Finding the source of the Nile

"When you travel, remember that a foreign country is not designed to make you comfortable. It is designed to makes its own people comfortable" Clifton Fadiman

A few days at Lake Naivasha gave me the chance to recharge my batteries after a few tough days riding. The bad roads had also taken their toll on the bike and so this was a perfect time to give the bike a little service and a nice clean. Lake Naivasha was one of the most popular areas for white European settlers and the area is now home to many flower farms. The miles and miles of hydroponic tunnels scar the landscape and no doubt have an effect on the ecosystem of the lake and surrounds but the labour intensive farming practices create many jobs. One local told me that the flower farms are responsible for 90% of the jobs in the area and I would guess that tourism makes up the remaining 10% as there are quite a few lodges scattered along the lakeshore.

I spent a couple nights camping under the huge acacia trees on sprawling green lawns at a spot called Fisherman’s Camp. It is quite a popular spot with the odd overland truck and quite a few backpacker type tourists passing through. The trees are home to hundreds of Colombus Monkeys and the vocal hippos venture out the waters at night to graze on the campsite lawn, separated from the tents by a single electronic wire. A popular attraction in the area is the nearby Hell’s Gate National Park and the hot springs found within the park. The park is unique in that you are allowed to ride bicycles within the park’s fences and it is simple to rent mountain bikes so I took a ride through the park’s impressive gorge to the have a look at the hot springs. It is a brilliant way to view game and the main road through the park has many grazers that remain relatively docile as you quietly pedal by. En route to the hot springs I also stopped at a huge pinnacle of rock known as Fischer’s Tower. The aptly named tower is a well known rock climbing spot and there I met Joseph, with whom I had arranged to do some rock climbing the previous day. Even though the gear hire and climbing pass was a little expensive I could not resist topping out on Fisher’s Tower (45m high) and the views from the top made it more than worthwhile.

From Lake Naivasha I made my way northwards on a short stretch to Nakuru. My mother’s side of the family is from this area and en route I stopped at a town called Gilgil to visit Rob Harte, my mother’s cousin. It happened to be a Sunday morning so I joined in the tennis game at the Gilgil Country Club on the old clay courts that I remember my grandmother telling me about, it was great fun. Nakuru is the fourth largest city in Kenya and is set just up the slope from the beautiful Lake Nakuru. The crater Lake is found within National Park borders so I was not able to ride inside but could still view the masses of flamingos and grazing buffalo along the lakes shore from the hillside up towards town. I visited the hospital where my mother was born, it was strange to ride around the town, all the buildings that looked as if they were once so new and grand were fairly run down and market stalls found on every street corner. I watched the sunset from the hill above town and then made my way to the Kunste Hotel for the night, another place I have stayed that I recognised from Ewan Macgregor and Charlie Booman’s Long Way Down TV Series.

After having a relatively easy past few days, I packed my bike with intent and decided to head straight for Jinga over the next two days. The road westwards from Nakuru towards Lake Victoria provided for some amazing scenery! Around Nakuru the landscape was fairly dry as the rains have evaded the area through the winter months but as I rode westwards the land changed from dry baron and rocky to green, lush and overgrown within the space of 10km. I looked back at one point and saw what almost looked like semi-arid desert, then turned around to be met by green hills covered in jungle and looming grey clouds overhead. After driving through miles and miles of tea plantations and even stopping to enjoy some extremely fresh tea on the side of the road, I was eventually greeted by the truly magnificent sight of Lake Victoria! A view so vast that, if I did not know any better, I could quite easily have mistaken it for the ocean. Just as I started to drop off the hills surrounding the lake, the heavens decided to open and unleashed some of the heaviest rain I have ever seen, let alone ridden through. With nowhere to take cover I just chugged along slowly through the downpour, counting the kilometres down one by one until I reached Kisumu.

Kisumu is the third biggest city in Kenya, it is found on the eastern shores of Lake Victoria and recently, has become increasingly famous as it is home to the family of Barack Obama. The whole of Africa is “Obama Crazy”, Kenya, in Particular, is “Obama Crazy” but the city of Kisumu is on another level of “Obama Craziness”. Almost every car, bus, scooter, billboard, street sign and house window is plastered with the American president’s face with stars and stripes in the background. It is a little disconcerting but encouraging to see how unified the people of Africa could become under the reigns of a deserving and honest leader.

