesting. As we cooked dinner, a local family turned up. Apparently, they often do, and Rob invited them to share our food. IT was very social – they brought fresh milk for our tea and coffee – and they stayed until late into the night. This is 'cultural interaction' as it should be – natural, unforced and interesting. I slept well last night, and I think the lumpy ground had a 'chirobpractic' effect on my spine.

So, a couple of days to chill. Maybe I'll think about what in the hell I'm going to do when I'm back in the UK...

Bushwacking

We're in the middle of nowhere – but within earshot of passing traffice. We've pulled off the road onto a dirt track, and we've just pitched tents. This is another 'bush camp'- that is, in the middle of nowhere, no facilities, no lights, just us, a truck and a fire. This is a strange country, though. It's sparsely populated, apart from the towns. It doesn't seem to matter, though, wherever we go, there are always one or two people hanging around. We've just had a small herd of cattle nearby, and there have been two or three Ugandans, just standing and staring at us. It's really quite disconcerting. Of course, as soon as anyone points a camera in the direction of the cattle, they want money. Otherwise, they're just there. Rob and Boyo have had a quick 'hello' chat with them, but we're largely ignoring them. Rob reckons they'll go away when they get bored and realise they're not getting anything.

Otherwise, we've been here a couple of hours now. We've just put up our tents. Rob told us to wait until dusk to avoid too much attention. While it's totally legal, and we're doing nothing wrong, it's just best to avoid as much attention as possible. The food's on, and it's stew tonight. While my wisdom tooth is still killing me, my stomach is, at least, back to normal, and I'm looking forward to food. This morning was leisurely, in the extreme. After going to bed around one thirty, I was up around nine. I'm a bit concerned about my tooth. I've been on the antibiotics for three days now, and no improvement. I really feel like taking a pair of pliars to it, but other than that, I'm really at a loss to know what to to. I'm pretty much back to form, but it's still bothering me.

Still, my ailments are boring, aren't they? There was a touch of tension last night. It was one of those ridiculously adolescent situations where someone thinks someone has taken umbrage over something someone else has done, when they actually haven't. I don't have to tell you that all the men were simply drinking beer and laughing about it at this point, do I? When we got back to the camp, Boyo and Rob had prepared kebabs and rice – great, but the toughest beef I've ever tasted. After that, we sat around the fire for a bit, drinking tea. Boyo had had a couple of days off, so was tucking into some rum and cokes. He's quite taciturn when we're 'on the road', but he's an interesting bloke. From Shropshire originally, he's a relatively small bloke that's actually less stocky than he looks. Rob tells me he's been a truck mechanic since he was sixteen, and also drove trucks for fifteen years. He's now in his late thirties, and Rob said there's no-one he'd rather have looking after the truck.

By eleven, everyone drifted down to the bar leaving Rob and I by the fire. It was good to catch up properly. Bless him, he's been gutted for me that I've been ill. He actually said that, while we'd only known each other a couple of days in Jo'berg, it was kinda like a friend had joined the truck, and I think he feels he can be particularly honest with me. Broadly, he reckons it's a pretty good group – although there are a couple of 'moaners'. I know what he means. He also reckons that things normally get particularly interesting when we reach Jinga, since we're there for three days, and people usually properly let their hair down.

(Rob can't stand Dave either. Ha!)

I'm currently trying to change my flights, so I can stay on until after Zanzibar. While five or six people are staying non the truck after we reach Nairobi, a whole bunch of new people are joining, too. I'd love to go all the way to Vic Falls but, after all, I have some prior engagements in the UK. Hopefully, I'll get it all sorted when I reach Kampala tomorrow.

God, I can hear Dave holding forth on the properties of metals outside. I feel like asking his opinion on an aluminium tent pole, before smacking him round the head with it.

After I left Rob, I went down to the bar, where a hard-core of drinkers remained. This is where I heard all about the various controversies. The conversation in the truck and in the bar at night has, shall we say, become a tad ribald on occasion. One person felt that some of the others may have been a bit offended. I was asked if I was offended. Frankly, I'm not at all – I've heard a lot worse. I do reserve the right, however, not to laugh at something I find a bit boring and unoriginal. Or 'Dave' if you like. It's a total storm in a teacup, and very 'Big Brother', actually. We've already had our first truck 'fluid exchange' - between Jess, our twenty-year-old medical student, and Hugh, our thirty-seven-year-old faux-Welshman. All good fun, but the gossip has been a little bit juvenile, if you ask me. Still, it's all part of the fun, and fascinating to watch as a study of human behaviour – providing I can remain an impartial observer.

So, dinner's nearly ready

Yes, yes, Africa, animals, people, etc..,

Back at Bunyiani

God, I'm choking. In a literary way, that is. I have so much to say, I really don't know where to start. It's all good, but it's all so, so interesting. Sitting in my tent again, and yes, it's twenty to two in the morning. It's been a fairly long day. Gorillas first, I guess...

