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 Ta
nzanian 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 w
orked 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.
nzanian 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 w
orked 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 Kima
na 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 le
ft 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 lod
ge 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.
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