After one night in the rather dingy YMCA hostel in Kisumu and a little night time shopping in their rather impressive shopping complex, I got back on the bike for another fairly long day of riding in an attempt to make it all the way to Jinga that day. I wrestled with a little morning traffic to escape the city centre but before long I was on the open road and heading for the Ugandan border. The road to the border took me over the Equator. I stopped on the side of the road next to the big “EQUATOR” sign for some obligatory pictures and was suddenly struck by the fact that I had ridden my bike all the way to the northern hemisphere! WOW!

The border crossing could have been easier had I not allowed an “Official Helper” to usher me through from office to office. This is always a mistake but he told me that he worked for immigration services and had the “badge” to prove it. I was too tired and lazy to argue for my border crossing independence so just followed him and my documents through the procedures of African border crossings. This crossing seemed to require a little more homework to be done and to be honest my helper probably saved me a little time up until we reached the insurance office. In retrospect I realised that the only reason he was so willing to take me under his wing was to try and rip me off beyond comprehension when it came time to buying third party insurance. After a lot of arguing about the apparently “negotiable” premium for third party insurance cover I eventually got up and stormed out. They tried to charge me exactly 10 times what I eventually ended up paying in the next town. The argument forced a border crossing policeman to get involved, he stood in between myself and the insurance salesman wielding a M16 rifle and at that point I realised exactly where I was and what was going on and tried to get out of that place as quickly as possible. Luckily the border police were privy to the dubious ways of the insurance companies and sort of took my side, or at least allowed me to walk away from the border post alive.

I drove away from the border completely livered with how the whole situation had escalated but a short stop at an insurance broker’s office in the next town provided some sort of relief when I had all my papers in order in half the time and for a fraction of the price I had almost paid at the border. The last 100km into Jinga flew by and I eventually rolled into town in the late afternoon. I drove around the streets for a while just getting orientated with the place I would call home for the next while. I drove over the dam wall and back struggling to comprehend that I was actually at the very top of the Nile River, then made my way down the river a few kilometres to the area where all the rafting operations and majority of tourists congregate. I found a bed at the extremely popular Nile River Explorers, got myself a beer and sat overlooking the mighty river. I have arrived!

Of Masais and Mountains

“I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel’s sake. The great affair is to move." Robert Louis Stevenson

One of the most beautiful aspects of travelling is experiencing new things every day. For much of the road up through Tanzania and southern Kenya the scenery was not necessarily breathtaking and the villages were not charming but it’s the novelty of strange places that poses such appeal!

I caught the night ferry back from Zanzibar to Dar es Salaam, boarding at 10pm and chugging slowly through the night to arrive in Dar at 6am. I chose the night ferry as the tickets were half the normal price and saved on a night’s accommodation in the process. Zanzibar, on the whole, was brilliant but it was a little weird to be in place much frequented by the package holiday type of tourist and a place where Mzungus are naturally perceived to have bottomless pockets. I did not hang about in Dar but rather decided to head for the Kenyan border straight away. I only spent a couple weeks in Tanzania in total. Partly because it is a fairly expensive country in which to travel but also because I constantly felt as though I was being ripped off by every “tour guide” or tout claiming to want “no strings attached” friendship.

The road north from Dar sailed beneath my tyres through sisal plantations and across the undulating landscape without too much trouble. I was not sure if I would make it through the border before dark so just decided to head from town to town and see how far I could get. A welcome addition on the Tanzanian roads were the small sign posts every 10km informing you of the distance to the next small town as well as the next major town, this took away much of the guess work on the road and resulted in less unexpected longer stretches that the maps do not care to share. I arrived in Tanga, on the extreme northern Tanzanian coast, in mid afternoon so decide to tackle the remaining 60km of dirt to the border that day. The 60km felt like 600km as the road was terrible! My bike and I rattled and shook for no shorter than 2 hours through the forest on the final stretch of Tanzanian soil. I tried to stop as little as possible as I was not sure what time the border would close but my hurry resulted in the death of a monkey, who tried to cross the road between my wheels and left me feeling guilty for my impatience. I got through the border without a hassle and was pleasantly surprised by the friendliness of the Kenyan immigration officials. One of the border guards took me under his wing and ushered me from office to office to get all the personal and vehicle paperwork done in record time.

From the border I cruised along the smooth tarmac for 70km under the setting sun and eventually arrived at Tiwi Beach under the rising full moon to be greeted by yet another beautiful white sandy beach and a comfortable bed in which to rest my worn body. After two long days of continuous travel I indulged myself with a day on the beach whilst a local welder reinforced my luggage rack that had felt the effects of the terrible road the day before.