So I had a darned good night's sleep. After sorting out breakfast, and dumping our spare stuff in the minibuses, we headed the fifty metres down to the 'gorilla office'. They collected passports and permits, then we split into the families we'd been allotted. I and three of the others in our group were heading to see the 'Mubari' family, along with an older american couple, and a pair of american girls who were both working in East Africa. Mubari family, our guide – John – tells us, is the family that's been habituated the longest. The rest of our truck were allocated to other families. After a quick talk from the guide, we grabbed a lift with the american girls, and drove the ten minutes to start our walk. It's quite an efficient operation. The gorillas are viewed practically every day, but for strictly one hour at a time. They mark the gps position every day, then trackers head up early in the morning to pick up the trail at the last marked position. This means they can practically guarantee seeing the gorillas. For permits at 500USD, I should bloody well hope so!

So the first hour of our hike was up through banana plantations. There were the usual small children to wave at, and the sun and humidity meant we were soon sweating heavily. We rested often. One of the american girls was overweight, and struggled a little. The older american couple were slow but steady. They'd elected to hire porters at ten dollars a day, and this proved to be a fine decision for them, as the porters were often pushing and pulling them as well as carrying their bags. At one point, we found some children picking peanuts. Someone asked if the gorillas ate peanuts, to which I replied, 'Well, if you're paying peanuts,, you're only really likely to get monkeys.'

(Dave, of course, then said, 'I said that to a colleague a while ago....'. Of course you f**king well did, didn't you. I must confess he's driving me nuts – no pun intended. More on him later, anyway.)

As we reached the top of the plantations, the going became steep. We'd been given walking sticks at the base camp, and these proved nigh-on essential. We found ourselves in fairly dense undergrowth, but made steady progress. We heard regular bleeps from the guide's radio, and we had guys with AK-47s fore and aft.

After nearly two hours of hiking, the guide called a halt. We'd found the gorillas. The guide told us to drop all our bags and sticks, taking only cameras and other 'essential' items. The guide told us our hour would start when we see the gorillas. It was another ten-minute hike down into a densely-green valley, into which the trackers had hacked a trail with machetes. This was hard going without the sticks, and several times, I almost slid away.

I must confess, I wasn't that excited about seeing the gorillas. Everyone talks about it as a once-in-a-lifetime experience and, of course, it probably is, but as is often the case, I found it difficult to believe it would live up to the hype. Nevertheless, I was picking my way across a particularly thorny root, when I looked up and saw my first gorilla. I have to admit I said, 'Wow!', albeit sotto voce. I don't really know how to describe them, physically. We were about six metres away at this point, and it didn't look particularly big from this distance. We stood and watched. And took pictures. Lots of pictures. There was another round of urgent whispers, and as I looked up the valley, I saw the resident Silverback. This guy was huge. The male gorillas develop the distinct grey-silver fur when they're about fourteen, and at this stage they will often challenge the dominant male for the group. If the challenge is sufficiently strong, the group may then split, with the young pretender taking some of the females. This group was small – eight gorillas, with three females, and some juveniles. As we looked up the valley, we could see various patches of undergrowth rustling. Our guide cleared his throat occasionally to signal, 'We're coming, we're friendly.'

After ten minutes, the Silverback moved off along the valley, with the others following. I watched the male. His movements were so human: at one point, he plucked some leaves from a branch, looked at them with curiosity, sniffed them, then casually threw them over his shoulder, before grabbing another, better handful. After twenty minutes, the family seemed to gather at the bottom of the valley, where the male promptly went to sleep, and the baby – who'd been clinging to the back of another juvenile – decided to put on a show. He spent half an hour continuously clambering onto the back of the juvenile, standing up, then falling off. A true clown.

After an hour, our time was up. It rained briefly, and it seemed appropriate to leave the family in peace. The trek down was actually harder than the trek up, and Leigh spent most of it clinging to my hand and using me as a support – my Inca-Trail-eating Scarpa boots finally justifying their inclusion in my rucksack. As we reached the banana plantation, we passed two groups of children, who'd laid out crafts as well as a few crayon pictures of gorillas for our perusal. You have to hand it to them, they're very enterprising – and they know every trick in the book. One of the American girls bought two pictures, because they'd each been done by one of the two children. Turning them over later, they had the same name on the back of each. Nice angle, well worked, kids.

One of the American girls gave me her phone number. She lives in Kampala, and we said it'd be good to catch up for beers, since we're going to be back there in two days. Leigh is adamant she's 'after' me, although I must confess I genuinely thought I was merely taking the number 'on behalf of the truck'. We shall see, anyway, Hopefully, I won't have to extricate myself from any sticky situations.

I shan't say too much else about the day, save that Owen – our hard-hiking-man-mountain-outdoorsman Canadian – was a little hacked off that his group of gorillas was a leisurely fifteen-minute stroll from the camp. After they'd come back from their hour, he actually strolled back again for another look – until man-with-assault-rifle 'suggested' he should go back to the camp.

So, a five-hour drive back to Bunyiani, a few beers, and bed now. There's a lot of group politics in the air, and I must talk more about them. It's fascinating – very 'Big Brother', actually ('day six on the Oases truck, and Nick comes to the diary room') That can probably wait until the morning, though.