Tiwi is only 50km south of Mombasa, which would be my next stop so the following day’s ride was short and sweet, the most exciting part of which was boarding the ferry for the 1km crossing to the island city. There was barely a queue to get onto the ferry, which was surprising considering the number of people constantly crossing to Mombasa Island. The three ferries worked like clockwork; 20 shillings (R2.00), 10 minutes and half a conversation later I was in Mombasa central, weaving my way through the traffic to the centre of town. I spent the afternoon in Mombasa strolling through the Old Town, which is similar to that of Zanzibar Stowntown but a little less touristy and, in my opinion, a little more interesting. Mombasa has been influenced through the centuries by the various forces of authority and this is evident in the segregated areas of old town. The Portuguese first landed there in the 16th century and took control for almost a hundred years before Mombasa leaders asked for military assistance from Omani forces to oust the Portuguese. Protection of Mombasa then alternated between British and Omani Navies until Kenyan independence in 1964. A self appointed tour guide walked me through the labyrinths, parting with his extensive historical knowledge of the town and slave trade as we went.

The next day I was back on the road and headed westwards towards Kilimanjaro. This involved the use of the main highway to Nairobi for the first 150km, which involved a serious game of “dodge the truck” as they blatantly disregarded my presence in their overtaking practices. From Voi I turned off the highway and cut through the Tsavo National Park on an EXTREMELY corrugated national road for just over 100k’s. The terrible state of the road meant that I had to concentrate hard on the best line through the corrugations and potholes and effectively meant that I probably missed a good amount of wildlife but I still managed to see the odd grazing antelope on the road’s verge. I spent the night in a town called Taveta. Taveta is on the border of Tanzania and is canvassed by a wonderful backdrop of Mount Kilimanjaro. From Taveta I faced probably my biggest challenge to date in trying to get to Kimana, on the northern side of the mountain and only 80km away. The road I would tackle was not on the map but I had been assured that it was in decent condition by the Tsavo game rangers. I chose this route as the road seemed to circumnavigate Kili, which it did but the low lying clouds and thick dust meant that I could barely see past my front wheel for most of the time. How the game rangers managed to use the words “good condition” in their description of this road, I do not know. The first 20km of the road was covered in about 10 centimetres of talcum powder textured dusty sand that made beach-sand riding feel like a breeze. After the dust ended, the corrugations came back and shook me all the way to Kimana. Although the road was tough and definitely got me down at times, I arrived in Kimana with a sense of achievement and revelled in the fact that the toughest times are often the most fondly remembered.

I awoke the next day to a wonderful, uninterrupted view of the snow capped mountain from Kimana town. I had tried to get into one of the many surrounding parks for the night but they are all aimed at the richer tourists so charged dollars: lots of them. Kimana town was a unique place to stay anyway, it is nestled in the heart of Masai country and even the town’s people walked around robed in traditional attire and all the beaded jewellery that goes with it. It was the type of village that doesn’t accommodate many a tourist and I enjoyed being the only white face people had seen in a while.

From Kimana I headed up towards Nairobi along more unforgiving dusty road for a good 40km before arriving at the most welcome sight imaginable: a brand new tarmac surface that was being built from Emali to Kimana... it’s at times like these that I could not appreciate the Chinese ambitions to tarmac Africa any more. I even bent down and gave the tarmac a kiss... an action that left the local onlookers a little perplexed but could not even begin to describe my joy! It was then straight sailing to Nairobi until I reached to chaotic streets of the capitol city. Chaotic is actually an understatement! It was pure madness that left me feeling more pumped full of adrenalin than any bungy jump or sky dive ever could. I managed to find my way to a Suzuki dealership where I purchased a new oil filter and then got myself to a backpacker lodge and off the bike as quickly and safely as I could. Nairobi seems to contradict the relative poverty of the rural villages with its spiked skyline and obvious wealth of the average citizen. The city did not give me the feeling of a safe environment. I could see how it has as gained its unwanted reputation and scornful nickname: Nairobbery. A night there was enough time to do my shopping, banking and get out. I Have now arrived at the beautiful Lake Naivasha and have been sitting writing this, looking over the calm waters, filled with flocks of water birds. A storm is brewing over the horizon and the distinct smell of earth quenching rain tells me it’s coming this way.

Settling into life on the African Road

LEG 3: (as per Quad and offroad SA magizine article no. 3) The third month and third leg of the Africa Uncut Motorcycle Expedition journeys from Nkhata Bay in Malawi up to Zanzibar.

“If you reject the food, ignore the customs, fear the religion and avoid the people you might better stay at home” James Michener

When travelling Africa on a bike, or by any other means, it is so important to try and immerse yourself in the local people and their culture to gain the most from the unique experience of crossing this Dark Continent we call home and yet know so little of. Each time I cross a border it amazes me to see the instant changes in religious allegiances, traditional attire, construction techniques and staple diets despite the identical landscapes and minimalistic income levels. One cannot help but wonder how these cultural divides came to be and how severe the differences on either side of borders were before colonisation transformed Africa. One thing is for certain, the cultural and traditional practices one experiences whilst travelling Africa make it a worthwhile journey, let alone the sheer beauty of the majestic landscapes.

After I said goodbye to my travelling companions, Dave and Paul, I decided to take a break from the frantic schedule of the previous five weeks and spend some time exploring Nkhata bay and the surrounds. Constantly being on the move results in one missing the comfort of familiarities. Spending a little time in one place, where there is time to make friends and learn about the working gears of a particular place’s inhabitants can provide a temporary safety blanket. Nkhata Bay is a brilliant little town situated about half way up the western shore of Lake Malawi and is very popular with backpacking travellers. The town centre bustles throughout the day and night, there are a few good restaurants and nice places to stay, all of which are right on the water’s edge and all poses some sort of appeal to the various shapes and sizes that pass through the town. I made camp at a place called Mayoka Village, one of the most popular places and understandably so as it really is a beautifully cosy little spot. I opened the tent each day to be greeted by perfectly blue skies and crystal clear shimmering water a couple meters from the door. I got to know quite a few of the locals and quite a few passersby that also seemed to have anchored themselves there to catch their breath whilst on lengthy trips.

I thought it best to use my time settled in one spot a bit constructively and completed a charity documentary for an orphan care project 50 km south of the town. It is a really pro-active project looking after orphans who have lost their parents mostly due to the devastating effects of HIV and AIDS. I spent a day visiting about eight different orphan care projects to get a feel of what they do and how they could benefit from a promotional documentary and the Mukundi Orphan Care Charity Based Organisation (CBO) stood out heaps above the rest. The project is run by volunteers and serves five surrounding villages. They look after about 65 orphans and the chiefs from the surrounding villages contribute food on a monthly rotation basis. They have a carpentry workshop and tailoring workshop where the kids are taught valuable skills that they can carry forward with them into adult life and the finished woodwork products and dresses etc are sold at markets to bring in money that subsidises the kids school fees, food and clothes. They also feed the children, using mainly vegetables grown in their own gardens and meat from their pig and chickens projects. I could not help but notice, during my day spent filming and getting to know the kids, that they are all so happy and full of hope despite their heartbreaking life stories. What also struck me was the incredible kindness of the 10 adult volunteers, who give of themselves so freely to help the orphans despite being so poor themselves. Their appreciation of my time and effort made the documentary more than worthwhile. They have various overseas contacts that have donated money to them in the past or have considered supporting their fantastic project but have been understandably apprehensive as it is so hard to assess whether the money will end up in the right hands and for the right reasons. Hopefully the documentary will dismiss any doubts regarding the project’s objectives and administration as they are truly doing a remarkable job.

I extended my Malawian visa to avoid feeling too rushed through the northern reaches of the beautiful country and so decided to do a little more exploring with my extra time. I braved the famous Ilala Ferry once more, this time in a northerly direction and chugged through the night up to an extremely remote spot called Ruarwe. The northbound ferry was far less chaotic, which meant I could tolerate a third class ticket quite easily where the food and drink is far cheaper and the experience far more African. Ruarwe is exceptionally beautiful and the little Zulukini Lodge: exquisite. It is set on the water’s edge, adjacent to a beautiful river with a waterfall dropping into the lake. The lodge’s extremely remote setting means that it lies within a largely untouched part of the lakeshore but also means that it is only accessible via the ferry so the biggest problem with visiting Ruarwe is the ferry’s schedule. The ferry runs on a weekly basis up and down the lake so you can either spend one night or eight nights there if you need to head back down south. It would have been nice to just relax in such a beautiful setting, uninterrupted by nuisances such as electricity and shops, for a full week but I felt the need to get back to my bike and back onto the road so I opted just to spend one night in this piece of paradise.
Once back in Nkhata I noticed a few hairline cracks starting to appear in my luggage rack so I took it all apart and got a local welder to strengthen it all up, which took him less than an hour but dismantling and re-assembling the bike setup, whilst giving it a little service at the same time, took me the better part of 2 days. Once it was all completed I felt happy to get back on the saddle on venture into the unknown knowing that things were solidly fixed and all bolts fastened. The road from Nkhata took me northwards up to Mzuzu, Rumphi and eventually Livingstonia. The ride was so beautiful that I did not even mind when I realised that I had been travelling for 60km in the wrong direction at one point as the scenery almost made it a worthwhile detour. It roughly followed the western lakeshore of Lake Malawi, sometimes cutting inland to navigate its way through the mountain passes but invariably came back to the lake. Portions of the road were cut into the sides of the steep slopes with the outer edge dropping down to the lake and whilst carving in and out of the sharp bends on the way down the mountain, trying my best to keep my eyes on the road and off the infinite view, I could only think of how similar it was to a short cruise over Chapman’s Peak Drive in Cape Town. The last 20km up the steepest of mountains proved to be the biggest challenge of the days riding and possibly the entire trip. Livingstonia is an old missionary town that was placed on top of the mountain to get away from the malaria threat of lower lying areas. The road from the lakeshore town of Chipata up to Livingstonia is considered dangerous in the dry and virtually impassable in the wet. The loose gravel track is famous for its 21 hairpin bends, which hikers are warned to count so as not to prematurely assume they have made it to the top. It winds its way up the mountain side in a continuous struggle against gravity and corning the 180 degree bends on a laden bike in first gear is an art that you only get to grips with once you are pretty much at the top.

Livingstonia provides for a fascinating glimpse into Malawi’s colonial past. A stroll through the wide dusty streets past the old hospital, colonial mansions, church and through the museum leaves you feeling as if you have gone back in time. I also took a walk to Manchewe falls, a 50m high water fall that once again afforded magnificent views where one can see all the way to the Mozambican side of the lake. I stayed at Mushroom Farm Backpackers, a beautiful spot on the cliff’s edge with breathtaking views, good food and an atmosphere that forces relaxation. The owner of the backpackers was overseas and so it was being run run by Paul, an Aussie, who was in the throes of planning his own African motorcycle odyssey on a 200cc bike. I have met many other travellers on bikes, all of whom are fairly surprised to see me on my small bike and most of whom ask the same questions such as “does it have enough power?” To which the answer is YES! Most roads in Africa are littered with goats, chickens, potholes and people, which makes it difficult to travel faster than 100km/h no matter the size of engine between your wheels. To date I have not really felt the urge to want to go faster but have appreciated the 180kg less that I am hauling around when compared to the average motorcyclist in Africa on a GS1200. Spares have not been an issue to date as my liitle Suzuki has performed admirably in the mechanical department and even if I were to have trouble, the bike is so similar to every other locally driven bike in Africa (and there are lots) that I could probably get any spare part within minutes of breaking down. I could honestly say, at this stage, that if I were to repeat the trip with bottomless budget I would consider the same bike again; it’s that perfect for Africa!

After a couple nights in Livingstonia I headed back down the 21 hairpin bends, which was possibly more difficult than the accent but still lots of fun. Once back at the lakeshore I made for the Tanzanian border, a 200km ride along good tar that flew by and before I knew it I was saying goodbye to Malawi. The border crossing was as simple as I could have hoped, despite the many warnings I had received about the hassling touts that lurk between the border posts and do their utmost to rip off any unsuspecting tourist wanting to change money at their “special rates”. Once in Tanzania the price of fuel decreased slightly but still remained relatively high when compared to the good old Republic of South Africa. I did the last 100km to Mbeya in rapidly decreasing light and warmth and arrived in the bustling town just after dark. It was strange to put my watch forward an hour despite being further west than the night before. The town centre was tough to navigate in darkness and I ended up paying a taxi driver to lead me a lodge for the night, where I learnt that there were no beds left. Thankfully the manager allowed me, and the other 8 backpacking travellers who rolled in at the same time, to camp on the small patch of hotel lawn and sleeping did not prove a challenge after a long day on the road.

Mbeya did not seem to have much to offer the average tourist but I still made the most of the abundant banks and selection of shops for most of the next morning. Once all my admin was done I escaped the regional capital and headed west on a two day marathon stretch across Tanzania. The first stretch of road took me through some tea and eucalyptus plantations and then thrust me into the harsh African wilderness. In the middle of Tanzania one feels as though you could be driving through the Kruger National Park, just without the wild animals. It is typical arid bushveld with pointed peaks scattered along the horizon. The first 100km of road from Mbeya runs parallel to the famous Tazara railway (or Game Train as the tourists call it) connecting Kapiri Moshi in Zambia to Dar es Salaam. Just before I reached Iringa I stopped at a world heritage site known as Isimila Stone age site, protecting the region where many significant archaeological finds have been excavated. I took some quick pictures and got back on the road, determined not to be left on the bike during the twilight hours. After a short stop to get some food supplies in Iringa I made my way to a beautiful riverside campsite and set up my tent under the setting sun. I had only managed to put about 350km under the belt after my late start which would mean an early start the following day in order to tackle the remaining 500km to Dar.

From Iringa I dropped off the high lying interior of Tanzania, constantly losing altitude for about 50km along a winding road between mountain peaks. The absence of arrester beds for the trucks meant that they crept down the slopes at snail’s pace and crept up on me as I approached with distinct urgency, requiring careful concentration. The temperature increased dramatically from the top to the bottom and landscapes extended further and further the more I descended out of the early morning mist. The road then made it’s way through a valley littered with Baobabs as far as the eye could see along the northern border of the Udzungwa Mountains National Park. They were doing road works in patches all the way from Iringa to Dar with only one lane open in most places but the unenthused “stop/go technicians” did not feel it necessary for motorbikes to wait out the oncoming traffic and consistently ushered me through on arrival trusting that I could safely skirt around the head on trucks and cars. At moments like these I just smile to myself and say TIA (This Is Africa).

I chose this specific route through Tanzania so that I could pass through the Mikumi National Park and was not disappointed when I came across a herd of elephants within a kilometre of entering the park’s borders. I was careful not to dismount the bike, or even switch it off, as I took a couple pictures of the 20 plus herd grazing about 20 meters away with the matriarch constantly facing me and eyeing me out. The rest of the 100 odd k’s through the park was everything I had hoped it would be with another herd of elephant, a couple sizable herds of buffalo and plenty giraffe, zebra and impala lining the tarmac.

After I exited the game reserve I knew it was just going to be a straight slog all the way to Dar and I wasn’t far off. I only dismounted the bike to put fuel in the tank and marvel at the occasional authentic Maasai Warrior herding his cattle through the middle of nowhere. I neared Dar in the late afternoon, just in time for rush hour traffic. The traffic jam started about 40km out of town and only got worse the closer I got. I passed pretty much every car that had passed me throughout the day as I weaved between the gridlocked traffic and along the verges, usually just sitting behind a local on a bike so that he could make judgment on what was acceptable motorcycle politeness. Once in Dar itself things got chaotic with cars and taxis darting everywhere and I soon realised that the only way I was going to make it out alive was to maintain a faster speed than the surrounding traffic and weave my way through with affected courage. I made it to a hotel in down town Dar with only having had two minor bumps from cars and another very near miss where I stupidly stopped at a red robot and was almost mauled by the car behind me... apparently traffic lights are more of a waste of electricity than anything else in rush hour traffic in the centre of town.

The next day I arranged to leave my bike with a friend of my brother and boarded the ferry to Zanzibar. After the treacherous journey across Tanzania I needed a couple days to relax and rebuild my will to survive the African roads. Zanzibar was almost exactly as I had imagined it to be, a contrasting mix of the historic Stonetown on the one side and beautiful white palm lined beaches inhabited by “package holiday” tourists in their top dollar lodges on the other. I spent a couple days in Stonetown. After a day on a tour through the spice plantations I spent most of my time wondering through the labyrinths between the aging ancient architecture. At night all the Mzungus (white people/tourists) congregate around the open air market where there are lots of little stands selling fresh sea food cooked to your taste and flavour. A short trip up to the northern reaches of the island gave me the chance to relax on the beach, treat myself to an incredible scuba dive and start to write this. From here I plan to head back to Dar and continue northwards up the coast into Kenya, the beauty of having so much time in which to travel is that no plan is set in stone so I can just see where the road takes me.